#sigh. maybe i should just take like a deliberate month off and specifically not draw rather than incidentally not draw

[arvinsescape]

Behind his back.

A/N: Darker fic for me to write but i’d had this idea for a while and i really hope you enjoy, please do read at your own risk as i have given warnings! 

Summary: Y/N goes behind Tom’s back and gets herself into a terrible situation.

Warnings: Swearing, death, gore, violence, general mob stuff, knife use, gun mentions and smut (oral fem r), unprotected sex (please practise safe sex) Minors do not engage. 

This is a darker one shot so please only engage if you feel comfortable, i have put all the warnings in.

W/C: 6.6K

You knew you shouldn’t be here, you knew how dangerous it was, Tom had specifically asked you to sit this one out but you didn’t listen. You knew coming here could be the end of it all for you, you could easily lose your life tonight but you were optimistic, confident in your abilities. You wondered briefly if Tom would kill you himself if he found out you’d deliberately disobeyed him.

You were a card Tom kept close to his chest, only bringing you in when he felt it was absolutely necessary. Most people assumed you were just an ordinary woman, only a few of Tom’s close friends knew who you were, most of his men didn’t even know you existed. He only ever met you at your house and it was always at some ungodly hour, making the sneaking in and out easier.

You remember when you first started working for Tom, you were initially sent to gain information from him by your previous employer. He caught onto your act after a while and found himself so impressed by your ability that he hired you to extract information for him.

“I should get going.” You said as you removed yourself from Tom’s lap, you’d been flirting all night, of course this was part of your plan. You’d been touchy feely for a good hour by this point, making it easier to take the document you needed from his pocket and discreetly slip it into your bra.

“But I was having so much fun darling.” He smirked, if this had of been any other night, you’d have let him take you home. He was by far the most attractive man you’d ever had to extract information from.

“Maybe I’ll see you around.” You flirted back and made your way to the back exit of the club, hoping to slip into the night and deliver the piece of paper that was still wedged into your bra.

You made it outside in the alleyway between the club and the building next door when you felt an arm wrap around your waist. You almost screamed but remembered the last thing you needed to do was draw attention to yourself, especially when Tom owned this club, you couldn’t have him finding out what you’d done, it’d blow everything.

“Not so fast darling.” You relaxed slightly when you heard his voice, melting into his hold only slightly.

“I told you I was tired and I’m heading home.” You said innocently and he chuckled before turning you around and pinning you to the wall, arms either side of your head and you felt your breath hitch at the closeness. You knew you could have given him a good kick between the legs and bolted but you didn’t want to. You’d heard he was dangerous yet you doubted he’d hurt you.

“I think you have something of mine.” He said as he peppered kisses along your throat and you shivered in his hold.

“I don’t think so.” You said again and he chuckled before moving his hands to your waist, your hands finding his hair as he continued to kiss along your neck, hands sliding up your sides and you found yourself panting as you grew aroused.

“Tom.” You said as he sucked on your neck, leaving a mark. He hummed as his hands slipped further up your sides, cupping your breast with one hand.

“You gonna hand it over? Or am I gonna have to take it?” He said as he brought his face back to yours, lips inches from your own. “You’re good, had me fooled. If only Haz hadn’t have asked to see the paper, you’d have gotten away with stealing it.” You laughed slightly as you realised you may as well drop the innocent act.

“Dam Harrison then.” You said and he threw his head back as he laughed.

“You’re playing a very dangerous game princess. How do you know I’m not going to kill you for stealing from me, I’ve killed people for less you know?” He said and although you should have been intimidated you weren’t, you were so wrapped up in his scent and just him.

“If you were going to kill me, I assume you would have done by now.” You said confidently, your lips where still inches apart and you were fighting everything in you not to close the distance. You felt yourself become disappointed as he moved away from you and held his hand out.

“True. I still want it back though.”

“How do you know I still have it on me?” You tried.

“I don’t for certain but I assume you do. Hand it over and I’ll give you something in return.” He said and you found yourself hoping that meant an absolute railing in this alleyway. You pondered over the idea before you sighed.

“I can’t. The people I work for won’t be happy, they’ll kill me. So I suppose I have to make a choice, let you kill me or them, either way I’m fucked.” You said, the atmosphere shifting from playful to serious as he furrowed his brows as if deep in thought.

“I’m not going to kill you but I am going to take my documents back.” He said after a while and you gasped slightly as he pinned you back to the wall, hand reaching between your breasts as he pulled the paper from your bra. You moved to snatch the paper back from him, ready to hit him and run but he was much faster than you.

“You know who I am don’t you?” He asked and you nodded your head. “I can make the people you work for disappear, make sure you’re safe, I just want one thing in return.” He spoke again.

“You don’t even know who I work for.” You said.

“True, I don’t but it doesn’t really matter. Tell me who they are and I’ll make them go away.” He said and it sounded as if he was trying to reassure you.

“What do you want from me?” You spoke after a moment.

“I want you to work for me.”

That was that, he indeed did get rid of the mobster you previously worked for, you still don’t know what he did and ultimately didn’t care. Tom was a much less demanding employer and always made sure you were safe, he didn’t leave you to fend for yourself, ever. You were yet to see where he lived, he didn’t want anyone to accidently see you and make any connection, he wouldn’t endanger you like that.

You were head over heels for him, completely in love, nothing ever happened between the two of you. There had been a couple of occasions where you’d thought he was so protective over you because he liked you back but after months of him not making a move and last weeks words, you realised that you were just a good business investment and that’s why you were so well protected.

You knew you were here tonight because you were in love with him, because you wanted to prove yourself to him, make him see you were more capable than he gave you credit. You weren’t just some girl who was good at flirting and stealing. James Kane was a dangerous man, he didn’t care if you were male or female, if he wanted you out of the way, you were dead. There were rumours he’d killed his ex-wife so she wouldn’t get any of his money in the divorce.

He’d become a thorn in Tom’s side and Tom was growing desperate to get him off the board, that had sparked the argument you’d had last week.

“Tom, I can do it!” You practically begged him. “I know where he’s going to be, it’ll be easy. He wouldn’t suspect a thing, he’s too arrogant to believe a woman could outsmart him.”

“Y/N.” Tom sighed as he stood from your couch. “No. I will not have you in the same vicinity as him, I can’t go with you, he knows who I am.” He ran a hand through his hair in frustration, he wasn’t used to people arguing his authority.

“Send me in with someone else.” You pleaded.

“No.” He said. “You’re not going, end of.” He snapped.

“You can’t tell me what to do.” You said and he almost pinned you to the spot with his stare, you’d annoyed him.

“I pay you to do what you do remember.” He snapped. “You’re not going, it’s too dangerous.” He said.

“So what? Why do you care so much?” You almost screamed in frustration.

“Because I-“ He cut himself off.

“Because what Tom?” You shouted and he pinched the bridge of his nose as he thought for a moment.

“Because you are a very valuable asset that I can’t afford to lose.” He said and your heart dropped to the pit of your stomach. You really were just a good business deal. “You’re not going and that’s final, I’ll find another way to deal with him.” He didn’t give you chance to respond as he slammed the door to your home shut, leaving you crying.

You hadn’t spoken to him since, you were angry at him, you wanted to get this information from James and hand it to him personally and gloat. You realised it was probably stupid to think this way, you wanted him to love you back so badly that you were here tonight, putting your life in danger. You were currently seated on James lap as you flirted, your phone had now been buzzing in your bag for ten minutes.

“You should probably get that.” James spoke into your ear and you had to fight the urge to vomit as his hand trailed up your thigh, nothing like the night you’d flirted with Tom, you hadn’t been acting then.

“That would be so rude of me though.” You said as you leant your head back onto his shoulder, you needed to fish around for the documents soon and you knew it but you had to play carefully, you were on your own, no back up.

“I don’t mind.” He said as he licked a stripe up your neck and you shivered but not in a good way, thankfully he thought it was. You turned and kissed his cheek as you grabbed your phone from your bag, James’s arms looped around your waist.

You furrowed your brows as you checked your screen.

Tom: 40 missed calls.

Tom: 13 new messages.

“Who’s Tom? Boyfriend?” He said and you put your phone back into your bag after switching it off.

“My brother.” You lied, hoping he’d drop it.

“Seems pretty clingy.”

“He probably wants a lift home from his night out.” You spoke and James kissed your shoulder. “I’m just gonna go to the toilet, I’ll be back in a minute.” You said as you kissed his cheek once more.

You removed yourself from his lap and made your way into the bathroom, splashing water over your face as you sighed and looked into the mirror.

“Come on Y/N, you can do this. You don’t need his protection for everything.” You pep talked yourself, your nerves were getting the better of you. You were also panicking now because Tom was trying to get hold of you and you never ignored his calls, he was gonna be even more pissed at you. You made your way into a stall and as you locked the cubicle you heard someone else enter the bathroom, assuming it was a woman here to do her makeup.

You made your way out of the cubicle and your blood ran cold as you saw James leant against the sinks, arms folded as he pierced you with his gaze, the piece of paper you wanted to get hold of was held in one of his hands. He knew and you were fucked.

“I was gonna give you more time, but I assume you lost your nerve. He’s not sent you with anyone tonight has he?” He spoke and you tried to compose yourself, play innocent.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You said and he shot you a glare so foul you knew you were done for.

“Don’t play dumb with me you stupid bitch.” He spat and you started weighing up your options in your head, you had to get away. “You honestly think I don’t know who you are. Very cute pet he has.” He spoke again, you needed to keep him talking whilst you weighed up your escape.

“How did you find out?” You went with.

“Tom put his trust in the wrong man. Jacob isn’t as trustworthy as you think, worked for me for years. He told me all about you and how precious you are. He doesn’t know you’re here tonight does he?” He spoke so honestly and you knew in that moment that his intention was to kill you, he didn’t need to hold back because in his mind you were a dead woman walking. Your blood pumping was pounding in your ears as he spoke.

“Tom wouldn’t be so stupid as to send you to me, no. You’ve come here off your own back.” He deduced. “Shame it’ll be the last decision you ever make.”

You bolted towards the door and James caught you, arms around your waist and you panicked, shoving your heel into his foot, he screamed in pain as he let go of you and you took the opportunity to kick him between his legs before bolting out of the bathroom.

You knew you couldn’t go to the entrance of the club, too many of James’ men were around so you bolted out of the fire escape and into the alleyway. You hastily took your heels off and threw them so you could run faster, you made your way into a different alley nearby, the area was quiet, no people around. You fished around in your bag for your phone and as you went to switch it on, you felt a body collide with your own.

“You fucking bitch.” James spat as he pinned you to the ground, your phone went flying and you watched with disbelief as it went down a drain, this was it, you were going to die and all you could think about was how you should have listened to Tom. “He’s not worth dying for you know.” James spat again and you felt the tears slip from your eyes. “Don’t cry, I’ll make it quick.” He said as he wiped at your tears and you felt around you for something, anything you could use. Your heart rate sped up as your hand gripped a rock and you used all your force to hit him in the temple with it.

He groaned as the force knocked him onto his side, you were quick to stand as you ran out of the alley and just as you were about to reach the opening a hand gripped your ankle and pulled you onto your front and you cried out in pain. You felt the blood trickle from your head as it collided with the concrete. He turned you over and you fought against him as he straddled you.

“You really are a feisty thing, I can see why Tom likes you. Bet you’re a good fuck, that’s why he keeps you around.” You studied his face and saw his head was split where you’d hit him with the rock and given his position over you some trickled down the side of his face and off his chin, onto your own face. Tears were streaming down your face as he spoke.

“Wait. He’s not fucked you has he. Fucking coward. Has he not told you he’s in love with you?” James taunted making your heart hurt at the thought of Tom and how you were probably never going to see him again. He laughed as he realised he was right. “I want you to beg for him, I want you to beg for him to save you.”

“Fuck you.” You said as you spat at him, he lifted a hand to wipe it away and you took the opportunity to punch him in the gut as you tried to roll him off you but it was no use, he was much stronger and heavier than you.

“You silly little cunt. I was gonna make it quick but now I think I’ll savour it, then I can tell Tom how he wasn’t fast enough, how he couldn’t save you. It’ll kill him to know he couldn’t save you. You’re gonna beg for him and the last thing you’ll ever remember is how much you begged for him to save you and he couldn’t.” He said as he got a knife out of his pocket, your eyes widening as he brought it to your face.

“Such a pretty face, it’ll be a real shame that he won’t recognise it when I’m done with you.” He said as he used the blade to draw a cut into your cheek, it wasn’t too deep but it was enough to draw a lot of blood, you screamed in pain as you felt it trickle down and into your hair. “That’s right scream for him, scream as loud as you can. Maybe he’ll hear you and come running. Might just be able to watch me take your life. Maybe I’ll carve out your heart and send it to him, poetic don’t you think.”

Tears streamed down your face and you felt yourself grow determined, you had to get back to Tom, you had to save yourself, you couldn’t let him win. You tuned him out as he spoke and felt around as you felt for the brick, you used it again, this time with a renewed force and you knocked him clean off you, you got up quicker than last time but it seemed James was just as quick as he grabbed your arm and spun you around.

Your hand went for his hand that held the knife and you used all your force to turn it towards him all as he went to stab you and you watched his eyes widen as he felt the knife plummet into his own body. You watched in shock as he fell to the ground, hands went from clutching his wound to reaching out for you, smearing blood on your legs and arms as he fell all as you stood there in shock.

Your knees collapsed after a while and you fell to the ground, fighting the urge to vomit, you must have looked a mess, blood, and dirt all over your exposed skin. You were no longer sure if the red of your dress was blood or the original colour. You’d never killed anyone before and although he deserved it and it was you or him, you still felt sick. You pulled your knees to your chest as you stared at James’s lifeless body.

You heard in the background as vehicles approached and you couldn’t find it in you to move and hide properly. You heard as gunshots were fired into the night sky and still couldn’t move. You jumped as a hand on your shoulder brought you back to reality and the tears came again as you screamed, turning to shove the person who’d touched you.

“Christ, Y/N. Fuck, calm down, it’s me, it’s me.” You heard an all too familiar voice. You opened your eyes and were met with the piercing blue of Harrison’s. “It’s okay, it’s me.” He said and you cried harder out of relief. “Tom! Mate! She’s here.” Haz suddenly shouted and you heard rushed steps approach before they stopped completely.

“Fuck. Is that-“ Tom cut himself off as he took you in and his heart dropped. You were filthy, cuts and scars everywhere. He practically shoved Harrison out of the way as he dropped to his knees in front of you, taking your face in his hands. “Princess, are you okay? Is that your blood?” He asked as he tried to look for any obvious and huge injuries. His voice was softer than anyone had ever heard it as he spoke to you.

“Some of it.” You croaked out and his heart broke. “Tom, he was gonna kill me, I didn’t have a choice, I didn’t mean to. He wanted me to beg for you to save me, said he’d carve my heart out and give it to you. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to kill him.” You rambled as he took you into his arms, nodding at his men who disappeared, leaving Harrison as he watched the interaction, it was like no one else was there, Tom was fixated on you.

“Baby,” he couldn’t stop the name rolling off his tongue, “it’s okay. He’s never gonna hurt you again. No one is, you’re safe, I’ve got you.” He said as he stroked through your hair, grimacing at the blood in it. This shouldn’t have happened to you. Harrison cleared his throat, reminding his boss that they needed to move, they couldn’t stay here, the gunfire would have attracted attention. Tom nodded as Harrison moved to start the car.

“We need to go. I’m gonna take you home.” He said and your hands suddenly grasped his shirt as you clung to him for dear life.

“I don’t wanna go home Tom. I wanna stay with you.” You begged and you didn’t care how pathetic it sounded, you needed him. He stroked your hair again as he kissed the top of your head.

“I’m not going anywhere.” He said again. “I promise I’ll stay with you, okay? We need to go though, I’m gonna take you to mine, you’ll be safe there, I’ll keep you safe.” He promised as he stood, you in his arms still as you leant all your weight on him, you grew more tired as he picked you up bridal style and carried you to his car.

“Haz, get someone to get rid of that quick.” He said, tone much more assertive than the one he’d used with you. He was referring to the body and you knew it but appreciated him not saying it. He carefully placed you into the black SUV as he told his man to drive, he didn’t let go of you the whole way to his.

Once you arrived at his he carried you into his mansion, if you weren’t so tired and still trying to process what had happened you might have been in awe of it. He easily carried you upstairs and into his bedroom, heading straight for the bathroom. Neither of you spoke as he undressed you, he was careful, every touch feather light like he was afraid he’d hurt you. He set the shower going as he got it to a good temperature.

“Okay, you should get in.” He spoke quietly and you nodded, before stepping into the shower and letting the warmth envelope you. You watched as the blood and dirt disappeared down the plug hole, washing away the evidence of what had happened tonight.

“Tom?” You found yourself calling and his head popped round the shower screen, his brows furrowed as he looked at you, he wasn’t looking anywhere except your face.

“Yeah?” He spoke softly and you cried again, his face softening.

“I’m sorry.” You said and he sighed before disappearing, you panicked that he was going to leave you until he reappeared, stepping into the shower with you, both of you naked as he held you in his arms. After a while he moved away from you, grabbing the shampoo as he lathered your hair, making sure to get all the blood and dirt out of it.

He took the sponge and cleaned you up, you winced as soap went into your little cuts, your legs and feet littered with them, he apologised every time you winced and you wondered what had happened to the big scary mob boss you were so familiar with. He was being so gentle and careful as he cleaned you up.

Once he was satisfied you were clean, he made short work of his own shower before getting out and wrapping a towel around his waist. He held out a hand as he helped you out of the shower, getting a towel and drying you off, wrapping your hair in the towel when he was done. He led you into the bedroom as he handed you one of his shirts and a pair of boxers as you put them on, watching as he dried himself off before pulling his own boxers on.

“Come here.” He patted the bed in front of him as you sat there, he took the towel off your head before grabbing a hair brush he had on his bedside table, you wondered if a woman had left it there and then cursed yourself at the jealousy that followed. He carefully brushed your hair and set to work platting it.

“Where’d you learn this?” You found yourself asking quietly as he fished around for a hair tie.

“I’ve watched you do it a million times, figured it couldn’t be that hard.” He said as he tied the end, dropping your hair and wrapping his arms around your shoulders before pulling your back against his chest. “What were you thinking?” He asked and you tried to find the annoyance, but it wasn’t there.

“I’m sorry.” You said again as he rested his chin on your shoulder. “I wanted you to see what I could do. I wanted to do this for you.” You admitted and he sighed before kissing your cheek.

“I never once doubted you but I always wanted, no needed, you safe. You’re precious to me and I don’t want anything to happen to you.” He spoke. “Princess you scare me.” He admitted and you spun around to look at him, feeling the anger you held towards him earlier that day rise.

“Why? Because I’m a good asset that you don’t want to lose?” You snapped and his face twisted in annoyance.

“I didn’t mean it like that. Just remember that I specifically asked you not to go tonight and you did and you almost died.” He said.

“Yeah and I didn’t did I? I saved myself if you hadn’t realised.” You spat and his face went red.

“That’s not the point. You shouldn’t have been there in the first place.” He almost shouted and your anger reached a breaking point, you moved away from him and got off the bed.

“Fuck you Tom. Fuck you.” You spat as you made your way out of his bedroom, slamming the door. Seconds later you heard it open again and Tom’s footsteps followed you.

“Where are you going?”

“Away from you.”

“Y/N, come back.” He demanded.

“No, I want to go home.” You shouted as you grabbed one of Tom’s many coats off the hooks and pulled it on, going to open the front door. Before you could pull it open Tom’s palm made a firm connection with the wood of the door as he held it shut.

“Please, Y/N, it’s not safe. You can’t go out on your own at this time of night.”

“I think I’ve proven myself pretty capable.” You snapped and he sighed.

“I’m trying here, will you please just stay?” It sounded like he was begging but he couldn’t have been, Tom Holland didn’t beg. Harrison had made his way downstairs now, the commotion having disturbed him.

“Are you guys okay?” He asked and you turned to look at Harrison.

“Please can you take me home?” You asked him and he nodded slightly. Tom pulled back from you and he looked almost hurt but you were too angry to care.

“Y/N/N I-“ Tom spoke and you cut him off.

“I don’t wanna hear it Tom, I’m more than just a business deal you know. I went there tonight to get information for you because I love you and I wanted you to see me as more than you do but that’s just wishful thinking.” You said and the atmosphere went silent at your confession. Harrison said he’d be in the car as you looked at Tom, you couldn’t decipher the look in his eyes.

“Until you’re ready to see me as a person Tom this isn’t gonna work.” And the roles from last week became reversed, you slammed the door before he could speak. You made your way to the car and Harrison smiled sadly as you hopped into the passenger seat.

“Y/N, he loves you, you know.” Haz spoke and you sighed.

“Then why doesn’t he just say it?”

“It’s hard for him. He doesn’t do relationships, he wants to keep you safe.”

“I don’t wanna talk about this right now.” You sighed and Haz nodded. “Jacobs dodgy by the way, he ratted me out to James.” You said and Haz looked at you in confusion as he pulled into your drive.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Make sure Tom knows I sorted two problems for him tonight, his rat and the thorn in his side.” You said, venom laced with every word.

**

You hadn’t seen Tom for a week and you were angry with him for a few days and now you just missed him. You wished he’d have followed you, come to your door and declared his undying love for you but no. No he hadn’t and you were angry about it and now you were just left with the sadness that he didn’t feel the same.

Your injuries had mostly healed, apart from the cut on your cheek and you wished you had a phone or at least remembered where Tom lived, but you debated it being a good thing you didn’t and couldn’t. You heard a knock at your door made your way towards it, pulling the door open, you were shocked when you saw him standing there.

“Tom?” You breathed out as you took him in, he looked like he’d not slept much, you hadn’t either, plagued with nightmares of James’ lifeless body. His hair was more untidy than usual, he was still sporting those black slacks that you loved so much, white shirt tucked in, sleeves rolled up, you were so in love with him that it hurt.

“We need to talk.” He said as he moved past you, you couldn’t decipher his mood. You shut the door as you waited for him to continue. “I am so angry with you right now.” He said and it was the last thing you expected him to say. “I’m angry that you thought it was appropriate to go behind my back and almost get yourself killed. I am beyond pissed off that you put yourself in so much danger.”

“Tom-“

“No, you’re going to let me finish. I’m angry that you think you’re just some business contract to me. You know the night you stormed out, I cried, I haven’t cried since I was a fucking kid. You scare me because you make me feel things for you that would put you in more danger than I already do. Fuck, I didn’t want you to go there at all because I am so fucking in love you that I don’t know what I’d do if anything ever happened to you.” He was almost out of breath when he’d finished, he’d taken steps towards you and now had you pinned to the wall. His eyes were desperately flickering between your own.

“I love you.” He said again and it was much softer than moments prior when he’d practically screamed it at you. You couldn’t stop yourself as you jumped into his arms, giving him a second to react as he caught you, your lips smashing against his in a desperate and needy kiss.

“I love you so much Tom.” You said as you pulled back before kissing him again. “So much.” You said repeatedly, almost like a mantra, through kisses.

“Don’t ever scare me like that again.” He said and you nodded as he kissed you again. You were desperate and needy for each other as you felt him grow hard, your own arousal growing. He lowered you down as you stood back on your feet, panting. “I mean it, don’t ever do that again.” He said again and you smiled as you put your hands on his face.

“I promise.” You reassured and he captured your lips in his again. You pulled away after a few minutes, your arousal having grown and you wanted him, fuck you wanted him. “Tom?”

He hummed in response as he kissed along your throat.

“I want you.” You said and he softly grazed his teeth over the skin of your neck.

“Come on then baby.” He said as he picked you up and made his way to the couch. He lowered you down as he took your shirt off, you’d forgone a bra today and he groaned at the sight of your hardened nipples. “Fuck you’ve got amazing tits.” He said and you laughed slightly. He took a nipple into his mouth and you moaned slightly. His hand slipped into your shorts and he collected your arousal on his finger.

“Shit, you’re wet.” He groaned and placed kisses down your stomach, he removed his hand and took the waistband of your shorts between his teeth, pulling them down your legs as he winked up at you. “Bet you taste amazing princess. You gonna let me have a taste?” He asked and you nodded profusely.

“Please.” You almost begged and he placed kisses up you leg before you felt his breath on your clit and your breath hitched. He licked a stripe from your entrance to your clit and you moaned at the contact.

“You taste fucking amazing.” He groaned against your heat and you moaned again.

“Tom, please.” You needed him and he groaned as he encased your clit in his mouth, sucking as he listened to you moan out, like music to his ears. He wasted no time in licking and sucking your clit, twisting a hardened nipple between his thumb and forefinger and he watched your face from his position between your legs.

You could feel your orgasm approach as he sucked your clit more harshly and he groaned as your hips bucked up to his face. He moved away from you and your orgasm disappeared.

“Tom!” You almost shouted and he chuckled as he smiled.

“Come here, want you to ride my face.” He said and you almost moaned at the thought. You both moved so that he had his back on the couch cushions and you were hovering over his face. “Fucking beautiful view.” He said as he moved his hands to your hips and pulled you down onto his tongue. He went back to licking and sucking at your clit as you rode his tongue, hands gripping his hair.

You felt your orgasm approach again and you cried out as one of his fingers circled your entrance before slipping inside, curling towards your g spot. You continued to ride his face as he pumped his finger in and out of your tight heat, adding another finger after a while. You almost screamed as your orgasm washed over you, it felt amazing, better than your fingers ever did.

“Fuck.” You moaned as he rode you through your high, keeping your movements steady against his tongue. “That felt amazing.” You said as you moved yourself down his body, straddling his hips, he groaned as your heat made contact with his clothed hard on.

“Open up.” He said as he placed his fingers inside your mouth so you could taste yourself. “That’s it, fuck.” He said as you sucked his fingers, cleaning them, all while keeping eye contact with him. He removed his fingers as you practically ripped his shirt open, a few buttons falling to the floor. “Careful darling. That was expensive.” He teased as your hands traced his toned body.

You moved down and made quick work of his slacks, shoes, and socks. He smiled up at you as you lowered yourself onto his hardened length, both sighing in pleasure. You gave yourself a minute to adjust, you placed your hands on his chest as you moved on him, moaning his name as you did. You picked up your pace as you fucked him, you’d waited so long for this moment.

“Fuck Tom, you feel so good.” You moaned out, which only turned Tom on more as he gripped your hips and flipped you both over. It didn’t quite go to plan as you both ended up on the floor but it didn’t matter you were both so wrapped up in each other that neither commented, he just continued to fuck into you on the floor as you both moaned.

He fucked you like his life depended on it and he went even harder when he found the right angle for your g spot which left you practically screaming for him. You felt your orgasm approach and you tightened around him.

“Shit, if you keep that up I’m gonna come.” He gasped as he placed his thumb on your clit, rubbing it in a figure eight as your orgasm approached faster, you screamed his name as your orgasm washed over you, he fucked you through it, thrusts growing sloppy as he pulled out of you, streams of his come lining your bare stomach as you came down from your high. “Fuck.” Tom panted and you giggled.

“I’ll be back.” He said as he got to his feet and made his way into the kitchen, returning a moment later with a cloth to clean you up. “Shit you look good covered in my come.” He spoke and you laughed.

**

You found yourself wrapped up in your bedsheets after another round, much slower and passionate than the previous. You had your head on his chest as he ran a hand through your hair.

“I love you.” He said and you smiled against the bare skin of his chest.

“I love you too so much.” You said.

“Be mine?” He asked.

“Of course, so long as this doesn’t change my job.” You smiled and you felt his arms tighten around you.

“It changes everything, it was hard enough knowing you flirted with men and they flirted back before you were my girlfriend, don’t think I’d handle it well now.” He laughed and you joined. “You’ll always be safe with me.” He said. “I know what almost happened last week but I’d never let anything like that happen again but you have to promise me you won’t go behind my back like that again.” He said and it almost sounded like he was begging.

“I promise.” You said.

“This seems to be healing well.” He said as he angled your face up to look at him, running his thumb over your cheek.

“Yeah.” You muttered as you placed your head back onto his chest.

“Jacob won’t be a problem by the way. I took care of it.” He said.

“What did you do?”

“Doesn’t matter, he’s not a concern.” He said as he yawned. You had a feeling Jacob may have spent hours being tortured before ultimately killed but Tom would never tell you what he did, never wanting to frighten you.

You smiled in content as you heard his soft snores leaving his lips, finding comfort in his embrace, he’d always keep you safe and you knew it and you’d never go behind his back again, although you couldn’t help but think that if you hadn’t done what you did you wouldn’t be here now. You still had a lot to talk about but that could wait until a much needed sleep, in this moment you were just happy to be in his arms.

[jetaime-jespere]

Right Where You Left Me, Part One

Time can move in two directions. Until it collides in the present.

Rated M for smut/darker themes

Four hundred twenty eight days.

That’s how long it’s been since the day everything changed. Fourteen months, sixty weeks, or some ten thousand hours, but Aaron stopped counting a long time ago. Quantifying time in arbitrary measures - hours, weeks, days - is pointless now. It doesn’t make a difference, nothing ever will. The only thing that matters is she’s gone, and nothing has been the same since.

There isn’t much from that day in Newark he doesn’t remember in perfect, horrific detail. He remembers every moment, every second that brought them to the point of no return. It haunts him during the day, keeps him awake late into the nights that bleed into early mornings. He’s spent the last year with the events replaying in his mind, over and over again, trying to pinpoint where the hell it all went wrong.

The answer to that is the beginning, on a beautiful day in April just over a year ago.

…

April | Fourteen Months Ago

They never saw it coming.

It was their day off, a beautiful day in the middle of spring. The chilly morning was a quiet promise of a warm, brilliant afternoon, one they planned on spending together, without any obligations or commitments. They hadn’t made specific plans, but something Aaron has been meaning to do is take her to the Manassas Battlefields, one of the only things he appreciates about his mother’s hometown, along with the hole-in-the-wall Taqueria in Old Town. It’s just a short trip down 66, but Manassas is a different world from Arlington entirely. Yet it’s something he wants to share with her, a tangible piece of something that no longer exists.

Aaron smiles as he sits up in bed, shielding his eyes from the sun creeping through the windows. “I know you’re awake,” he murmurs to Emily. She stirs beside him with a soft groan at the offending light as he drops kisses on her bare shoulder and across her back. “Open your eyes.”

She does, shifting across the mattress to face him, smiling before she’s even fully alert, blinking a few times as her eyes adjust to the light. “What time is it?” Emily throws an arm over her face, stretching languidly as her head lolls around the pillows - the expensive microfiber ones he’d purchased when she started staying over more frequently.

“Does it matter?” Aaron pulls the sheets away further, thumbing the side of her breast, playing his fingers over the delicate bones of her ribs. “It’s our day off.” There’s a soft sigh of contentment from her upon hearing his words, visibly relaxing as her eyes flutter closed.

The moment that passes, one second to the next, is slow and unhurried, as if they have all the time in the world to do this. Emily winds an arm around his neck, letting him pull her into him just enough so he can nudge a hand between her back and the mattress, pressing his mouth to hers. He kisses her, licking the seam of her lips until she relents a little more, arching her back into him. His free hand cups her jaw, taking in the subtle traces of perfume that linger on her neck. He has to remind himself to breathe, because God, he can never get quite enough of her.

“Last night wasn’t enough for you?” Emily laughs against his lips between kisses, but she’s already started to lift her hips against him teasingly. “You certainly were … persistent.”

“Never.” Aaron uses his leverage to roll her to her stomach, then kisses his way down her spine. He lifts her hips up flush against his, anchors an arm around her waist, slipping a hand between her legs as he draws her close, bringing her to her knees to settle in his lap. Her head falls back on his shoulder; his lips brush her cheek as she sinks down on him completely, emitting a quiet moan when she’s fully seated. He starts to rock his hips, moving just enough to feel her need to respond with a sway of her own hips. She can’t stay still anymore, not like this.

Aaron smiles against her neck and reaches for her hand, bringing it up to press against her heart. With her back against his chest, Emily whimpers when his fingers find her clit, the pressure of his thumb making her hips stutter as her hands forming bruises into his thighs. Her body bows for him, overwhelmed by the sense of fullness, as he kisses the back of her neck, the blades of her shoulders. Her hips drive back against his, a coordination of push and pull that builds in intensity, blurs her vision. Emily can feel every inch of him like this; she whimpers at the way he times the pace of his thumb with the force of his hips, pushing her higher and closer.

“F-fuck,” Emily stammers, her legs shaking enough by now that he has to hold her upright. His name sounds like one long syllable when she says it, hardly coherent, slightly breathless. She’s close already, beginning to tremble in his arms. Her head falls against his shoulder as she tightens around him like a vice, so close she moans in anticipation.

“You should see yourself like this,” Aaron coaxes in her ear, rolling his hips up into her, full and slow and deliberately. “You’re beautiful.”

The low hum of his voice in her ear is all it takes to draw it out of her. Emily writhes in his lap, her spine curving almost painfully as he pins her hips down against him, only increasing the volume of her incoherent screams. Her release triggers his; Aaron follows her with a few hurried thrusts of his own, uncoordinated and frenzied. He gets both arms around her, holds her to his chest when he spills inside of her, biting a bruise into her shoulder as he does.

They stay like that for moments on end; Emily can feel the pound of his heart against her back. It matches her own as she gets her breath back, even if her legs are still shaking. Aaron smoothes her hair back from her face, gently turns her chin to the side to kiss her jaw. “Good morning.”

She laughs lightly, her eyes alit, an amused grin on her face. “Hi.” She practically crumples back into the pillows, dragging him down with her. A few more moments of quiet could lull her back to sleep, coupled with the warmth of his body beside hers, and she dozes at his side like she often does on mornings that start this way.

“Coffee is on,” he murmurs to her some time later, pulling her against him. “I’m going to start breakfast. You said you wanted French toast, didn’t you?” What he doesn’t tell her is not only did he get the necessary ingredients for that, but for Eggs Benedict too (he heard her mention it’s her favorite, once when JJ was pregnant), in case she changes her mind at the last minute. He’s learned in the last six months she’s somewhat indecisive when it comes to breakfast food.

Emily laughs, her fingers pushing into his hair, lightly scratching his scalp. “You’re spoiling me, you know.”

“Well, if it weren’t for me, you’d probably starve,” he chuckles. “I’ve seen your cabinets more than once. That’s all I need to know.”

Emily lobs a pillow at him, snorting with laughter. “You’re not wrong.” But there’s adoration in her eyes, a look that’s increased in frequency and duration over the last few months. Gaining her trust hadn’t been easy, it’s an ongoing work in progress, an evolution of small steps, one after the other. But there are moments, ones like that, reminding him that maybe he’s doing something correctly.

(Read the rest on ao3 here)

[cyhyr]

Whumpas In July: Secret

Fandom: Naruto

Rating: E

Pairing: Hatake Kakashi/Umino Iruka

WC: ~5910

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Notes: Sleep deprivation, dissociation, it-happens-in-a-dream domestic violence, blow jobs, hallucinations, stalking, night terrors, nightmares, therapy, mental health issues, lying, secrets, open ending, TBC

A/N: It's a day late, but it happened! I may have missed a tag or two, please let me know if you catch something I'm posting this and I'm very tired :(

A sequel to “Support”

For @whumpmasinjuly prompt list

Read on The Archive

~

Sitting against his new headboard, in his new bed, alone in his new house, Iruka tips his head back to the ceiling and sighs heavily through his nose. It’s late, and he has classes to teach in the morning, but gods he can’t sleep. He wants desperately to blame this bout of minor insomnia on Kakashi’s absence; his partner left a week and a half ago on a mission above Iruka's clearance, which can only mean S-rank. And yes, of course he’s worried, but Kakashi’s also still within the clocking estimate for the mission parameters, so he’s not… he’s not that worried. Kakashi’s the best for a reason. He was assigned to the mission for a reason.

That’s not why Iruka can’t sleep.

His hands rest on his thighs, lower back aching. He’s been sitting here, in this position, for hours. First he was reading, then he was meditating; now he’s… shit, he’s not sure, but he’s definitely keeping himself awake deliberately at this point.

Because every time he falls asleep, he sees Mizuki hovering over him again. And he can’t. He can’t sleep, knowing that that’s waiting for him in his dreams.

~

It started ten days ago—the same day Kakashi left for his mission, oddly enough—when he brought the mail in. He wasn’t expecting much; junk, new utility set-up, perhaps a polite correspondence from the principal mentioning his move. What he hadn’t expected was a letter from the Konoha prison.

At first he thought it was for the previous tenant, that they had failed to file the paperwork required to forward their mail in time and so the post office sent Iruka the wrong mail. A perfectly normal mistake. But. The letter was addressed to him. Umino Iruka. It even had the new address written out, not his old one; so it hadn’t been forwarded.

That was what made Iruka pause and his heart throb and his breath stutter. He hadn’t yet filled out the mail-forwarding paperwork either, a task he meant to do that night and file in the morning. No one besides the utilities and the Academy had his new address listed as official. The prison certainly didn’t.

He went inside and put his back against the door, locked it and set the wards, and only when he felt safe did he open the letter.

DID YOU REALLY THINK LEAVING WOULD RID YOU OF ME

Iruka dropped the paper and slid down the door. He blacked out.

~

“How is the new house?”

“I’m adjusting,” Iruka says. “It’s a lot more space. It’ll be better when Naruto comes home.”

“I understand Hatake-san is out of the village.”

Iruka nods.

“I also understand that you have the clearance to know the clocking estimate, but not the mission details.” Rikona holds up her hand to stop his question. “I don’t know about it either. You know more than I do, actually. Having once had Sandaime’s ear has put you in quite a unique position, hasn’t it?”

Iruka settles. “It does. Tsunade-sama also trusts me with a considerable amount of information well above my rank.”

“Do you feel that this is a source of anxiety for you?”

“No. I would worry more if I didn’t know.” Iruka scratches his scar with one finger. “I worry anyway, especially if the shinobi out on mission are former students of mine. But I think it would be worse if I didn’t have the clearance to check what they were going into.”

“Some of your students will be of age soon to be tapped for ANBU service,” Rikona prompts.

“I try not to think about that.”

“Your file says here you also were considered for service, should you advance in rank,” she leans her head into a propped hand, elbow balanced on the edge of her desk. “You could have met Hatake-san much earlier.”

“I’m not a good fit for ANBU, Rikona-sensei, and we both know that,” Iruka grins. “I’m… too soft.”

“Hmm. I don’t think that’s true. I think, maybe, you’re too human.”

“Too—?”

“ANBU, being the Hokage’s sharpest tools, have to separate themselves from their own humanity.” She smiles. “We’ve only been doing these sessions for about two months, but in my professional opinion, that separation would be particularly difficult for you.”

Iruka nods hesitantly. “I understand. I… I can, should a mission require it, but…”

“But that separation doesn’t come easy enough.” Rikona makes a note—a scribble, really—in the notes on her desk. “In our world, that weakness is pretty significant. But for your own profession, as a teacher of young people, that humanity is essential. Keep holding onto it.”

“Thank you,” Iruka nods. “I’ll certainly try.”

“We have five minutes left. Is there anything else you want to discuss quickly before we part for the week?”

Iruka thinks, briefly, about the letter in his genkan. He hasn’t been able to move it. It’s stuck under the edge of the table against the wall, one placed specifically for dropping keys and gloves and mail and hitai-ate onto when he gets home. The very edge of it laughs at him every time he leaves or enters his house.

“No. Nothing else comes to mind.”

Rikona nods. “Then I’ll see you next week, same time.”

“Thank you, Rikona-sensei.” He stands and bows, and then sees himself out.

~

He turns his face with the force of the slap—they learned that punches left bruises, but slaps only left red marks that faded by morning. His back meets the wall, the bookshelf, a picture frame; something crashes.

“Do you like making me mad Iruka?”

He’s pulled up by his shirt and slammed back into the wall again, this time the back of his head hits hard and he stands dazed for a moment. Mizuki cups his cheek, red and hot from the slap just a minute ago, and kisses him.

“I hate hurting you, but it seems like it’s the only way to make you listen.”

The kiss turns into a bite, Mizuki gnawing at his throat. He gasps, sobs, tries so hard to be quiet; they’re not in the bedroom yet why is Mizuki doing this they’re not in the bedroom yet—

“I give you all you could want, and you can’t even spare one evening for us to be alone?”

Mizuki won’t punch him in the face anymore; that doesn’t mean he won’t punch him elsewhere. His fist digs into Iruka’s stomach; he leans over, hugging his middle. He starts to slide down the wall at his back, the fabric of his shirt riding up as it scratches against the texture of old paint.

Mizuki halts him with a hand in his hair. He lets out an involuntary, soft cry.

“You only have me. Stop trying to replace me, so I won’t have to remind you who you belong to.”

Mizuki softens his voice, but tightens his hold on his hair.

“I don’t like hurting you, Iruka. But you make me so mad I can’t stand it. I’m the only one who can love you, okay?”

“Mizu—”

“I’ll be in the bedroom. Don’t make me wait too long.”

Then he lets go of his hair and Iruka slumps the rest of the way to the floor, drawing his knees up to his chest and burying his head in his arms. Gods what did he do to anger Mizuki so?

…

Iruka wakes with tears stuck to his cheeks and eyelashes, his mouth dry as his own attempts at baked goods, and a deep-set chill which no amount of tea and blankets will stave off.

He really hopes Kakashi comes home soon. This sleeping alone thing is bullshit.

~

Iruka doesn’t sleep for the rest of the weekend. On Sunday evening he fills out a request for a substitute and leaves it on the principal’s office door, and then heads back home. It’s the sloppiest form he’s ever filled out, but he needs to try and sleep. He’s hoping he’s exhausted enough, being awake for over forty hours with the aid of food pills and meditation, that he’ll sleep dreamlessly tonight and tomorrow.

And then he goes to unlock his door and a pair of arms encircle him, and a soft voice rumbles in his ear, “Hello, Love,” and fuck he’s glad his reflexes are shit right now because his instinct screams danger! but his heart cries Kakashi—

He slumps back into Kakashi’s arms, sighing. “Welcome home,” he murmurs.

“Iruka?”

“Hmm. Really tired.”

“Me too. Bed?”

“Just to sleep.”

“Of course.”

Kakashi walks them inside and sets the wards while Iruka drops his keys and vest and takes off his sandals. The letter glares up at him from under the table; he subtly toes it further underneath, so Kakashi doesn’t see it.

The man already has it out for Mizuki. This would just push him over the edge. Better not.

Warm hands slip his hitai-ate off his head and gently untie his hair. He hums, and leans into Kakashi’s chest beside him.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” he asks.

“I’m okay,” Iruka says. “Just having an… adjustment period. With the new place. Haven’t been sleeping well.”

“Ah. I understand.”

He takes Iruka’s hands and kisses his wrists. Just about a month and a half ago, they’d been torn up with rope burn from the three days he’d spent in captivity. Now, there are just a few pale scars there. Kakashi kisses them every chance he gets.

He pulls Iruka along to the bedroom. “Do you need to eat first?” Iruka asks.

Kakashi shakes his head. “I had a ration bar on the way home. I’ll be alright until morning.”

Iruka opens the door and leads the way in, turning to face Kakashi once the door is shut behind them. He brushes his fingers along his partner’s mask, asking, “Is this—?”

“Take it, Love.”

He wets his lips and pulls the fabric down, and gently thumbs at pale cheekbones, lips, the mark at the corner of Kakashi’s mouth. More than anything else, getting to bare Kakashi’s face feels so intimate, so charged. He kisses him softly, chastely; Kakashi holds him around his waist and walks them back to the bed.

They strip each other quickly, touches and kisses growing heated. “I thought we were just going to sleep?” Kakashi chuckles.

“I missed you,” Iruka murmurs, moving to trail kisses down his jaw and throat, pushing him to sit on the edge of the bed. He follows, dropping slowly to his knees and dragging kisses across the expanse of Kakashi’s pale chest. “Maybe I missed you too much,” he presses into Kakashi’s skin.

“Gods, Iruka, you—you don’t have to—oh, please,” Kakashi leans back on his palms, breath starting to come heavier. Iruka swirls his tongue around one nipple, bracing a hand on Kakashi’s lower back.

“I know I don’t have to,” Iruka sighs, licks his way to the other nipple and sucks harshly to pull a strangled gasp from his partner. “But I definitely want to, if it’s alright?”

“Yes. Yes, please, absolutely alright.”

He dips his head lower, nosing at Kakashi’s stomach and letting the man fall back onto the bed; first, to his elbows, then all the way flat on his back. He mouths around the base of Kakashi’s cock, breathing him in, feeling the lithe muscles of his thighs under his palms.

He’s still exhausted. But this. This he can stay awake for.

Iruka asks, lips against Kakashi’s reddened cock, “Can I put you in my mouth?”

“Please. Please, yes, yes, Ah—fuck, oh-oh shit—”

Normally, Iruka would simply slide Kakashi into his throat and hold him there, comfortably in his mouth, until Kakashi needs to come. Tonight, though… tonight he tries—more. He slides his lips down, down, down until they meet wiry curls, until the head of Kakashi’s cock, indeed, slips down his throat. And then. Then, he moves.

~

“Ah, yes, so nice. Perfect, Iruka; love you, love you, love—oh, oh shit, love what are you—OH GODS—”

Kakashi throws his fist into his mouth and bites down to keep from screaming as Iruka starts fucking his mouth on his cock, gliding up and down with spit-slicked lips and such warm, open, wet heat—it’s… it’s…

And then Iruka starts to speed up. He braces himself on Kakashi’s hips and bobs his head just out of Kakashi’s range of view—he could open the sharingan and see it perfectly but gods that would be cheating and he has no doubt in his mind that knowing he’s not being watched is actively helping Iruka avoid an episode so he won’t, he can’t. But oh, he wants.

“More. More, please. Whatever you can give me, please love,” Kakashi whines. “Fuck, Iruka.”

Iruka hums, tongues at him more, and pulls him into his throat to hold him for a moment. Breathes, in, out, in—out, and his mouth slides back up the shaft to the head. He stays there for a while, sucking and lapping at his slit and Kakashi pants heavily, reaching down with one hand blindly to touch Iruka’s hair. As Iruka begins to bob slowly again, Kakashi reaches even further to thumb at the corner of Iruka’s mouth, stretched around his cock. Iruka tips his head just slightly to the side, to lean into the touch.

“Can I—” Kakashi licks his lips, his breath hitching, “Can I use the g-word tonight?”

Iruka taps his hip… and then taps it again.

Kakashi nods. “Okay. Okay, Gods, but. Just. Oh. Fuck. Amazing. Literally Breathtaking, Iruka fu-uck.”

Iruka hums along his length; it sounds almost like a laugh.

“I’m. I need to. Love, please, I—”

He picks up his rhythm, faster now. His hand comes into play, touching his thighs and cupping his balls and fuck; his other hand holds the base of his cock and together with his mouth, Iruka—“Iruka, oh just-just like that please.” He’s not going to last. Fuck, he never lasts long with Iruka but this… this is turning out to be embarrassingly short.

“I’m gonna come. I’m gonna. Please. Iruka, Love, I know you don’t like—oh-oh-aah—like to swallow, but-but can I come in your mouth? Please, please don’t stop, please,” Kakashi knows he’s practically sobbing, but it’s staggering how wonderful this is, and he wants to come so bad but he’ll hold back until he has Iruka’s permission.

One tap on his hip. He waits. And waits. No… no second tap.

One tap means yes.

One tap means yes.

“Oh, fuck, fuck, oh yes, Iruka—!”

~

The flood of come in his mouth, while he is prepared for it, is still extremely unpleasant. He holds Kakashi’s dick as it pulses, until his mouth is full, and then he quickly pulls off and continues getting him off with his hand. He turns his head aside, pulls close a box of tissues from under his nightstand, grabs a handful, and spits. Once his mouth is clear, he pulls another few tissues from the box and starts cleaning Kakashi up.

He made quite the mess. Iruka smiles. His chest is heaving through his glow, both eyes gently closed. Iruka wipes away come from his groin and off his softening cock, also sopping up a bit that landed on his stomach. He bends over and presses a kiss to Kakashi’s navel, and says, “Be right back.”

Kakashi hums in response.

Iruka chuckles, and leaves for the bathroom. Tissues are fine to get rid of much of the mess, but it won’t clean up the residue. Plus, even if he didn’t just have come in his mouth, he’d have to brush his teeth.

He brushes quickly, washes his face, and as he lifts his head to look in the mirror—his heart stops.

“Sucking someone else off doesn’t mean I don’t still own you.”

Iruka turns, arm tight in a fist and aimed for the throat. But—all he hits is air.

All he hits…

Oh.

Iruka sags back against the vanity. He’s gone so long without sleep he’s hallucinating. He thought he saw—Mizuki—

A hand shoves the bathroom door open, Kakashi there with sharingan open and a kunai in hand. He takes in the room quickly, and then steps in and stands in front of Iruka. “I felt killing intent,” he says. “Are you okay?”

Iruka, through a rapidly drying mouth, mutters, “Just. I think I really need to get some sleep. Sorry. Thanks for coming and checking on me.”

Kakashi slowly crosses the bathroom to him, and presses a kiss to his forehead; he says, “If you’re sure,” and then leads them out.

Iruka fights the chill that runs down his spine as he turns off the light. He lays down, rests his head on Kakashi’s shoulder, and breathes in his partner’s comforting scent. All the while, he accepts being bundled in lithe arms and a thin blanket.

“Sure I can’t reciprocate?” Kakashi asks, voice hopeful.

“Not tonight,” Iruka mutters, pressing a kiss to Kakashi’s collarbone.

Maybe, if I can get some sleep… soon

He closes his eyes and lets his breath even out.

~

Kakashi wakes to someone flaring their chakra—he’s instantly alert and hovering protectively over Iruka, reaching for the same kunai he had grabbed earlier, kept at the edge of the mattress. He takes in the room quickly, searching for the threat… and finding none.

Below him, Iruka whimpers in his sleep, and his chakra flares. Kakashi sets the kunai down and eases himself back to Iruka’s side. A glance at the alarm clock shows that they’d barely been asleep for an hour. There are tears gathering at the corners of his eyes; Kakashi carefully brushes them away.

“I’m here, love,” he murmurs. “It’s just a dream.”

He lays an arm over Iruka’s waist to draw him closer—

Iruka, still asleep, pushes back. He thrashes, grits his teeth and nearly screams; Kakashi takes his wrists to keep Iruka from hitting him.

“Iruka, dear, wake up,” he tries again. Iruka, now on his back with Kakashi hovering over him again, his wrists pinned by his head, tosses his head side to side, crying in his sleep. It makes Kakashi’s chest hurt to see his partner so scared, so pained. “Love, please; it’s just a dream, shh, I’ve got you, I’ve got you—”

Iruka’s chakra flares dangerously, like it does when he’s about to activate a seal. But there’s no…

That’s never stopped him before.

Kakashi flickers away from Iruka, across the room, landing in front of the closet in a crouch. Just in time, it seems—the modified barrier seal pops into place where he had just been. The seal hangs, empty, like a bubble, for two or three seconds; and then flickers away once it registers the lack of a captured chakra signature.

Iruka’s breath stutters from the bed and the crying quiets; Kakashi approaches carefully. His hands are covering his face, and he’s turned onto his side, curled gently in Kakashi’s direction.

“Iruka?”

He sniffles, curls tighter. “I’m sorry,” he says.

“Are you awake?”

Iruka nods. “Gods, I hope I am.”

Kakashi frowns. “Have you been having night terrors like this since you moved in?”

Iruka doesn’t answer immediately, but eventually shrugs. He takes his hands away from his face. “Not always… like that. Sometimes I remember the dreams. Those times are worse, honestly.”

“You don’t remember what happened just now?”

Iruka shakes his head. “Just the fear. The horrible, overwhelming fear.”

Kakashi sits on the bed beside Iruka and lays a hand on his shoulder. “What do you dream about, when you remember?”

“I… Kakashi, I’m just tired, can we do this tomorrow?”

“Not if you’re just going to have another nightmare or night terror as soon as you fall back asleep.” Kakashi usually wouldn’t press, but that… that honestly shook him a bit, seeing Iruka in the throes of his night terror. Talking about it won’t make it magically go away, but maybe Kakashi can help ease his mind a little.

Iruka sighs. “It’s so stupid.”

“Love.”

“Just. It’s Sato, okay? I don’t know, a change of scenery and now I’m just. Thinking about it again.”

Kakashi glowers. He leans down and presses a harsh kiss to Iruka’s hair, his temple, gently nudges him to his back so he can reach the rest of his jaw and face. “We never have to worry about that again.”

“I know.”

“I’ll never let that happen to you again.”

“Don’t promise me that,” Iruka says. “You can’t promise me that.”

“I’ll promise you what I need to to make you feel safe.”

“Promise to try your best. Promise to do everything you can.” Iruka sniffles, and wipes at his face, and then with his other hand he carefully cups Kakashi’s face. “I love you, but you can’t always be at my side. You can’t promise to keep me perfectly safe; that’s not how the world works.”

Kakashi leans into Iruka’s hand, turns his face and kisses his palm. “I’ll keep you in one of your own barrier seals if I have to,” Kakashi whispers with a grin, knowing Iruka will hear the humor in his voice.

Iruka, indeed, chuckles. “If you can even use them.” He tugs on Kakashi’s hand, and Kakashi comes back to lay down next to him. “I don’t remember having more than one dream each night,” he mutters. “We should be okay for the rest of the night.”

Kakashi hums and leans his head on Iruka’s chest. His pulse is finally settling down. He closes his eyes again and falls back asleep to Iruka pushing fingers through his hair.

~

Iruka gets the mail again the next day, finally feeling mildly refreshed after sleeping most of the night. Kakashi left before he was supposed to leave for school, so he didn’t have to explain himself at least. There’s only one letter in his box, unmarked with a forwarding stamp and in a standard white envelope, not the blue ones in which utility bills are sent. It’s been twelve days in this new place; maybe it’s from his landlady. She mentioned sending her tenants bills for rent around mid-month, to remind them to pay by the first.

It’s not.

He gets inside, and the letter is return-addressed from the Konoha prison. Iruka leans his back against a wall and scrubs a hand down his face. Looks at the letter in his hand, then to the ceiling, and back to the letter.

He puts it down on the kitchen table. This is going to need some pre-emptive cleaning.

After the kotatsu has been vacuumed and the quilt changed, all the floors swept and mopped, and every piece of wooden furniture Iruka owns has been polished—only then does he dare look at the contents of the letter, undoubtedly from Mizuki.

He takes it in quickly. And then he drops the paper and slides back out of his chair and turns to tuck his face into the sink to throw up.

Mizuki wants him to visit. For a conjugal visit, specifically.

He can’t… he can’t keep this to himself now.

He rinses his mouth, gathers his wits and the letter, and then also grabs the letter from under the table in the genkan. He takes his time putting his vest and hitai-ate on.

Iruka heaves a sigh, and leaves his home.

Rikona-sensei said he can visit anytime in an emergency. This… this feels like an emergency. He feels floaty and loose, like he could slip away and dissociate at any time. He hopes he makes it to the hospital first.

~

Kakashi is just about to take the mission scroll from Tsunade when a rapid, unrepentant knocking comes on the office doors. Tsunade motions for Shizune to let whoever it is in, and keeps holding the scroll out for Kakashi regardless.

“My apologies, Tsunade-sama,” the hospital messenger says, bowing deeply. Then, she turns to Kakashi and says, “I have a message for you, Kakashi-san.”

Kakashi turns and gives the messenger his attention, leaving the scroll hanging from Tsunade’s fingers. “Go ahead.”

“As of 14:21 today, Umino Iruka has checked himself into mental health crisis care with Rikona-sensei. He’s listed you as his emergency contact for the duration of his stay.”

Kakashi dropped his hand away from the scroll. “I’m needed elsewhere,” he says, and waits only until Tsunade gives him a single nod before jumping out of the window and bounding across the village to the hospital.

What the fuck happened between last night and this afternoon that Iruka felt the need to-to—

He should have stayed. He should have slept in, should have held him longer, tighter. Whatever happened, Kakashi could have stopped it. Could have prevented it.

...Right?

He stops at the front doors and walks in, waving to the nurses at the administration desk while he moves to the stairs. Rikona-sensei’s office is on the third floor, along with the rest of the mental health clinic.

When he gets there, it’s quiet. Not many people use the mental health services the village has, himself included. But there are a smattering of civilians, and a single pre-teen genin bouncing her knee anxiously while she sits in a corner. The admission desk has a receptionist filing paperwork in manila folders. Kakashi taps on the desk to get her attention.

“Do you have an appointment?” she asks.

“No,” he says, “I’m here to see Rikona-sensei about my partner, Umino—”

“Rikona-sensei is in crisis management right now and is unreachable,” the receptionist drawls. “If you want to leave a message I’ll see that she gets it as soon as she’s available.”

“Miss.”

“Hmm?”

“Please look at me.”

She rolls her eyes behind her glasses, tosses pale blonde hair back over her shoulder, and picks up her chin to finally look at him. Her eyes bulge and her mouth drops open—just a bit, just enough to notice.

“Hatake-sama,” she starts, but he cuts her off.

“I’m here. To see my partner, Umino Iruka. He’s with Rikona-sensei. Please, could you point me in the right direction, that I could go see him?”

She visibly collects herself, and then says, “I’m very sorry, Hatake-sama. But Umino-sensei is in crisis. That means he can’t be disturbed until Rikona-sensei gives him a clean bill of health, or unless the Hokage overrides and calls him to service.” She ducks her head and pulls out a folder, opening and seeming to reference it. “He did list you as an emergency contact, so if his health takes a turn for the worse you’ll be notified, and if he becomes unable to make decisions regarding his own care you’ll be brought in to conference with Rikona-sensei to decide the direction of his treatment. Until then, the best thing you can do is be patient and wait for a messenger.”

Kakashi sighs. It was worth a shot.

He shrugs, and turns away. He takes a careful, chakra-enhanced sniff; Iruka’s scent is faint, but here, and tinged with fear-sweat. Kakashi leaves the clinic waiting room like he’s going to follow the receptionist’s instructions, and once he’s in the hallway he ducks out a window and walks along the outside of the building until he comes to the window where Iruka’s scent is strongest.

He stays beside it, not daring to look inside yet. The fear-scent lingers in the air here. Rikona must have aired out the room recently.

Kakashi flares his chakra, knowing that Iruka will feel it.

…

And then a small flicker comes back in return, and Kakashi can breathe easy again.

~

“I need. I need to know how he found me.”

“As soon as you’re calm, I will find that out for you,” Rikona says.

She closes the window and sits back down beside him. He'd needed air flow just a minute ago, but now that the panic threat has passed, he asked her to close it again.

He should have grabbed his fūinjutsu kit before leaving the house. He needs to seal the room.

“I am as calm as I'm going to get,” Iruka says.

“You have been having a moderate anxiety attack since we settled in this room. You are safe here.”

“I was supposed to be safe at home!”

“Iruka-sensei, please. I understand your frustration, but yelling is only going to work yourself up even more. You need to settle yourself.”

“When can I see Kakashi?”

“When you’re out of crisis.”

Iruka gets up and paces the width of the small office. “What if. What if he never stopped.”

“Iruka—”

“What if he has other people following me, watching me. ‘Did you really think leaving would rid you of me.’ Of course not,” Iruka laughs. “Of course he wouldn’t let me just-just move—”

“Mizuki is in prison. He has had no control over you for years, if he ever had any at all,” Rikona says. “Moving was a choice you made, not only to get away from the memories of Mizuki in your old apartment, but there were other reasons, were there not?”

Iruka pants, his rant having been halted but his heart still pounding. He stops his pacing and taps his fingers against crossed arms. “I… yeah, but—”

“What were those reasons?”

“I really don’t—”

“Saying them aloud again would be beneficial. Please, sit. Fidget, if you must. But sit.”

Iruka takes the other chair and faces the window. Drumming his fingers along his arm and fighting back a flush, he says, “Naruto is going to need a bigger room when he comes home.”

“That’s right. What else?”

“Kakashi likes to cook, and my old kitchen wasn’t… he commented that it didn’t have a lot of counter space.”

“And the new house, you made sure it has plenty of space in the kitchen for your partner.”

“He loves the new kitchen,” Iruka says.

“Anything else?”

“The yard.” Iruka stops fidgeting, shifting forward to put his elbows on his knees. “Kakashi’s ninken ran laps around it the first day for three hours. The whole pack. They’re so sweet. You know they call me ‘Boss’s Boss’?”

Rikona laughs. “High praise, I’m sure.”

“Kakashi hates it,” Iruka chuckles along softly. “He was like, ‘My boss is the Hokage?!’ and Pakkun—he’s the pack beta, I think?—he says, ‘yeah, for missions. At home, Sensei’s Boss.’”

Rikona reaches out for his wrist. He lets her touch his pulse quietly for a few seconds. She smiles.

“Keep going. You’re doing great.”

Iruka leaves his hand palm up on his lap within easy reach. With his other hand he rubs at his scar. “It just… it felt like the time. I’d been in that apartment since after the Kyūbi attack. Mizuki moved out as soon as he could, but I… I stayed. I liked the stability. Until I was chūnin it was subsidized by the village, so I could spend my money how I needed instead of worrying about rent. Now, though…”

“Now?”

Iruka sucks in a breath. “Now I’m moving forward. I have Naruto when he comes home, and I have a place for him when he gets here. And… and if I’m ever ready to take the step to ask Kakashi to move in with me, I’ve already secured a house that I know he likes.”

“You’re providing for your future. That’s amazing progress.”

“But Mizuki—”

“Is behind bars in the village prison. He is not a threat.” Rikona takes his wrist again, frowns, and says, “I want you to say that aloud for me.”

“He sent me letters. He knows where I live. The prison shouldn’t have been updated on my address change before the post office—”

“Deep breaths. I understand your concern, and I will help you figure out what has happened. But Mizuki is not a threat. He is in prison. I want you to say that.”

Iruka hugs himself with his free arm. “Mizuki is not a threat. He’s in prison.”

“Can you trust in our system?”

“Yes, but—”

A brief flare of chakra interrupts his thought. He knows that chakra. He fights the smile that tries to creep onto his face.

“But?”

Kakashi

He can see Kakashi once he’s out of crisis

“Yes, I’m sorry.” He flickers his chakra, directing it to the window. “I’m. Yes. Okay. Please, just… I need to know how he found me.”

Rikona nods, and takes his wrist again. She smiles. “I’m going to get you some medicine, to help keep you relaxed. And then we’ll go see Tsunade-sama.”

She leaves and locks the door behind her from the outside, like he’s not a shinobi and doesn’t know how to pick a lock. Once she’s gone, he darts over to the window and opens it. He sticks his head out and looks to each side, but Kakashi’s not—

“Hello, Love.”

He smiles and turns his face skywards. Kakashi holds himself to the hospital wall with one hand and both feet, and then eases his way down to the open windowsill and perches on the edge. Iruka backs up and makes room, but doesn’t let Kakashi come into the office.

“Are you alright?” Kakashi asks.

Iruka’s instinct is to say that he’s fine, and he opens his mouth to say it; but a glance at the deeply worried look in Kakashi’s eye changes his mind. “Not… no.”

“Can I do anything to help?”

“Don’t do anything rash?”

“Don’t do… Iruka, what happened?” Kakashi's eye turns dark and he lifts his palm to press along Iruka’s cheek.

He shakes his head. “Please, just—”

“No, Iruka.”

He is stopped, both of Kakashi’s hands on his face now.

“You. You’re in crisis management. I’m not even supposed to be here, not even allowed to see you yet. You don’t—you don’t get to just tell me to hold off, or stay back. I’m here to help you. Please, gods, let me help.”

Did you really think leaving would rid you of me

Sucking someone else off doesn't mean I don’t still own you

…Conjugal visit…

“I need to do this myself, Kakashi,” Iruka murmurs. He leans forward to press their foreheads together and continues, “Just keep… keep being steady for me. I need you to be a safe, sturdy place for me to fall in case this all goes wrong.”

Kakashi whines softly. “I don’t like it. I want to help.”

“You are helping.”

“More. I need to help you more.”

“Kiss me?”

Kakashi doesn’t take down his mask, but presses their lips together anyway. Iruka melts into the kiss regardless, and then trails his mouth up to Kakashi’s eye and kisses his brow.

“Please trust me. I’ll tell you everything once it’s over.”

“I do trust you.” Kakashi sighs. “Please, though. If you need me, send for me. I’m going to stay in the village until you’re okay.”

Iruka nudges their noses together. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” He turns to the door. “Rikona-sensei is coming back. I have to go.”

“Water my plants for me?”

“Of course, Love.” Kakashi leans in and kisses him once more, and then falls off of the windowsill. Iruka watches him go, crossing his arms and resting his shoulder against the open window.

The office door opens and Rikona comes in. In one hand she holds a cup of water, and in the other a small orange pill. “Are you ready, Iruka-sensei?”

He sighs quietly, and closes the window, then turns to her. He takes the pill, drinks the entire cup of water, and then sighs, “Yes. Lead the way, please.”

[shedreamsofstars]

our union is a secret i’m hoping, dreaming, lying to keep - chapter four

you’ve all heard of ‘pretending to be married when you’re not’, now get ready for ‘actually married but pretending you’re not’

When Tohru and Kyo accidentally find themselves married, they must keep their new union a secret from their friends and family. That’s easier said than done when you’re both newlywed dorks who just want to spend some quality time with one another whilst said friends and family are always one step away from discovering the truth.

Start from the beginning | Previous chapter | Next chapter

"Kyo-kun! Kyo-kun, wake up!"

The orange haired boy groaned sleepily as someone shook his shoulders gently, a familiar panicked voice filling his ears. He opened his eyes lazily, his hazy vision catching vividly on the first thing he saw.

Tohru.

He smiled instinctively, reaching up to cup her cold cheek with his hand. "Tohru?" he asked, noticing the panic in her eyes as he sat up quickly. "What's wrong?"

"I'm so sorry to wake you like this but … you have work soon but your alarm didn't go off," she said apologetically, leaning into his touch as he let his fingers stroke her cheek.

"Oh, that," he said with a tired yawn, letting himself fall back onto his elbows. It still felt strange for him to sleep in a bed – it was somehow always too soft for his liking – but he had no plans to make Tohru sleep on a futon.

She wouldn't complain, but he wanted her to be as comfortable as possible. And he didn't have the strength or the heart to keep away from her, so he gladly put up with the extra comfort. Even if it did make him a groggy mess every morning.

"I guess in all the excitement of yesterday, I must have forgotten to tell you."

"Tell me what?"

"I called Sensei at the dojo and explained to him what had happened. He allowed me to take the week off work, and I swore him to secrecy, so we don't need to worry about anyone else finding out or anything."

"You really took the week off?" Tohru squeaked, a note of happiness slipping into her tone.

"Yeah," he said, rubbing the back of his head bashfully. "Since we're newlyweds and all, I guess I wanted to spend this time with you. It's not a proper honeymoon but at least we'll be together."

Despite the ridiculousness of their situation, the timing really couldn't have been more perfect. Tohru hadn't received a job offer yet, and he had accrued some holiday from his past two months at the dojo. So for the next week at least, he and Tohru would be able to spend some quality time together.

"That's wonderful Kyo-kun!" Tohru said excitedly, her voice rising several octaves with every word. He smiled without reserve, getting the exact reaction out of his wife as he had hoped for as she fell into him.

Her arms wrapped around his middle in a tight hug as she squealed words he had no hope of ever deciphering. He gazed at her in quiet contentment as she rested her chin on his chest and looked up at him, her eyes bright with excitement.

"So," he said softly, running a hand through her hair. "What do you want to do this week?"

"I just want to spend all my time with you," she said, the smile on her face refusing to budge.

"That's reassuring since we'll be spending the rest of our lives together but … maybe you could be a little more specific? Besides, I plan to spend so much time with you that you'll be sick of my face by the end of it."

Tohru sat up straight, her face scrunching adorably. "I could never be sick of you. And you have the most wonderful face." Kyo scrunched up his own face to match hers and Tohru giggled. "It's even more wonderful when you do that."

"So, about where you want to go?" he prompted again.

"Well …" Tohru hummed, considering their options carefully. Kyo knew the exact moment she figured out what she wanted. Her eyes lit up with a smile before it found its way to her lips and she let out an unexpected gasp. "Oh, I know the perfect place! We should go to-"

The rest of her sentence was lost to him as he pulled her down and kissed the words away before she could voice them. Her lips were as soft and welcoming as a lazy summer's day and he pulled away from her before he lost himself in the daydream of her; but not before stealing several light pecks for good measure.

"Hey, you didn't let me finish," Tohru said quietly, her voice still a little distracted from their kiss.

"I know that face," he replied, flicking her nose gently. "You want to go to the beach, don't you?"

"I do, but … how did you know that?"

"It doesn't matter," he replied, refusing to give up all his secrets. "But if that's what you want, then that's where we'll go. I'll call Hatori and see if we can get one of the Sohma houses."

"Really!?"

"Yes, really," he chuckled. "Uh, hey. Where are you going?" he asked as she slid out of his reach and hopped off the bed, taking all the warmth with her.

"To start packing," Tohru called over her shoulder. "We're going to the beach Kyo-kun! This is going to be so much fun!"

"Yeah, it is," Kyo replied, letting his gaze linger on her for a moment.

A few hours and a train journey filled with Tohru's bubbly babbling later, the pair found themselves walking along the beachfront hand-in-hand. They'd already dropped their bags off at the house to settle in and were now enjoying the rest of their day in peace.

"You're smiling an awful lot," Kyo pointed out as yet another passer-by eyed them endearingly. Kyo couldn't even bring himself to care that people were staring at them. He was too enchanted by the girl beside him to be bothered by anything else.

"Oh," she said in surprise. "I guess I keep doing it without realising."

Kyo watched on in amusement as she tried to keep a straight face for a moment. As expected, she was spectacularly terrible at it, the edges of a smile lingering on her mouth as she tried and failed to fight it off.

Her smile was daylight incarnate; it couldn't be stopped by anything, not even her own sheer willpower.

"Hey Tohru," Kyo said, attempting to conceal his own grin. "I didn't point it out to be mean or so that you'd stop. You never have to stop yourself from smiling."

"Oh good," she said with an exhaustive sigh. "That was really hard. I kept trying to make it go away, and I even tried thinking of things to make me sad, but it didn't work. I kept seeing you out of the corner of my eye and the smile kept coming back."

Kyo rolled his eyes lovingly, knocking her gently with his shoulder. "I'm glad we're not seeing anyone we know anytime soon," he mused. "They'd take one look at your goofy grin and know something was up."

"Yeah," she agreed, her dreamy smile back in place as she pressed herself closer to Kyo. "They definitely would."

"Should we go and build that sandcastle you wanted?" he asked, noticing that the tide had gone out a little, leaving several glittering shells in its wake.

"Absolutely!" she said, pulling him towards the sand without hesitation with all the girlish delight one would expect from a child.

Despite their efforts, Kyo and Tohru's sandcastle didn't look much better than the one they had made the last time they were out here. As Kyo gazed back at it from the water's edge, it still looked more like a sand igloo than a palace of any sort. Hopefully the shells they were collecting would spruce up its appearance a little bit.

Kyo started with a hiss as the cold surf rushed over his feet, his toes sinking into the wet sand uncomfortably. He hadn't intended to come this close to the water in their search, but Tohru was adamant that the best shells were always the ones freshly washed up, and so he had followed her closer and closer to the sea.

His wife was currently standing knee deep in the salty water, crouching occasionally to sift through the water in search of shells whilst he stood nearby, a bucket of their spoils clutched in his hand.

"Look at this one, Kyo-kun!" Tohru shouted, and Kyo shielded his eyes from the low sun as she held her hand up towards the sky. Despite his good eyesight, all he could make out was a dark shadow clutched in her palm as she bounded over to him.

"Wait, where are you going?" he shouted after her as she completely bypassed him and the bucket in his hands, rushing straight towards the sandcastle instead.

"You have to see it on top!"

He followed after her, dropping the bucket of shells in the sand beside their castle before doing the same with himself. He watched silently as Tohru positioned the shell she'd found on the very tip of their sandcastle, looking intensely proud of herself as she turned to him with a soft 'ta-da!'.

The white shell she'd found sat at the very tip of the sand pile, spiralling towards the sky with speckles in various shades of orange decorating its exterior. "It's looks great," he commented. "Really draws the attention away from … all the rest of it," he added with a chuckle, the girl squeaking in protest before attempting to tackle him with one of her infamous hugs.

He dodged her with a practiced ease, and she missed him completely, toppling to the soft sand in a fit of giggles. "You're not getting any better at that you know, I can see you coming from a mile off," he pointed out as she crawled over to him and reached for some shells in the bucket.

"I'll just have to practice harder," she replied, her eyes reflecting the sun behind him. "Then I'll be able to hug you whenever I want!"

"You can already do that, you know. You don't need to learn how to be stealthy to do it." She didn't respond, and it wasn't until he noticed her busying herself with placing the remaining shells that he realised it was because she was flustered. Maybe now was a good time to tell her, he wondered.

He moved to kneel beside her, letting his hand drift over hers deliberately as he readjusted one of the shells. He saw her watching him from the side of his eye, but he took a lesson from her and occupied his attention by adding to the ring of shells at the base of the castle. "I never told you Tohru, but …"

He stopped, shaking his head as the words he wanted to say refused to find purchase in his mouth. Tohru was watching him curiously, her hand curled tightly by her chest. She didn't normally do that unless she was nervous, and Kyo knew he had to say something to stop her from panicking, even if it wasn't what he'd originally intended.

"I could teach you to be stealthier," he declared after a moment, finally letting himself meet her eyes. "

"That would be nice," she replied softly, but her smile slipped a little as she spoke. She knew him too well to not notice he'd changed the topic, but he was grateful that she didn't push him on it. Maybe he could try and tell her what he really wanted to later, they were going to be here for a few more days after all.

Even still, he didn't like that she'd be dwelling on his unsaid words for the rest of the night. He needed something to distract and lift her spirits, and he knew just the thing. As she reached for another shell, Kyo grabbed the bucket and stood up.

"We've still got loads left Kyo-kun, we don't need any more shells yet," Tohru said, watching him curiously as he shook the bucket in her direction. The contents rattled against each other enticingly but as she went to reach for one again, he lifted it clean out of her reach.

"Uh-uh. You don't get this back until I know for sure just how terribly you can throw a punch. I can't teach you to be stealthy without knowing," he said with a mischievous grin.

"Huh," she said, her eyes wide with alarm.

"Come on. You can either punch me, or you can try and take the bucket back yourself," he said, grinning as Tohru hesitantly got to her feet. With every step she took towards him, Kyo lifted the bucket higher into the air.

He knew that she was too short to ever be able reach it, but he also knew she was too stubborn not to try anyway.

"So which is it?" he asked as she stood in front of him, her hands cradled in front of her. He watched as her brows slipped into a determined frown. She jumped for the bucket, her fingers catching nothing but empty air as her feet landed on the sand again.

She tried a couple more times, and Kyo enjoyed himself entirely too much every time she muttered under her breath when he lowered the bucket only to raise it out of reach as she jumped for it.

"Okay, you win Kyo-kun. I'm never going to be able to reach it," she said breathlessly, collapsing against him and clinging onto his shirt.

He raised a single eyebrow. "Does that mean you're going to punch me?"

She shook her head vehemently as she turned out towards the ocean. "What if I actually hurt you?"

"You're so puny, do you really think you'll be able to?" he said, his tone softening as he finally relented and handed her the bucket of seashells. He'd expected her to return to her sandcastle project, but instead, Tohru placed the bucket on the floor and reached for his hands.

"Oh no, I'm so sorry Kyo-kun!"

"Huh. You're sorry for not punching me?" he asked, suddenly confused by where Tohru's thoughts had drifted.

"No, not that. The days almost over and we haven't done a single thing of your choice yet," she said sadly.

"Oh, is that all," he replied with a soft chuckle. "I'm having fun just being with you, so you don't need to worry about that."

"Are you sure?" she asked, the worry still evident on her face. Kyo sighed and cupped her face in his hands, resting his forehead against hers.

"Yes," he reassured her. "Yes, I'm sure."

"You know, we still have a little time before the sun goes down. Is there anything you'd like to do?" she asked, her voice so quiet that Kyo wondered whether she was whispering. He glanced out at the ocean behind him, the sky a kaleidoscope of oranges and pinks as the sun began to set over the dark waves.

"Actually, there's one thing I'd like to do," he said, letting out a quiet breath before turning back to an expectant Tohru.

"Anything."

Kyo dropped to the sand and tugged Tohru down with him, guiding her into the space between his legs so they faced the sea and the sunset beyond.

"This," he said softly, holding her close and resting his chin against her shoulder. "I just want to do this." A content smile settled onto his lips as Tohru entangled their fingers and the pair settled into a comfortable quiet as the world drifted into darkness around them.

... xxx ...

thanks so much for reading! i know there was no sohma interference in this one but i just really wanted kyo and tohru to have a cute moment at the beach before a certain someone showed up to rain on their parade lol. i hope it wasn’t too boring for you

if you fancy talking kyoru and fruits basket with other fans, join us in the kyoru discord server, we’d love to see you there! (link below)

[the-hilda-librarians-wife]

Family Fights - Chapter Sixteen

Summary:  Even the strongest bond, the most loving family, can be broken by nightmares, and the librarian is soon to learn this. As she learns sinister things about a person who she had thought was lost forever, she realizes she will need the help of another witch to get her family back.

Notes: Guess who’s once again posting fanfic during exams week

(chpt1) (chpt2) (chpt3) (chpt4) (chpt5) (chpt6) (chpt7) (chpt8) (chpt9) (chpt10) (chpt11) (chpt12) (chpt13) (chpt14) (chpt15) (chpt16)

Five months later

The air of the woods hummed with their magic.

The birds had all flown away as soon as they began their practice, except for a handful of owls and ravens, who looked at them as though they knew perfectly what they were doing. Other than their hushed incantations and the crackle of their spells, silence filled the forest. Even the bugs sat still to watch the witches.

Dueling was a great way to improve her control and strengthen her, Hilda had found. So every other Saturday, instead of an usual lesson, the librarian would take her all the way to the forest for them to practice. After all, it was way more recluse than any park in Trolberg, and they couldn’t very well duel inside the library or Maven’s house. Besides, Woodman liked to come and watch them sometimes.

“Be more conscious of how the blow is going to hit me!” Maven advised after the spell that her apprentice had shot at her was quickly absorbed by her wards. “But you’re doing very good in the pronunciation! Your spells are coming out great.”

Hilda smiled and nodded. Getting ready for the spell that the librarian would cast, she squinted at the book which she held on her left hand. Though her mentor was experienced enough that she didn’t need to say the words out loud for spells like these, let alone consult a spell book, Hilda was still working with verbal incantations. With her other hand, she held her wand, which she used to strengthen her shield shield in case she couldn’t cast the counter spell in time.

Purple sparks flew off of the librarian’s wand like fireworks, and in response Hilda repeated one of her favorite incantations, gronn barriere beskytter meg, which made a gigantic flower appear in front of her like a floating barrier. The sparks completely destroyed it, but they didn’t reach Hilda’s shield.

“That worked.” Maven said as she walked closer. “But the spell I shot you was easily redirectable. Your magic would have been better used if you had channeled the spell and shot it back at me. This way, you just spent your energy in a barrier that can’t serve you anymore.”

When she was close enough, she looked for a specific page in Hilda’s book, reaching the beginning of another section of spells.

“Any of these would have been good. Do you want us to study them next?”

“Yes, that sounds good!”

“Great.” Returning to her position a few meters in front of her student, the librarian came back to defence stance. “Oh, and since it was a fire spell, it would have gone even better if you returned it with a water one. You are doing amazing with earth spells, and it’s perfect that you’re developing your strengths, but I don’t want you to get too dependent on one element, okay?”

Hilda could not help but look down at her bare feet. For their duels, she always chose to be leave her boots at the side. It helped her feel grounded at all times, as well as draw energy from the earth, but she knew that she had to learn how to be ready to cast on any circumstances. Maven allowed her to be barefoot, but she made sure Hilda understood that she should not continue like that when she got more skilled.

They had been dueling for some time, sending spells back and forth between each other since the sun had been high in the sky, so Hilda knew this would probably be one of the last times she’d cast before they called Johanna’s to give them a ride back home. As such, she wanted to finish off with something more elaborate. There was this one spell that she’d been itching to try, especially since she suspected that Maven would love it, so she decided to cast it.

“Falske udode angrep.” She pronounced the words carefully, paying attention to how they felt in her mouth; the feeling you got from things was very important in witchcraft. As she did so, she motioned her wand to make a coffin shape in the air, and in each of the six points where two lines met a glow of spectral light gathered.

“Falske udode angrep.” Hilda repeated, and felt herself surrendering to the spell. She was swaying almost imperceptibly from side to side as her magic worked to turn the balls of light into skulls, and her eyes were closed in both peace and concentration.

As she kept chanting the incantation, the skulls advanced towards the librarian, who gasped and twirled her wand. A golden fox rose from it, gleaming from the magic it was made of. Ferociously, it attacked the skulls as they came, but it wasn’t quick enough to stop all of them. Maven then resorted to throwing strong blasts of fire at the attackers, however she found that they were way too strong to be taken down that way, being continuously fed by Hilda’s magic.

Two of them were already working on destroying her personal shield when she realized, feeling both stunned and proud, that she’d have to use an advanced spell to beat off the energy creatures that Hilda had cast. Lifting her wand high above her head, its tip pointing at the sky, she stomped her foot and proclaimed the incantation loudly.

“Livets bolger beskytter denne manebundne sjelen!”

As soon as she said the last word, purple waves began flowing from her wand, reminiscent of the movement in a pond after a rock was thrown in it. The skulls that had remained emitted a piercing screech as they died out, turning into thick, black goo that was absorbed by the ground, and the waves made even the branches of the trees around them shake.

Maven took a deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment to collect herself. She’d never even used that spell outside of training battles with her mother, and it used up a lot of her energy. Not only that, but her wards were also damaged from Hilda’s attack. She’d have to put them up again later.

She was still panting, completely stupefied by the strength of the spell Hilda had managed to cast, when she realized that the girl must be feeling its effects too, especially since Maven had thrown another powerful charm at her. Running to her student, the librarian tuned in into her energy and realized that her wards were marred as well.

“Hilda, how are you feeling?” She asked urgently, kneeling down in front of the girl and putting her hands on her shoulders.

“Whoa! I feel… kind of surprised, to be honest. I didn’t know that would work so well!”

“You are okay, then?”

“Yes, of course. Kind of tired, actually, like I’ve just run a lot, but I’m fine.” When she came to think of it, her heart was beating madly, and she felt like she could fall asleep any time, but it was nothing that justified the look of shocked wonder that the librarian had on her eyes. After a moment, during which Maven seemed to be deep in thought, she stood up without taking her hands from Hilda’s shoulders.

“That was a very advanced spell.” She said, her breathing already beginning to return to its normal rhythm. “How did you learn it?”

Hilda shrugged, and though that wasn’t what she was trying to do, it dislodged Maven’s hands from her. The witch crossed her arms and hugged herself, avoiding eye contact, a small gesture that in the months they’d spent together Hilda had come to recognize as nervousness.

“I saw it in the book yesterday and thought I’d try it. Why? Did it come out wrong?”

“No, you’ve cast it almost perfectly.”

“But you don’t look happy at all.”

After being called out on that, Maven met her student’s eyes and made herself smile.

“Sorry for being rude, Hildie. You did amazing and I’m very proud of you for that. I have something on my mind, that’s all.”

She sighed and squatted down on the ground, not at all surprised when Hilda did the same by her side, looking concerned for her. The girl’s power had been building as they trained, and Maven was aware of each step she accomplished in her path. Still, it had been easy to pretend that there was no end objective to this, that there wasn’t a goal they were trying to reach, and just as easy to tell herself that if the moment finally came, than it would be only in a very long time, in a way that kept Maven’s hopes alive without her having to face the looming possibility of failure or any harm coming to Hilda. But after this, it would be stupid to deny it that her apprentice was already capable of helping her.

“What sort of ‘something’?” She asked, and Maven felt a pang of guilt at the worry in her voice. Hilda was the child and the student in their relationship, she shouldn’t have to worry about her.

This was the moment she’d been waiting for. The reason she’d began training the girl in the first place. The chance to finally save her sister. And yet, she hesitated for some reason. Maybe it was the fear of failure, or the resentment over knowing that even though she loved her sister, Myra didn’t deserve a second chance when going away was her choice and so was refusing her help for the first times. That was, however, not her decision to make.

“You are ready.” She revealed after deliberation. “You are apt to help me perform the Soul Spell.”

Hilda’s eyes widened, and she jumped up to her feet. There was no fear on her face, only amazement as she considered what that meant.

She’d done it. After all those months, she was ready.

“That’s amazing!” She chirped, but frowned when the librarian still didn’t get up. “It is good, isn’t it? Is there any problem?”

“No, not really. I suppose I’m just a bit overwhelmed. But with that being said… Hilda, will you help me perform the ritual?”

Squaring her shoulders, Hilda felt herself standing taller. Maven was by far the most powerful person she knew, and one of her best friends. She’d done so much for her, and now Hilda had the chance to be the one to come to her aid and show the librarian that her hard work training her had paid off.

“Without the shadow of a doubt!”

_#_#_#_

It took Maven little time to realize that she was the most nervous between them all.

After they called Johanna to pick them up, the two witches spent some time grounding, to return the chaotic energy that they had gathered during the duel back to the earth and warding, since both of their shields had been damaged. When the woman arrived, Hilda was excited to tell her about how she was ready for the Soul Spell, and though there was a flash of concern in her eyes so quick that Maven nearly missed it, she looked way more proud of her child than worried. And if Johanna wasn’t worried, Maven told herself, she shouldn’t be either. The worst case scenario was getting worked up for nothing if her sister did not cooperate.

They would need a whole day to properly prepare themselves to cast the spell, and the next day was as good as any. Hilda said she didn’t have any pressing schoolwork to be done that weekend, so it was settled that she would spend the night over at Maven’s so that they could begin as early as needed. Their first stop after Johanna picked them up in the forest was at Hilda’s house, so she could pack the things she’d need for the night and tell Alfur where she’d be. Next, all three of them went to Maven’s place, where the witches sprawled themselves on the couches, still resting from the energy they’d spent on the duel. It didn’t escape Maven’s notice that Johanna had seemed amused by that.

For quite some time, they didn’t do much, just chatted and rested as the sun lowered down into the horizon. Maven ordered food and they all ate together, arranging the last details with Johanna. After the spell was cast, she’d still need to call Myra forth so she could take the help, and Maven insisted that Hilda wasn’t present for that second part. However much the girl protested, eventually her mother and mentor made her understand that it could be dangerous, and so it was arranged for Johanna to be on Maven’s street just after sunset, so she could be with Hilda when she went home after the spell.

“Good luck, and be safe.” Johanna said as she brought her daughter into a tight embrace when the time came for her to leave. “Call me if you need anything, okay?”

“I will, mum. Good night.”

After releasing Hilda, Johanna hugged Maven as well, making her blush at the show of affection and tentatively return it.

“You too, Mave. I believe in you.”

And then she was gone, leaving mentor and apprentice alone with their duty.

_#_#_#_

“So… what’s the schedule for tomorrow?” Hilda asked when she entered the room. Maven was going through the uncomfortable process of getting her sister’s bed ready for the first time in years, and she’d asked her apprentice to put their wands in the backyard, near the rosemaries. It was beneficial for wands to soak in moonlight every once in a while, and it was especially important considering their plan for the next day. Besides, she’d wanted to be alone when she put away the picture of her family that was in a frame at Myra’s bedside table.

Even though now it was clear that her sister had ripped it herself, at the time she and her mother had though that one of the Marra had torn it to pieces, and they had glued it back together. It didn’t hurt so much to look at it anymore, but it would feel too vulnerable to let Hilda see it.

“Well, first off will be grounding. I’m afraid we’ll do a lot of meditating tomorrow. It is crucial for us to be in our most connected state of mind possible, it will help us be clear minded at the time of the ritual.”

“Makes sense.” After noticing Freya rubbing her tail on her legs, Hilda picked the catowl up and scratched her ears. She had quite warmed up to Hilda over the time, and the girl was happy to have her nearby. There was nothing like a fluffy animal to ease her nerves, which did exist due to the importance of their situation.

“After breakfast we’ll see to the spell components. We need to cleanse and charge every crystal and carve sigils onto candles. Obviously we’ll also study the ritual during the afternoon. It should be cast at moonrise.”

Nodding, Hilda sat down on her bed, and the librarian sat down on hers, picking up her comforter and bringing it to cover her legs.

“Just a warning-” She said as she lied down. “Freya is looking awfully comfy in your arms, she’ll probably want to sleep in your bed.”

Lying down herself, Hilda noticed that Freya did indeed make herself comfortable by her pillow and she chuckled.

“It’s okay.”

“In that case, we should go to sleep. We begin at dawn.”

Maven pressed the light switch and cast the room in darkness. Though the curtains were open, Maven didn’t live near many other houses, so the only light that came through was that of the moon and the stars. Hilda shifted on her bed as little as she could, so as not to disturb Freya, but it didn’t stop Maven from being aware that minutes later she still hadn’t fallen asleep. She tuned into her energy, and felt her unease.

“Is something bothering you?” Maven asked quietly so as not to startle her, and the little light that came through the window was enough for her to see Hilda turning to face her. So many nights she’d talked to Myra like this, both of them exhausted on their beds but still with their heads too filled by thoughts to go to sleep without sharing them. Seemed ironic to have this experience with the one who would help save her.

“It’s just normal anxiety, I suppose.” When she began this journey, she’d been nothing but excited for this day to come. But she was much wiser and more experienced now, and she knew the importance of the ritual they’d do. She knew that if they weren’t careful, it might go wrong no matter how well intentioned she was. “You are a bit too, aren’t you? I noticed you’ve been tense. Is it because you’re also worried I won’t be able to make it?”

Maven stiffened when she said that. She’d rarely known Hilda to be anything but confident. If she was offended by the possibility of her mentor worrying about her, however, it didn’t show on her voice. It sounded like she was only pointing out a fact, and that even though she hoped it would work and knew her teacher believed in her, she’d accepted that failure was a possible outcome for every situation in life. Maven supposed it did show how much she’d grown, but it had caught her by surprise.

“I wouldn't have said you were ready if I didn’t think you were, Hildie.”

“I know.” She could practically hear the girl smile. “But that’s not what I asked. You can be ready for something and still not be able to make it in the end.”

Maven shook her head, although she didn’t know if Hilda could see her in the gloom.

“You are right. But… that’s not the reason why I’ve been on edge today.”

“Then what is it?”

“Let’s just say” She sighed. “That you’ve never been the one I was worried about.”

Turning onto her right arm to face the wall, Maven hugged her pillow and let herself ignore the rest of the world. A calm feeling washed over her like waves, and soon both witches were sinking into a deep slumber.

[akitokihojo]

The Language He Speaks

I WROTE SOME SMUUUUUUUUUUUUUUT!!!!

I’ve been, like, five months smut-free and I never agreed to those terms and conditions, so here we fucking are!

Note: This takes place post canon, recently after Kagome returns to the Feudal Era.

------------------------------

Inuyasha's ember eyes bore through her skin, anger seething from him as he inspected a red-sprinkled-purple bruise on her side, just below her ribcage, tapping it lightly with the pads of his fingers. Kagome knew he was waiting for her to wince as he palpated the thickness of the welt, but she held her breath instead, not wanting to pour gasoline on his already-furious flames. The sound from his throat was basically a growl as he moved onto the next wound, examining the depth of the decently-sized scrape flaked with dried blood at the front of her shoulder.

"You should have listened to me, Kagome." Inuyasha said, disgruntled. 

"You've said that, like, twelve times already." She sighed, backing away from his calloused hands so she could wrap her torso within her kosode again. Maybe if he couldn't see the bruises and scratches decorating her upper body, he wouldn't be so angry. Out of sight, out of mind. Or so they say.

"Yeah, and you have yet to acknowledge that I'm right!"

"You're welcome for helping, by the way." She huffed, giving a heavy jerk to the knot of her kosode as she secured it before scooting her way around the hanyou on the wooden floor of their hut to prod the flickering fire in the pit. The air in the room swirled as she practically felt his irritability climb to new heights. 

"Kagome, I specifically told you to stay behind for a damn good reason!" The hanyou barked, grasping her arm as he slid closer, demanding her undivided attention. "Fighting demon's isn't like what it used to be! The jewel was their primary goal the last time you shot your arrow at anything, but now it's just pure hatred fueling them! They may not come half as often as before, sure, but when they do, it's a battle for your fucking life!"

"And the more people you have on your side, the better your chances are!"

"No-"

"Besides, they were out for blood when it came to the jewel too! You'd think you'd consider that more dangerous since, you know, Naraku tried to murder us all on multiple occasions."

"It's more dangerous now because more and more are attempting to be the next Naraku! Psychopaths are coming out of the fucking woodwork to kill whoever they need to in order to gain as much power as possible in case another jewel were to forge. They don't know what they're doing, clearly, but that doesn't change what we're up against!" Inuyasha squeezed her arm between his fingers, finally bringing out a wince from Kagome, so she pulled away with an incredulous stare, immediately causing him to release his unforgiving grip.

"I stand by what I said. The more people you have on your side, the better the odds. Why doesn't that makes sense to you?"

Inuyasha could feel anger bubbling in his gut, burning the walls of his stomach as he willed the temptation to lash out down. She was stupid, so fucking stupid, for running into the middle of his and Miroku's fight after he'd deliberately told her to stay with Sango. She had good intentions, but he didn't give a damn about any of that bullshit. He gave a damn about her.

And here she was, poking the charring wood for something to do, intentionally avoiding eye contact, the bruises on her skin standing out to him as if her clothes were translucent. His dumb fucking wife got hurt in the heat of battle after he'd told her word-for-word, "Stay here. I mean it. I don't want you getting hurt."

What a surprise.

With a final growl, Inuyasha shot straight up to his feet, not even bothering to grab Tetsusaiga, which stood propped along the wall, as he marched toward the door.

"Where are you going?" Kagome asked, more confused than irritated.

"Out."

"Are you really that mad?"

"Yes, Kagome, I'm fucking pissed!" He shot, glaring back in her direction as he threw the sliding door open.

"Why is this such a big deal to you?" She stood up, following him outside, the crisp, night breeze rustling leaves in the treetops above their heads. "I used to fight at your side all the time! You used to tell me you felt stronger with me nearby! Just because we were separated for a few years doesn't mean anything's changed! I'm still-"

"Everything has changed, Kagome!" Inuyasha bellowed, stopping mid stride and turning to face her fully, not realizing how close she was actually following. Their bodies were mere inches apart, their argument leaving both of their chests heaving up and down, but her face- Oh, god, her face- had his stomach plummeting from its spot in his abdomen to the forest floor. There was no anger or resentment. It was fear. He'd startled her. Her brown eyes, shadowed by the darkened sky, were wide. Brows raised. Lips parted. Shoulders noticeably tensed.

And he hated it.

He normally loved the way his muscular frame was easily able to hide her petite body, and how she fit so perfectly into the natural curve of his own when they slept together, but suddenly it felt like he was a beast with the way he towered over her, able to consume her whole. The image of her afraid was gone as quickly as it had appeared, but her eyebrows settled and her mouth closed and she took a step back from him, and he could see it so fucking clearly. Kagome didn't understand what he was getting at. How could she? It was obvious she didn't see things the same way he did. He could only imagine, knowing her, the thoughts going through her head as she tried to figure him out. And while she was giving him an opening to elaborate on his point, he couldn't bring himself to talk anymore. It killed him that he'd caused that look to mar the beautiful features of her face, his hand naturally raising to cradle the line of her jaw as his thumb caressed a small, developing bruise at the bottom of her cheek, the wound acting as a magnet to draw his palm in, but he could still feel the underlying anger swarming through his bloodstream. He couldn't fix this right now. If he kept going, he'd say something wrong. He'd make it so much worse.

So, Inuyasha took his hand away, telling her to get inside with the gruff tone of his voice, and shot up onto the nearest tree branch, racing away to let off some steam.

Kagome turned over for the umpteenth time on her futon, bringing her blanket up to cover her head as she tried to block out the sounds of the crackling fire, the logs snapping and popping under the heat of the flames, the noises seemingly emphasized by a megaphone. The left side of her body hurt from the scratches and bruises she'd gotten from landing roughly during their battle, but that was the side that faced the door. That was the side, no matter how many times she turned over, that she found herself laying on as she waited from her grumpy hanyou to come back.

Their argument had been on repeat in her mind, his statement that everything had changed replaying like a dingy, broken record. She couldn't figure out why he was so upset. She'd been hurt so much worse than this in the past. Honestly, the bruises and scrapes just looked bad. Sure, some were a little sensitive, especially if she kept allowing her body weight to apply so much pressure to her left side, but her feet had literally been burnt in stomach acid before. So, why was this such a big deal?

He had a lot of nerve. If she hadn't have come when she did, he could have been stabbed through. This demon was large. Very large. And had quite the set of claws on his thick, dirty fingers that were flying directly at the half demon who was distracted by Miroku's crumpled form. She shot her arrow and nailed the sucker in the arm, which wasn't exactly what she was aiming for, but at least she was able to save Inuyasha. Sure, it'd been a while since Kagome had been up against any sort of enemy other than the target hung on a tree outside of Kaede's hut, and she was undeniably rusty, but how else was she supposed to get reacquainted with fighting off demons?

Everything has changed, Kagome! 

What the hell was that supposed to mean?

She readjusted her position once more, settling on her back and throwing her arm above her head as she huffed in irritation, her forearm landing rough enough to tug at the long, dark strands of hair that were sprawled messily over her pillow. The wooden ceiling glowed of soft orange, red, and yellow hues, shadows dancing along to the beat of the popping logs in the pit. 

Yes, their relationship had changed. Substantially. They no longer were on a quest for anything pertaining to Naraku or the jewel. That's a change. She lived in the Feudal Era now. Another change. Kagome couldn't quite bring herself to say everything had changed, though. So what in the world could he have been getting at?

There was this strangling thought in the back of her mind, one that had come up the moment he'd shouted his belief, one that brought a dull ache to her chest. With how mad he was, how badly he seemed to not want her in battle with him, it was like Inuyasha didn't want Kagome as his fighting partner anymore. She used to be the person he trusted most, the person who helped him overcome, but apparently three years has shifted everything. Right. Everything.

No.

No, no no.

She was overthinking and allowing these thoughts to make her overly sensitive.

Stop it, Kagome! Pull yourself together!

Slowly, she peeled herself off the futon, giving up on sleep for the time being while she adjusted her parted night robe over her chest and pushed the blankets from her legs, rising to pace the room just as she had done for a good forty-five minutes after he'd first left. Something Kagome could easily point out that hadn't changed, and probably never would, was that she absolutely hated when he stormed off like this. She respected that he needed space when he was angry, but time was simple to lose track of when it was based on the sun's position and they were in the dead of night.

Letting out a deep sigh, Kagome headed toward the door, opening it just enough to see the dense darkness of the surrounding woods. She wasn't great at picking up demonic energy, it was something she'd really have to hone in on in future training sessions with Kaede and Miroku, but that didn't stop her from trying. She was familiar with Inuyasha and the aura he put out. To her, it was masculine, smooth, and soothing. It washed over her like gentle tides of a calm sea, eroding the rough edges she'd developed over the years to become a soft, glistening rock of his ocean. Apparently, he had to be close enough for her to sense it. With how still and silent and unappealing the immediate world outside seemed, Inuyasha was obviously nowhere around.

With a little more aggression than intended, Kagome slammed the wooden slab shut, blocking out the forest grounds that she couldn't see anyway and slumped down next to the fire pit. The flames were dying, but instead of grabbing a new log to feed them, she used her stick to prod the charred wood, forcing pieces to fall apart, allowing the fire to find new territory to claim. She forced herself to watch the bouncing embers, ignoring the door, ignoring her thoughts, pulling her knees to her chest for as much added comfort she could provide herself.

When she'd ran out to help Miroku and Inuyasha, she hadn't done it to upset him. She wasn't doing it solely to defy the half demon. She'd only wanted to help. She'd wanted to make sure he was safe, just as he would have done for her without a second thought.

So, why was that so bad?

Slow footsteps approached the hut, alerting her at the crack of the drying leaves on the dirt, and Kagome's head shot up, waiting for the door to open. She heard a heavy sigh, one released from a clenched throat, just outside of the wooden beams before it steadily slid open with the intention of silence. His golden eyes, meshing with the glowing hues of the fire, collided with hers, his brows pinching together in question before relaxing. He stepped through the threshold, closing the door behind him.

It took a great deal of effort for Kagome to stay put. She wanted to apologize for making him so angry, but what had she done? She wanted to ask what caused him to storm off in the first place, but what if that instigated the continuation of their argument? So she remained seated, allowing her legs to fold to the side, unable to take her eyes from him as she waited for something to happen.

"Why aren't you in bed?" He asked, not moving from his place at the door.

"I couldn't sleep."

He gave a slight nod, his chest rising from beneath his firerat as he slowly sucked in an inhale, his ember eyes shifting to the floor, and then the far wall.

"I'm- uh... I'm sorry. About earlier. I shouldn't have yelled at you."

"So why did you?" Kagome asked, unable to bite back the slight confrontational tone she held. So much for not wanting to argue anymore. He looked back at her, pressing his lips in a tight line as she continued. "What's so different from before that got you all worked up?"

"Everything." He breathed, moving toward her, not willing to fight the urge that pulled him to Kagome's side. "You don't get it, do you? You don't get what's at stake here."

As he sat down beside her, terrible, horrible, unforgiving inches separating them, she felt that aura she'd been missing. Felt it warm her blood and send tingles over her skin as it radiated from his being and engulfed her. Kagome couldn't even bring herself to ask what he meant, hoping he'd fill in the gaps that he, himself, had opened, as the sensation of his spirit puddled in her chest, temporarily quelling the uncertainty that had built up over the hours. How did he do it? How did he have such an effect on her?

"Kagome," Inuyasha scooted a little closer, his knee brushing the hand she braced on the floor. "You can't just go back to your time when you're wounded or exhausted anymore. You don't have your world's powerful medicine and bandages to rely on. You can’t afford to get hurt- especially now more than ever."

"We have herbs." She replied, coming out of her reverie. "Just because they aren't already ground up and processed in a tube, doesn't mean they won't work just as well. That doesn't explain why you got so mad, though."

"I got mad because none of this should've happened in the first place."

"Sometimes people fall down, it's not that big of a deal."

"You didn't fall, Kagome, you were backhanded across the field! If you had just listened to me, you would have been fine!"

"I am fine. I don't have any broken bones, or cuts, and I'm-"

"Shut up." Inuyasha drawled, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms over his chest. "Consider yourself lucky."

"Okay, I'm lucky. Are you happy?" Kagome rolled her eyes, mimicking his body language by crossing her own arms.

"Next time, when I tell you to stay behind, I expect you to listen to me." He ordered.

"No! I'm not about to just wait for you to get back while you're off protecting the village when I can help! You never had a problem with that before! In fact, you used to hate when I went home!"

"That was different!"

"Because I was your jewel shard detector?" She challenged.

"What? No! You know that's not what I thought of you!"

"Then explain, because something isn't clicking here! I used to fight demons with you guys in a freaking skirt, and there was never an issue then!"

"You're missing the entire point! Things are different now!"

"You keep saying that, but it hasn't made any sense yet! I can still fight! I can still help! I didn't just come back for a domestic lifestyle; I knew what I was getting into when I crossed through the well that final time!"

"This was the first demon attack since you've been back, and you were injured! You don't see how much that-"

"I can take it!"

"Kagome-"

"No, listen to me! I'm strong! I'm really strong, and I shouldn't have to convince you of this! My spiritual powers have only grown since I've started my training as a priestess, and I want to help!"

"No!"

"Inuyasha!"

"No!"

"Why not!?"

"Because I can't lose you, Kagome!"

Any rebuttal she'd been prepared with vanished completely, her heart giving a painful thud behind her ribcage. His expression was fierce, his lips peeled back in a partial snarl, eyebrows furrowed together, twitching from how fervently the scowl pressed his features. His eyes were a brutal color, like the fire in the pit beside them burned in his irises and illuminated the room.

"Why are you so stupid? Why aren't you fucking getting this?" Inuyasha slammed his fist against the wood they sat on, using the force to push himself to his feet as he walked to the other side of the room, facing the shadowed wall, taking a few, unsteady breaths to gather his wits. He heard the gentle rustling of the night robe she wore as she rose, the airy hitch from her lungs, felt her eyes on him as she waited in his silence. Finally, he turned back to her, feeling the deadly twist of his face, but he didn't care. As long as his point got across, he didn't give a damn about how he looked. "I've lost you once already! I've experienced that pain, and it's nothing compared to anything I've ever felt before! No matter how many times I checked to see if it had opened, there was still a part of me that thought I'd never get to see you again, but I was willing to accept that because at least you were alive and safe on the other side of that goddamn well!"

He stomped back over to Kagome, grabbing her by the outer edges of her shoulders, feeling a rampant, wild, bubbling heat course through his veins, intensifying the way he suddenly wanted to pull her into his chest and never let go, solidifying his adamant refusal to ever allow her to do anything that could jeopardize her safety again. He swore to protect her years ago, and nothing would ever change that promise, but he needed her to cooperate. He needed her to stop being so frustratingly hard-headed and understand what he was trying to tell her. Kagome didn't tense at all, her brown eyes glistening with concern, a slight flush in her cheeks that he was willing to blame on the diminishing fire, dark shadows forming in the curve just above her cheekbones.

"Face it, you made the worst decision of your life by coming back! It's not safe here! I wasn't worth your well-being; nothing will ever be worth that!"

Kagome opened her mouth to speak, to dispute, but he cut her off with a thick, reverberating growl, his fingers twitching as he controlled his instinct to grip her tighter. "I know I wanted you back, but I was being a selfish fool! I know they're only scratches and bruises this time, but what if something worse were to happen? What if you're attacked while I'm away? What if I can't get to you in time? What if-" Inuyasha's argument faltered as he imagined unspeakable things, his voice fading in and out as he tried to continue, repeating what if multiple times before he gave up with a shake of his head, his chest clenching agonizingly as the thoughts flooded every corner of his mind. Her eyes were watering and her lips were turned down, her chin giving a minute quiver that was causing him to feel even weaker. "Kagome, I can't- I can't..."

"Stop." She quietly pleaded.

Inuyasha's hands moved up to cradle her jaw, her skin emanating the warmth she'd soaked in from sitting so close to the pit. "You don't understand how fucking scared I am of losing you. I can't do it. Not again."

"Stop. Please, stop." Tears seared her cheeks as they glided down, pooling where his flesh met hers, irritating her eyes as she continuously tried blinking them away, but she couldn't. They wouldn't stop. Not for a single second did she imagine this was what Inuyasha hid beneath his thick skin. It was obvious the separation was difficult on the both of them, but they'd never gone into detail about it. It was basically a taboo topic everyone knew to avoid. Invisible wounds were left behind, some healed, some scarred, some still scabbing, but she never realized how deep Inuyasha's ran. It was naive of her to think everything was perfectly fine now that they were together again. He's lost people he loved before. That's not the sort of thing that gets easier each time it happens. 

Kagome watched the sincerity, the fear, flicker in the hanyou's eyes, molting with so much emotion she could hardly take it. Like a magnet drawing her in, with the pressing need to help any ailing thoughts fade away, she pushed upward on her toes to close the scant distance between them, gently pressing her lips to his, feeling the heat of the heavy, relieving sigh he exhaled from his nose against her cheek. She pulled back prematurely, still absorbing the effects of his energy colliding with hers, feeling him inch forward so that their foreheads pressed together, his hands trailing down to find her waist, tugging her a little closer.

"I'm so sorry. I never meant to make you worry." She said, her hands curving around the sides of Inuyasha's neck, just below his jawline, fingertips threading into the silver hair at his nape. Her voice was soft and smooth, barely rising above a whisper. "You can't think like that, though. It’s poisonous. You have to believe that we'll be fine, Inuyasha, because we will be. I will never regret my decision to return. The danger of this world was hardly something to worry about when faced with the choice of living a life without you. Don't forget, I lost you too. I know what that pain feels like just as well as you do.”

Inuyasha gripped the cloth of the robe at her sides, the heat of her breath washing over his face and eliminating his train of thought.

"I'm not a delicate girl that needs to be looked after, but if worst comes to worst, I trust you with my life. You know that. I'm not afraid. Not with you here. I fought by your side for so long, protected you, and that's what I plan to continue doing. No matter how roughed up I get. You're just gonna have to get over it." Kagome dragged her hands down the skin of his neck and over his chest, wrapping her fingers in the thick material at the front of Inuyasha's suikan, their mouths moving closer, hovering but never touching.

"I don't like it, Kagome. I won't lose you again." There was a hint of a growl at the edge of his low voice.

"You won't."

"You're so fucking stubborn." His lips teased hers, grazing but not settling.

"You'll get over that, too."

He kissed her, slowly, softly, their lips molding so perfectly to each other's. It started a fire in his chest, one that burned brighter than the pitiful embers they sat next to, and he allowed it to take over, to transform his kiss into something more fervent, more passionate, more powerful, allowed it to sustain the warmth in their little hut away from the village, and ignite the dark thoughts he once had so that they charred into nothing, like kindling. It was easy, so goddamn easy, to forget whatever was happening around them when they touched each other, hands gliding over clothes and skin to feel, to explore, to wander aimlessly until they found an intention. He was lost in her as quickly as his infamous temper swelled on an average day.

The whimper she gave him was tiny, only detectable by ears as sensitive as his, her cheeks still wet and warm. The sound was enough to send a violent flurry through his abdomen and chest, one that he needed to quell, so he pushed her back, using his hand as his guide until he felt the wall beneath his palm, carefully pinning her between his body and the wooden borders of their home.

Inuyasha wasn't good with words. They either didn't work for him, or came out furiously. He was either emotionally stifled, or would say things horribly wrong in a release of his pent up frustration. He was better with his actions. That's how he spoke to Kagome. That's how he'd managed to relay months ago how much he'd missed her, his gratitude, and how deeply invested he still was. He still had so much to say right now, the need for her to understand how he felt growing stronger and stronger with each passing second.

He was so unfathomably glad Kagome comprehended the language he spoke. They had a bond. One that had proven to be unbreakable time and time again, and as he proceeded to crush his mouth to hers, halting their breathing, feeling her cheeks dampened with fresh tears against the tip of his nose, Inuyasha knew his message had been received loud and clear.

He loved her. So goddamn much.

He wouldn't have been so upset, so scared, if he didn't.

There was a brief moment where things began to calm, the air no longer seeming to swirl around the room along with their melodic energies, their kiss breaking as they sucked in a slow drag of breath. Inuyasha could feel Kagome's heart beating erratically against his chest, staring up at him with her big eyes, the beautiful color lost in the darkness of the room but still holding the same effect on him. It took all the strength he had not to crumble to his knees, sensing exactly how she felt through the simple graze of her palm against his cheek.

And all over again, Inuyasha was winded.

How did she do this to him? How had she managed to color his world in the most vibrant hues, making it possible to see exactly what he was faced with without an inkling of light seeping through?

"Kagome, I..."

"I know."

He kissed her again, and again, and again. Over and over. Pulling her into him as he pushed her into the wall, his hands running over her sides, arms, shoulders, neck, and resting at the crook of her jaw. He didn't understand what had come over him, why he suddenly needed Kagome more than air, but there was no chance of fighting it. Not with her fingers gripping his clothes and her teeth teasing his bottom lip. Not with her pushing him to step back but making sure to hold on for dear life, preventing any lost contact, guiding him, walking backward, stumbling slightly over her own feet until they reached the padding of their bed.

"The fire."

"Leave it." Kagome breathed, hating that he broke away. 

"It's dying." He chuckled, hovering over her lips as she desperately tried to reach for them. He silenced the small mewl she gave with a simple kiss, leading her down to her knees.

"Let it die."

"It'll be pitch black in here. You don't like that dark."

"I'm with you." She kissed his jaw. "I know I'm safe.”

Kagome’s fingers trailed down over his clothing, stopping at the knot that secured his robes shut. She only fumbled slightly, using her nails to pull the tie loose, and pushing the red robe from his shoulders. Inuyasha moved to help her, removing his kosode quicker than she would have been able to, his scorching skin now beneath her fingertips. She wanted to touch every inch of him, wanted to reacquaint herself with the way his muscles twitched beneath her touch, and the way his breath seemed to hitch whenever her nails gently flicked over old scars that never faded, feeling as if, no matter how many times she studied him, watched him, caressed him, kissed him, it was never enough. Kagome wanted to memorize Inuyasha. She wanted to feel his thudding heartbeat when they were pressed against each other and the way his chest rose and fell when he needed to slow down for just a second, she wanted to hear his uncontrolled grunts and the breathy way he said her name, but most importantly, Kagome wanted to watch the way he let go of his worries and fears and allowed himself to forget the unforgiving world around him for just a small moment of passion and peace in her arms.

It was impossible to see him, using her hands and lips to guide her, trailing small kisses up his sternum until she arrived at the curve of his collar bone. No matter how many times she’d flicked her tongue over this spot in the recent months, it never failed to make his stomach tense or bring his fingers to grip her where ever he could. And so he did. His nails scraped along the fabric of her robe, controlled, never harming her, the sound sending a thrill to the apex of her thighs.

She reached his chin, bringing Inuyasha to tilt it downward so she could easily find his lips, not the least bit surprised when she kissed him with a feverish, desperate need because he felt the same way. How could he not? Any separation from her was anxiety inducing. It didn’t matter that she was just pressed against him, touching his chest and arms, licking and nibbling at the base of his neck and in the dip of his clavicle. The second she pulled away, he was terrified, and the second she was against him again, he was satiated.

As she kissed him, dancing her lips over his quicker and harder, he found the flimsy knot that barely held her robe shut anymore, undoing it as she wriggled her shoulders and arms to allow it to fall off of her. Finally, her flesh was against his, and he wondered if it was at all possible to be so wholly intoxicated by the experience of Kagome, alone. Was he the luckiest man alive to be able to claim her as his? To be able to mark her, move inside, and make her keen? Did he actually deserve her? She’d say yes. She’d tell him he was stupid for questioning that in the first place. He could practically hear the words coming from her mouth, so powerfully and sincere.

Kagome’s fingers gently swiped at the base of his abdomen, just above his pant line, tickling the exposed skin and bringing a barely-audible grunt from his throat. He knew what she wanted, but he wasn’t done. He hadn’t finished telling her everything he needed to say. Slowly, softly, Inuyasha skimmed the backs of his knuckles from her ribcage to her hips, wrapping his arm around the small of her back for support as he laid her down, pressing himself between her legs. She sighed, accepting his body weight, biting her lip as he rolled his hips against hers, and he thanked whatever god was out there that he had heightened senses and could see through the darkness, because fuck, he absolutely loved the way she reacted to him.

Without haste, Inuyasha kissed down her neck, not stopping at any point to pay attention to tender spots, gliding his tongue over the nipple of one breast and making a mental note that he’d pay the same favor to the other later, kissing and licking his way down the center of her tummy, over the cloth of her panties, and down the inside of one of her thighs. He’d planned to keep going, but the whimper she gave as he nibbled at the thick flesh was too painful to ignore, and there was no way he could go on without hearing it again. Slowing his pace, he moved up her thigh, closer to her core where the skin was a little more sensitive, grazing his lips and sighing out, feeling the way she shuddered beneath his breath. Then, he incorporated his tongue, gliding it over the smoothness of her inner thigh, closing his mouth on the spot and giving a gentle suck. Kagome’s entire body reacted, back arching, legs tensing, her hands flying to the crown of his head, fumbling as she tried not to grip his hair.

He was achingly hard, and the more her breathing became unsteady, the more he found himself pushing away the thought to take her right then and there. Careful of his claws, Inuyasha pulled her underwear down her legs, Kagome lifting her hips and calves to make the job easier. She was bare now, no longer shying from his eyes as she did the first few times they were together, completely comfortable and so fucking beautiful. The fire burning within him became more powerful, more pressing, the blood flowing through his veins pumping faster, and he pressed himself against her once more, feeling her arch her back to mold completely against him, her arms wrapping around his neck as he kissed her hard. 

It was difficult not to match her mewls with his own, letting her know just how easily she undid him. It was wonderful that no matter how many times their lips met, no matter how many times their mouths moved in total synchronicity, their tongues incorporated in smooth movements, they still kissed with so much fervent need you’d think they’d just barely been reunited from their three year gap. Inuyasha would always fear losing her again, but that’s something he could live with. He would always fear something bad happening, but that just proved how much he loved her. That would never stop. Those feelings, all of them, would never die. So long as he had her at the end of the day, the burdening emotions he struggled with would be easy to bear.

“I will always protect you, Kagome. Do you hear me?” The hanyou growled, feeling breathless in his words.

She felt the vibration through his chest, the honesty in the heat of his skin, the skip of her own heart as she allowed the promise to sink in.

“I feel safer in your arms than I ever did in my own world,” She admitted.

Inuyasha supported himself with an elbow next to her head, his other hand going between them to untie the knot supporting his hakama.

“And I want to keep you safe too, Inuyasha.”

It was entirely impossible not to grunt as his erection was finally set free, pushing his pants down as far as he could without removing himself from Kagome’s hold. Using his knuckle, he tested how wet she was, spreading the juices through her folds, going back for more, and then lightly rubbing over her clit, observing the way her mouth opened but didn’t make a sound, and how her chest rose with the inhalation but had yet to fall. Steadily, Inuyasha guided his cock inside of her, completely engulfed in the molting heat she emitted that brought out this husky, deep-rooted groan he didn’t have the chance to bite back. As he settled, allowing both of them to adjust, she finally exhaled, the whine she released so utterly satisfying it almost ended things then and there.

“I am safe,” He slid out, and then slowly back in. “You. Here. It’s all I need.”

Kagome arched her back, taking him in, her thighs tensing against his hips, the friction he provided as his pace began to increase so wholly amazing. She gripped the pillow above her head, never actually fully making it all the way up their futon when they’d began, biting her lip as Inuyasha provided a tantalizing roll of his pelvis and grazed her clit. She could already feel the tingling sensations rising, intensifying, her light moans turning into whining as her muscles began to tremble around his cock.

Inuyasha was whispering in her ear, thrusting harder, pushing her bangs from her face as he planted tiny kisses to her temple. She was trying to roll her pelvis, meet his grinds, suddenly so desperate for release, wanting to beg him not to stop but her voice wouldn’t work with her. She was on the ledge, so close it was antagonizing her entire body, and then he ordered her to come for him in that husky voice she never got to hear enough, forcing her to succumb to the magnificent embrace of her orgasm.

“Give me the pillow.” He said, hardly allowing her a moment to recover, rising up to his knees and holding his hand out. Kagome threw it up for him to catch, lifting her hips when he tapped her side, and settling back down when he was done adjusting the pillow under her butt. Swiftly, he glided back inside of her, reaching deeper than before, and she moaned all too satisfyingly. He loved making her do that. He loved when she made any sound, really, but mostly when it was of this sort. The one where she could hardly keep it together. Where it was obvious she wanted more. Where her hands flew to any part of him, and her nails bit into his skin, and she still tried to stifle it all by biting her bottom lip but it hardly did her any favors.

Inuyasha propped himself on his hands, his long hair flowing over one of his shoulders and to the padding beneath them, bucking his hips in a smooth rhythm. Kagome was touching him however she could, fumbling over his rigid muscles, grasping down on the curve of his hips where she could feel him thrust, occasionally slowing to a teasing grind, gently shushing her as her breathing picked up. Even in the black of night, she could see the grin on his face as he watched her body respond to his. He knew exactly what effect he was having on her.

The half demon bent down, never halting his pace as he licked the curve of Kagome’s neck, feeling the pebbled flesh rise beneath his tongue when she opened up, welcoming his ministrations. He wanted to feel her come again, hear those agonizingly tortured whimpers, and he’d do whatever he needed to do to get his way. Knowing he was pleasing her was all he required in order to be completely satisfied.

Kagome pushed at his shoulder, indicating she wanted him to roll over, but he shook his head. She tried again, pushing up with her hips, bringing a grunt loose from his chest as he managed to go even deeper for a split second, shuddering as she whispered a broken please into his sensitive ear, and he finally complied, wrapping his arm around the small of her back to bring her with him, never breaking their connection. She sank on top of him, adjusting her thighs over his hips as she continued the motion he’d began, only slowing for a quick moment as he pushed and kicked his pants from his legs, finally free from the semi-confining clothing. His hands immediately found her breasts, massaging and kneading, tenderly flicking a claw over her hardened nipples. Even though he was beneath her now, he still exerted control. Inuyasha swayed her pace by either clutching her hips or bucking upward. He decided if he wanted her sitting upright or bent forward so he could lick and suck and tease her breasts, switching between the two to make sure they got equal amounts of attention, taking over when she needed a small break, and then allowing her to feel in the lead when she began grinding once more.

He was getting closer. She could tell by the way his breathing changed and his stomach muscles clenched. He hardly made a sound when he was close to coming, everything so tight as she imagined the heat overwhelming his body. He was holding her waist as she sat fully up on his cock, no longer indicating whether he wanted her to roll or bounce, only watching her body as she brought him closer and closer to climax. She’d been on the brink for too long now, trying to find her release but unable to as he’d held her off, building her up inch by inch, little by little, but never enough. Inuyasha was barely in control anymore, trying to appear put together as he was crumbling to pieces, and Kagome wanted to hear him say her name.

Making sure he was watching, she reached down, parting her lips to rub her clit, the bundle of nerves so swollen and sensitive at this point, a wave of tingles climbed and splayed over every bit of her body. She couldn’t help but rub herself hard, growing greedy from the sensations as she continued to thrust, and buck, and do whatever she could to reach her orgasm. Her muscles began to tremble, clamping down on Inuyasha’s cock as she was overtaken, her thighs tensing against his hips as he uncontrollably slammed upward, squeezing her sides as he came, gifting her with a clenched, “Fuck!”

Close enough.

Kagome collapsed on top of him, catching her breath before rolling over on her right side, watching the way his chest rose and fell, and the way his long eyelashes fluttered as he opened his eyes. He looked over, propping himself on his side to face her as he recovered, kissing the scrape on her left shoulder that he’d once growled at. He sat up some more, kissing  the bruise on her arm, then gently pushed it aside so he could kiss the large, speckled mark below her ribs.

“Did I hurt you when I grabbed onto it?”

“Not at all.” Kagome smiled, sighing contentedly as he continued to press multiple, pleasant kisses against the marks on her body. As he brushed his lips along the little one on her cheek, she turned slightly, meeting his mouth, hoping to speak his own language as fluently as she could and express just how much she valued his affection.

She would talk to him all night and well into the morning if she could, but as he tugged the blankets over them and pulled her in close, Kagome could feel the fatigue dragging her under. He swept his lips over hers once more, slowly, lulling out the motion in a hazy effect, whispering words she’d never heard before but always knew. And surprisingly, she felt Inuyasha’s body sink into a peaceful sleep before she even had the chance to respond.

[flintsjohn]

not sure if you write kylex but 47 for them for the smut prompts!

this is the first time i write kylex (outside of the mylex dynamic) so i hope i did alright by them! of course, warning for sexy times ahead, and also alex being insecure about his leg. mentions of past michael/alex.47. “Fuck, that’s good.” 

“Alex? You still in here?” Kyle’s voice reaches Alex’s earsjust as he’s sitting down in front of the monitors again after refilling hiscoffee cup. He pushes his fingers into his eyes with an affirmative groan. Asecond later, Kyle’s hands land on his shoulders and squeeze, making himrelease an involuntary moan.

He squeezes his eyes even tighter under his fingers as herealizes how sexual he sounded. Kyle doesn’t seem to mind, because he hasn’ttaken his hands off – in fact, he’s massaging Alex’s shoulders, thumbs digginginto the knots in the muscles and making Alex suppress a whimper.

“Fuck, that’s good,” he says before he can control himself.He regrets the words immediately, scrambling for an apology, “Sorry, I’m just-Really stressed and haven’t really-“

“Gotten laid?” Kyle says casually. His hands have stoppedbut they’re still resting on Alex’s shoulders, a warm presence that has Alexeven tenser than he was before.

“Uh, yeah.”

“In how long?”

Alex is glad he can’t see Kyle’s face, because he knowsotherwise he wouldn’t be able to admit, “Since Guerin and I broke things off.”

Kyle whistles. He finally draws back and drops in the chairnext to Alex. “That’s- Alex, that was like eight months ago.”

Alex shrugs. He’dgone by longer before, though he’s not going to admit that to Kyle, who, by theway, is now studying him. It makes him shift uncomfortably under the attention.“What?”

“Do you want toget laid?” Kyle asks, head tipped to the side.

“I-“ Alex frowns, bites his lip, then shrugs, “I wouldn’t beagainst it, if I could find someone.”

Kyle raises an eyebrow at him, a frankly idiotic grinplaying on his lips. Alex’s frown deepens. They stare at each other like thatfor a second before Kyle shrugs and says, casually, “I’m free.”

And Alex- Alex stares.He looks and looks at Kyle as his brain tries to come back online because it’sstopped working the moment those words came out of Kyle’s mouth. He gapes, eyeswide, as Kyle shoots him a cock-sure smirk. Alex shakes his head – surely, hecan’t have heard that correctly. He clears his throat, trying not to flinchwhen his voice still comes out an octave higher. “I’m sorry, I’m not sure I-“

Kyle rolls his eyes and sighs like he’s being infinitelypatient, then says, slowly, like Alex is a child and he needs him to understand, “I want to sleepwith you, Alex.”

It takes a moment for the words to sink in, and for Alex toactually understand that Kyle means them, but then he’s launching forward andpressing his lips to Kyle’s, who lets out a surprised grunt but kisses backjust as eagerly. When they separate, Kyle laughs and shakes his head, thumbsstroking soothing circles on Alex’s neck.

“C’mon, let’s get you home first.”

Alex spends the whole ride back to the cabin in a daze, hiseyes set on Kyle. His mind is working in overdrive, replaying all the momentsthey’ve spent together in the last few months. Sure, they’ve started hangingout outside of work too, and it’s been fun, but this? This, Alex would’ve never anticipated. He didn’t even know Kyle wasn’t straight, for fuck’s sake.

When they get to the cabin, Alex shows Kyle in, wondering ifhe should offer him anything before showing him to the bedroom – is that whatpeople do? It’s not like he’s had thousands of experiences in the field, andanyway he hasn’t had anyone in his home with this specific purpose since he came back to Roswell. He canfeel his heart sinking at the thought of what Kyle is going to see – the handlebars,the crutches, all his PT supplies… His leg. Alex shakes his head determinedly.If anyone’s going to understand, it’s going to be Kyle. He’s a doctor. He’s probably seen much worse.

That doesn’t mean it’s easy. Alex opts for not sayinganything, just leads Kyle to the bedroom and sits on the edge of the bed tostart undressing. He starts with his shoes, socks, then moves on to unbuttoninghis pants. He sets everything aside, methodical, then takes a deep breath andmoves his hands to his prosthetic. Kyle moves for the first time since he’s setfoot in the cabin, and for a second it looks like he’s about to offer to help,but Alex raises a hand.

“I prefer doing it myself,” he says, chewing on his bottomlip. “It’s not- I don’t let anyone-“

“Alex, it’s cool,” Kyle smiles at him, finally steppingforward. As Alex nods and focuses back on taking the prosthetic off, he canhear the rustling of fabric that means Kyle is taking his clothes off, too. Heblushes at the idea, going through the steps of taking the leg and sock off,then setting them aside. By the time he’s done, Kyle is down to his boxers infront of him. The sight makes Alex gulp.

“See something you like?” Kyle’s cocky remark is just whatAlex needs to snap himself out of the awkward state he’s been in for the pasthour. He rolls his eyes and settles back into the mattress after shucking offhis shirt, then reaches for Kyle, who gladly joins him.

They take it slow, exploring each other’s bodies for thefirst time. At some point, their boxers are discarded, and Alex gasps as all ofKyle is pressed up against him, bare skin against bare skin. It’s been so long sincehe’s been with someone like this that he can feel his eyes well up with tearsat the contact, especially when Kyle reaches down to massage his right leg justabove the stump, easing the tight muscles there and making him keen high in his throat.

“Tell me what you need,” Kyle whispers against the shell ofhis ear, thumb digging into Alex’s thigh. Alex’s eyes have slipped closed andhe’s clutching at Kyle’s shoulders, trying to pull him even closer.

“Please,” he moans, hips shifting to get some frictionagainst Kyle’s body. He’s so turned on by Kyle just lying on him, pressing himdown, and caressing him, it’s unreal.

“I need you to tell me, Alex.”

Kyle’s hands don’t stop for a moment. They move up Alex’slegs to his hips, rubbing circles there, then slip beneath him to press intothe small of his back, massaging him just like he did back at the bunker. Kyle seems to have the unsettling ability to locate eachknot in Alex’s body and ease it, leaving him breathless. It takes all hisstrength to focus on what Kyle is asking.

“I want- I want you to get me out of my head, please,” hemurmurs, hands moving from Kyle’s shoulders to his cheeks so that he can lookhim in the eyes. In that moment, he’s perfectly aware of the fact that they haven’tkissed since the bunker. He waits for Kyle to nod, then presses their lips together. It’s soft at first, chaste, in complete opposition to what they’resupposed to be doing. Then, Kyle’s fingers dig into the small of Alex’s back,bringing their hips together, and Alex gasps, letting Kyle take the opportunityto deepen the kiss.

They kiss for a long time, Alex’s hands tangled in Kyle’shair and keeping him close. He draws back to catch his breath when he feelsKyle’s fingers slip between his cheeks, teasing at his hole. It’s dry andfleeting, gone before he can push back into it, but it makes Alex rut againstKyle’s hip and let out another shaky, “Please.”

Kyle doesn’t waste any time after that. He finds Alex’scondoms and lube easily enough, and is back between Alex’s legs in seconds.For some reason, Alex expected him to have a doctor-like approach to sex, forhis pragmatism to come out, but he doesn’t. He reduces Alex to a moaning messin seconds with teasing fingers and open-mouthed kisses against his neck. Heopens Alex up like he knows exactly what he needs, how to get him there, andAlex can’t do much more than cling to him.

They pause, for just a moment, when Alex tells Kyle he’sready. When Kyle pulls back, Alex already has a prepared speech on the tip ofhis tongue – he can’t do much, what with his leg, and he can already feel thepanic clutching at his chest because he hasn’t had to explain it to anyone in months – but Kyle smiles, shakes hishead, and nudges Alex to lie down on his left side, sliding in behind him.

“Is this ok?” he asks, pressed up completely against Alex’sback. All Alex can do is nod, hands clenching in the sheets when Kyle slidesinto him, inch by inch. He gasps around the sensation, eyes closed so that hecan focus on the feeling of finally being filledagain.

It takes him a while to realize Kyle is waiting for him togive him the go ahead before moving, but when he does, he manages another small nod.He untangles one of his hands from the sheet so that he can grab the one Kylehas resting on his hip as Kyle settles on a rhythm. His thrusts are slow anddeliberate, his right hand on Alex’s hip guiding him back to meet him each time he snaps forward, the other arm under Alex’s neck, hand warm over his heart.

Alex doesn’t last long, having been wound so tight with tensionfor so long. He comes untouched, for the first time since he can remember,gasping as he spills over the sheets. Kyle follows not long after, mufflingcurses into Alex’s neck as he stills inside of him, both of them panting forair.

They’re tangled up in each other, after, Alex’s head restingon Kyle’s shoulder. He lets his fingers wander over Kyle’s body, trying to wraphis head around the fact that he’s just had sexwith the guy that has made him realize he was gay in the first place. It’ssurreal and it makes him feel strangely giddy. He can feel, more than hear, Kyle talking, and he blinks outof his reverie to look up at him. “What?”

“I said, now maybe you’ll consider going on a date with me.”Kyle smiles down at him, beatifically, and it doesn’t budge when Alex frowns inconfusion.

“You want to date me?”

“Yeah, man. Have been trying for the past five months.”

For the second time in one night, Alexfinds himself analyzing their interactions over the past few months. How in thehell had he not realized Kyle wanted to date him? He has to clear his throatbefore he can speak. “You have?”

Kyle hums and nods, the arm he has around Alex’s waisttightening just a notch. “I have. I even asked Guerin for advice at one point.He wasn’t very helpful.”

“You asked Guerin?”Alex sits up so he can gape at Kyle properly. He winces in sympathy at the lookon his face – things with Michael are still strained, though they’ve bothagreed they have to try and move on. Asking him for advice on how to date hisex-something must not have been fun for Kyle.

“He was the only other person who had experience with you.”Kyle shrugs, defensively. Alex can feel a grin starting to form on his lips ashe looks at Kyle, an incredible fondness warming his chest from the inside.Kyle is staring up at him, insecure and fidgety and waiting for a reply fromAlex, so he shakes his head, still smiling, and bends down so he can place asoft kiss on Kyle’s lips. He hopes that’s all the answer he’ll need.

[izaswritings]

Title: Dreaming of Flowers

Fandom: D.Gray-man

Summary: In which Alma Karma is recovered not by Central, but by a young Bak Chang determined to save the boy whose life his parents destroyed.

Notes: Warnings for instances of self-harm (Alma slams his hand against the ground with the intention of hurting himself), suicidal thoughts/intent, detailed description of past injury, traumatic flashbacks/panic attacks, and Alma’s usual brand of murderous intent. If there's anything you think I missed, please let me know! 

AO3 version is here.

Previous chapters can be found here.

-

Chapter Six: Echoes of Memory 

-

That night, still warm from the aftermath of seeing Alma actually laugh, Bak gets a phone call.

It comes in during the early morning, long before the Branch has begun to wake, when the halls are left empty and every sound echoes like a drum. The lamplight is dim and shadows long, the air icy and burning with every inhale. Sometimes, in those moments, Bak likes to close his eyes and revel in the peace of it. It is the time of morning where everything is silent and still, the world and its troubles far away.

On this day, Bak himself has only just woken up, leisurely sipping at a cup of coffee as he ambles his way to his office with sleepy steps. He hasn’t gone to the wrong room in almost a week now, but the blank glow of the monitors still startles him.

He’s only just set down his coffee cup when the phone begins to trill, the ring sharp and incessant, breaking apart the morning daze like a hammer to glass. Bak looks down at the phone, irritation furrowing his brow, and then abruptly pulls up short. His face goes slack, but his jaw tightens, his body held motionless and careful.

The phone rings, but this is not what captures Bak’s attention. No—it is the light, small and red and blinking bright, that shines ominously from the top corner of the phone’s dial.

This is the first time he’s seen it, though he knows what it is. This is a secure light. It is a light that means this call is secret on every channel, and should stay that way. Bak looks at it like it might grow arms and attack him, and slowly reaches out to turn off his golem, to power down the monitors. He is left in a darkened office, all spies shut silent, alone in the only way that matters.

The phone is still ringing. That damn light still shining. Bak cannot escape this call even if he wanted to, because they would only try to call again.

Bak picks up the receiver with dread pooling in his stomach. There is only one person—rather, one select group of people—who have his number, and who have the authority to request such privacy. This cannot be anything good.

“Branch Chief Bak Chang,” he says, and keeps his voice clear and steady. He will not give them the honor of thinking they’ve surprised him. “Who am I speaking to?”

“… Hello, Bak.”

He stiffens, his mind going blank. That is not Lvellier’s voice.

For a moment, Bak is frozen, waylaid by memories—and then he breathes in, quick and fierce, and pushes the knot of tangled emotion away. “Renee,” he breathes, stunned, and almost chokes on the name. “I mean— my apologies. Branch Chief Epstein. How… good to hear from you.”

Renee Epstein: sole survivor of the Laboratory Six massacre, newly instated Branch Chief of the North America Branch. The woman who walked out of that lab alone, pale in the face and dark behind the eyes. She wouldn’t say who attacked her. She wouldn’t say what happened, only cried when asked. She fled the Asia Branch as soon as she physically could, barely a day later, like the hounds of hell were at her heels, and the only thing she ever shared of that night were Chief Twi’s last words.

He doesn’t know what to say to her.

Bak hesitates, fumbling, unsure of how to proceed. Congratulations would be callous at best and offensive at worst. “I heard about the promotion. I am—I am certain you will do wonderfully.”

“Thank you,” Renee replies, after a weighty pause. They had not been close, the two of them, but Bak remembers her well enough. She’d been soft-spoken, uncertain, gentle. Prone to the occasional stutter. Now her voice is stony and flat, dead in the water. It makes something in Bak go cold, even as some part of him relates. Are you tired, too? Bak cannot help but wonder.

“I am certain you will fulfill your duties to the best of your abilities as well,” Renee adds, and Bak closes his eyes with a sigh. It doesn’t matter if she is tired. What matters is what she wants.

“Mm.” He moves away, facing the wall, keeping his eyes on the unlit monitor screens. The cord of the phone pulls taut and he takes a moment to untangle it, giving himself a chance to think. The wire hums beneath his fingertips. “I apologize, Chief Epstein. I don’t mean to sound rude, but— Why are you calling me?” 

Renee considers this. He can hear the faint tap of her fingernails against her desk. “Lvellier came by to visit me, yesterday.”

Bak goes stone still. He doesn’t speak. There is a sudden pit in his throat.

“I was certainly surprised. Reports say he’d just come from the Asia Branch, to Central, to here—what a trip to make, across the world. But you see, he came for a reason. He wanted my familiarity with… the project. He asked me to return to Central when able.” Her voice is stony, detached, distant. Each casual word is like a blade sunk deep into his skin. “He wants me to look at what was recovered from the— accident. He wants me to find… a specific body.”

His blood burns sick in his veins, his throat dry and sticky. It hurts to swallow. It takes all his effort to speak, to keep his voice level. “I see,” Bak says, and he has never felt so hollow. He’s missed this. He’s made a mistake. Only two months in—

“Yes,” Renee—no, Chief Epstein—says. “I’m sure you do.”

There is a long pause. Bak breathes, and fights to speak. He has to—he has to say something. He has to. The longer he stays quiet, the more she will suspect—but if she called him at all then surely she already suspects? Which means—

Which means… what, exactly?

…Just why is Renee Epstein calling him?

Bak grits his teeth past his panic and forces himself to think. Why is she talking to him at all? Why is she warning him? Whatever she wished to confirm, however important it may be, she’s also let him know she’s a threat, and that—that isn’t smart. That isn’t a mistake Renee Epstein would make, not if she’s learned the same lessons as Bak.

There is more to this than a casual, routine threat. There must be. Bak considers that, considers what he knows, what he is willing to risk—closes his eyes, and throws caution to the wind.

“Chief Epstein,” he says, and this time he does not trip on her name. “Why are you telling me this?”

The rhythmic tapping of nails stops mid-motion. He can almost picture it—her hand going still, her casual posture betrayed by the stiff set of her shoulders and the cold cut of her eyes. “I suppose I wanted to know,” Chief Epstein says, “what you would do when I told you. But I have my answer.”

Bak’s hand tightens on the receiver. He glares at the monitor screens like he can peer through them to glare at her, instead. “You are threatening me.”

“Chief Chang,” Chief Epstein says, “you are the one taking it as a threat.”

His breath catches. Bak bows over his desk and fights for a response. He can feel the itch of hives under his coat, but his hand, flat on the desk, curls into a shaking fist. He is caught. He’s trapped, and he can’t think of what words will get him out of this, if anything can help him when it’s clear she already knows too much.

He doesn’t answer.

Chief Epstein, too, is silent for a time. Her breathing sends soft bursts of static down the line. She seems to be struggling with something, and at last she breaks the stand-off with a loud sigh that fizzes harsh in his ear.“Enough of this,” she says, abrupt. “I told Lvellier—I said that I would try. But of course, the bodies are mangled. Decomposed, torn apart. It will… take me some time. To find him. As it were.”

Bak stares at his desk, his mind whirling with the implications. He’s not sure about what he’s hearing. He’s not sure if he can dare to hope. But Chief Epstein has already likely confirmed what she wanted to know—Alma’s survival, betrayed by Bak’s own reaction—and yet, she is still here, still speaking.

He wets suddenly dry lips and thinks—his mother’s last words. Don’t repeat our mistakes. Words that Renee had known, too. The words she had given to him.

Bak draws himself up straight, bracing for a blow, and dares to try. He says: “How much time?”

There is a long pause.

Then: “How much do you need?” Renee Epstein asks, and oh, oh, Bak could cry. The relief he feels at those words is crippling. She is testing him, yes—of that he has no doubt. But this is not the answer of an enemy.

“As—” Damn, Bak thinks, damn, why his voice breaking now, of all times…? “As much as you can give me.”

“I’ll do my best,” Renee says, and—her voice is cold, yes. Cold and deadened and unyielding. But there’s something else too, a tremor beneath the ice. “I can promise—another two months, at least. Maybe more, if I deliberate, if my job creates… complications. The travel time alone might buy you weeks. But—there is a limit, Bak. There is a limit. A false trail only leads so far.”

He calms himself, quieted by the caution in her words. “I—I know.”

“Good,” Renee says, and stops all at once. Her voice cuts out as if she’s snapped the words back, and suddenly her breathing is much louder than before. She starts to speak, cuts herself off—and hisses, under her breath.

Bak… hesitates. “Chief Epstein?”

“I apologize,” she says, clipped. “I… I simply…If I may ask— you do not have to answer if you do not wish, and I mean no disrespect to your parents’ memory, I—I just—I need to—” She makes a sharp, unwilling sound, short and frustrated. “I— Bak. Is he… please, tell me, is he happy?”

Bak blinks, caught off-guard by the strange, desperate hope in her words. His fingers curl tight around the phone. “That’s…” Bak trails off. “I—I can’t say.”

It hurts to admit that. To bare the truth. Alma smiles sometimes, yes, and that is a good thing—but they are weak, pretend things, more a mask than anything genuine. The few real smiles Bak has spied are faint and drawn, and always, always surprised out of him.

And yet—he finds himself wavering, unwilling to just leave it at that. Chief Epstein is callous, an unwanted player, a complication to an already convoluted situation. But before she had been a Chief, before she had been dangerous, she had been a member of the Second Exorcist Project.

Had she known Alma and Yuu? Had she cared? When the massacre occurred, when little Yuu cut Alma into shreds and left the Lab in shambles behind him—did she cry for them, too?

It doesn’t change what she’s done, what his parents and every researcher in that Laboratory are guilty of. But what is the difference between them, really? Does Bak have any right to judge? If his parents had gone to him, had told him of the Project and asked him to help—could Bak, too, have been convinced it was necessary?

“I can’t say,” Bak repeats. His heart feels frozen in his chest, and yet—despite everything, perhaps Renee Epstein can know this much. “I don’t know. But just a bit ago— he laughed. I don’t— I don’t think he meant to. He seemed so surprised. And it was only for a moment.” His voice hushes, softened by the memory. “But he did laugh.”

Renee Epstein is silent. He can hear her breathing on the other end of the line, soft and hitching.“I see,” she says, and for a moment she sounds—unsteady, breathless, near tears. “I see. That’s. I’m.” She stops.

“Thank you,” Renee says at last. “Thank you. I know you probably don’t—think kindly of me. And that’s fine. You… are probably right not to. In any different circumstances—” She stops again, and her sigh crackles over the line. “Well. It doesn’t matter, does it? Just… thank you. I’m glad to hear it.”

Bak stares at his blank wooden desk and thinks of differences, of similarities, of who he could have been without ignorance. Without the death in his nightmares, without grief, without Alma there as a living reminder, to convince him of what is right and what is wrong and what is necessary.

“Of course,” Bak says.

Renee exhales, the sound is small and shaky over the line. Her voice is made soft by the static. “Goodbye, Branch Chief Bak Chang.” It is the first time Bak has ever heard someone say that title with any degree of respect. “This will be the last time we speak unless necessary. I— I wish you luck.”

She hangs up before Bak can even say goodbye. The dial tone blares in his ear. His mind is blank, stuck in what-ifs and could-have-beens and the aftermath of panic. And yet, somewhere in the haze of relief and fear and still-lingering grief—something Renee Epstein said sticks with him.

I mean no disrespect to your parents’ memory.

He cannot place it. He doesn’t know what she meant by that, why Alma’s health and happiness could have ever hurt, could ever disrespect anything. He doesn’t know, he doesn’t want to know—but all at once, for no reason that he can find, Bak feels a chill strike all the way down to his bones.

He puts down the phone.

-

“I’m going to kill him,” Bak says.

“Master Bak, you cannot kill him.”

“It is five! Five in the morning! Komui is a dead man.”

“I’m sure Mister Komui had a reason for his… abrupt summons.”

Alma yawns absently into one hand, agreeing with the sentiment but unwilling to contribute to the conversation. Exhaustion weighs heavy on his shoulders, and he rubs at his single eye with a heavy hand, stifling the urge to fall over and just… go back to sleep.

It probably wouldn’t even work, he thinks to himself blearily. Alma barely gets any sleep these days—some nights he can only stay asleep for an hour before nightmares or restlessness prompts him awake. No matter how tired he is, Alma doubts he’ll get any sleep—just the same old frustrated waiting.

Besides, whatever this is about promises to be entertaining. Komui had woken them up only a half hour before, claiming things like “Science has prevailed!” and “It’s genius! Genius!” in an increasingly manic pitch until Bak finally closed down the connection with a snarl. Fo hadn’t even stayed—just grumbled insults under her breath and marched back off to… sleep in the walls, or whatever it is she does. Alma doesn’t actually care; he’s just glad she’s absent.

The summons had only come about ten minutes ago, and Komui is due to arrive in any second. Alma cannot help but feel a little excited. It’s only been a few weeks since Alma first met the eccentric scientist, but it feels like no time at all. He’s still not sure what to think about Komui, but he knows enough to expect something… exciting. And possibly flammable?

Alma doesn’t have to wait very long to find out. Only a scant few minutes after that alarming summons, Komui bursts through the door of Alma’s secluded hospital room, one arm flung wide in greeting. There’s a bulky and misshapen package wrapped with draping cloth tucked securely under his other arm, and his smile is wide and dazzling. He’s got a smear of ash across his face, and his fingers are black with oil, his once-white lab coat ashy with dust. He looks disheveled and a bit like he hasn’t slept in a week.

“Hello, hello,” Komui announces grandly, back arching and hand in the air like he’s trying to poke the sky. Alma leans back against the wall, watching him discreetly, staying silent as Komui postures. “I come bearing news and great gifts!”

Wong, by the door, rubs at his head and sighs. It is a very resigned sigh.

“At five in the morning?” Bak grumbles, and then pauses, straightening up in his seat. “Wait, gifts? Do you mean—”

“This!” Komui says, holding out the package with both arms. His smile is downright manic. He bounces on his heels and turns to Alma, and the light in his dark eyes is blindingly bright. “The first prototype of your prosthetics!”

Alma blinks rapidly, processing that, and his eye goes wide. He leans in close, staring intently at the package, trying to picture an arm and leg in place of the vague outlines under the blanket. “I— really?”

“Yes!” Komui sweeps over to his side with little prompting, and when Alma unthinkingly and excitedly gestures for him to sit, straining to see past the cloth, Komui laughs and settles down on the bed. He is so slow and aching careful in unwrapping the prosthetics that it leaves Alma practically vibrating in place, pent up energy thrumming in his veins. He feels at once wide awake, wired and alive.

After what feels like ages, Komui finally finishes unwrapping the limbs, picking up the leg and raising it up dramatically for Alma to see. “Ta-da!”

Sheer surprise draws Alma even closer, and he looks at the new leg—his new leg—with a wide eye. “It’s metal?” he wonders, looking the prosthetic up and down. He isn’t sure why, but he’d thought the prosthetic would look like a real human leg, with skin and bone and everything, but now that it’s here before him he suddenly realizes how silly that is. The reality, however, does not disappoint.

After weeks of trying on liners, casts, diagnostic sockets, and other bits and pieces of the prosthesis, to see the full thing is awe-inspiring. The leg is long and sleek—polished amber-gold wood carved to mimic the contorts of human muscle and bone. The top half, the socket, is hollowed and padded with soft fabric; the bottom a flat and firm sole that bears a passing resemblance to an actual foot. The knee is a solid bit of shiny metal and screws, melting into a rigid silver pole that serves to replace his missing shin. The leg in its entirety is a gorgeous thing, a mix of warm woods and crystalline metals, a clear creation of labor and love.

“Pretty,” Wong observes, leaning a bit over Alma’s shoulder for a look himself. He rubs at his beard. “This does not look like any modern prosthetics I’ve seen…”

“We perhaps went a bit overboard with the design,” Komui admits, as Alma stares. “Especially for a diagnostic socket, rather than the final product… ah! But such is science. It can look however you like, Aly, do let me know if you don’t like it.” He places a hand over his heart. “My aesthetic is often underappreciated… and, in this case, utterly unimportant. However you want it to look—rainbow, grapevine cage, spikes— rainbow grapevine spikes…?”

Alma shakes his head. “No,” he says. “No, this is—this is fine. It’s fine. It’s—” He reaches out, then draws his hand back, unable to find the words. The leg, the arm, their careful woodwork and design and decor… he can hardly fathom it.

“It’s beautiful,” Alma breathes, awed beyond words, and Komui smiles so wide it looks like it hurts.

“Well,” Komui says. “Well.” He’s beaming, ear to ear. “Thank you, Aly. I’ll be sure to tell the team you said that—alas, I cannot take the praise alone. Now—” He holds out the leg like an offering and his smile gentles. “Would you like to try it on?”

“Okay,” Alma says, and when Komui gestures him over, he only hesitates for a second before he scoots to the edge of his bed, offering his stump of a leg to be fitted.

After a month of care, the skin has finally begun to regrow over the stump, though it is still pink and at times tender to the touch. There is not a single bandage on Alma’s person, now. He is not entirely certain if this is a good thing, but at any rate, it means he can try the leg on.

Alma watches with a wide eye as Komui explains how to do it—the cover, the socket, the bend and stiffness of the knee, how it works. Alma slips on the liner and the seal over his stump, running his hand up and down his leg in an attempt to push out any air trapped between the liner and his skin. “Don’t want any blisters,” Komui says, when he asks. When the liner is sealed and wet with a little alcohol (“Did some research,” Bak explains, from the side, “apparently it helps with slipping into the socket,”), Alma is finally ready to try on the leg proper. With Komui’s careful guidance, Alma slips the socket gently over the stump, the wooden leg fitting tight and snug.

He is just reaching for the arm when Bak laughs.

“One limb at a time, maybe?” he offers. He is standing by the wall, his earlier irritation gone as if it had never been, his smile small and soft. “It is your first time using these.”

Alma pauses, torn between not wanting to do as Bak says on sheer principle, and understanding the logic of it. He wavers.

“Best to not put too much stress on your body at once,” Wong adds gently, and draws Alma’s attention to him. His look is stern. “You are still healing, after all. To push too far too fast will only set you back.”

Alma thinks on this, and finally ducks his head in a nod. “Okay,” he says finally, only a little disappointed. He’d wanted to try on the arm too, but he can wait. In hindsight, the prospect of trying to move two new limbs at once is… daunting.

As-is, though, the chance to stand again is more than enough. Alma slowly places both feet on the ground, testing one leg and then the next. It is so strange, to feel the rough stone beneath one foot and not the other, stranger still to feel the weight enclosed over his stump. He looks at his mismatched toes, one real and one polished wood, and gives a soft smile at the sight.

“Well?” Komui prompts. He looks excited. “Go on, go on!”

Alma takes a deep breath. He has to stand to get the leg on completely, right? So there’s no helping it. He pushes himself off the bed, feels his stump sink deeper into the leg socket, a snug fit that instantly feels more secure—and at once knows that he has made a mistake. His one arm flails without its partner to keep the balance, and Alma nearly tips over onto the floor if not for Bak lunging to catch him.

Alma freezes, but Bak doesn’t pull away, just gives an amused huff and steadies Alma back onto his feet. “Need any help?”

No, is Alma’s first reaction, but he feels unsteady and rocking and he knows he’ll fall without it. He stares daggers at the ground and grits his teeth, remembering Fo—Don’t let him know, she’d said, Don’t let him suspect, this is the price—and steels himself. He forces a shrug, and Bak silently adjusts himself onto Alma’s bad side, one hand on his shoulder to keep him steady. Alma hates that some part of him finds it comforting.

(When Alma first woke up, before Yuu, before everything—he’d been so curious and so confused he’d almost tipped right into the wall. Doctor Edgar had caught him then. He had grabbed Alma’s arm and steadied him on his feet, and he’d laughed soft and fond. Let me help, he’d said. Like this, he’d said. Alma had stood on his own and taken his first real steps with Doctor Edgar’s hand warm on his shoulder.)

Alma gets his feet under him and shakes Bak’s hand off his shoulder as soon as he can help it. His skin crawls. Bak lets go and steps away, but the memory of warmth, of a warm hand on his back, of laughter in his ears, lingers still.

Alma shakes his head and takes another breath, trying to focus back on the present. Standing is… different. Uneven, almost. He can feel the pressure of the prosthetic against his stump, the weight of his body and gravity and the unyielding firm floor against the flat sole of his wooden foot. It doesn’t—hurt, really, but it’s not a feeling Alma has ever before experienced.

“Careful,” Wong cautions, and Alma spares him a smile.

He can think on it later, Alma decides. He’s just stalling, at this point. He’s—standing, for now, and that’s good. That’s good enough. It feels secure, or at least steady, and well… now or never, right?

Komui gives him a thumbs up. Alma nods firmly back. Right!

Alma takes a deep breath, steps forward… and promptly trips.

It’s only Bak’s quick intervention—again—that saves him from face planting the floor, and the jolt back makes Alma’s head spin. He grips at Bak’s arm with his one hand, for once uncaring, and tries to catch his breath. That had been—fast. Oh god. Freefall is not fun.

Bak settles him back on the bed, and Alma sits gratefully. “U-um—”

Komui is already gripping his hair, looking aghast. “FLEXIBILITY,” he wails, head arching back to the sky. “Ah! All that attention to the ankle joint, and I forgot foots are flexible too! Blast!”

Alma gives a weak smile, unwittingly amused by Komui’s overreaction. “It’s okay,” he says, almost on instinct. “Just—um, surprising.” Abruptly he realizes he is still clinging to Bak’s arm like a child. His smile goes stiff and he wrenches his hand away.  

If Bak is offended, he makes no mention of it— just moves back out of range, returning to the wall. Alma eyes him warily.

“What else?”

Komui’s question, weirdly serious for the childish man, snaps Alma from his thoughts. He blinks fast. “Huh?”

“What else was wrong?” Komui repeats, his tone prompting. His eyes are alight, his chin cradled in his palm. He’s bouncing on his heels like he wants to lean closer but is holding himself back out of sheer will. “Any stiffness? Pain? Comfortability? Was the mobility alright? What about the grip? Or—” He visibly stops himself, clearing his throat. “Well, obviously it was a short test. But did anything stand out?”

Alma… hesitates. “That’s…”

“Don’t be shy,” Komui encourages, when Alma cuts himself off. His tone has gentled again, though it’s no less eager. It happens a lot, with Komui, but unlike with most Alma finds he doesn’t mind it as much. It doesn’t feel—patronizing, from Komui. Just soft. “It’s so I can make it better! I am a man who thrives on feedback.”

Alma chews on his lip. “Well… it’s a bit hard? The foot, I think, it, ah… it’s hard on the ground, it didn’t feel—very secure? And—it ah, screeched, and the floor felt a bit slippery—”

Komui’s eyes light up and he abruptly snaps his fingers. “Ah! Because it’s stone, and there’s no traction! Yes, yes, yes, I can’t believe I missed it!”

Alma relaxes, soothed by the easy acceptance. Wong is nodding, slow and proud, looking fond. He even thinks he can see Bak smile in the corner of his eye, and for once it doesn’t curdle in his chest like it usually would. The room is too warm, too gentle, too bright. There is too much possibility.

(But in the back of his mind, a voice whispers, relentless. Look at you, falling for the lie all over again, this whisper says. It sounds a little like Yuu. Haven't you learned anything, Alma? Don’t you know better by now?)

“Yes, of course, I see, I see!” Komui enthuses, and the dark thoughts vanish from Alma’s mind as if they’d never been, chased away by the warmth and laughter. Wong is shaking his head. Bak is fuming. Komui’s glasses glint ominously as he scribbles Alma’s suggestions down on a notepad.

“Yes,” Komui’s saying, unaware of Alma’s daze. “Yes, yes, I can definitely fix this. Right then, Aly! One more try, and then, onto the next—your arm!” He looks up with a smile and his expression falters at what he sees. “…Aly? Are you quite all right?”

This time, Alma has to force himself to smile back. “Fine,” he says, quietly. It’s okay, he cautions himself. It’s fine. He doesn’t actually care about them. He doesn’t actually believe the nice things they say, so it’s fine. He’s still fine.

It’s only ever been an act. And maybe it’s hard, but— This is the price.

This is the price.

“I’m fine,” Alma repeats, with a little more gusto. He forces himself to sound energetic. “Can we keep going?”

“Of course!”

And Alma smiles.

-

Komui and the other scientists finish the first workable prototype for Alma’s prosthetics mid-winter, almost five weeks later. It’s a delightful realization. Less delightful is the other news: Alma, for some reason, can’t wear them yet.

It’s not that he minds the wheelchair, exactly—it’s comfortable, and after his usual rehabilitation exercises it’s actually quite nice to curl up and sleep in—but Alma is still recovering, still learning how to navigate the world with one less eye, arm, and leg than he is used to, and that means, among many things, that if Alma is in the wheelchair then he is inevitably having someone else push him around.

It’s necessary, but Alma doesn’t like it. He doesn’t like having all these people behind him, pushing him forward, deciding where he should go, no matter that the wheelchairs the Order has only work for people with two arms. Even if it’s just Wong, or maybe Komui, and only Bak once or twice—never Fo, thankfully—Alma still doesn’t like it. It’s supervision, and it grates on him. The watchful eyes, the sense that they know. Alma has not given up, no matter Fo’s thoughts or threats, but how on earth is he supposed to do what’s necessary if someone else is always there?

Despite this, Alma can understand why they’ve yet to hand the prosthetics over. The final product is complete, but Alma himself is still on the road to recovery. Rehabilitation—healing, the human way—is not only painfully slow, but also painful. Pain in a way Alma isn’t used to, either, which seems like a real wash. Or, as Yuu would probably say: Fucking figures.

“It means you’re building muscle!” had been Komui’s helpful contribution. Which seems so silly—why does Alma need muscle, he can throw pillars one-handed—but apparently, according to Fo, Second Exorcist super strength doesn’t count. For some reason.

Alma is being sulky, and he knows it. But he thinks he’s allowed to sulk over this.

“It is a shame,” Komui is saying, his long-winded explanation on mobility and rehab and necessary muscle strength and adjustment periods and “piles, Aly, piles of paper from the nurses informing me they’d murder me and bury me in the woods if I set you back in your recovery because of my beautiful creations, can you believe?”

His words are all very flowery and nice, but the end result is the same. Alma sits back. “I can’t wear them yet?”

“Another month or two,” Komui promises. “I swear! And during that time I will make even better ones, ones those nurses will have to agree is superior to the current models—!” He cuts his rant off with a gusty sigh, then shakes his head and refocuses on Alma. “But, until then… yes, I’m afraid so. It wouldn’t do to stress your limbs before they’re ready—or you, for that matter! It takes a lot of muscle work to move these things, and, well—hurting you is absolutely not what we’re going for here. So… soon. I promise. But not yet.”

His voice is calm, his eyes understanding and mirroring Alma’s own frustration. Alma looks away.

Komui perks up. “Ah! However! If it would help, since the main product is now complete, I could, perhaps, try to design a cybernetic eye—or a built-in rocket crutch—or a rocket-powered wheelchair—”

“No!” Bak says, back in his usual corner. His voice is very high-pitched. “No rockets. Or gunpowder. Or—anything like that, no!”

“But Bak~”

“Absolutely not,” Bak says firmly. Komui scowls. Bak sighs, and pinches the bridge of his nose. “…But, if you have the time, try a one-handed wheelchair.” His eyes drift to Alma. “Is that alright with you, Aly? Even without the prosthetics, we aren’t trying to keep you grounded here. Of course, if your shoulder wounds are acting up at all, I’m sure we could—”

“That’s fine,” Alma says, shifting uncomfortably. His many wounds from Yuu’s sword have healed up ages ago, and it’s only occasionally that they ache. His shoulder is the worst, though; even on good days he can barely lift his arm above his head, and by the end of the day it’s almost always tense and aching. Alma hasn’t actually told anyone this, though, so it bothers him a little that Bak noticed. “That… um. Sounds really nice.” He flushes under Komui’s gaze. “Um. I don’t want to make too much work for you, though, it’s not—”

“Nonsense,” Komui says, and he says it so gently that Alma halts mid-word from sheer surprise. Komui’s look is very warm. “It would be no trouble at all, I assure you.” He brightens. “In fact—I think I’ll get to work on it right now.” He snaps his fingers at Bak. “I’ll need paper, pencil, a ruler—ah, now where did I put those measurements…”

“You—! How many times do I have to tell you I’m not your assistant!?”

“Bah,” Komui says, flapping a hand.

“Bah!? Bah? I’m your boss, damn you!”

Komui just laughs, and flounces out of the room with a cheerful back-hand wave. “Of course, of course. Well, then, I suppose I’ll just have to find them myself, you spoilsport. Bye bye, Aly! Bak~”

Bak twitches. “And stop calling me—” Komui is already gone, the door swinging shut. Bak sighs. “Of course.”

The room goes quiet. Alma shifts uncomfortably, smile fading—which is funny, because he can’t remember when he started smiling the first place. Weird.

Another minute goes by, stiff with silence, before Bak sucks in a deep breath, as if bracing himself. He turns to Alma with a smile that looks a little wooden, awkward and ill-fitting. “Well. Hopefully he was kidding about the rockets. In the mean-time…” He surveys Alma, eyes sharp. “How is rehab going? Wong informs me that you’ve put much effort into regaining mobility.”

Alma shrugs, looking away. He doesn’t say that rehab is the most interesting thing to do with his time lately; though Bak and the others bring him books, the once-thrill of learning about the outside sits bitterly with him. He doesn’t want to read those books. He doesn’t want to be anything like he used to. “It’s going,” he says simply, and leaves it at that.

“…Your hair is growing out again,” Bak says, after another long silence. “It’s not bothering you, is it?”

Alma blinks, startled by the comment, and lifts his remaining hand to his head, his fingers bunching in coarse strands. It’s short and spiky, not as long as it used to be and most definitely not as long as Yuu’s, but slowly and surely growing back. “Oh,” he realizes. “Um, no.”

Bak smiles at him. “It is getting long,” he says, absently. “If you want to cut it at any point, Wong or I would be happy to try.”

“...Cut it?”

“Ah.” Bak considers this. “Have you never had one? Well, no matter. A haircut. Often done with scissors—you only need to cut it if you want it shorter, by the way. Or to even it out…”

Alma clenches his hand into his hair, his shoulders tense. Cut his hair? Those long silver scissors, in the hands of a stranger, or worse, Edgar’s son, near him?

He tries to bite back the panic but something must slip through, because Bak’s head snaps up and he immediately backpedals. “Or not,” he says, so quickly he almost runs over the words. “Haircuts are—actually, on second thought, I don’t know how to cut hair and I’d be terrible at it. Perhaps braiding, then? However you would like to manage it.”

Alma pauses, closing his eye and breathing in deep, trying to banish the image of silver blades from his head. He clenches his jaw and slowly unwinds his hand from his hair—ow, he’d really been yanking on it—and exhales soft and shaky. There’s a strange fluttery feel in his chest, a rising nausea like tears, and he swallows it back best he can. “Don’t know,” he says, but even as he says it he already knows he won’t be able to just leave it hanging. Having hair like Yuu’s would be—no. No, he can’t do that. Maybe a ponytail?

It’s not quite a memory that hits him—more a sense, a vague familiarity—but even that is enough to make Alma shudder. Nope. Ponytails are out, absolutely out.

“Maybe,” he says finally, curling his fingers rhythmically in the sheets. It’s calming. “Braiding. Maybe. I’ll—think about it?”

Bak hesitates, then nods, his shoulders slumping. He blows out a breath and smooths down his coat. “Of course,” he says. “There’s no rush. It was… only a suggestion.” He looks away and clears his throat, then straightens in his seat and smiles. “If I may ask—how are the prosthetics working? Is the team alright? Are they kind?”

“They’re fine,” Alma says dully.

“Ah, I see. And… and Komui, is he—”

“He’s fine,” Alma says, and his voice is a little sharper now, a little more barbed. “It’s fine, everything’s fine, it’s all just fine.” He feels wired and raw, rubbed wrong; ever since Bak mentioned haircuts he can’t stop thinking of silver blades. He watches Bak’s hands with his one good eye, suspicion tight in his chest. He knows, logically, that Bak isn’t like that—not yet, anyway, when he’s so convinced Alma is the victim. But at the same time… he can’t quiet that little whisper, that hiss in his ears, that whispers over and over: But what if.

If Bak takes any offense at Alma’s anger, it doesn’t show. He just stops, stepping back, nodding with such serene composure it’s almost bizarre. “Okay,” he says simply. “Okay. I… that’s okay.”

Bak pauses, and his hand lifts, rubbing absently at the back of his neck. Alma follows the movement, sharp and suspicious—but Bak just smiles at him, something sad in the set of his face. “That’s good to hear, honestly. You seem to be getting along well. You seem happier.” He hesitates. “You are, right? Happier?”

Alma stares at him, feeling cold. “What?”

“Ah, it’s just… you smile more, now. So I thought—”

But Alma is no longer listening. His heart has dropped, his breath caught, his thoughts tangling into knots. He feels as if he’s been struck, and for a moment he is shockingly, blindingly angry, his vision blurred—and then it’s like a pit has opened up in his stomach. Like free fall, a ruthless drop, his heart in his throat.

He has to bite back the urge to laugh, because—smiling? Happy? It’s wrong, it must be, and yet—and yet—he has, hasn’t he? He’s laughed, he’s smiled, he’s greeted Komui in the halls. He’s looked forward to the visits from others and felt disappointed when they left. He’s—he’s—

Horror rises in his throat. He thinks he might be sick.

“—Alma? Alma, what—”

“Happy?” Alma rasps, and Bak falls immediately silent. “Happy?” He curls his hand into the fabric of his covers and bites back a scream. “You think I’m happy to be here?”

Bak is right, is the thing. He’s right. And that is the worst part of it, because Alma has learned these lessons, he’s carved it into his skin and has the scars and nightmares to prove it—but he’d still smiled, bright and real, when Komui and Wong and even Bak walked in through those doors.

He’s going to scream. He really is.

“Alma, I didn’t mean to—”

“Get out,” Alma says. “Get out of my room!”

“Alma—”

“Get out!” Alma shouts. He intends to stay calm but hysteria is clawing at his throat. He has to fight to keep from screaming. “Get out, get out, I—I don’t want to see you. I don’t want to see anyone! I don’t want to be here! I’m not happy to be here!” He’s not going to cry. He’s not. “Get out!”

Bak steps back. “I’m going,” he says. His voice is even, mild, reasonable—but when he grips the door handle, his hands are shaking. “I’m going. I—I’m sorry.”

Alma grits his teeth, ignoring the pang in his chest. He curls his hand viciously in the covers, struggling to catch his breath from his sudden outburst, swallowing down the rising swell of emotion. His blinks fast until his eye is dry, and the urge to cry has faded.

“Get out,” Alma says, and this time his voice is even, too. Unfriendly and flat, the way Yuu used to talk, whenever he’d been pushed too far. Alma can hear the disconnect, the ice in his own voice, and he thinks vaguely that Yuu would be proud.

“All right,” Bak says. He is speaking carefully, lowly. He steps out the door, hesitates, then turns away without another word, closing the door shut behind him, leaving Alma alone.

“Get out,” Alma whispers, but he isn’t talking to Bak this time. Not really. He bows over the covers and hisses through his teeth. He’s not going to break down now. He’s not. He—he can do this. He can. “Get out. I won’t. I won’t.”

(He doesn’t look beside him, but he is so, so aware of the empty space. Of the place where Yuu should be, of the memory of him. Of the echo of Yuu’s words in his ears.

Alma, you idiot.)

Alma is shaking, and he has to grit his teeth and twist his face to keep from crying again. “I know,” he says to the air. “I know, Yuu. I know.”

Maybe Yuu was right about him all along—maybe Alma is an idiot. He thinks he certainly used to be, back when he was hounding the heels of the scientists and begging for their attention. But Alma has learned his lesson. He really has. He can’t—won’t—fall for the lie ever again.

That’s what he’d thought, anyway.

Alma bows over the covers, one hand twisted in his shirt. His breathing is shaky and hot. His one eye burns, his vision blurring. He feels feverish, struck, stunned—but in his chest, his heart is cold, and he swallows the tears back. His cheeks stay dry.

Bak Chang isn’t wrong, really. Alma is happy. Alma is smiling. Alma wakes up some mornings and does not hate it. And it sounds so nice, it sounds so pretty—but Alma is not who he used to be, and he refuses to fall for the lie again. He cannot be happy here. He just can't.

His breathing calms, his heart decided. Alma will stay as long as he must, and not a second longer. He won’t give these people his future or his heart ever again. And when he goes, Alma decides, when he finally rests—Alma will be sure to kill Bak Chang first, for forcing Alma to make this choice all over again.

They all smile so brightly. They all speak so kindly. It is so easy to be happy here, but their kindness is fleeting and thin, and it will break as soon as Alma stops smiling back.

He’ll still be sad, when they go. He’ll probably even cry over it. He’ll probably hate it. But there’s an easy fix for that, too-- because Alma has already kept himself from crying, and so now, just maybe, he can keep himself from caring as well.

Alma remembers, now. He won't forget again.

He keeps his hand flat and steady on the blankets, and the next time Komui walks through that door— this time, Alma does not smile.

-

The weeks pass by in a blur, but this time progress is stale. In the span of a single conversation, everything shifts, and Bak oversees the slow downhill trend with a heavy pit in his gut. Where before Alma’s recovery was punctuated by the occasional smile and a lightness to his eye that grew brighter with each morning, now it has gone cold. Alma does not smile. He barely speaks. Where before Komui’s every word made him stifle a smile, now he barely looks up. When he talks at all, his voice is flat.

Bak watches and watches and feels guilt rise up in his throat. This is his fault, undoubtedly, but he doesn’t know how to fix it; he’s not even entirely sure where he went wrong. He has suspicions, guesses, thoughts and hints—but none of these will help Bak fix this.

Even Komui, the first to make Alma smile, is unsuccessful at lifting Alma’s now constant dark mood. The carefree man’s smile never drops, but nowadays when he exits from his daily meetings with Alma, it’s with slumped shoulders and a pale frown.

Something has to be done. Something has gone wrong, and Alma does not seem keen on either fixing it himself or talking about it. In truth, Alma has shut down entirely, and that—that scares Bak more than he could ever explain. Even when Alma was sullen or quiet, there had been a spark to him. Now it’s like he’s trying to kill his own spirit, and Bak has the horrible sense that it was his words drive Alma to that point.

Bak has made this mess, no matter that he hasn’t a clue what he did wrong. He made this mess—and that means he has to try and fix it, however he can.

He reminds himself of this, as he walks down the hall. He assures himself of this when he opens the door to Alma’s room. When Alma looks up, his one eye icy and his face blank, Bak remembers a stuttering laugh from almost a month ago, and forces himself to smile past the churning of his gut.

“Would you like a tour of the Branch?”

Alma stares up at him, his eye going wide. Wong, in the corner of the room with a clipboard, marking down the results of the day’s rehabilitation exercises, gives Bak a disapproving stare. There is a moment—a split second—where Alma’s face is open and vulnerable, wide-eyed surprise. Then, just like that: gone. His one eye blank and cool, the lights off, expression wiped clean. A shut down of frankly worrying proportions.

“What?” Alma says. His voice is flat. He’s staring. With the dark shadows under his eye and the sickly cast to his skin, he looks as much of a ghost as he did when Bak first pulled him free from the wreckage of Laboratory Six.

It’s enough to make Bak want to scream, but he swallows that back, too. It’s been weeks, months, days upon days—and any and all progress has been reset, or worse, erased. At least in the early days Alma bothered to shout and cry, instead of—this. Whatever this is. This building, careful silence that makes his skin itch, the choked tension like a stifled scream.

It’s terrible, it’s honestly terrible, and that is why is here.

“Would you like a tour of the Branch,” Bak repeats, and keeps his voice steady.

Alma considers him. His fingers are curling and uncurling in the fabric of his covers, a nervous habit Bak has seen many times now. “I can’t wear the prosthetics yet,” he says, and there’s a note of testing in his voice.

“No,” Bak agrees, and takes a breath. “But the prototype one-arm wheelchair is, if you would rather not be pushed around. I am told it is perfectly safe.”

Alma seems to know that, too; his eye narrow, and his hand clenches into a tight fist in the covers. “Why?”

“…Why?”

“Why would do you want me to have a tour?”

Bak—blinks at him, for once entirely caught off-guard. Why is not the response he was bracing for. “I—thought you might be curious,” he says, finally. His heart drops. “Was I wrong? It’s just—ah, it’s been a few months, and… It occurred to me that you haven’t seen much of the Asia Branch beyond the medical wing.”

“I thought I couldn’t go out,” Alma says. He is watching Bak very closely, coiled tight with tension. His voice is high, wavering. In this, Bak has surprised him. His eye keeps glancing to the side, as if trying to find comfort from someone beside him, but there is no one there. “I thought…”

“Well, yes,” Bak admits, feeling his throat close up at that. “But… preparations are almost complete. If you wish it, in a few weeks times we can safely introduce you into the Branch fully without anyone none the wiser. Still, there’s no reason to not show you around.” He offers a weak smile. “The official story is that you are being secluded because of trauma, not because anyone might be looking for you. I promise, this will not jeopardize your safety.”

There is, of course, a reason Bak is offering this—a reason why it is this. Alma is going to join the Branch soon, and that means he has to know it. But more than that, Bak wants to show him the Branch. The people who live and breathe here, the life and cleverness and quirks that make the Asia Branch. So far Alma has seen so few people, so little of the Branch beyond his room—and Bak wants to try, if he can, to give Alma more than just a tiny room.

It helps, too, that this is the one offer he thinks Alma will not refuse. Of the few things Alma has ever asked Bak, leaving has always been the focus.

Which is why he is heartened, but not surprised, when Alma does not immediately refuse.

Still, Alma seems to hesitate. His teeth worry at his lip, and his eye drops down to the floor, distant and thinking. He looks young and small, as he almost always does, but this time Bak does not miss the darkness behind Alma’s single remaining eye. More than the scars that carve down the left side of Alma’s face, more than his missing eye and downturned mouth, it is this shadow in Alma’s eye that gives Bak pause.

(And deep in the back of mind, he thinks—I knew it, and then buries it with all the rest.)

Alma lifts his head and meets Bak’s eyes. His jaw works, his hand coiled tight with tension. For a moment Bak thinks the boy will snap—but then Alma looks beside him, and his face falls. The empty space makes his shoulders curl.

“All right,” Alma says. He is still staring off to the side. His voice is tight, trying and failing to stay steady. “A-all right. A tour. Okay.”

Bak steels his spine and smiles firmly back. He does not know if he can fix this—but the least he can do is try.

“Wonderful,” Bak replies, and means it.

-

Of all the Branches of the Black Order, the Asia Branch is one of the oldest. It was the second Branch to be established after Headquarters and the Europe Branch, but its history outweighs even the Vatican. The Asia Branch is a ruin converted into a home, and the echoes and traces of its archaic past still hang thick in the air. The sprawling ruins and towering ceilings, the winding pillars and echoing halls—there is age and power in every stone, with every curving hall, behind every corner.

There is nowhere else quite like it, and perhaps Bak is biased, but in terms of looks, he thinks this home inside the mountain is the most beautiful place in the Black Order. The Asia Branch has a beauty unmatched: an ancient kind of majesty.

Despite that, however, Bak cannot help feel nervous as he leads Alma from his room. He laces his hands behind his back and keeps his head high, taking care to walk just before Alma, not leaving him behind nor crowding him. Alma, for his part, seems content to ignore Bak entirely—his eye fixed on the wheelchair’s arms, only lifting once in a while to flicker at their surroundings.

Bak clears his throat slightly and straightens under the weight of Alma’s attention. “Where would you like to go first?”

Alma eyes him, then looks down, frowning at the cobblestone floors. “I… don’t know.”

Bak considers him, and when Alma says nothing extra, nods. “Okay. There’s the research labs, the communications room, mess hall, training area…”

He lists a few more places, watching Alma’s face carefully as he does so. Alma flinches at the mention of research labs and his jaw tightens at the mention of the science wing, but overall his face stays blank. A brief flutter of his eyelashes at the mention of a garden, thin lips at the mention of the medical wing…

This isn’t working, Bak thinks, and changes tactics. “Perhaps the kitchens?” he offers, light. “It is around midday; what would you like to eat?”

Alma looks up with a momentary flare of interest… catches Bak’s eyes, and snaps his gaze back to the floor. Damn it.

Bak waits, feeling a little desperate and a little foolish. “…No?”

Alma stays quiet. Bak inwardly despairs, and squeezes his eyes shut to hold back a grimace. Perhaps this wasn’t the best plan after all. Wanting to fix his mess is all well and good, but in hindsight, Alma hadn’t seemed very fond of Bak even before this, and now… now, it’s looking like Bak is less than useless.

“Okay,” Bak says, because he is nothing if not a hopeless optimist. “How about—”

“Stupid Bak,” Fo says. “What is this?”

Alma goes ramrod-straight in the seat, his one eye wide and wild. Bak whirls around, nearly tripping in his haste. “Fo!?”

Fo, standing tall in the center of the hall, gives him a narrow look. Her hands are on her hips, her green skin flushed dark with emotion. She lifts one arm and jabs her block-like hand in Bak’s direction, smacking him right in the arm.

“Ow!”

“Stupid Bak! What fool thing are you doing now?”

“It’s just a tour!” Bak snaps back, rubbing hard at his arm. He’s just getting ready to yell at her for it, too—seriously, he is not a punching bag, his training routine is fine as is, why must she keep hitting him—but the words shrivel up the moment he gets a good look at Fo’s face. The anger, the twisted scowl, her challenging stance—all this is familiar. But there is something else, something false about it, that makes Bak stand up straight.

“Fo,” he says. “Fo, what’s wrong?”

Fo jolts, as if surprised. She tears her sharp gaze away from Alma and sneers at Bak instead. “What? Nothing.”

He doesn’t believe her, and that unsettles him more than he is willing to show—but he can’t confront her about it here, not with witnesses. Fo will never speak serious matters in front of an audience. “Okay,” he says slowly. “I—everything’s fine, Fo. I’m just taking—Aly here for a tour of the Branch.”

“A tour,” she repeats, toneless, but her eyes have fixed back on Alma. “Where to?”

“Anywhere,” Bak says, unsettled by the look in her eye. His foot taps restlessly on the pavement.

“Not outside,” Fo says immediately.

Bak blinks at her. “No,” he says slowly. “Uh, no, okay, of course not.”

Fo nods. Then she says, “Not the kitchen, either.” Her eyes fix back onto Alma. Her expression is wintry, her usual drawling humor cut flat. “Or anywhere with knives.”

Bak sneaks a glance at Alma. The boy’s hand is white-knuckled on the wheelchair. “…Right,” Bak says, carefully. “Um—”

“Safety first, stupid Bak,” Fo says, and her tone is teasing but her eyes are sharp and begging him for compliance. “Kids shouldn’t be around sharp objects, don’t you know anything?”

“I know things!” Bak snaps, and fumes when Fo scoffs at him. “I do! Don’t give me that look! I—hey, where are you going? Get back here!”

Fo is melting into the wall, looking bored and almost back to normal. “Whatever,” she says. “I gave my advice, stupid Bak, just make sure you take it. Tours, goddamn. You humans are exhausting.” A sharp crackle of electricity and then she vanishes, gone before he can blink.

Bak stares intently at the wall and then pinches the bridge of his nose. “…Sorry,” he says to Alma. “Well, where were we? Not outside, someplace secure… perhaps the—”

“Bak~!”

He snaps his mouth shut and nearly snarls from the interruption. Can’t he give a single tour in peace?

Then Bak recognizes that bright sing-song tone, and the snarl rises unbidden to his face. He resists the urge to slam his face into the wall. Fo would laugh at him.

“Komui,” Bak says, darkly, and maybe it’s a little petty but god is it deserved.

“So mean!” Komui calls back, rushing down the hall with a manic gleam in his eyes, like a predator sensing weakness. “Aren’t you happy to see me, Chief?” His smile is sparkling and too-wide to be kind, and then the expression freezes on Komui’s face. “Oh! Aly, is that you?”

Alma stiffens, ducking his head at Komui’s approach. Bak stops mid-insult and frowns down at the boy, feeling his heart sink in his chest.

He is used to Alma avoiding him; resigned to it, even, and refuses to feel hurt. He knows what his parents have done and he knows how he must resemble them. But Komui, for all his annoying habits and tendencies, had thus far been the only one to constantly provoke a positive reaction from Alma without fail. That Alma is outright ignoring the man…

The worst part is, Alma seems miserable about his own actions. Even now, his lips twist behind the short fringe of his hair, his shoulders hunching. His breathing is uneven, his knuckles white against the handle of his wheelchair. He looks guilty and upset—but he still doesn’t look up.

Bak worries at his lip in thought, casting a side-glance to Komui, who skids to a sharp stop in front of them, his wave of hello stalling mid-air. There’s a momentary flash of insight on his face, and then the hand falls, linking behind his back as Komui rocks on his heels.

“Aly,” Komui repeats, with that usual odd softness. Alma hunches his shoulders and looks away. Komui tilts his head. He doesn’t seem hurt by Aly’s silence—just resigned, and perhaps understanding.

Whatever Komui’s thoughts on the situation, he reacts the same as if Alma had greeted him in return: with theatrics. Within a single blink, Komui goes from contemplative to delighted, his hands on his hips and lips stretched into a grin so wide Bak almost swears sparkles pop into existence from the sheer force of Komui’s blinding white teeth. Threatening sparkles.

“Ooh! Taking a tour, are we?”

Bak straightens up and pretends to not be intimidated. (Though, seriously: how??) “Obviously,” he snaps back, and glances at Alma. When the boy stays stubbornly silent—head bowed and one hand gripping at the wheelchair arm—he sighs and turns back to Komui. “Aly will be discharged from medical care in a few weeks, and I thought it prudent to introduce him to the Branch before then.”

Komui claps his hands. “Hmm, that so? That’s wonderful news. Congratulations, Aly.”

Alma nods, still not looking up. Komui shrugs and turns his gaze to the ceiling, pressing his thumb thoughtfully against his chin and humming obnoxiously. “I suppose this means you’ll be staying with us here, then!” he adds, and he says it so brightly Bak almost misses the sudden sharpness to Komui’s gaze. “Ah, dear me, that’s a bit of a surprise. I’m glad you’ve decided to join the Branch, Aly.”

It’s not much—just the slightest pause before decided—but it makes Bak feel cold. He looks away, down at Alma—Alma, who stares at the floor with his one eye blank and dark.

He’s not sure what that look means, but it makes his chest hurt regardless. Bak turns away and stares hard at the wall, rubbing at the edge of his sleeve in thought. He feels heavy and slow, sunk deep in a pit, his throat tight. He tears his gaze away from the wall and looks at Komui with a weak glare that the other scientist just meets with an infuriating smile.

“Ah,” Komui says, and then nothing more, as if this has just confirmed something to him. “Well! If this is a tour, I might as well suggest—” He kneels before Alma, right in his line of sight, and smiles brightly when Alma blinks fast, as if startled to see him there. “My favorite place,” Komui says, in a false whisper that fails utterly at being inconspicuous, “is the door!”

Bak goes absolutely still. His heart drops. Oh, he thinks, and understanding sinks like a stone in his chest. Oh. Oh, no.

Not outside, Fo had said, and Bak hadn’t even questioned it. Hadn’t even asked for the reason, for the why, if Alma was okay with that. It had seemed logical—Alma has nowhere else to go, and beyond the barrier the akuma roam, and—it’s logical, it’s sense, it’s safety—

So why does Bak suddenly feel guilty?

Alma, unaware of Bak’s struggle, just stares at Komui, seemingly thrown so off-guard that for a moment his newfound decision to avoid Komui slips—he is wide-eyed, bemused, for a split second absolutely taken in. Bak stares at Komui too, still reeling. He works his jaw, torn between sudden thankfulness and sudden fear and the ever-present irritation of Komui’s company. He looks away.

“Door?” Alma repeats, incredulous, and then snaps his mouth shut, breath catching, as though he hadn’t meant to ask at all. Komui laughs brightly, and straightens up, his smile warmer and somehow pleased. Alma looks away, his jaw tight, the darkness back—but all that does is make the second he slipped even more apparent.

Komui’s expression is oddly gentle—and, when he turns to Bak, oddly sharp. He nods once, brushes the dust from his coat, and gives Bak a pointed smile—Bak scowls darkly back, because for all that Komui may be right he could still show some basic respect, damn him—and then pivots grandly on his heel and walks off with nothing more than a casual backhand wave.

“You’ll see!” Komui calls back, light and bright, and Bak closes his eyes, looking down and away, gritting his teeth against an insult. He wants to deny this. He wants to say Komui is full of hot air and an idiot besides. And yet.

It’s only logic, Bak tells himself. It’s only logical. Alma is a fugitive from the Order, and if he’s discovered alive then Lvellier will drag Alma right back into hell. The small villages and towns by the Asia Branch are safe from Order detection but not from the threat of akuma. Behind Fo’s border and within the Asia Branch’s ruins, Alma can truly disappear from detection, truly find peace and safety.

It’s only logical, Bak thinks, and then he sees the sharp suspicion on Alma’s face and all of his conviction falls away into dust. It’s logic. It’s smart. But perhaps Bak should have asked anyway. Hadn’t he decided as much, all those weeks ago? Bak must do this right, or it will mean nothing at all.

Komui is infuriating and annoying and loud and insubordinate—but in this, Komui is not wrong. Perhaps he is cleverer than Bak ever gave him credit for.

“Come on, Alma,” Bak says, already mapping out the route in his mind. He ignores the ill sense in his gut, the memory of Fo’s dark eyes, the warning in her voice. “There’s a place I want you to see.”

-

Alma considers running.

From the moment Bak offered his tour, Alma has suspected an ulterior motive. Yet, somewhere between leaving his room and traveling the Branch, he’s no longer certain on what that motive actually is. Fo, with her veiled warnings and threats, and Komui, with his cryptic cheer—ever since then, Bak has looked hunted, almost shifty.

Bak is leading him somewhere. Probably the “door” Komui mentioned, but then, Alma doesn’t really understand that either. He knows it is important—Alma can pay attention to things! —but he’s still trying to puzzle out how.

So: despite his fear, despite his suspicions, despite everything—Alma considers running, but follows Bak anyway.

He’s not sure where they’re heading, but the further they go the more the Branch withers. The halls are narrower here, emptier; less and less people pass them by. The walls go from cobbled stone to rock pitted and ashy from age, soft to the touch. The air is—cleaner, sharper, brighter than Alma is used to. He’d never thought of the Branch as dirty, but here the air feels clean.

Despite this, Alma hunches further in his seat, his stomach twisting into knots. The halls, narrow and empty, make him think of Laboratory Six. The ceiling, so high he cannot even see it—the pitted walls and ashy touch—even Bak, walking ahead, with his white coat and blonde hair, feels like a memory come to life, an echo of Doctor Edgar made flesh.

Alma has resolved himself. He’s decided not to care. But he can’t, he can’t do this in silence, in his thoughts, with all these memories rising up.

He can hear his own breathing pick up, and his heart is pounding in his ears. He squeezes his eye shut and bites his lip hard, trying to calm down. It’s not working, though. All Alma can think of is how familiar the echo of these footsteps is, how the air is just as cold as the labs used to be, how Yuu is still not here—

“I meant to ask, Aly—have you given any thought to my offer?”

Alma startles, feeling as though he’s just been jolted awake. He stares. “What?”

“My offer.” Bak doesn’t look back, but he’s stopped walking, and his hands are linked casually behind his back. “It was—a bit ago, so it’s alright if you forgot. About teaching you to braid? Once your hair is long enough, of course.”

Alma lowers his hand to his lap. “I—” Yes, he remembers now. That talk of haircuts, and ponytails and braiding, right before Bak had said—had said—

“I remember,” Alma says, and he sounds distant and creepy even to himself. Empty.

(Yuu would hate it, hate it, hate it. He always hated when Alma went quiet, for all that he liked to tell Alma to shut up. Yuu would hate it so much. Yuu would hate him.)

“I see,” Bak says, and maybe he can hear the danger in Alma’s voice too, because he doesn’t push for an answer. “Well. We’re almost there. Just past that corner—you can’t miss it.”

Alma looks at Bak for a long moment, but Bak doesn’t move and doesn’t say anything more. Alma turns away. This time, when he takes the wheelchair’s lever again, his hand is steady.

He enters the room.

It is like nothing Alma’s ever seen, not even in the labs. A high ceiling that seems endless, but the walls are sectioned off, each level supported by square and blocky pillars. There are balconies, detailed stonework columns, gaslamp lights and trailing hallways. It looks—grand, almost, great in every sense of the word.

Yet, despite its splendor, the room is utterly deserted. There is no-one and nothing here. The floors are clean and clear, not a chair or table or discarded book in sight. If not for the faint flickering lamps on the walls, the entire place would be barren.

Alma notices these things, but only briefly. In truth, his attention has already been captured. Because there, standing tall at the end of the great hall—there is the door.

He thinks it’s the door, anyway—he cannot think of what else it could be. A towering expanse of the wall enclosed under a rounded arch, so tall Alma has to crane his neck to see the top of it. It’s painted from head to toe in bright, bold colors—interlocking circles of purple and green, spikes of gold carouselling the curving lines. It’s beautiful and strange and enchanting, and Alma feels his breath catch.

“Lovely, isn’t it,” Bak says, and his tone is light but all of his inflections have fallen flat and tense. “Would… would you like to go closer? I can take you up the stairs, if you don’t mind me pulling your wheelchair.”

Alma lowers his head, Bak’s voice snapping him out of that brief awe. “That’s fine,” he says, and makes a conscious effort to keep his voice unfriendly. “I—I want to see it.”

There’s something important, here. Something Bak is not telling him and something Komui wanted him to know… and Alma refuses to be left in the dark.

Besides. The door is—beautiful. It’s new and gorgeous and—and Alma wants to know.

He lets Komui help him up the small set of stairs and rolls out of reach as soon as he’s on solid ground. He looks at the door to avoid looking at Bak. “What… what is this place?”

Bak clears his throat. “It’s a door,” he offers, in that same stiff voice. For some reason, he won’t meet Alma’s eye. “The entrance to the Branch. Fo guards the breach—she keeps us safe from detection and attack by the Earl and his followers.”

Alma stares at him and then looks up to stare back at the wall again. “Komui’s door?” he asks.

Bak shuffles on his feet. “I suppose he meant this one, yes. Though I assure you there are many more doors in the Branch, so really—”

But Alma is not in the mood for jokes. Something Bak has said finally let’s all the pieces click into place. He understands, now, and it makes something within him go tight and hot with hate.

“Does it lead to the outside?” Alma asks, and Bak finally shuts up.

The silence stretches and Alma clenches his one remaining hand into a fist. “Is it?” he snaps, voice wavering, and his mind is full and far away, full of echoes and full of memory. Of a different place, a different room that looked so close to this one, just with glowing pits set deep into the stone. Of halls that led to dead-ends and a ceiling so high he couldn’t see the end of it. Of Edgar Chang, leaning down with one finger pressed against the glossy pages of picture book, saying, This is the sky. This is outside.

And Alma, not so much younger then but smaller, simpler, kinder—who had smiled back and asked: Will I see it too, someday?

“Yes,” Bak says, and his voice is quiet, sunk deep in his chest. Raspy and too-loud in the utter silence of this empty place. “Yes.”

Alma turns away. He looks at the door with new eyes. Knowing what it locks away—knowing what it’s hiding from him—dulls the majesty of it. Now it looks like a cage.

He wheels himself right up to the door, ignoring Bak’s aborted attempt to stop him. Up close the colors look ashy and faded, the gray of the stone peeking through. When he brings up his hand and presses it against the rock, it is chalky with age and cold against his fingers, the ice of the mountains embedded into that unbreakable guard.

Alma curls his fingers into stone, and leaves streaks in the settled dust. His nails scrape harsh against the rock. The door is freezing against his bare palm.

This place, this whole place, it’s—he isn’t sure what it is. Majesty and silence and echoes. Hallowed ground. The sense of power, of possibility, of being alone. It’s wide open and empty and echoing, and Alma hates it with everything in him.

He stands up from the wheelchair on impulse; nearly wavers on his one leg and gestures Bak away violently when he sees the man start. His wheelchair spins and rolls out of reach, but Alma doesn’t really care. He’s tired of sitting still.

It’s hard, to stand on one leg and balance with one arm; it’s easier when he leans against the door to steady himself, his forehead pressed against icy rock, his one hand open-palmed against the stone, as if trying to sink through to the outside. He closes his eye and imagines all the things that must lie beyond the wall. All the things this door and the labs and the Asia Branch have kept from him. He dreams of it. He breathes it in. A blue sky and green grasses—the world they wanted him to save, but never to see.

“I’m never going to leave this place,” Alma says, and he keeps his eye closed, his forehead pressed against the stone. “Am I?”

Bak sucks in a sharp breath. “No,” he says. “No, I—that’s not—I wouldn’t—”

“I don’t want to be here,” Alma says, not really listening. He means to sound indifferent, but his voice twists and breaks half-way through, and he has to swallow a sob. The stone is cold against his forehead, hard and uncomfortable against the still-tender scars on his face. “I don’t want to be here.”

Bak goes quiet, but his breath is rattling and thin. He doesn’t say sorry but Alma can hear it anyway, and he hates it.

Alma pushes himself away from the stone, flipping himself around; his back hits the door and he slides down to sit properly. His back to the door, the icy cold bleeding through his thin shirt, his legs stretched out before him, one cut short and the other whole but scarred. He brings up his knee and rests his head in the crook of his arm, eye closed and breath rattling in his chest. His throat feels so tight. There is strange pressure building in his head, his heart, his throat; every breath and every sound feels strangled.

Alma grits his teeth and hides his face and thinks of the outside. He thinks of Doctor Edgar. He thinks of Komui, who continues to greet him bright and cheerful; of Wong, a silent presence at his shoulder, forever helpful, forever gentle; of Bak and his continuous and faltering offers of help, of braiding, of things to give. He thinks of blue skies he’s never seen and will probably never know, and he thinks of Yuu.

He’s always been thinking of Yuu, these past few months. Thinking things like why, and how could you and do you hate me? Do you hate me, Yuu? Where are you? Do you think of me, too?

Thinking of Yuu, and missing him, and still—still, even now, looking for him, trying to find Yuu in the shadows and corners, unable to accept that he’s really gone.

Alma thinks of Yuu. He imagines, he remembers, with every fiber of his being, as if missing is enough to turn back time. He thinks of blue early mornings and the way Yuu would wake up tossing and turning, pleading in Japanese for someone to stay, the way his Mandarin would be broken and stuttered for hours after. He thinks of Yuu running down the halls too fast for Alma to follow, and the way he would always look back as if to check Alma was still there, still trying to catch up. He thinks of the way Yuu used to roll his eyes, or sneer, or curl up in corners the same way Alma is now, his knees drawn up and his head buried in his arms, as if trying to hide from the world.

Yuu never shook. He never wailed, never screamed, never made any sign that he might be crying. But when Alma found him in the nooks and the crannies, when he knelt by Yuu’s side and flashed a quiet peace-sign hello, trying to coax Yuu out from the caverns of his elbows, Yuu used to look up with red eyes and wet cheeks. He never spoke about it. He never said anything, or if he did, it would be an insult or a curse. But Yuu would always look up. He would always answer, always, but only if it was Alma that found him.

Were you waiting for me? Alma asked him once, and Yuu had said: Shut up, Alma, but that wasn’t a no, not with Yuu.

Alma curls up in the shadow of the wall and buries his face in his arm, thinking of Yuu and the way he used to hide. And he pretends. For one brief, useless second—Alma pretends. He pretends to be hiding, that the stone at his back is the wall in Laboratory Six, that the quiet is because he is hiding and not because everyone is dead.

Alma hides his face and waits for Yuu to find him. He waits for Yuu to come. He waits for the patter of Yuu’s footsteps and his high, raspy voice, always sharp, always snapping—What are you doing now, Alma? —prissy and rude, forever irritated, but always there regardless. Always, always there. It took Alma some time but he knows Yuu, now, understands the way Yuu works—Yuu’s kindness never showed itself in words but instead in actions, in the way he didn’t shove Alma off the bed and didn’t laugh when Alma cried, in the way he followed Alma to the testing chamber and in the simple fact that he waited, always, for Alma to find him, because Alma was the only one Yuu ever let see him cry.

Yuu, Alma thinks, days and months and maybe a lifetime away from those days, those moments, those small kindnesses. Yuu, are you coming?

He presses his back against the stone and curls up tight, reaching internally for the missing piece. Yuu, are you there?

But this room is too empty, the air too clean, the stone too cold to belong to the laboratory, and the truth is that no-one’s coming. There is no-one there. Yuu is not here, and he never will be. He’s left Alma behind for the world outside.

Alma doesn’t know how long it has been since the massacre, and he doesn’t really care. Months are meaningless. It feels like yesterday, and yet, despite all the time he’s had to think and wonder and plot and plan—for the first time, it truly hits him. For the first time, Alma really understands.

Alma is never going to see Yuu again.

He will never say goodbye, or sorry, or ask him why. Alma has survived against all odds, and when he finally does die, this time it will be without Yuu by his side. This time Yuu won’t be there. Alma won’t go without blood, without making sure the lesson’s learned—but he will also go alone, alone in the only way that matters.

Alma is going to die, and he’s going to die without ever seeing Yuu again.

He hides his face in his arm and shakes, feeling the familiar burn in the back of his remaining eye. His breath rattles in his chest. It’s not fair. It’s not fair. He doesn’t want to be here. All these months and weeks of healing—Alma didn’t want them. He didn’t want to survive. He didn’t want to have to go through this all over again. He’d just wanted to save Yuu, and he’d just wanted to rest, and now both are out of his reach.

Come back, Yuu, he thinks, uselessly. Please come back.

There’s the sharp patter of footsteps on stone, and Alma’s head snaps up, and he almost believes—but no. No. It’s only Bak. Only Bak, who has the nerve to be here, to look worried, to look like he cares.

Suddenly the shaking is too much for him. The pressure builds, blinding; it grips him tight, seals his throat and makes his fingers tremble. His vision is shiny and blurred. Alma bites his lip so hard it bleeds, feeling small and tight and caged into himself, and he’s trying to bite it back, he really is, but when he sees Bak there, hand outstretched and expression devasted—

Alma snaps.

“Go away!” Alma shouts. He presses himself back against the door and scrapes his hand against the floor, a make-shift fist, his fingers curled. In this moment Bak looks too much Edgar had, in the lab, in the end, and Alma hates it, hates it, hates it. “Go away, go away, go away—”

“Alma,” Bak says, careful, so careful, and this time he sounds just like Edgar did too.

Alma, please, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.

What little self-control Alma held onto breaks like a twig. Alma screams at Bak, a short and wordless cry that echoes and echoes and echoes. He sounds awful, young, breaking. He sounds weak. He sounds like a child, but Alma has never actually been a child and he is so tired of everyone treating him like one, of lying to him, of pretending—

Alma curls his last remaining hand into a shaking fist and slams it against the stone floor. It hurts. It hurts. But the floor cracks too, all edges, shattered beneath his fist, and Alma feels a dizzying relief at the sight of it. He lifts his hand to try again.

“Alma!” Bak shouts, voice rising and eyes wild, and he’s reaching out, he is too close, he looks so afraid and he sounds so worried and Alma has never hated him more.

“I said go AWAY!”

It’s not so much a shout as it is a shriek, and it tears out of Alma’s throat like wire, barbed and bleeding.

It is this cry that hits home. Bak flinches and stumbles away, finally moving back. His hands are shaking too. But his eyes are dark and his face is set, and even though he steps back, he doesn’t leave. He stands with his fists at his sides—shaking. Watching Alma, watching Alma’s hand. Looking as if he’s about to cry too.

“Go away,” Alma says, or maybe snarls, and Bak lowers his head.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“I don’t want you here!” His eyes feel hot, his face flushed. His hand throbs, painful pin-pricks, jabbing and sharp. Alma makes a fist anyway and smashes it against the broken floor, just to spite them, just to make Bak flinch. “I hate you! I hate you! Leave me alone. I don’t like you, I hate you, I’m not waiting here for you!”

“I know.”

“Go away,” Alma says. He’s really crying now, trembling like a leaf, his throat aching. He forgets the deal, the plan, Fo’s warning. He forgets. “Go away, I hate you, I hate you and everyone like you—I wish you’d all just die!”

Bak breathes. The sound rattles. He says: “I know.”

Alma screams at him again, short and wordless, just to keep himself from sobbing. He can hardly breathe, he’s crying so hard; he twists his hair in his hand and grits his teeth against another wail. He’s gasping for air, feeling stuffed and wrung dry, stretched thin. His heart aches in his chest, as tender as a bruise.

“I don’t want you here,” he says. “I don’t want you here. I, I want—I want Yuu.”

He doesn’t mean to say that, to admit it. But the moment he says it, he knows it’s true. Alma digs his palm into the hollow his eye and curls into himself, crying so hard he can barely speak. He’s not talking to Bak anymore. He’s not sure if he’s talking to anyone.

“I want Yuu,” Alma says. “I miss him. I want—Yuu. Yuu, come back. I want him. I want him back. I, I want—I—”

Bak doesn’t say anything. He turns away, and sits down on the steps, linking his hands on his lap. His fingers are white-knuckled and spotted with hives, trembling. But Bak doesn’t speak, and he doesn’t move. He just stays there, sitting frozen and still. His hands clasped and head tilted up to the ceiling, as if trying to see beyond the stone to the sky.

Bak doesn’t say anything. But neither does he leave.

“I miss him,” Alma says, and then he starts to cry.

It’s a different sort of crying then before—softer, quieter, more consuming. It feels like mourning, maybe, only Alma can’t tell if it’s for himself or for Yuu. Or maybe it’s just this, that Alma’s grieving: Yuu, who showed he cared by staying; Yuu, who will never again be by Alma’s side.

Alma cries until he’s out of tears, until the pressure eases and he feels as if he can breathe again. By the end of it his anger is dead and cold, dried up with his tears, and all his strength along with it. He feels wrung-out and worn thin, exhausted to his bones.

The room is silent, empty, still. The door still sealed shut against Alma’s back. Bak still seated on the stairs, a silent sentry. His back bowed and bent underneath a stained white coat.

Alma drags in a breath through his teeth, and rubs his hand hard across his face, trying to scrub the tears away. His skin feels flushed and sticky, fever-hot. His eye is sore and itchy from all the crying. He pries tear-soaked bangs away from his face, and finally finds his voice.

“…You’re still here,” Alma whispers, and he’s not really sure what he’s asking.

Bak looks up, but doesn’t look at him. Just wipes his palms dry on his pant leg and says, quietly, “I’m sorry. I don’t want to intrude. And I don’t want to make you feel crowded. So I— I won’t say anything, if that’s what you want. But it wouldn’t feel right, to leave you alone.”

Alma breathes. “Go away,” he says. His lips are so dry they’ve cracked. His hand is aching, needle-like pricks of pain radiating up his arm. He wonders if he’s fractured it. “Go away. P-please just… go away.”

“I know I’m not who you wanted to be here.” Bak is hushed. “I know. I’m sorry. I’ll be here anyway.”

“Please.”

Bak bows his head over his knees, and Alma watches him, too tired to read into it. And maybe Bak is tired, too—because he sounds it, in this moment, tired and old, when he says, “It just wouldn’t be right to leave.”

Alma closes his eye and leans his head back against the door, cradling his injured hand to his chest. He doesn’t say anything to this. They’re quiet. Just quiet.

“If…” Alma starts, and his voice rasps rough in his ruined throat. “If I… if I asked to leave this place… if I asked to go outside. If I wanted to go away. If I didn’t want to be here.”

He stops, unsure of how to continue, his words hanging heavy in the air. Alma stares at the distant ceiling, and then drags his gaze away, finally meeting Bak’s eyes. “If I wanted to go out this door right now,” Alma says. “And—and never, ever, ever—” His voice cracks and he swallows it back. “E-ever come back. Ever.” He waits. Bak doesn’t move. His face is white.

Alma doesn’t look away. He doesn’t move. This time, his voice doesn’t break. “Would you let me leave?”

Bak stares back. His eyes flicker up and away, to the door at Alma’s back. The interlocking circles and golden spikes. He stares at the door for a long time.

“Yes,” Bak says, and nothing else.

Alma ducks his head, his jaw working; he rubs the last of his tears away. He takes a deep breath through his teeth, then takes a few more for good measure. His heart is settling. He isn’t shaking anymore. He rests his aching hand in his lap and tilts back his head against the wall, facing the sky.

“Okay,” Alma says. He stares up into the comforting blackness, and feels something within him finally rest. “Okay.”

When his breath is steady and he feels stronger for it, Alma wavers back to his feet and limps to his wheelchair, rolled over off to a corner. He gets himself down the stairs without help. The walk back to his room is slow but steady, and Alma lets Bak push the wheelchair because his hand is still aching. They are silent, not speaking, and Alma is grateful for it. He’s tired of talking. He’s tired of crying. The quiet is a relief, a breath of fresh air—and when he finally makes it back into his room, Alma closes his eye and exhales, shaky and relieved.

His fingers, so tight against the armrest of his wheelchair, finally relax.

Alma gets himself settled in a chair and brings his knee up to his chin, just breathing. He watches dully as Bak puts away the wheelchair, and then stands awkwardly in the center of the room, looking foolish and out of place and clumsy. Bak opens his mouth a few times as if he has something he wants to say and can’t figure out how to say it, but he never actually asks. His hands flutter uselessly and then drop.

There is nothing else to do, Alma knows, and rests his chin atop his knee, his gaze distant. It is so quiet here, in the Asia Branch. These halls are so big, and so empty. It’d be easy to get lost in this place. It feels as though Alma already has, and for the first time he wonders if Bak feels that way too.

Bak looks it, at any rate. He’s staring at the wall, and his eyes are shadowed and exhausted. He has to take three deep breathes before he finally speaks. “Does it hurt? Your hand.”

Alma looks down at it, curling his fingers. “Yes.” He watches Bak closely when he answers, searching his face.

Bak doesn’t look back, just exhales, shuddering and soft. His face is hidden by the shadow of his fringe. His voice is quiet and his body bowed, curved forward like there’s a weight pushing him down. “I see,” Bak says. He turns to open the door, and then stops, his hand resting limp on the door handle. “I’ll send Wong by to wrap your hand.”

There is a long pause. Bak closes his eyes. “Goodbye, Alma.”

Bak opens the door, and Alma watches him leave. His fingers curl in the blanket on his lap, and it aches. He thinks of doors, and where they lead. He thinks of hiding, of waiting, of Bak sitting on those steps, looking up as if searching for the sky.

“W-wait.”

Bak stills. He looks back.

Alma had not meant to speak—he stares, caught off-guard, and looks away first, down at his hand. He uncurls his fist inch by inch, turning up his palm. His fingers are pale and thin and crisscrossed with tiny scars, his knuckles red and bleeding from where he’d slammed them against the floor. His skin is still sticky from tears.

“Later,” Alma says haltingly, stuttering and tripping on it. “Later, if you—have time, or, um—” He bites his lip hard and forces himself to breathe. “L-later. Would you… teach me how to braid?”

There is a moment of stunned silence. Alma doesn’t look up. He doesn't want to look up. He can’t see Bak’s face. He can’t see Bak’s expression. He couldn’t bear to.

But Alma can listen.

“Of course,” Bak says. There is relief, and kindness, all there in his voice. The sound of a smile on his face. He sounds—warm. That's the word. Warm. He sounds so warm.

Nothing like Edgar at all.

“Of course.”

[crisontumblr]

Fic Doodle: Promises Worth Keeping

Related Reading: Tabristair Masterpost

Just a bit of dialogue I needed to get out of my brain. Takes place way back in the beginning of Aeron Tabris’s Blight adventure, specifically after Ostagar. Will clean up and make an actual full-fledged fic later.

See if you can spot all of the parallels and lines that are technically call-forwards. ;3

“I wouldn’t blame you if you chose to run right now.”

Aeron stops dead in her tracks. Alistair glances over his shoulder—perhaps to confirm that it really is her walking towards him?—before returning his gaze to the marshland before them.

“I doubt anyone would,” he adds, “given the circumstances. Part of me hopes you won’t, though—”

“I-I’m not—” Aeron breathes in, sighs. She presses her hands together; a brief attempt to resist the urge to wring them. “How are you managing, Alistair?”

Alistair gives her another glance, but there is an odd little smile on his lips. “Truthfully? I’m not. All my friends—my, ah…m-my family, I guess—?”

He turns his head away the same moment his voice cracks, bowing it into his hands before his shoulders begin to shake. Something about the swiftness of the gesture makes Aeron feel strange—as if, though she can’t explain how, she is certain this is something he has done before, and often.

You should probably leave him be.

Aeron approaches slowly. She has given up trying to avoid wringing her hands.

Go back inside. Let him finish this crying jag he’s on. You can assess your supplies while you wait; that’s productive for the both of you?

And how long will that take? Not very, considering the situation they left. They’re lucky to have their armor, their swords—

Besides, how long has he been out here, by himself?

This grief doesn’t concern you.

Well, no, it doesn’t. That’s true. But…

Aeron starts to reach out, stops, pulls her hand back halfway, glances back towards the hut, relents, and finally—carefully, deliberately, and gently—places her hand on his left shoulder. Alistair goes quieter, but she can still feel him trembling under her hand. As Aeron sits down next to him on the bank, hand lifting a little to avoid pushing him down sideways, Alistair hastily wipes his face. He draws his knees to his chest and hugs them tight, mumbling an apology.

“This is—” Another odd smile quirks at his lips. “It’s not very becoming of a Grey Warden, is it?”

But Aeron isn’t thinking that, even as she watches him try to play this off; instead, she is focused on how strikingly young Alistair looks in the light filtering through the hazy clouds. (How old did he say he was? Has he even said?) So young and the entirety of the world he knows, gone, seemingly overnight.

Aeron already knows more than enough about that, doesn’t she?

“Do you always cry alone?” she asks him. She shrugs when Alistair looks as if he isn’t sure how to answer, turning to pick at grass in front of her. “My Da was fond of saying that…that crying, y’know, in private is like keeping a secret you should share with someone, but you can’t for…whatever reason.” Aeron shakes her head. “I never really quite… He’s always saying strange things like that.”

“Your father’s still alive?” Alistair sounds mystified by the idea. “I just—I never…knew…mine…”

They fall into uneasy silence occasionally broken by soft sniffling on Alistair’s part. Aeron wonders what her Da is doing now, if Shianni and Soris are faring well, and she feels a pang of guilt. At least, if she did choose to run, she would have something to run towards.

“Listen, Alistair—” Aeron lets out a short breath. She squints against the late-afternoon light. “I have no idea what’s going to happen next. I have no idea what we should do. I don’t like our odds. We’re the only Grey Wardens left, we have no proof that Loghain betrayed us—”

“But he did. He betrayed us—not just the Wardens, but King Cailan, also! Loghain turned his back on his own king and left us all to slaughter—!”

And she is surprised by how much anger is suddenly in Alistair’s voice; how his brown eyes catch the sunlight and burn brightly with it.

“He won’t get away with it,” he tells her. “I’ll see to that, even if it kills me after.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t,” Aeron answers. “I’m not sure I’m the person Ferelden should depend on for stopping the Archdemon, much less inherit the job of rebuilding the Grey Wardens here.”

Alistair makes a sound of confusion. “And I am?”

“Well, I mean…” She offers an uneasy smile. “You have been in for longer, haven’t you?”

“Six months! That’s hardly—” Alistair shakes his head, but he actually manages to laugh a little. “That’s barely basic training there, that is! It’s hardly enough!”

“That’s more than me, at least!” Aeron points out. “And—and—you have templar training—”

“It’s hardly enough,” he repeats, the sadness already coming over him again. He sighs. “Maker, this is terrifying.”

“Yes, it is,” Aeron admits.

“I wish Duncan were here.” Alistair turns his gaze back towards the marsh. “But he’s not, is he? This isn’t just some horrible nightmare. He is never coming back. None of them are. They’re all dead.”

“Alistair…” For a moment, when he looks at her, the words catch in Aeron’s throat. She draws herself up to her feet. “Look, I’m just going to say this a-and…take it as you wish, alright? We’re the only two Grey Wardens in Ferelden, yeah? Nobody can stop the Archdemon but us, even if we have no idea how or—or even if we can, and that’s assuming Loghain doesn’t manage to kill us first.

“And I mean… I haven’t been the nicest to you in the short time we’ve known each other, I know that, but… Well, I took a vow to see this through, and—” Aeron runs a hand through her hair. “I don’t know if it still means something or if—I don’t know, but… Alistair, I’ll make you this promise; that if you’re going to see this out through to the end, then I’ll help you. We’ll finish this together, the Archdemon and Loghain.

“And then…who knows? Maybe after that, we can talk about the Wardens or something. I-I don’t—”

She shakes her head, her sudden surge of confidence vanishing as she looks down at her hands. It’s silly, isn’t it? Thinking the two of them can accomplish the impossible.

“Do you really think we have a chance?” Alistair’s voice is soft.

“I don’t know.” Aeron offers out her hand. “There’s really only one way to find out, isn’t there?”

“Hm.”

A thoughtful look passes over his features. He looks up at her, head at a slight tilt. Is he trying to size her up? Waiting for her to exclaim that she is joking and, in fact, planning to leave as soon as she feels it might be safe?

“Alright—” Alistair’s hand is larger than hers—it is warm, rough with callouses from years of hard work—but while his grip is firm, he only grips as tight as he has to, and he lets go as soon as he is back on his feet. “Let’s see where this goes, then. Together.”

[megabadbunny]

For the DxR fic meme: Nine x Rose; 01 G ☯

(Nine x Rose, Jackie’s flat, midnight, Rose’s diary; from @doctorroseprompts )

***

He knows he shouldn’t, and yet, here he is.

(But it’s not exactly his fault, is it? If she didn’t wanthim to see it, maybe she shouldn’t have left it lying around all public in theopen, conspicuous and winking at him and daring him to take a little peek,wriggling its (figurative) hips like a minx in red throwing a perfumed kissover one shoulder. Never mind the fact that it wasn’t lying around in public somuch as it was in her room, that it wasn’t in the open so much as it was tuckedunder her mattress.)

The Doctor glances around furtively, even though he knows noone will catch him in the act; the flat is empty of any other living thing,save for him and the dust motes colonizing the space beneath the rug. Rose andher oddity of a mum have whisked off somewhere or other (“a proper girls’night”, Jackie might’ve said, or might not have, as the Doctor might not havebeen listening) and Jack is goodness-knows-where with goodness-knows-whom, sothe Doctor figures he’s got a good few hours to himself before anyone returns.And he’s got to find some way to occupy himself, hasn’t he?

(Besides, it isn’t as if he went snooping specifically for it.More like, he snooped, and there it conveniently was. Also, he’s bored.)

Plunking himself down on her bed—not nearly as soft or plushas her TARDIS bed, he thinks with a smirk—the Doctor opens the book to thefirst page.

Dear dairy readsthe first line.

The Doctor chuckles. There is no date scrawled anywhere onthe page, but the scribbles and misspellings amidst very careful and deliberatestrokes tell the Doctor these words were written by someone who had only recentlylearned penmanship, and was determined to do it well.

Dear dairy

Hello how are you? Myname is Rose Marion Tyler. It is my brithday today I am 6 years old.

It’s almost impossible to imagine Rose ever being so young;far easier to picture her emerging fully-grown and stubborn-willed and jeopardy-friendlystraight from inception. But the Doctor tries, and in his mind’s eye he canalmost see her sitting on the bed—no, lying on it, stomach-down, her sock-cladfeet kicking idly in the air. Her hair, unbleached and light brown, would be pulledback into a ponytail, held in place by one of those what d’you-call-it’s. A scrunchie. Her head would bend down inconcentration over the diary as she clutched her pen tightly in her small fist.The Doctor imagines the pen to be pink, glittery, one of those gel-things, hopelesslyand wonderfully childish and girly, and his grin broadens.

Mummy and me had aparty in the park and Lottie and Fred cud not come but Shireen was there andMickey to and his gran and my grandad Prentis. Grandad brung cake from thestore it has had a heart drawed on and my name and there were candels.We had ice cream to. And I had prezents there was a barby and shoes and a newbell for my bike…

The list continues and the Doctor rolls his eyes fondly.Clearly, six-year-old Rose had decided to commit only the most pertinent ofdetails to memory. He flips through perhaps the first quarter of the diary, pausingat a mention of Mickey here, a drawing of a flower there, and watches as Rose’shandwriting grows more confident, her entries more substantial. Her diary is amicrocosm of her adventures with mates, days at school, developing crushes, thelikeability of some of Jackie’s boyfriends and the caddishness of others. Atrandom, the Doctor slips a finger between the pages and opens the diarymid-entry, perhaps a year or two along its timeline.

and it felt awful butI didnt say anything bc he was right I dont have a dad but Keisha got angry andtold him to butt out and mind his own business. So then Nick laughed and madefun of Keisha bout her mum and I thot Keisha might cry so I punched Nick in thenose and it bled and the head teacher says I cant come back to school for aweek. Mum says Im in trouble but she didnt stop granddad from buying me a 99 onthe way home and she said next time do a slap its easier on the nuckles.

The Doctor can just picture Rose, eight years old, eyesflashing and stance wide as she bloodies some little twerp’s nose with herfist. Now that—that is a Rose he has no trouble imagining. Laughing, the Doctorshakes his head and flips to a later entry.

8 Nov 1996

Dear diary,

We went to go see Dad yesterday.

The Doctor pauses, hesitates. He knows what the words mean—they’refigurative, not literal, because it would be another eleven years before Rose sawany more of Pete Tyler than old photos and a grave—but the memory of the daynine years earlier still sends a shiver down his spine, clenches something inhis gut in a guilty-sick feeling he can’t quite explain.

Mum told me the storyagain. She seemed all right definitely better than the last time. I think thephotos help. Granddad came to and I don’t think he rly liked Dad very much buthe was nice about him today nicer than on other days. Afterwards Mum went todrop me off with Mickey but he said she needed me so I went on home and she seemeda little happier but she still cried a bit.

The Doctor wrinkles his nose. Something about Mickey theIdiot doing a good turn makes him grumpy. Who does that idiot think he is,anyway?

We had tea and fellasleep in front of the telly. I wanted to make her dinner but there was nothingin and I couldnt find anything in her purse so I went down to Ms Nodd’s bc she’sout seeing her grandson and I got the spare key from under her flower pot and Ilooked in her bedroom and found a few pounds and took them. I bought Mum aChinese from her favourite place and she didnt ask where I got the money so I didnttell her. I dont think Ms Nodd would know it was me that took it but I stillfeel bad I just didnt know what else to do. Ill pay her back when I get somemoney for my bday.

Nice old bird, that Ms Nodd. Much nicer than some of theother tenants on the Estate, with her blue-tinged hair and cheerful smile andwithered old hands that freely distribute home-baked biscuits to errant TimeLords who just happen to be handy with a squeaky front door. The Doctor makes amental note to liberate an ATM of a couple hundred-pound-notes at his earliestopportunity and slip them into her flat.

He reads a few more pages—comfortably silly stuff, all ofit, more crushes and rants about school and discussions of celebrities andfashion and Rose’s favorite things on telly—until his fingers land on an oddlybrittle page, warped in places, buckling. Several of the words are nearlyimpossible to discern, smudged as they are, and it takes the Doctorapproximately .003 seconds to identify the water marks as tears.

(There’s no dear diaryhere, no date. The words simply begin, as if writing anything more than theabsolutely necessary would take too much energy. Like it would hurt too much.)

Granddad’s gone.

The Doctor sighs, and his hearts each break a little foryoung Rose, curled up in her bed and crying bitter tears into her pillow. Tenyears old is far too young to experience the cruelty of such a loss. But it isn’tas if it gets any easier at any other age. The Doctor knows that to be painfullytrue.

Had a heart attack.Doctors said he went in his sleep and didn’t feel anything. I hope that’s true.Mum said he’s with the angels now but that’s stupid. The angels don’t need him wedo. I already miss him.

Mum can’t stop crying.I wish Dad was here.

And there’s that feeling again in the Doctor’s gut, thesquirmy-sicky one. Almost as if his stomach knows he shouldn’t be doing this,like his body is punishing him. It was all well and good reading about the funfrivolities of a carefree primary-schooler, but this sort of thing—this issomething else. Something deep and personal, a compound fracture of emptinessand hurt. The Doctor knows should stop reading now. He really should.

(He doesn’t.)

It takes a few weeks for the mentions of Granddad Prentice tostart fading, but eventually, they do, fading away to be gradually replaced bythe normality of everyday life. Sometimes months pass between diary-entries;other times, years. The Doctor smiles as he glances over recountings of schooldays and formals and skipping classes, of Jackie’s eccentric cluster of boyfriends,of fights with friends and happy makings-up after, of holidays and gossip andhopes for the future. The day Rose and Shireen fall out over a boy is marked byan obscene amount of swearing and words crossed-out and pencil-punctures dugdeep into the page; the day Mickey asks Rose to be his girlfriend is noted withexclamation points and a lipgloss-kiss.

The day Rose meets Jimmy Stone is noted with a single heartthat simply reads Mrs Rose Stone.

Grimacing at the words, the Doctor forces himself to presson.

OMG met this bloke Jimmyyesterday n he was soooo fit reads the next entry. Shireen and Keisha and me went down the pub and he was playing in theband and I thot he fancied Keisha at first but after he asked for my number ♡ ♡ ♡I kno it doesn’t mean nothing so I didn’ttell Mickey cos no point in him worrying and he gets so jealous anyway lol

Awww, poor jealous ickle Mickey, thinks the Doctor. He snortsderisively. Human beings—so quick to such petty reactions. He’s very glad hedoesn’t have to worry about silly things like that.

Still, it’s a little surprising when, just a few pages later,things have already progressed by leaps and bounds. Jimmy kissed me! leaps out from the page, followed by things like Mickey and me had a fight and Snuck out to hear Jimmy play downtownand Went to the cinema with Jimmy and he puthis hand up my sk

Hearts hammering, the Doctor flips past that page before hiskeen eyes have a chance to read any further. For some reason, the thought ofJimmy putting his hand up anything of Rose’s—indeed, of Jimmy or some otherfool even thinking about touching her, anywhere, with anything—makes him burn abit under the collar. Unpleasant, that. Maybe he’d better take a look at Jackie’sthermostat, make sure it’s doing its job, because it certainly doesn’t feellike it.

(Still, he skips the several pages that follow, just to besafe.)

said if Iwalked out that door I’d better not walk back in and you know what screw her.She’s wasted her whole life crying about Dad and never doing anything withherself and never doing anything for me. I hate her I would rather die then belike her

Eyes widening in surprise, the Doctor quickly scans over thenext few pages, his concern deepening by the second.

love Jimmy andno one can tell me any different and if Mum really knew what love was then she’dunderstand

Im so glad I’mwith him now he gets me like no one else ever has or ever will, ♡ him forever

didnt want totake my a-levels anyway not like it means anything out in the real world

moving into aflat together next week can’t wait ♡♡♡

and I love himbut I wish he’d get a job cos the gigs don’t make enough n I can’t covereverything on my own

came home drunkagain last night n wouldnt tell me where he’d been

told me I’dbetter cough up the rest of the rent by next weekend or else he would

And then, nothing.

The Doctor frowns. Whatever he would do is left unexplained, torn away along with a wholecluster of pages in the diary, leaving a ragged little scar behind where wordsand feelings used to sit. The Doctor runs a finger along the page-stumps leftin the spine, and wonders.

What could have happened that was so bad that even the memoryof it had to be ripped away?

The next entry picks up a few weeks later. It does notmention Jimmy. Instead, the page displays only a handful of lonely words:

He wasright. I’m so stupid.

It takes a moment for the Doctor to realize that the diaryis shaking in his hands. But that’s only because he’s gripping it so tightlyhis knuckles are glowing bright white in an attempt to jump out of his skin. Andsuddenly he’s glad, in quite a perverse way, that he has witnessed thedestruction of the Reapers firsthand, because otherwise the temptation to pilotthe TARDIS back in time to ensure that Jimmy Stone never hurt Rose—that henever so much as existed, never so much as blighted this planet with even asingle vile breath—would be so strong that he’s not entirely sure he’d be ableto stop himself.

Forcing himself to calm, the Doctor skips forward, hopefullyto an entry that won’t cause hisblood to boil angrily in his ears. Now phrases like moved back in with Mum today and applied at Henriks greet his eyes, and he feels the muscles in hisshoulders begin to relax.

and a sweet ginger boy’sstarted coming round, Mum named him Jonesy

but the new job’s notso bad

going out to the clubswith Shireen

Mickey stopped by withflowers today and it was like nothing had ever gone wrong

anyway we’re datingagain

nothing’ll come of itbut some blokes won in Bristol last week so who knows, maybe we’ll win a littlesomething n I could get Mum something nice

a little boring Iguess but prolly about the best I can expect for now

So my job blew uptoday???

Now a grin spreads across the Doctor’s face, lighting it upfrom ear-to-ear. Finally. Took longenough to get here. Now for the reallygood stuff.

Fingers tingling in anticipation, he turns the page.

Nothing.

The Doctor flips through the remaining pages, hunting forsomething, anything, but nothing buta sea of white greets his eyes, winking up at him obnoxiously without so muchas a single date or scribble or scrawl to capture his attention. The rest ofthe diary is completely, utterly blank.

Huffing in irritation, the Doctor sits back, flipping thebook closed with a scowl. It makes a certain sense, he supposes, but still.Really? She’ll write about ice cream and Barbies and school gossip and Mickeythe Idiot but no mention of the TARDIS, no asides about traveling through timeand space, no discussion of Dickens or Slitheen or bitchy trampolines or 900year-old Time Lords taking her by the hand to show her anything her littleheart could ever possibly—

CLANG.

“I just found it!” blurts out the Doctor without eventhinking, pushing off the bed and whirling round to face Rose’s open bedroomdoorway. But no one stands there; indeed, if his superior hearing is anythingto go by (and it usually is), there’s no one within several meters of him, certainlyno one in the flat. And the continuing ding-dang-dongbell’s sound, ringing at twelve lazy but significant intervals, informs himthat his nervousness was for naught—it’s just Jackie’s old grandfather clock,noisily (and unnecessarily, the Doctor thinks with a grump) proclaiming thetime.

It’s midnight. Probably Rose and Jackie will be home soon. Andprobably he shouldn’t let them know he was nosing through Rose’s diary.

(Even if it wasn’t his fault, seeing as they left him aloneand bored and unoccupied in the flat, and even if he didn’t find what he waslooking for—even if he’s not entirely certain what that was.)

As he slips the diary back into its hiding-place beneathRose’s mattress, it occurs to him that there are any number of reasons Rosemight not be writing things in a diary any more—she forgot it at home, or she’stoo tired after their adventures, or too distracted, or maybe she’s even got anew one aboard the TARDIS, hidden somewhere equally silly. But there’s anotheroption too, he realizes; that she’s simply too happy to see the need forwriting things down, that she is too busy living her memories to think of takingthe time to document them. The thought warms him, contentment blooming in hischest, and he leaves Rose’s room with a smile, closing the door behind him.

(He still checks her room on the TARDIS just in case.)

***

part ii

[bixgirl1]

The Sexual Awakening of An Innocent Pureblood, Dating The Randy Prat Who Lived - Chap. 7

And now, @l0vegl0wsinthedark and I bring you the increasingly smutty drama of TSAOAIPDTRPWL (also tagged as virgin Draco)!

Our boys have been dating for over a month now and our dearest Randy Prat has been a verrry good boy. Our Innocent Pureblood, however... Well, he’s been pretty good too. Don’t you think it’s time Harry tests his boundaries? (Just a lil bit. And in a totally *cough* respectful way, of course...)

Chapter Seven: PG Weekdays and R-Rated Weekends

Content: mild dirty talk, frotting

Harry: So do you like the TV?

Draco, lightly: It's alright. Although I will add that I much prefer the Muggle cinema we went to the other day. Much more...lifelike.

Harry, slowly: I was sort of wondering…

Draco, curiously: ...Yes?

*Harry turns off the TV and turns on the spot to face Draco*

Harry, stilted: Well, we've been having lunch together nearly every day for over a month, and we’ve been out every weekend and several times during the week, and, I mean, you do k-- mouth press me when we get together, but you’ve never wanted to come back to mine until tonight And.. *talking faster* I'm honestly not trying anything. I just wondered if maybe I had scared you when you came over the last time, or that thing about you feeling like you'd overstepped, and I wouldn't ever make you do--

Draco, shaking his head reassuringly: No. No. You didn't scare me. And that first night, well-- *turning pink* I-- it was a working night, you know? And...Well, I just thought we shouldn't-- *colouring further* --on work nights and… *shifting around self-consciously*

Harry, relaxing a little: Shouldn't mouth press? Shouldn't come back here?  Because you're-- *scratching back of neck awkwardly* --you know, welcome.  And I wouldn't push for more if you don't want. *to himself* I mean, I'm pretty sure...

Draco, swallowing hard, slightly hoarse: That-- that's the thing... *steals a quick glance at Harry* I...sort of...do? *face heating further; very softly* I do want...you.

Harry, blank: You want m-- *takes a deep breath* Can you be more specific?  What do you want?

Draco, intently studying his own hands: *doesn't answer; turns pinker by the second*

Harry, inching closer on sofa: *soft* What do you want, Draco? Tell me and I'll give it to you. What have you been thinking about?

Draco, exhaling sharply: You. You, alright? Just always-- all the fucking time-- Just... Fuck. *stares fixedly at the ceiling*

Harry, grinning: *takes gentle hold of Draco's arm and pulls him into lap*  *warmly* I want you, too. *pauses, noting the way Draco's breath has caught* Now, what could we do with this situation, here? *arching eyebrows* Any ideas?

Draco, biting his lip with a small frown: We could... *takes a deep breath* You know-- *leans forward to press a quick kiss* ...that? *nervously hopeful*

Harry, nodding seriously: We could. *brushes mouth over Draco's more lingeringly*  We could also--if you're okay with it-- *slides hands around Draco's hips to cup his arse lightly.* *quirks questioning brow at him*

Draco, jerking once under his touch before pressing back into it hungrily: *groans softly* Yes, please... *leans in once more and kisses deeply*

Harry, shivering: *fingers go tight on Draco's arse* *kisses him back savagely* *guides his hips gently back and forth* Harry, mumbling hoarsely against Draco's mouth: God. I could just-- *jerks him flush*

Draco, whimpering: *whispers* Oh god... *grabs him by the hair and deepens kiss once more*

Harry, pulling out of kiss to bury his head in Draco's throat: *groaning* Your skin, fuck, Draco-- *fingers bruisingly hard on Draco's arse, massaging it* *bites his neck; sucks hard*

Draco, crying out softly: Harry--! *shudders and presses closer; grinds down involuntarily*

Harry, grunting: *thrusts upward*

*sounds of moaning and heavy panting; bodies moving*

~Fifteen minutes later~

Draco, pulling swollen lips away: *groans and presses face into Harry’s shoulder*

Harry, gasping: Are you okay? Too much? Should I not-- *shuddering; loosens fingers a little*

Draco, making a soft, plaintive sound: No, please-- *presses own hand on top of Harry’s on his arse* Please… *shivering*

Harry, tightening his fingers again: *low sound of pleasure* You feel so good against me.  Does it feel good?   *guides his hips in a slow grind*  Does that feel good to you? My hands on you, my fingers squeezing your arse? *breathless* Tell me.

Draco, releasing little yips of pleasure against Harry’s neck: Yes-- God, yes, just please-- *suddenly sinks his teeth over Harry’s jugular* More--!

Harry, rough and low, mouth against Draco’s ear: You like it, yeah? ...When you do that thing, later--that thing we’re not supposed to talk about?  I want you to think of it.  *grips Draco hard* I want you to remember my hands all over your arse, all over your-- think of them everywhere.  Will you do that for me, Draco?  Think of me while you’re touching your co-- your um, parts?  Your-- man parts?  For me?

Draco, whispering: M-manhood.

Harry, a little relieved: Yes, manhood.  When you’re stroking your manhood, I want you to think of my hands again, only this time they’re on you.  Think about everything that feels so good right now… *dips one hand between Draco’s thighs, dangerously close to his balls before dragging them up over his cleft*

Draco, jerking vigorously: Harry, oh god-- *helplessly keens as he ruts into him* I-- I--

Harry, growling: Draco--

Draco, nodding fervently: I-- I will-- *softly, into his neck* I will…

Harry: Good. Yes, I want to know you’re thinking of me when you touch yourself, when you--finish.

Draco, pressing their foreheads together: And you-- you’ll be thinking of me?  *hopeful*

Harry: on a soft groan: Fuck, yes.

Draco, laughing breathlessly: And what are you going to be thinking about? *presses tiny, sweet kisses over his face* My hair? *nuzzles his jaw* My ears? *pulls back to blink thoughtfully* My… ankles?

Harry, struggling not to say it; grunting again as Draco wriggles on him: *gives in, flatly* I’m going to be thinking about your arse, Malfoy.

Draco, stilling with a small gasp: Oh. *swallows* Right. That.

Harry, voice raw with hunger: Yeah.  Your arse in my hands, your body rubbing against mine, feeling the-- *chest heaving* Feeling how hard your manhood is. *strained; hands growing tight again* Maybe you can think of my hands there, too.

Draco, shutting his eyes for a moment as he breathes out shakily: God, just stop saying those things for a moment, you’re just-- *desperately grabs his hair again; helpless whisper* Merlin, you drive me insane-- *dives back in and kisses him feverishly*

Harry, gasping into it: *kisses him, sinking his tongue into Draco’s mouth with a groan* *loosens one hand and slips it upward; jerks when he feels the untucked tail of Draco’s shirt* *slides hand under it; strokes heated skin at the small of Draco’s back*

Draco, moaning loudly at the touch: *slants head and meekly pushes his tongue forward alongside Harry’s*

Harry: *shudders and scrapes his fingernails lightly against Draco’s skin, one hand still firmly guiding his arse*

Draco, throwing his head back with a loud gasp: Harry-- fuck-- *shudders violently and pulls back further with a frantic look in his eyes* I-- *whimpers as Harry bucks up against him* Please, I-- I need a moment--!

Harry, dazedly reaching for Draco as he scrambles off his lap: Wha--

Draco, flushed and shaking: *nearly falls over as he backs away* I’m so sorry-- I just-- *turns away abruptly and hurries off in the direction of the loo*

Harry, staring at him limping off: *eyes widen; makes choked noise* *falls back limply against the sofa* *smiles as he waits*

Draco, ambling back in a few minutes later: *face burning bright red; sheepishly* Ahem… I’m-- I apologize for that. *avoids making eye contact*

Harry, trying to stifle a chuckle; failing: Draco.  Look at me.

Draco, reluctantly looking up: *snooty chin-raise* What.

Harry, grinning warmly: I love that I was able to get you like that. I can’t tell you what it does to me to know that you were just-- *grin fades a little; eyes grow hot* Did you think about what I told you to?

Draco, biting his lip as he nods slowly: *shuts his eyes* Merlin, can we not talk about this? *mumbling* I’m mortified as it is.

Harry, roughly: Draco, I’m not unaffected, either.  *widens thighs deliberately; glances pointedly downward*

Draco, panting with wide eyes as he stares at Harry’s crotch: You-- You’re--

Harry, nodding: There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, that you needed to-- *swallows*  In fact…*stands; walks over to Draco and nuzzles his jaw for a moment* *low, smooth* Excuse me for a minute, would you? *strolls off toward loo*

Draco, staring after him with startled laugh: *sinks down into the sofa and drops his face into his hands with a sigh* Fucking Potter…

Harry, returning a few minutes later, all tension in his face gone: *sits down next to Draco and draws him closer* *smiles* C’mere.  I want to mouth press you some more

Draco, going easily: *hums contently as he kisses back* I-- I had a good time, Potter…

Harry, amused:I had a very good time, Malfoy. *gives him a long kiss before pulling back with a grin* Is that your way of saying you need to go?

Draco, with obvious reluctance: I really should… *leans in to nuzzle his ear*

Harry, carding gentle hands through Draco’s hair: Just a bit longer? You can leave when it gets too hard to stay…

Draco, sniggering: Didn’t we both just learn what happens when it gets too hard to stay?

Harry, cracking up: *tugs Draco into a tight hug* God, you’re just-- *pulls back to grin at him and shakes his head, eyes sparkling* I’m never going to know what to expect, am I? *presses a slow kiss to Draco’s mouth that lasts for several minutes*

Draco, tugging at Harry’s lower lip with his teeth as he pulls away: *mischievously* It’ll keep you on your toes, Potter.  Mark of a good Auror and all that. *lands another quick peck on him and grins happily as he gets to his feet*

Harry, following him: *wry* You’ve always kept me on my toes, Malfoy.  Are we still on for tomorrow night? And maybe we can do something Sunday, too?

Draco, warmly: Definitely, Potter. You have my weekends. Just-- *blushing and looking away to fumble with the doorknob* --it's particularly difficult to be... close to you, during the working week. *frowns playfully* That first time was terribly distracting and I got absolutely no work done... *stepping closer* That doesn't mean that a little light... closeness-- *grins* --isn't allowed after our lunch-meets.

Harry, nodding with a breathless laugh: Check. Weekends only for... Having closeness. *quirks interested eyebrow* How light?

Draco, laughing and pulling the door open: How does one quantify something like that, Potter?!

Harry, smirking:  I could give you a list, if you think you’re ready for it.  *gives him a significant look*

Draco, drily: A list? *arches an eyebrow* A list of post-lunch activities for the week? Monday: mouth-pressing, Tuesday: arse grop-- *breaks off abruptly and turns away blushing*

Harry, quietly: *intent* Wednesday, I can feel the skin on your back again.  Thursday, I’d get to k-- mouth press it.  Friday--well, we have Friday night, but what to do after lunch?  Give me a few days and I’ll think of something.  *catches Draco’s eye*

Draco, shaking his head and biting his lip over a smile: You’re very… ambitious, Potter. *laughs* You’d have made a good Slytherin.

Harry, mouth ticking up mischievously: Malfoy, you’ve no idea. *at Draco’s slanted look*  ...I’ll tell you about it sometime.  *draws him into another kiss*  See you tomorrow?

Draco, nodding with a smile: Pick me up at 7:30?

Harry, soft: *lightly rubs his thumb over a blotchy love bite on Draco’s neck; exhaling*  Yes... Goodnight, Draco.

Draco, quivering and leaning into his touch: Goodnight, P-- Harry. *throws a little smirk over his shoulder as he leaves* Going to watch me Disapparate?

Harry, leaning against the door frame: *simply* Yes.

Draco, rolling his eyes with a fond smile: Sleep tight, Potter. *turns neatly on the spot and Disapparates*

Harry, sighing: *closes door*

[theherothechampiontheinquisitor]

Undercover Boss - Chapter 1

That’s right it’s the Undercover Boss Rumbelle AU that no one asked for! Except me...and @anonymousnerdgirl ... and I think someone else too...Okay the AU that SOME asked for. 

Shout out to my lovely Beta @shipperqueen93

Summary: Undercover Boss Rumbelle AU: Life was great for, Mr. Cluck's Chicken Shack, CEO Aiden Gold. At least until he finds himself roped into a reality show where bosses go undercover in their own companies to find out how their businesses are really being run. Gold nearly gives up when he is paired with a young Manager named Belle who teaches him what's really important in life and work.

Read it on AO3 or FFN 

Chapter 1/3 

If there was one thing that Mr. Gold hated more than normal social interaction then it had to be forced social interaction on a reality television program. Oddly specific he knew, but given his current situation it was understandable.

Wearily, he pulled the hotel room key from his wallet and frustratingly had to insert the key three times before the damn green light would come on and grant him entry. He trudged inside the darkened three star quality hotel room with a great sigh and quickly peeled off the hot wig from his head and threw it onto the bathroom counter as he passed by. It was part of his contract with the show that he not remove any of his altered costume or break character until he was back in the hotel room for the evening, lest he be spotted. Spotted by who or what he had no fucking idea, but he believed that the producers delighted in making this as antagonistic as possible for him.

He ran a hand through his short sweat filled strands as he collapsed backwards onto his bed. He could deal with the beard that he had had to grow out, he had the odd one from time to time throughout his life but the low quality, polyester monstrosity was another thing. It was hot and itchy and he looked fucking ridiculous. When he had first been presented to his 17 year old son in his new transformation, Neal had laughed hysterically and questioned why he had roadkill on his head.

The glasses he wore were actually his own. He didn’t need them all the time but they were particularly useful reading the fine print of his dealings. He pulled those off and folded them, gently tossing them on the nightstand. Gold pinched the bridge of his nose where the glasses left their mark and gently massaged the area. A headache would be coming, he knew, as it had every night since he’d been forced onto this television show.

It all started several months back when his Public Relations Manager, Ursula Finn, had come to him with a proposition. A popular reality show, Bosses Undercover, had approached them to appear on the show. A higher up from their corporate ladder would go undercover in their chain of restaurants, Mr. Cluck’s Chicken Shack, and work with their everyday employees to gain insight into the front lines of the business. Both she and the Chief Talent Officer, Ella Deville, thought it was a brilliant idea, and a great way to increase their public image and moral.

Gold didn’t think it could hurt. He had been with the company for around 7 years now, and though their numbers were generally good and they were consistently named one of the top chicken joints in the US, he knew there was always room for improvement. It wasn’t until after he’d already signed off on the venture, (he’d left his glasses at home that day), that he realized that he would in fact be the boss going undercover.

“Well, it couldn’t be either of us, darling,” Ella had drolled, leaning back against his desk. “We are the beautiful faces of the company. We visit the stores on occasion. Too many people know us and see us.”

“You on the other hand,” Ursula picked up, “You are a virtual ghost. You’ve been here forever but aside from us and the people on this floor, I don’t think anyone even knows what you look like. You’re more recognizable by your signature in the monthly memos than visually,” she laughed and Ella nodded in agreement.

Gold had groaned realizing that there was no way out. This was one deal he made that he truly hadn’t understood. The women carried on laughing at his misery and thinking up all of the terrible jobs that he would be forced to do and worse yet, the horrible disguises they could come up with.

“You know...they’ll probably make you wear…” Ursula paused, a glint of laughter in her eyes. She leaned closer into Gold and whispered, “Jeans!”

“Ohhhhhh perish the thought!!!” Ella exclaimed, clutching at her heart and throwing herself back across Gold’s desk knocking off several items and howling in laughter.

Gold internally cringed. The thought of dressing down almost more terrifying than the fact he’d been stupid enough to sign off on something without reading the fine print. Ursula and Ella may be his only friends but he had seriously began thinking of all the different places he could hide their bodies.

His phone buzzed gently in his pocket and he groaned just knowing instinctively who it would be. He ignored it deliberately, not ready to go down that avenue yet. The day had already been too fucking long.

The filming that was done that day had been the most humiliating of them all. It had started out with a young know it all cashier named Killian Jones being his “trainer” for the day. He spent most of the day patronizing Gold as if he had never operated a cash register before, slowly walking him through every button and its function, going even slower on the self explanatory ones like, “Total.” As if speaking slowly wasn’t bad enough he also would often adapt his tone to speak louder than necessary when answering any of Gold’s questions drawing the attention of everyone around them.

He was less than an hour into filming when he wanted to throttle the man. While Gold ended up doing all the work Killian flashed his smile and batted his eyelashes at every female under 40, striking up conversations and inviting them to see his houseboat on the harbor. Anytime that the line would get backed up Jones would placate the line of customers by reminding them that the elderly needed jobs too and to give Grandad a break.

Gold could only scream internally and question for the millionth time why he had decided to give up smoking. A cigarette or two or three would have taken the edge off that he so delicately teetered on these days.

After the lunch rush, the producers decided that it would now be a good time to film the pair outside of the restaurant. Each episode featured one of these “intimate” scenes where the employee would spill their guts with their tragic background. Many of the people were genuine enough but Gold already had a feeling Jones was far less deserving than the others he had met along the way.

They headed outside to take out the trash with Gold doing the bulk of the work. Jones dragged his feet behind him and offered no assistance with the heavy bags.

Killian Jones was the worst kind of employee and so far nothing that he had said about his past in this “intimate session” made Gold feel anything but disgust for the man. He had after all seen the man in action all morning. He was the type of employee that made the general population look down on the customer service industry. He was the guy that accosted every woman he saw no matter how uneasy she seemed or who was with her. He was the guy that forgot to wash his hands and then handled your food without gloves. The employee that then later was caught sneaking chicken strips off the pass to eat himself or taking a bite and putting it back. Killian Jones was the employee that dropped your food and just picked it back up and served it to you with a smile.

Gold had stopped trying to feign interest until his own real name had been brought up in conversation, and how it was specifically his fault that he had been passed over for a shift leader promotion over the company’s stricter attendance policy.  “I miss a couple days without calling or come in an hour late and it’s as if the world has ended.” Gold rolled his eyes and really wanted to tell him that corporate and he especially had no hand in the appointment of individuals for smaller internal positions but he knew that wouldn’t matter.  

The ranting was far from over as he rattled on about the company’s core values; integrity, accountability, customer first, enjoying your work and one team one goal; and how unrealistic it was to expect the employees to follow this “code of honor.”

“Gold thinks that we should treat this menial job as some sort of a career instead of the low class slop it is. Take pride in what we do and how we do it. It’s fucking fast food, mate. There’s no pride in this. The guy is just another shit for brains corporate clown. No one’s even ever seen the guys face. Even he isn’t proud of this monstrosity. Why should we be?”

Gold was tempted to relieve the man from his job then and there but that would have meant breaking cover, and as much as he wanted to rip the sweltering wig from his head and dump it in the trash, it would just be a bigger pain in the end.

“Why stay then? If you hate it so much?” Gold had to wonder if it would it be too much to hope that perhaps the man had some redeemable quality in his background. Working to support an ill parent maybe, or to put himself through college?

“Well, mate, between you and I, I’m only working here for awhile longer. I have a band on the side. Perhaps you have heard of us. Hook and the Jolly Rogers?” he questioned with the self importance only youth could bring. Gold just quirked a brow and kept his face impassive.

After a moment Jones growled and finished his thoughts.“Well, I suppose I can’t expect the leader of the geriatric society to know anything about music, but we’re this close to signing a deal with Midas records. When we do I’ll burn this place to the ground. Til’ then though, this place is just a means to an end. I take some buckets of chicken with me, maybe pull in some off the record tips for my services rendered and call it a day.”

Gold focused on one of the garbage bags still between them, processing all the information this idiot had not only told him but the camera crews as well and felt a smile quirk over his lips. The reveal show could not come soon enough.

“Did you say Midas Records? As in Stefan Midas?” Gold asked, lifting the bag up and tossing it into the open dumpster.

Jones eyed him warily. “Yes,” he spoke softly drawing out the word. “Why?”

“Oh, no reason. My son and I are fans of some of their artists. You see in between my early dinners and naps at the retirement home, they sometimes let me out for recreational activities like concerts and such. I was just having a hard time imagining Midas and company willing to diminish the quality of their content and reputation with some petty thief and his rag tag gang.”

To Jones credit he took Gold’s comments without much much of an outward reaction. His eyes registered the insult but he just smiled back at Gold with his bright, bleached teeth, a predatory edge in the corner of his grin.

“Here, mate, let me help you with that last bag,” he said reaching for the large trash bag in Golds hand. Before Gold could decline he pulled a small pocket knife from his trousers and slit a hole in the side of the bag spilling its contents across the pavement. “Whoops, would you look at that? Better get that cleaned up straightaway,” he laughed and dashed back across to the restaurant.

Gold let loose a string of profanities so immense in their detailing that he knew that the scene would have to be heavily edited if not cut all together. The nerve of the bastard. He was still fuming ten minutes later after he had finally gotten all the chicken bones and assorted trash up. He slammed open the back door uncaring of who he startled and made a beeline to Jones, who was chatting up a young looking blonde at the front counter.

“Hey, mate.” Gold bumped into Jones harshly. “Do you have a problem with me? Why don’t you come back outside with me for another little chat and I can tell you exactly how I feel about you and your pathetic little life.” He shoved at Killian’s shoulder again and this time he shoved back but Gold stood his ground. The customers had all began to turn their heads and gather to watch the conflict. The cameramen were practically in the men’s faces, excited to finally catch some action.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, mate. Perhaps you should head on back to the retirement home for your early dinner and a nap. Maybe then you won’t be such a crotchety old man,” Jones hissed back.

Gold would have punched him then and there but they had been broken up by the store manager Sydney Glass. The men were brought back to the office where he spoke to them calmly about how they were improperly representing Mr Cluck’s franchise and lectured them on teamwork and character, using phrases like “One team, one goal.” as he brought up the restaurant's core values. Gold genuinely liked Sydney, he seemed a fair man, but he didn’t appreciate the lecture at all.

“We just simply put cannot have this level of behavior out on the floor in front of customers. Carl,” he addressed Gold and it took a moment for Gold to remember his alias. “I know that we were going to have you working with Killian the rest of the day but under the circumstances I think that it may be best to separate you for the duration. Especially, considering we are due for a corporate visit today.” Sydney folded his hands over his desk and stared at the men like a principal breaking up a schoolyard fight.

“Corporate visit?” Gold questioned, hoping this didn’t mean what he thought it did.

“Yes, we received a call this morning that Ursula Finn and Ella Deville will be making a stop to our store this afternoon. They wanted to see how our team was getting along with this Job Swap show and observe some of the filming. You can see now why this behavior is especially unsavory,” he concluded.

“Of course they’re visiting,” Gold mumbled under his breath.

“I’m sorry?”

“I said of course it’s unsavory, and I apologize.” Gold covered and extended his hand to Sydney. Sydney took it without hesitation and then shook Killian’s too.

“Glad we are back on the same page. Now about the new job we’ll have you do...how tall are you, Mr. Benton?”

Gold’s phone buzzed again in his pocket and he groaned. Why couldn’t they just leave him alone?

He pulled the phone out and unlocked it with a quick swipe of his finger, the home screen indicating two new messages. One of them was from Neal telling him good night and that he loved him. He quickly responded back with the same and let him know he was sorry he hadn’t called and he’d speak with him in the morning.

The next message was a picture message from Ella and he already knew without opening what it would be. He contemplated deleting it without ever looking but he knew it would drive him crazy if he didn’t verify the monstrosity with his own eyes. With great reluctance, he opened the message was assaulted with the self portrait that Ella and Ursula had taken with him during their “surprise” visit.

They stood on either side of him with biggest grins. He was pretty sure that Ella even had tears in her eyes from her barely contained laughter. Right in the fucking middle was Gold in the yellowest, feathery, and hotter than the sands of hell chicken suit. Sydney’s job had been to spend his remaining time drawing in customers in the sweltering July heat and handing out coupons.

Underneath the photo was a single caption.

Have a cluckity, cluck, cluck night, Aiden!

Gold text back furiously sending nothing but dozens of knife emojiis and Ella responded back immediately with a winky face and a kiss. Gold just sighed and plugged the phone into the charger beside the bed and set his alarm for 545am.

He pulled the yellow uniform shirt over his head and angrily tossed it into the corner as he headed in to take a shower.

“One more day,” he whispered to himself looking in the mirror feeling older than all of his years. One more day of this madness and he’d be free. Well, technically. He still had the reveal show and wrap up but at least then he could finally be himself and not some fool nearly dying of heat stroke on the corner telling all the people to have a cluckity, cluck, cluck day.

That motto would be the first thing to go, he promised.  In fact he was pretty sure it had started as a joke by Ella in the first place before somehow managing its way into their marketing campaign.

He took his time in the shower, washing the smell of chicken, grease and sweat from his body, using copious amounts of soap and body wash to be sure the smell didn’t linger. The inside of the suit had been the worst. He wasn’t sure when the last time was that the thing had been dry cleaned but certainly not in recent memory. It reeked of sweat and body odor, making him gag whenever he breathed in too deeply. The suits would be the second thing to go. No human should have to degrade themselves like that, advertising be damned.

When he was satisfied he no longer smelled like the rotting insides of that yellow suit he got out and dressed for bed. Exhaustion finally took its toll as he collapsed back onto the bed and pulled the covers up, reaching a hand out to switch off the bedside light.

The next day would be easier. At least he didn’t have to make a mad dash for a red eye across the country again. This time he’d be working at one of the company’s top stores just on the other side of the city. The work would be in management and his task was to work with the store manager to get an idea of what they were doing differently from their lower performing stores. What was the manager’s name? Something French he thought? He was too exhausted to remember as sleep slowly began to claim his weary mind, thoughts of dancing yellow chickens, fueling his nightmares.

[5hfanfiction]

DISILLUSIONED (5)

Suffocating. This was all Lauren felt as she is squeezed within a crowd. She easily recognizes that she is placed in the middle of a crowd in what seems to be a concert, as she can feel the thump of the bass reverberate through her body. She tries to squeeze her way out, pushing out her hands as far as she can to make her way through the crowd. However, she stops as she sees who is performing on stage. It was her. But she was performing alone, in a crowd of what can be vaguely estimated as at least ten thousand. People around her was screaming her name and it was making her nauseous. As she was about to turn around and leave in another direction, she accidentally locks gazes with her. A sense of dread and jealousy was felt by Lauren as Camila smirks at her and starts her opening song.

—-

Lauren slowly opened her eyes, but she is instantly awake as she fully remembers her vivid dream. She furrows her eyebrows and just stares at the ceiling, her headache not helping in figuring out what she feels. She knows that sometimes dreams tell you what your fears and inner thoughts are.

She stays this way for god knows how long, but was interrupted by a sudden snore next to her. She turns her head to see her brother stretched out on the couch and sleeping. When did they get here? She tries to sit up but is met by a wave of dizziness.

“Hey. Whoa there, don’t sit up too fast dear.”

A nurse suddenly is by her side helping her sit up, the nurse pushing a button to raise up the back of the bed and rearranging the pillow so that it is placed behind her back. Lauren says a soft thank you and the nurse shots a small smile back. The nurse tells her that she’ll be taking her vitals and will be drawing some blood for tests. Lauren just nods as she still continues to space out, thinking about her dream and what it meant for her.

“Lauren? How do you feel?”

Lauren sighs as she receives a hug from her father, who has entered the room just as the nurse was leaving.

“I feel fine, just a little woozy.” She gives her father a small smile and hugs him even tighter.

“Your fever is down.Think you can handle getting some visitors today? The girls are still here and extending their stay in the hotel. They insist on leaving once you’re out of here also.”

“The girls… Meaning?” Lauren asks with a raised brow, hoping that her father will get what she really is asking.

Mike sighs and tells her, “Dinah, Normani and Ally.”

Lauren looks down as she feels embarrassed by the sympathetic smile her father is giving her. “Oh. Right.”

Lauren softly replies and fidgets with the pearl ring on her right hand, the pearl ring that Camila has an exact one of. It was, at the time, a symbol of promise of everlasting friendship and a celebration of being soulmates. However, Camila would often times use the ring to send a message to Lauren. Whereas, Lauren never took hers off, Camila would sometimes deliberately not wear it as a “subtle” message of anger or disappointment directed towards the green-eyed Latina. When Lauren was always hanging out with Lucy, Camila didn’t wear hers for months.

For the rest of the morning, with members of the family present and with food, the Jauregui family spent talking about their schedules and where to go on a vacation. After exhausting weeks of touring and barely getting a chance to relax, Lauren felt really light and happy, her earlier plaguing thoughts already at the back of her mind. Given a choice, she would have chosen somewhere else to reunite with her family, but as long as they are together, it didn’t really matter.

Their reunion was interrupted in the middle of Chris being teased about his new “girlfriend” when the girls finally arrived.

“Who called for three really hot girls?” A loud voice, distinctly Dinah’s, interrupted their banter.

“Where?” Chris immediately replied with sarcasm dripping from his question and looking behind the girls, making Dinah roll her eyes, Normani make a fake gasp, and Ally just giggle.

The rest of the Jauregui family excused themselves to give the girls some privacy, and the girls sat down around Lauren’s bed.

“Hey you aren’t contagious are you? They told us you were really sick last night.”

Lauren rolled her eyes at Dinah.

“What a way to express your concern Dinah Jane.”

“I’m joking boo!” Dinah replied back, trying to cuddle with Lauren.

“Too late. Get away from me woman. I don’t even know who you are.” Lauren banters back, pulling herself away from Dinah.

“But you love me!” Dinah pouts back and cuddles one of Lauren’s arms.

“But really how are you? Are you really okay?? First you faint and hit your head, now a fever.” Normani asks the questions that the three girls really wanted to know the answer to.

“I don’t really know. I think maybe it’s because I have stressing out the past few weeks, and it just caught up with me you know? And hey, we’ve all been under stress, so how about you guys?? Do you feel okay?” Lauren asks as she attempts to stir the conversation away from her. She was getting tired of everyone asking her how she is, and looking at her as if she was fragile.

“Girl, we as fine as hell.”

“Yeah, exhausted but that’s a given. Ugh! Can’t wait to just relax at home!”

“Yeah, I am looking forward for the loooong vacation ahead of us. Gonna get home and get me them chicken wings.”

Lauren gives a small laugh but immediately, guilt washes over her. “I’m sorry that you guys are still here. You should have flown out by now.”

“Well, I can’t really relax knowing you’re here. So let us stay a bit Lauren.” Dinah replies with sincerity in her voice.

“Yeah, plus we can’t really complain cause Mila essentially has no vacation except for the week before we meet again.” Ally says without thinking.

Blink. Lauren just blinks at the information.

All three girls look at Lauren as they realize what Ally has said. They watch as her expression is immediately replaced by an unreadable one. Lauren looks at Ally and she immediately bows down her head, avoiding the piercing gaze of Lauren’s green eyes. Lauren can’t help but notice the looks being shared between Normani and Dinah. A surge of irritation was felt by Lauren, and she didn’t know if this was because at the mention of their missing band mate’s name or the fact that they were obviously hiding something.

“What? What is it guys?” She asks them in a soft tone, trying to not startle them. Maybe they’ll tell her what this is all about.

“Uhmm… I don’t know if we should be telling you this. Or if we should be telling you this in this way.”

Lauren just shoots them a curious look and slowly raises her eyebrow, clearly showing her irritation at their hesitancy and cryptic statement.

“Okay. So… We heard Mila talking with a few of the bosses after the the performance was done.”

“Just get it over with.” Normani says beside Ally, while Dinah is biting her lip and picking at her nails.

“It was decided that her contract as a Fifth Harmony member would be only until the end of the year.”

Blink. Lauren just blinks again.

Lauren tries to not act surprised at the information, because honestly, she wasn’t. However, there’s that oh so familiar pang in her chest again. It hurt, now more than ever because she knows that decision is final. It also angered her, knowing that her dream last night will no longer be a dream.

So is this why she had been crying yesterday after the performance? Is this why I comforted her then even when I was the one that needed comforting? Why the fuck would she be upset when this is finally got the thing she wanted?

Holding back her bitter remarks of Camila leaving them and selfishly pursuing a solo career, she opts to try to calm herself down because her getting angry is the last thing her bandmates need.

She felt her head pound again and tasted an acidic taste at the back of her tongue. However, she tries to not show the girls what she is feeling, and instead just takes a deep breath.

“So? This is it huh? We better get used to hanging with just the four of us like right now.” Lauren says softly, and squeezes Dinah’s hand, knowing that more than her, Dinah would be affected the most.

At the sound of Dinah holding back a sob, the other girls lose it and start to softly cry. Nobody brings up the fact that Camila is leaving them for a solo career, and nobody addresses that fact that this information will change how they interact with Camila for the remaining part of the year, until Camila leaves. Lauren tries hard to not cry herself, but with her other band mates faces wet with tears, she also lets quiet tears fall down her face as they hug each other.

They quietly sit and hold hands after a while. They just look at each other, faces wary of the future ahead as a lot of changes will obviously be put in place. They’re not stupid to not know that Camila has always been the popular one out of the group, and is essentially the “main vocals” of their band.

“We’ll be fine guys. We don’t have to worry about anything.” Lauren assures her girls, breaking out a small smile, knowing that her animosity towards Camila doesn’t matter right now as her girls need her to be positive. Thankfully, this makes the other girls also smile a little, even Dinah, even for just a little while.

“We’ll be okay.” Ally says softly, putting her hand on Dinah’s.

“We can do this.” Normani says as she looks at into the eyes of her other bandmates.

Looking at how they are right now, holding hands and just having an intimate moment without Camila, Lauren can’t help but wonder if it’s going to be like this in Camila’s last months with the group.

Later that day, with the girls gone and with Lauren finally convincing them to fly home already, Lauren allows herself to fully absorb all the things that have happened the past few days. It was certainly giving her a headache, and she was getting frustrated. The truth is, Lauren knew about Camila wanting to leave the band months ago, specifically a few weeks after she has released her duet with Shawn Mendes. This is what got her into a fight with Camila in the first place.

At first she tried to be sympathetic, she knew the hardships of being in Fifth Harmony. But after hearing Camila repeatedly expressing her delight on doing the duet with Shawn and doing outside performances outside of 5H like a broken parrot, she just blew up on her one day. If she remembers correctly, her exact words were “Then just fucking leave already if you hate it so much!”.

But the truth is, all the anger and hurt was because of the fact that Camila didn’t even consider her feelings, every time Camila expressed wanting to leave.

For the past few weeks, she thought that her need to be constantly mad at Camila was getting out of hand and that maybe she should talk it out with her. But now knowing the brand new information, that Camila actually made negotiations for her to leave the band, she decided that Camila deserved all the coldness that she directed at her.

I should get over her. Why am I waiting for her to realize that I like her?

Lauren has to make a decision on how to approach the younger Latinam how she will interact with for her knowing it’s her last few months with the band. She can decide to just settle the bad blood between them, and enjoy each other’s constant company for the last time. She can decide to finally confess her feelings. Maybe it will make Camila stay.

No. Lauren shakes her head. She decided to leave, clearly she has no feelings for you. You’re only offering her to break your heart when she openly rejects you.

This is all so complicated. Why do I even care anymore?

With her emotions in a mess, and also her physical state clearly not its best state as they refuse to let her go from this forsaken place, Lauren felt like dying and disappearing into oblivion. At that, she grabs her phone and dialed a number, placing the phone on her ear.

“Luce? Can you please come? I need you.”

A/N: Sorry for the three month long update.