#sparkling on and being myself in ways that are not the most pleasant or rewarding hooray

[skrunksthatwunk]

social failure: had to take a break halfway through midsommar (<- have not seen it before, watching with family) and started chatting about like. what a "huh" moment it is seeing someone cry so much and so hard. it's completely warranted like dani is in a really bad situation that keeps getting fucking worse. she is in an emotional hell and also has an anxiety disorder i do not fault her for crying at all (not that it needs an emotional-hell or disorder justification to be ok btw) it's just like. my human experience is so limited and i don't cry much at all (<- i just coast right above catatonia until i can find a place to actually go catatonic, where i will stay as long as i am able or the ~4-6 hour point or until i get distracted and my emotions hard reset(???), whichever comes first) so it's just like. oh damn. i don't even know what that would feel like (other than the assumption that it would be bad). look it's not my most empathetic moment but it activated my breadth-of-human-experience curiosity response and i made the mistake of sharing it and anyway point is i weirded out my mom oops

[domesticatedantelope]

proximity

a self-indulgent next door neighbors au for rodaw: best boy’s day

Pairing: Logan x MC

Rating: T

Word Count: 3k

i. 

Logan moves in on the first hot day of summer.

It takes him three long hours in the sun and several trips back up and down the chipped paint staircase at the end of the hall. By the time he maneuvers his beaten old futon mattress through the front door, his arms ache and his t-shirt sticks with sweat between his shoulder blades. 

There’s never much to move: whatever clothes fit in the back of the Devore, and just enough junk furniture to rest his feet on. At the end of the day, his footsteps echo a little too loudly against all the empty wall space, but the place is safe and quiet. And it’s something to call his own. 

He’s hunting through the boxes strewn in landmine fashion across the floor for a clean shirt when a few timid knocks break the silence. He pauses with his arms half-pushed through the sleeves, listening intently, and he thinks he hears a sigh from beyond the door as he approaches.

A quick look through the peephole offers him a fisheye glimpse of freckles and dark curls. The girl outside his door bites down on her bottom lip and fidgets where she stands, finally daring a glance up into the tiny glass lens, where her wide eyes unknowingly meet his own.

The notion sinks in slowly, unfamiliar. 

Logan has relocated more times than he cares to remember — lifted his life by the roots and left the rest behind — but this, he realizes, is a first. 

Because he’s fairly certain people just don’t do this anymore. 

Or at least he was, until his neighbor showed up with a plate of cookies in her hands. 

She startles when he opens the door, the hint of a blush coloring the freckles on her cheeks as she blinks up at him and offers a shy smile. “Hi. Sorry to bother you,” she starts, and the sound of her voice brings the beach to mind, the soft way the waves sigh against the sand. “I know you just got done moving in, but I, um… thought I should introduce myself. I’m Mercy. I live in 104.” She shifts the plate to one hand and holds the other out for him to shake. 

Logan finds himself smiling as he takes it, especially when it makes the blush deepen on her face. “Logan.” He leans against the doorframe with a grin, nodding toward the plate in her hands. “Those for me?”

Her smile widens to match his, more certain. “Only if you like snickerdoodles. Otherwise I will have to insist you let me bake you something else.”

The plate is still warm when she passes it over, a heap of golden cookies piled neatly beneath a shiny slip of plastic wrap. It might be the most wholesome thing he’s ever seen. “Thank you. Really. You didn’t have to do that.”

She averts her gaze then, toying with the tail end of a curl. “Well, my mother would be disappointed if I didn’t do the neighborly thing and welcome you with fresh-baked cookies.” She breathes a nervous laugh, and when she speaks again her words all tumble together in a rush. “Also, I teach piano lessons every other day, and the walls here can be really thin, and I just wanted to say sorry ahead of time, and I promise it’ll only be during business hours, and if we’re ever too loud, you can totally come over and let me know, and—!”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Logan cuts in gently, holding a hand out as if he might stem the tide of her apologies. “Seriously, don’t worry about it. I’m hardly ever home anyways. I can promise it won’t bother me.”

She tugs her lip between her teeth again. “You say that now, but wait until you’re hearing off-key Für Elise for the fifth time in a row. You’ll be begging the landlord to evict me.”

He laughs. “Trust me, Mercy. I wouldn’t do that to you.” He feels a smirk tilt at the corner of his mouth, and drops his voice conspiratorially low. “Besides, I’ve already taken the bribe. No walking back on it now.”

The last of the anxious energy seems to ease from her shoulders when she giggles, and the smile she beams up at him is sweeter even than the smell of cinnamon and sugar. He wonders absently if kissing her would taste like cookies, too. “In that case… I guess we have a deal. The snickerdoodles in exchange for your silence.”

“I’ve had worse deals.”

Her gaze lingers a moment longer on the shape of his smirk before she blinks and glances down the hall toward her own door. “I, um… have some studying I need to get back to, but... it was really nice meeting you, Logan.”

“Not as nice as meeting you,” he assures her smoothly, rewarded by the delicate pink flush that warms her cheeks again. It’s far too easy, summoning that blush; he thinks he could get dangerously used to it. “Thanks again. I’ll bring the plate back as soon as I’m done with it.”

“No rush. You know where to find me.” She arcs a small, cheery wave at him, and he watches the waves of her hair bounce as she walks the short distance back to her apartment. There’s an eager sort of warmth that sits in his chest when he kicks the front door shut behind him. His steps still echo when he walks, but if he’s quiet he can just make out the sound of Mercy moving in the next apartment over, and the noise of nearby life softens the empty feeling in the room. He takes a bite of cookie that melts perfectly on his tongue, and smiles as he settles in to unpack.

ii. 

Logan wasn’t kidding about never being home.

Mercy doesn’t see him for another couple weeks, aside from the short interlude when he drops by to bring her plate back — when the firm broad of his shoulders fill her doorway, and he shoots her that same tempting smile, and it feels like tilting her face up into the sun. The image of it floats across her thoughts, firmly imprinted in the fleeting daydreams between essays and lessons and exams. 

The summer starts to sink its teeth in, bleeding hazy heat waves well into the dark of night. Her shoddy AC unit struggles helplessly against the swelter, and she finds her only solace curled up in a chair below her open window, begging any semblance of a breeze to whisper through. She’s on her third night in a row of letting ice cubes slowly melt against her neck when she hears the unmistakable sound of a window scraping open. The crash of boots on metal quickly follows, and she cranes her neck to peer over the sill and see the familiar shape of dark hair and wide shoulders on the fire escape. 

“Logan?”

He turns at the sound of his name, a grin stretching across his face when he spots her through the window. “Hey, Mercy. You trying to escape the heat, too?”

“Trying,” she confirms, and reaches for the tray of ice at her side, holding it out toward him in lethargic invitation. “Ice cube?”

With a pleasant, rumbly laugh, he plucks a slightly melted ice cube loose and folds his fingers in around it. “Thanks. You know, it’s a lot better out here. Feel like joining me?”

His smile leaves a flutter in her stomach; her daydreams haven’t done it justice. It’s been a while since she clambered through her window, but she manages to climb over the sill with little difficulty. Logan offers her a hand to help her through, his fingers still cold from the ice, only letting her go once her feet are firmly planted on the fire escape. 

And oh, he was so right.

She can’t help a blissful sigh as a breeze lifts at the curled ends of her hair, cooling the flush of heat from her skin. “Oh, my god.”

Logan chuckles knowingly beside her. “Better?”

“The best.” Mercy joins him at the railing, where he rests his elbows and peers out over the darkness of the alley below. An easy quiet settles in the space between them while she revels in the first glimpse of relief she’s felt all night, soothed by the busy melodies of city life around them, voices and laughter and traffic on the distant highway. He’s rolled the short sleeves of his t-shirt up his shoulders, leaving the bronze skin of his arms uninterrupted, and she finds herself almost grateful for the heat when a blush starts to rise in her cheeks. 

He seems to notice her staring, because he arches a brow and tilts his head to smirk down at her. “Come here often?”

Despite her mortification, Mercy laughs. His expression softens at the sound, something tender in the angle of his smile. “Sometimes,” she admits, her finger tracing idle patterns at the metal of the railing. “On clear nights mostly, when I want to see the stars.”

His gaze flickers from her face up to the sliver of night sky barely visible between apartment buildings. “Kinda hard to see the stars from here, isn’t it?”

“It’s not the best view,” she agrees with a quiet laugh. “Just enough to remind me that they’re up there, I guess.”

Abruptly, Logan steps away from the railing, a look of determination forming in the dark of his eyes as he turns to face her. “I want to show you something.”

She blinks, thoughts scattered by the eager way he grins at her. “What is it?”

“A surprise,” he insists teasingly, and holds his hand out to her once more. “Do you trust me?”

Mercy touches his palm, and her heart skips when he folds their hands together. “I do.”

The stairs tremble beneath their feet as they climb steadily higher. Logan glances back at every landing, his grip comfortingly certain around her own. It’s another five flights to the roof, and he slows to a stop at the last ladder to let her ascend first.

The breeze is stronger here, whipping at the loose strands of her hair as she steps out onto the open rooftop. Dark blue sky stretches unobstructed above her, and she tips her head back to drink in the faint sparkle of stars that manage to break out over the city lights. She feels Logan step up beside her, and when she finally tears her eyes away from the stars to meet his gaze, the wonder in his features steals her breath.

This time when her blush returns, she doesn’t look away. “Thank you, Logan. It’s perfect.”

He doesn’t look away either. “Anytime.”

iii. 

His eye still fucking hurts. Every time he blinks, the sting reminds him of wet streets beneath his cheek and the brutal pain of impact, Salazar’s face a snarl of gritted teeth and bleeding mouth and the crunch of his nose breaking under Logan’s fist. He clenches his hand at the memory, feeling the prickle of split skin across his knuckles. 

He doesn’t notice Mercy in the hallway until he’s nearly walking into her, the startled shock of her voice shaking him from his anger. 

“Logan! I’m sorry, I didn’t see — oh, my god, are you okay?” 

Wincing, he angles his injured eye away from her. “It’s nothing. Took an elbow in a pick-up game. It looks worse than it is.”

Something about the concern in her expression eats away at him, like battery acid in the chasm of his chest. Her gaze passes shrewdly from his black eye to his split lip to the busted knuckles in his hands before a frown settles on her mouth. She bites her lip, unconvinced. “Well… at least let me get you something to help with the swelling.” She reaches out to squeeze his fingers before disappearing into her apartment, and he stands frozen in the momentary silence, staring down at his palm, where his hand still feels warm from her touch.

Mercy returns shortly with a bag of frozen peas in her grasp. “Here. This should help with the pain a little, too.”

“You patch up many black eyes?” he teases, bending to let her press the bag gently over his eye. His body tenses at the pressure, teeth biting back a groan, and she murmurs soothingly under her breath, easing her touch until he feels only the cold. Her focus is fixed on his injury, and it leaves him free to admire the soft angles of her face, the beauty mark at the corner of her mouth, the freckles set like stars against her cheeks. A few curls threaten to spring loose from her braid, and his fingers itch to discover how soft they might feel in his hands. 

“Can’t say I do,” she answers finally, when the weight of his gaze makes her blush and look away. “But I was clumsy enough to get all sorts of injuries when I was little, and the frozen peas trick always works.” She checks her phone and mutters an adorably soft curse. “I have a final in half an hour, or I’d stay and—”

“I got it from here,” he reassures her, with a smile half-hidden by the hand keeping her makeshift compress in place. “But thanks for looking after me, Mercy. Honestly. With your help, it feels better already.”

She hesitates a moment longer, clearly torn, before she reaches up and strokes the smooth pad of her thumb over his cheek. “Take care of yourself, okay?” Her features are tight with concern, but she turns and hurries down the hall, the sound of her footsteps fading into a silence that weighs heavy on his shoulders.

iv. 

Mercy lets her fingers move mindlessly across the keys, coasting on a comfortable familiarity, the soft notes of a nocturne soothing out the stresses of her day. Her left hand sidles over broken chords, rising into an arpeggio that’s just about to reach its zenith when the power cuts in her apartment, plunging her into sudden darkness.

She blinks as her eyes struggle to adjust, groping blindly for her phone. The narrow beam of its flashlight guides her careful steps into the kitchen, where she rummages beneath the sink and emerges with a tin of tealight candles. 

It takes the whole container just to light her living room, but at least she can see her own feet. The faint flicker of candlelight is just enough to keep the darkness at bay, and it’s with a calmer heart that Mercy picks her way across the apartment to answer a hurried knock at her door.

Logan stands in the darkened hallway outside, the glow of his cell phone gripped between his fingers. “Hey, sorry, I know it’s late. I heard you playing, so I thought…”

“I was up,” she confirms, blushing as she pictures him in the apartment next door, listening to her practice. “Your power’s out too, I assume?”

“Pitch dark.” He spots the soft halos of light over her shoulder and heaves a sigh of recognition. “Candles. You’re a genius.”

She laughs. “It’s an old building, and definitely not the first time this has happened. I can spare a few, if you need some.”

Logan chuckles, and even through the darkness she can feel the warmth of his gaze on her. “Lucky me. Don’t worry about it, I’m sure it’ll pass soon enough. I feel better knowing you’re okay over here. Let me know if you need anything, okay?”

She’s not sure where she finds the courage. Maybe the darkness makes her bold, the sight of Logan turning back to leave clawing a sudden ache into her heart. “Wait!” 

He rocks back on his heels, and she can just make out the arch of surprise in his expression. 

“Maybe you could… stay? Until the power’s back? I hate the thought of you just sitting in the dark over there when you don’t have to.”

Logan takes a slow step closer, close enough to feel a trace of his body heat as he searches her face through the darkness. “Would you like that?” he asks softly. “If I stayed?”

She swallows, nodding even as her face burns with the force of her blush. “Very much.”

He smiles then, and with a gentle motion, lifts his hand to tuck an errant curl behind her ear. “Me too.”

It’s stranger than she thought it would be, having Logan in her apartment, even if she’s spent more and more of her time here thinking of him. They settle in the dim circle of candlelight that rings her living room, stretched out side by side across the floor. His leg shifts, bumping her foot with his own, and she breathes a laugh that shivers in the air between them. When she turns, she finds him watching her, his smile inches away as the light washes soft over his features. 

His dark eyes slowly roam her face, landing on the shape of her mouth with a look of immense purpose. He reaches out to trail rough fingertips along the frame of her jaw, his touch sending a shudder of warmth down her spine. He traces a thumb over her blushing cheekbone, her name a whisper on his breath before he leans in and softly kisses her.

Logan is almost unbearably tender, his lips gentle against her own as his fingers wind into the thick curls of her hair, drawing her into the circle of his arms. Past the rushing of her heartbeat, Mercy hears a faint groan at the back of his throat when she grips him by the shirt to tug him closer, parting her lips for the brief slide of his tongue. 

When they break reluctantly apart, he tilts his forehead against hers with a breathless laugh. “You don’t know how long I’ve been thinking about doing that.” 

She laughs with him, carefree, like her worries have all floated off and vanished somewhere in the dark. “Probably about as long as I have.”

His eyes flash with amusement, and a flicker of something else, an ardor close to hunger. “Then we’ve got some time to make up for.”

Mercy falls eagerly into his arms, where she feels his heartbeat racing in his chest, and he kisses her until the lights hum back to life around them — and then, even, a while longer. 

[loyalflutist]

Back to Back Gifting (F!Byleth x Edelgard)

Challenge: Edeleth Twitter Week (09/29/2019 - 10/05/2019) Day 3: Back to Back

A/N: Might as well make this comical to an extent. It’s a nice little break from writing angst and inflicting pain on either Edelgard or Byleth, lmao. Also, I’m starting to burn out from this challenge, but... this serves as a good creative training to maintaining imagination, improv writing, speedy typing, and, most importantly, being able to share one’s love for the OTP.

----

Gifts are pleasant. Whether it be for a special occasion or a simple act of kindness, a pleasant fuzzy sensation would spread throughout one’s beating heart. The effects would amplify by tenfold if it was geared towards the receiver’s likes. Although there are few exceptions, such as Byleth, who would barely crack anything more than a simple nod or smile, many find it near impossible to shove the giddy reaction to the back burner.

“My teacher…”

Scarlet carnations. Varying flowers bloomed all-year-round, yet this species was one of her favorites. It’s a shame it only grows under rare conditions… The fact that her professor took the time out of her day to handpick this uncommon blossom tickles her fancy. Edelgard held the singular plant close to her chest, her lilac hues sparkling. A tinge of red discoloration occurred on her cheeks as a genuine toothy grin broke out.

“Thank you.”

Byleth returned a smile of her own and, after caressing her girlfriend’s face, pecked her lips.

“Anything for you, El.”

The next day lazily transitioned into their present. At the monastery, for once, Rhea had nothing for the students of Black Eagle. Every month they were given a special operation to attend to thanks to their fearsome authority and raw strength. However, this month’s tasks were handed off to both Hanneman and the Blue Lions. One would expect the students and elder professor to be disgruntled. Fortunately, they showcased the complete opposite, Dimitri valiantly taking charge of their responsibilities.

“I would love to give you some time to relax, Professor,” Dimitri cautiously reeled his wooden lance back. At the training ground, the young prince crouched, beads of sweat crawled down on the side of his face. He moistened his lips, the older female adjusting her offensive posture with the wooden sword. “I think it’s fair that we take turns with these missions.”

It was a blessing in disguise. Were the stars and planets aligned?

“I’m not sure, kiddo, but you should seriously take this opportunity to enjoy yourself.” Jeralt shrugged his shoulders and shook his head after hearing his daughter’s question. Soon, he playfully tapped the back of his hand on Byleth’s head. “Don’t overwork yourself. You should go spend some time with Lady Edelgard.”

And so, she took his advice to heart. Both Dimitri and Jeralt encouraged the teal-haired to recharge for the upcoming month. Besides, the two knew very well that she and Edelgard should spend some private moments with one another. Romance had no place in times of conflict. Everyone knew that. Yet this rare tranquil moment offered repose to their tired and weary souls. The Black Eagles were able to kick back and revert to their childish natures. As for these two, Byleth and Edelgard immediately gobbled up this scarce time for each other.

What better way than to provide another surprise present to Edelgard’s doorstep?

“These are so pretty…”

Scarlet carnations. This time, there was not one, but five of them. A small band neatly clumped the botanical organism as the noble glanced down at the vermillion depths. She brought them up close, gave it a whiff, and beamed. They not only smelled lovely, but they were also as healthy as they could be.

“I must say, I’m surprised you managed to grow these here on monastery’s ground.”

“It takes time and patience.”

Or could it be from luck? Whatever it was, the house leader treasured these scarlet carnations in her bedroom.

Students that shuffled by her opened bedroom would spot the precious flowers resting in a simple vase. It’s a bold proclamation from the future emperor that her professor had bestowed a wonderful gift to her life. Every single time Edelgard returns to her dormitory, she would always leap onto her bed, sink her elbows into the mattress, rest her chin on the palm of her hands, and stare in awe at the carnations. Both of her feet would occasionally tap and bump their toes with each other as she daydreams about her girlfriend.

‘ It would be wonderful if they were a common flower… Though its rarity is a part of its charm. ‘

The days began to crawl onward at a snail-like pace. Lectures were conducted on weekdays, seminars were hosted on the weekends, hobbies were pursued, and bonding activities were played out. However…

“U-Um… Byleth?”

Scarlet carnations… again. And— wait a minute, are there other flowers mixed into the bouquet? Edelgard lowered the carefully wrapped present in her grip, her brows horizontally straightened as she stared at Byleth. Gifting is a pleasant event in one’s life. However, there is such a thing as one too many gifts… and it so just happens to be from the older female. Sweat flew out of the house leader’s head as stars twinkled from Byleth’s direction. The corner of Edelgard’s mouth twitched.

“…thank you for the flowers.”

This was the tenth time Byleth had given her these blossoms. Though they are her favorite, isn’t this an overkill? Other floral species mingled in too. That doubled the overkill. Her shoulders slumped and a resigned sigh slipped out. When her instructor’s features offered subtle hints of puzzlement, Edelgard immediately piped in with a tiny smile.

“I think these are plenty. I hope you do understand that there is only so much room I have for them.”

It appears that her message has been relayed appropriately. The scarlet carnations came no more afterward. Edelgard will miss the one-sided gifting from her older girlfriend… Although it was a joyful time spent, realistically-speaking, this was applying pressure on the receiver’s end.

“Byleth...”

Dear goodness, the flowers stopped coming, but randomized gifts were provided to the girl in its stead. Everything ranging from vital instruments for documentations and a map of Fodlan to obscure items about fishing and leisure activities was thrust to Edelgard. Edelgard was unsure of how to take it all in, especially with a How-To textbook on “making friends with your enemies” she received just now. She gulped and hugged the worn hardcopy.

“Byleth, I think these gifts are fabulous, but you know I don’t need most of them.”

“?”

“I’m being serious.”

“…”

Disappointment scrawled all over Byleth’s facial features. Perhaps it was too much of an overkill… Gifting is an act of making another person happy. She had done so with other students, but perhaps even more so with her girlfriend. What the socially awkward woman had forgotten was the importance of gifting. Having it done every single day for the past 20 days might have led her action with a negative connotation. There was also the hassle Edelgard had to bear too. Right now, her bedroom is cluttered. Claude would always loudly whistle whenever he peeked into her opened room.

“Never knew you were such a hoarder, Edelgard.”

“I am not!”

“You sure about that?”

“Ugh, Claude, just get out of here.”

The growth of her clutter came to a complete stop after she spoke to her professor. Days began to tick by as the gifts that once occurred on a daily basis cease to exist. Edelgard rolled on her mattress, her fingers scrunching the vermillion blanket within her grasp upon stopping on her side. She narrowed her eyes. It would be a lie to say that she did not miss Byleth’s frequent presents. Edelgard never had anyone reward nor selflessly provide a gift in her entire life. When they did, it was because of a birthday celebration. Nothing more, nothing less. Byleth was the first one to break that mold.

“Um… I hope you like it.”

Another gift. This time, Byleth imparted a teddy bear to the young lady. The stuffed animal was large enough to comfortable hug without sacrificing quality. Byleth shifted her feet as she murmured,

“I made it myself.”

Edelgard examined the creature. She tilted her head, stared at it some more, and twinkled.

“This is well-made. It reminds me of you.”

Then, she pressed her lips on the tip of the bear’s nose. Byleth’s face became as red as a beet from witnessing the intimate action. Her girlfriend mentioned that the stuffed animal reminded her of Byleth… What was that supposed to mean?

Whatever it was, Byleth was at least grateful that her gift went through. The sight of Edelgard’s cheery disposition was contagious; it would even infect members from the other houses. This viral infection came to attach itself to the professor too. She began to tear down her emotional stunted growth and let its wings fly for freedom of expression after spending the majority of her spare time with the Adrestian Empire’s princess. (Sothis seems pleased with the progression.)

Byleth reached over to rub Edelgard’s head. The white-haired immediately caved into the warmth and nuzzled as if she were a cat. This made Byleth chuckle.

“Since we’re almost at the end of the month, I think you have room for one more present.”

“?”

The plushie dropped to the ground. Edelgard’s eyes nearly boggled out of its sockets when her teacher retracted her hand and began to strip her armor. Granted, they were inside the noble’s dormitory. There was no one out in the hallway nor was anyone planning to return back to this second floor for a long while. When the student rushed to slam the door shut, Byleth had begun to peel off her tights. Redness boiled over Edelgard’s face as she tried to form a coherent sentence.

“W-What do you think you’re doing?!”

“I’ve saved the best present for you.”

To make her point even more obvious, Byleth pointed at herself. This caused a mini-mushroom explosion to implode over Edelgard’s head.

“#$*%&#$@!!!”

The back-to-back gifting had not prepared her for the rest of today. Byleth was always so unpredictable... Not that she minded, of course.

[ghostofviperwrites]

Too Much

Requested by @monstersmaid

Pairing:   Pentagon Jr/FC

Category:   Smut

Word Count: 1875

Warnings: overstimulation, language, smut, oral sex

18. “You might want to rethink your words. Don’t forget, you’re still being punished.”

Lately it seemed I was always in trouble.  No matter what I did I seemed to break on of Pentagon’s “rules.”  At first being with him had been exhilarating.  The thought of the things he was into excited me.  A new game to play.   Problem was the reality was a lot less exciting than the fantasy.  Turns out I really don’t like pain all that much.  Which doesn’t exactly fit with the self-proclaimed breaker of bones.  Pentagon doesn’t do anything but cause pain.   Also turns out that I do not like being denied my orgasms.  Another thing Pentagon really enjoyed.   He loved to deny my pleasure and it never failed that my mouth got me in trouble because of that.  

I’d never been with a man that I couldn’t bend to my will.  That I couldn’t convince to give me whatever I wanted.   When I begged or whined to Pentagon, all I got was a spanking.  And not one of the sexy ones that make your ass a little pink and let to some hot fucking.  Not by a longshot.  Pentagon’s spankings usually included a thick leather belt that bit and tore at my skin leaving me with lasting bruises.  

I shifted the ache in my buttocks reminding me of Penta’s most recent punishment, coupled with the orgasm denial I was in day five of as an ongoing punishment for touching myself.  Needless to say I wasn’t in the best of moods.     

Now I was stuck sitting in a smelly locker room listening to Pentagon and his brother Fenix analyze their match to death.  I huffed out a loud sigh of annoyance earning a sharp look from Pentagon before he turned back to his brother. 

Five more minutes passed and the seemed no closer to wrapping their conversation up than they were at the beginning of it.  

“Are you almost done? You’ve been talking for an hour now.”  I complained.  “This is boring.”  

Pentagon slowly turned away from Fenix, fixing you with his cold hard eyes alight with anger.  

“You might want to rethink your words. Don’t forget, you’re still being punished.”  Pentagon warned.

“How could I forget?  I’m always being punished.”  I huffed petulantly.  “You’re always an asshole so it’s impossible for me not to be in trouble.”  

I watched Fenix rise from his chair, clapping his brother on the shoulder and then make his escape leaving me alone with the seething Pentagon. 

Pentagon rose slowly from his chair, ambling towards me with a sinister air.  Swallowing nervously I tried to smile confidently as he pinned me in my seat with a hand on each arm of the chair. 

“Is there a particular reason you’re being a raging bitch or is that just your sparkling personality lately?”  Pentagon asked, his pleasant tone belied by the white knuckles on each of his fists and the fury shining in his eyes. 

“I’m being such a bitch because you won’t let me cum!”  I snapped folding my arms churlishly across my chest.   “I’m frustrated and horny and you are being a dick.”  

“You want to come so bad chica?”  Pentagon growled his hand leaving the arm rest and diving under my skirt as his feet kicked apart my legs.   “Need your orgasms to not be a total cunt?”  His knuckles rubbed along my slit in a rough motion that had me moaning immediately my legs willingly falling further open to grant him access. 

“Please,” I whimpered desperately looking up at him with wide eyes as Pentagon fingered your clit.  

“Fine.”  Pentagon spat.  “You want orgasms, you get orgasms.”

Pentagon’s fingers slid under my panties and ripped them down my legs giving him free access to my weeping sex.   I almost exploded as his thick fingers slid inside me, his calloused thumb rubbing over my clit hard enough to be painful, but still sending shocks of pleasure through me.   I panted as he pumped his fingers in and out of my pussy, curling them inside me and twisting making me arch of the chair towards his hand.  

I cried out as my climax tore through me with another twist of Pentagon’s fingers, my thighs squeezing around his forearm as I came.  Pentagon’s fingers slowed and my legs parted as I breathed heavily already feeling so much better as the tension seeped out of me.   When he began moving again I whimpered, still sensitive from my orgasm but greedy for more.   I spread wide for Pentagon giving him room to kneel between my legs as he tucked my skirt into my waistband so he had a clear view of his fingers sinking inside me.  

When he pushed in a third finger stretching me wide I came again, crying out loudly as I spasmed around his hand.   Again he slowed but didn’t remove his hand as I whimpered through my completion before once again thrusting inside of me.   I squirmed, feelings overwhelming me as Pentagon finger fucked me and teased my clit.   I sobbed as pleasure roared through my body, my hips lifting to push in time with Pentagon’s thrusts, my eyes watching the muscles of his thick forearm contract as he brought me to a third orgasm with barely an effort. 

I was completely spent, my hands grabbing at Pentagon’s wrist as he started moving again.   His free hand grabbed both my hands and held them against my chest and out of his way while his fingers twisted and curled inside me.  Tears leaked down my cheeks as my attempts to get away from his hand were proven useless. 

“No more, please Penta,” I cried, my head shaking back and forth as I felt another climax rising in my belly.   “I can’t.” 

“You wanted to cum.”  Pentagon reminded me giving a sharp thrust of his arm.  “You asked for this.”    Again I shattered around his hand as he fingered my dripping pussy, his hand glistening with my cream as he finally pulled it free from my cunt.   Releasing my hands from my chest he wiped the residue on my shirt before lowering his mouth to my sex.  My attempts to push him off were futile, a sharp pinch to my thigh the reward for my attempts.  

I cried as the satin of his mask rubbed against my belly while his tongue licked over my slit, long flat strokes that had me trembling.  My whole body shook as my fingernails dug into the bottom of my chair, hands gripping tightly to try to steady myself as I felt like I was going to explode from Pentagon’s ministrations.   I felt a sheen of sweat forming on my face as Pentagon’s tongue delved inside me, the nose of his mask scraping over my clit adding extra stimulation that was driving me insane.  

Pentagon’s hands moved my legs, gripping my thighs and lifting my legs so my knees went over his shoulders giving his mouth better access to me.   I panted and moaned as his tongue licked at my flesh and dove inside me, Pentagon passionately eating me through two more orgasms in quick succession that had me shaking and limp.  

I felt like a ragdoll when he stood, my legs still around his head his arms holding my back steady as he continued licking me as he moved over to the couch against the wall.   I was unceremoniously dumped on my stomach over the arm as Pentagon kneeled behind me and freed his cock.   He immediately breached my pussy, slamming deep inside me with a single thrust.  Relief coursed through me thinking he was nearly done.   Instead he reached around my body, his fingers once again finding my pussy as his other hand reached to play with the breast he could reach.  

I limply hung over the arm weakly moaning as Pentagon slammed into me, his talented fingers dragging along my cunt seeking another orgasm I didn’t think I could give.   I regretted complaining about a lack of orgasms, this was a thousand times worse than denial.  I felt hot and weak and oversensitive, shuddering with every movement Pentagon made.   The orgasm he dragged out of me was painful, a choked sob ripping from my chest as he forced the orgasm out of me.  

“Are you sorry for whining yet?”  Pentagon asked as he slammed into me again and again.

“I’m sorry.  I’m so sorry.”  I cried out as his cock hit me deep inside, his fingers toying with my clit and nipples as he fucked me.   “I won’t ask to cum anymore, I promise.”  It was a rash promise but I was desperate feeling light headed and weak, my words almost a slur as I lay unmoving beneath him.  

“I’m going to hold you to that.”  Pentagon said with a grunt, releasing the nipple he was pulling on to bring his hand to my throat.   I swallowed heavily as his fist tightened around my throat slowly cutting of my air making me fight against his hold giving Pentagon the movement he sought against his cock.  With a final thrust he came, his hand reflexively closing further on my throat, robbing me of my breath as Pentagon’s cock pumped inside me, coating my insides with his seed.  

Just when I thought he was going to choke me unconscious Pentagon’s hand loosened and he pulled free from my pussy.   I lay there completely spent as he casually tucked back into his pants and moved back to the table he had been sitting at with Fenix, pulling out his phone and calling his brother to return for their discussion.   I didn’t even have the strength to cover myself, weakly pulling at my skirt as Fenix entered. 

I waited for Pentagon to chastise his brother for the long appraising look he ran over my body, but it wasn’t forthcoming.  Instead Pentagon rattled something off in Spanish that made Fenix chuckle darkly and look at me one last time before seating himself across from his brother.  

Gingerly I pushed off the couch, falling to my knees on the floor as I was weak limbed, but at least I was covered from the overly familiar eyes of Fenix.   He had never looked at me like that before and it was unnerving.   Fenix was always respectful to me, given my status as his brother’s girl.  Now there was something different in the air, a shift that I recognized but couldn’t decipher the meaning of. 

“Come sit on my lap.”  Pentagon called to me without bothering to look in my direction.   I slowly climbed to my feet feeling as ungainly as a newborn colt and stumbling over to Penta’s side.  He pulled me sideways over his lap his thick forearm wrapping around my waist to hold me steady as he spoke to Fenix who was still watching me with that strange intensity that was giving me chills.  

I should have taken more stock in my feelings, but put it off my misgivings to the emotional upheaval I had just been through.  I never imagined the changes that would come after that night, or the road it would lead me down. 

[clairekatswritingcorner]

Moving Day

Word Count: 1,330

Summary: Moving day has finally arrived for the happy couple, and Suzuki and Shinsou find that even life’s most tedious events can be enjoyable when they’re shared with the one you love.

For @kinironome!

If you enjoyed reading this piece, please consider leaving a tip or commissioning me!

*****

“Are you sure you don’t need help with that?”

“I’m alright, just help me keep an eye on Marshmallow. Make sure he doesn’t get into anything.”

“We both know that’s easier said than done.”

Suzuki faced him with a stunning smile, the kind she always seemed to give him when he was least expecting it. The brilliantly setting sun outlined her already glowing, vibrant visage in a striking golden hue. The rainbow shimmer in her gentle, thoughtful eyes; the soft pink locks atop her head that seemed to absorb the sun’s rays wherever the light touched; the sight of her took Shinsou’s breath away. He exhaled as if an anvil had just been hurled into his chest…even if that were the case, he couldn’t deny that it was the most pleasant weight he’d ever been struck by. She laughed and the sound made his ears tingle, heart fluttering like the light, anxious wings of a bird. Her voice was like a bell, accented with an enchanting lilt that never failed to bathe him with reassurance, comfort, affection. 

Despite his lingering distraction with her expression, her very being, he managed to pick up on the signs of the impending accident that was preparing to play out before him. Lacking the time to warn her properly, Shinsou watched as Suzuki lost her footing on a stair, ensuring he made it to her side in an instant to provide her with the balance she’d lost. The fluffy cat that weaved around their feet, rubbing against every surface he came into contact with, seemed the most likely cause. But regardless of the source or the intent, they both knew they’d never hold it against him.

“You should be more careful, princess.”

That pet name never got old, but at the same time Suzuki wondered if she’d ever become completely accustomed to it. The way his tone softened when he said it, the glint of endearment that sparkled in his dark eyes the moment they met hers…they were utterly smitten with each other, caught up in their own private bubble of contentment, and it wasn’t hard to see why. Her face flushed practically the same color as her hair, a delicate shade that Shinsou couldn’t deny had claimed a spot as one of his favorite colors. She would have caressed his face, or run her fingers through his indigo tufts if her hands had been free, but they were still unfortunately otherwise occupied. 

“Are you sure you don’t want me to take it?”

“I’m positive. I was just being clumsy.” 

That wasn’t entirely accurate, considering there wasn’t much she could have done to avoid the blunder in the first place. Aside from their mischievous little feline’s interference, even Shinsou was starting to feel the fatigue dragging on his muscles, bones, and eyelids. It had been quite a long, eventful day, but luckily the end was fast approaching. There were only a few boxes left to tackle, which was a huge relief that enabled them to see the light at the end of the busy tunnel. Their reward would be officially being able to call themselves moved in. 

Everything had been going according to plan, up to and including this moving day. It was almost as if fate was trying to tell them this was the right path to take. Whether the predestination of the cosmos had anything to do with it or not was completely irrelevant, however. They were inseparable--that was a fact--and nothing as flimsy as destiny could ever possibly come between them or the love they shared. It was a love they were going to be cultivating, nurturing, enriching together for the foreseeable future, and hopefully beyond. It’d started out so small, fragile, a dim flame that could have easily been snuffed out at any moment. Now it burned as the passionate fire they kindled within one another, a blaze they sustained without even really having to try. 

Shinsou focused on organizing the remaining boxes and deterring their furry little troublemaker from stirring up any more mischief, which could be partially achieved by offering him sufficient pets whenever he decided to stroll by. The curious cat hopped from one empty box to another, truly living up to his feline reputation. One of his owners found it impossible to keep his eyes from routinely trailing back to his precious partner. He didn’t need to worry about trying to steal enough glances at her before they had to part for the day anymore, though, since they were going to be falling asleep and waking up next to each other from here on out. It seemed like a dream come true, but then again, didn’t every moment with her feel that way? 

“I think that’s just about it,” the exhausted yet satisfied young hero announced as she wiped her brow with her forearm. “But stuff like this shouldn’t be any harder to handle than training. I can’t believe I’m this beat.”

“You’re not the only one,” Shinsou assured as he approached her side, draping an arm around her shoulders. “We got carried away trying to do too much at once.”

“But now it’s done!” Suzuki exclaimed with a pump of her fist. “Well, we still have a lot of unpacking to do, but you know…we don’t have to haul stuff in from a truck anymore. It’s actually kind of shocking to see how much we have.”

“Just one of the joys of moving, I suppose,” he quipped, leaning down to nuzzle his nose against her temple. She blushed and giggled softly, squirming and letting out a startled squeak as she felt the unmistakable prod of fingers wandering down her side.

“Hey, cut it out!” she asserted through another bout of giggles, and Shinsou simply nudged her closer, brushing his cheek against her sweet smelling hair.

“Sorry, I couldn’t help it,” he replied in a tone that lacked even the slightest hint of guilt. “I kept my hands to myself while we were moving all this stuff, I deserve at least some credit for that.”

“You want a trophy just because you didn’t tickle me to death?” she challenged playfully. “I don’t think that’s how it works.”

“And who decided that?” he countered, pecking her cheek before getting in one more good grab at her side.

“You’re ridiculous, you know that?” she replied, reaching up to ruffle his perpetually poofy hair. “Now, how do you propose we celebrate this grand accomplishment?”

“I think just taking a break seems acceptable enough, don’t you?”

“That sounds wonderful, actually.”

Clearing themselves a space on the couch was much less strenuous than they’d anticipated. They lounged on the cozy cushions, Shinsou sprawling out on his back as Suzuki draped herself across his torso. She snuggled against his chest and listened to the soothing sound of his breathing, the hushed rhythm of his gentle heart. Her listening was interrupted by the distinct, unmistakable pressure of paws padding across her back. With some coaxing from Shinsou the spoiled cat curled up atop them both, which Suzuki supposed suited her just fine. Sandwiched between the two loves of her life, the precious man and sweet pet she couldn’t dream of being without, the tired young woman let her eyes flutter shut.

“I love you, you know.” The words sent a pleasant shiver up her spine, and one eye popped open to meet his overwhelmingly adoring gaze.

“I love you, too,” she mumbled in reply, her chest tightening as if some unseen force was trying to suffocate her heart with love. “And I’m so glad I get to be with you like this. Any time, all the time now.”

“There’s nowhere in this world, this universe, I’d rather be,” he concurred, an earnest smile tugging at his lips. Sweeping her bangs to the side and impressing a final kiss on her forehead, Shinsou lulled Suzuki to sleep with the hum of his heart and the gentle pace of his fingers combing through her soft strands.

[keeroo92]

Savior, Bloodstain, Hellfire, Shadow Ch25 (V x Reader)

Chapter 25 - To Mourn is to Have Loved

__________________________________________________

June 15th, 8:32 am

It doesn’t take you long to put two and two together when you regain consciousness to the smell of nicotine and oil, the feeling of comfortable padding beneath your body a dead giveaway. You clench your jaw and seethe in silent frustration at your failure, already making the logical assumption that V must have gotten you away from the horse and its rider.

Back in Nico’s van again… did he seriously leave me behind again?

You open your bleary eyes to ask, fully expecting to find your mechanically inclined friend working on some contraption nearby, box of cereal on hand.

Instead, a young brunette in a spare change of Nico’s clothes greets you with a wary smile, her short hair bouncing slightly as she moves closer to you. Her eyes are extraordinary, one red and the other a bluish-green shade.

“Hey, how ya feeling?” the strange woman asks kindly. You stare at her blankly for a long moment of awkward silence before her question penetrates your stupefied mind.

“Uh, okay I guess. Who, sorry, but who are you?” you ask her uncomfortably and she makes a face as she responds.

“Oh yeah, my bad. I’m Lady, good to meet you! Nico said your name is Y/N, right?”

You sit up slowly, still slightly disconcerted at the presence of a new person, after so long not seeing a new face. “Yeah, that’s right. What’s going on? Wait, the Lady? As in, Dante’s friend who faced Urizen Lady?”

 Holy shit, she’s alive?

Lady’s oddly colored eyes darken at the mention of the demon king and she looks away as she mutters a quiet yes, biting her lip anxiously. You wince in guilt and sympathy at the obvious signs of trauma she displays before her face resets into a guarded smile.

“Sorry, that’s probably not a pleasant memory,” you apologize quickly. Lady’s eyes soften slightly, and the tenseness in her body eases just as Nico tromps into the van with a sigh, smelling like she just finished a cigarette outside.

“Any word ye- oh hey you’re awake!” she blurts with a wide-eyed grin, coming to sit next to you and wrap an arm over your shoulders affectionately.

“Before ya ask, V’s fine. He and Nero went back out together after he brought ya to me. They’re in the subway now,” she informs you carefully, and your shoulders tense as frustration pools low in your belly.

 I swear, if they’re gone for three days again he won’t have to worry about merging with Urizen! I’ll kill him myself!

A familiar sound stops your furious thoughts from spiraling any further as your old phone rings from the front seat. Nico gestures at you to do the honors and you pick it up silently, still upset at both of the two men who might be on the other side.

“Is Y/N awake yet?” V’s worried voice asks impatiently. You warm with the knowledge that his first concern is you, anger at being left behind fading to a low hum in the back of your mind as you answer him.

“I don’t know, is she?”

A relieved sigh greets you, followed by a low chuckle. “When she speaks, the voice of heaven I hear,” he purrs finally, making a shiver run down your back at his playful tone. You have to clear your throat before you respond.

“Where are you guys?”

“Oh, you’re going to love this, little fox… we’re in the subway exit by the opera house,” he replies, and you can hear the amusement in his voice easily. You grin enthusiastically and try not to squeal with excitement.

“We’ll be right there!” you tell him happily, and he rewards you with another dry chuckle before saying goodbye and disconnecting.

You turn to face Nico, a glimmer in your eyes and a smirk twisting your lips as you speak.

“How fast can you get us to the opera house subway station?”

Her face splits and she cracks her neck as she stands, already striding to the driver’s seat with a confident sparkle in her gaze. You join her up front in the passenger seat and strap in hurriedly, fully expecting Nico’s unfathomable driving style to make the precaution necessary. You look back to see Lady roll her entrancing eyes and brace herself on the couch as the van lurches into motion.

 For once, I’m grateful she’s such an insane driver!

Nico takes an access tunnel to get underground, the van speeding through the darkness rapidly. She seems to naturally know how to get where she’s going, not once stopping and looking around and no map anywhere in sight. To your amazement, it only takes her five minutes to reach the two men; with a final burst of speed the van smashes through a concrete wall and comes to rest in the low lighting of a subway tunnel with a screech of rubber.

“Help has arrived! Got any cash?” Nico shouts at V from the open window, but he ignores her and instead comes to your side to open the door for you with a smirk. You unbuckle your seatbelt and take his outstretched hand, wrapping your arms around him in a hug the moment your feet touch the ground.

 He smells so good…

You tilt your neck upwards to press your lips against his briefly, all too aware of your audience as Nico wolf whistles. You shoot a glare at her as you pull away from V but she only waggles her eyebrows in return with a suggestive grin.

“Get your things, little fox. Nero’s waiting for us above,” V murmurs quietly and you beam at the thought of traveling with both of your two favorite men, and possibly being able to see the opera house again. You dash inside the van and grab your weapons and backpack excitedly, barely noticing Lady and Nico in your rush. You rummage through your suitcase for a moment, adding a few choice items to the backpack before you hug Nico goodbye, waving at Lady as you rejoin V where he waits, reading silently.

“Ready!” you announce, and he calmly closes his book, exaggerating his slowness as he tucks it away in his vest, smirking at your eagerness. Impatient, you start walking backwards away from him teasingly, his emerald eyes sparkling in amusement as he catches up to you in a few of his lengthy strides. Together, you ascend into daylight, blinking like bats at the sudden change in brightness.

For a moment you aren’t sure where you are, the landscape so heavily mangled by the Qlipoth that you don’t recognize it. Chunks of rubble are strewn everywhere, the road split into several different levels from the numerous roots making their home beneath the pavement. You pan your gaze, noting the red double decker buses and gasp as you see the buildings in the distance.

The previously flat area now features multiple levels of elevation, several structures having been forced to new heights above their foundations by several stories. Through a gap in the devastation, you can see the main structure of the Qlipoth. The way it moves slightly, as if it’s taunting you, makes your blood boil in rage.

 We’re coming for you, Urizen! You’ll pay for what you’ve done.

Then you see the opera house and your rage vanishes inside a well of sadness.

The entirety of the front entryway is gone. The wall with the mural of La Boheme, the beautifully carved columns that framed it, the gilded arches that led to the balcony stairwells. Even the damn bathrooms are gone. Where once stood the most awe-inspiring façade you’d ever seen, only empty air remains. Your entire body sags, a mournful ache settling in your gut.

“It’s… it’s gone…” you whisper, disbelief staining your voice.

 I’ll never get to see an opera there…

“Not all of it, little fox. Look down,” V tells you gently, his words a tiny puff of air that rekindles the ember of hope in your heart.

The ember sparks a flame as your eyes drift downwards to see the performance hall mostly intact, the stage still holding set pieces from the most recent show. Decorative statues have fallen from their homes on the columns, their shining forms lying in the refuse near the lip of the stage. The balconies stand in silent judgement of the scene, their red hangings an echo of the heavy cloth that still drapes across the stage.

 At least there’s that much left.

“Would you like a closer look?” V asks you nearby. His hand finds yours, long fingers filling the gaps between your own perfectly. You give him a grateful squeeze as you take the first step downhill, following the path of the devastated roadway down as far as it will take you. Halfway down, Nero steps into view from behind a fallen column, a wry smirk adorning his features.

“Took you guys long enough… feeling alright, Y/N?” he asks you as you reach him, already pulling you into a one-armed hug. You nod against his firm shoulder before he releases you to scratch the back of his neck uncomfortably, a light stain coloring his cheeks at the obvious display of his care for you.

“We should get moving,” V states simply. Nero nods and the three of you continue on down the road toward the opera house. To your surprise, there are lit torches on the stage, the flames licking in a ghostly shade of blue. The shade reminds you of the horse and rider and you shudder uncomfortably. The sets are beautiful, painted castles and towns made of plywood. You try to imagine what it must have looked like during a performance, the singers costumed in medieval style dress powerfully singing their arias to a full crowd, the masses dressed in their finest to match the elegance of the venue.

 They’ll rebuild it. They have to.

You climb onto the stage, Nero and V beside you as your curiosity drives you forward. Even if you do manage to see an opera someday, you doubt you’ll be able to sit this close let alone have the opportunity to explore backstage. Energy surges through you at the thought, a pleased flush staining your grinning cheeks.

 I wonder what kinds of props I’ll find? Or if there are any costumes in the back?

Five loud crashes crush your dreams of exploration as a quintet of demonic knights drops down from above, swords and shields held menacingly in front of their intimidating forms. You recognize them; these are the same type of demon that sliced your hip open all too recently. You take a few fearful steps back as Nero and V advance, your stomach dancing in a ballet of terror.

“Nice! Getting the band back together, huh?” Nero quips with a taunting smirk.

“What evil lurks… I must destroy!” V intones harshly, pinching the bridge of his nose and glaring intensely at the foes. You swallow nervously and draw your sword, mentally preparing yourself to fight as defensively as you can and stay out of the two men’s way, hoping you don't get hit again.

“I thought that was the plan all along,” Nero comments dryly, drawing his own sword.

A cacophonous rumble draws your attention behind you as the heavy golden frame of the stage crashes to the ground, more stone joining it as the entire stage starts to rumble under your feet. Your eyes widen and you catch your breath as the stage moves, the structure no longer held in place and sliding downhill at a speed to rival Nico’s driving. Adrenaline pulses through you, realizing you have nowhere to run now.

 This day just keeps getting better...

V flicks his wrist and a whirlwind of black announces Griffon and Shadow’s arrival as he drops into his battle stance, eyes glued on the demons as he circles the stage gracefully. Griffon dashes forward to land a heavy blow with his talons against the center demon. It stands slightly taller than its fellows, its cape a beautiful shade of violet. Shadow shoots ahead with numerous black spikes elongating from her body, reaching out to strike the same central demon.

Nero aims his pistol one handed, squeezing the trigger repeatedly and releasing a stream of bullets on the same tall demon. He lowers the gun once it’s empty, switching to his blade and surging forward with a cry, slashing powerfully against the demon’s waist. It staggers but recovers quickly and aims at the young warrior. Your heart clenches as the sword descends, remembering how painful it was to be slice by the brutal blade, but Nero artfully dodges to the side with a laugh. He hops lightly, landing briefly on top of the neighboring demon and slashes at it as he drops down behind it, his sword leaving a nasty trail in its wake.

You’re forced to redirect your attention as one of the shielded knights advances on you, its steps slow and measured and easy to counter. For a moment your fear paralyses you, the echo of the ache in your hip reemerging in a treacherous reminder of what happens when these demons land a blow. Gathering your senses, you back away carefully, looking for an opening in its stance to exploit but the shield is too large.

“V! Nero! Can you hit it from behind while it’s focused on me?” your panicked voice shouts out to your allies, not taking your eyes off the enemy before you for an instant. You see a flash of motion behind the demon, a sound like an aluminum can being crushed, and it starts dissolving into ash before your eyes to reveal Nero already sprinting to the next foe. You scan the stage, taking stock of the battle.

V is on the other side, intense emerald gaze locked on the lead demon as he directs Griffon and Shadow’s brutal attacks. Two of the lesser knights remain, Nero engaging one nearby and the other advancing on his unprotected back. A split second of terror and hesitation hits you before you tenaciously subdue the fear and run forward, blade extended as you attack the demon sneaking up on your friend.

Your blade strikes true, piercing its upper thigh through the armor, much to your surprise. You pull the blade back, eyes wide and fear-dilated as it turns to face you, and over its silver shoulder you spot Nero finish off the other knight and turn to help you with yours. His blade flashes out, hacking the demon’s armor apart forcefully. It staggers and you step forward with a vengeful grown to land a slash of your own on its arm, your blade somehow ripping through the metal once again. With a final shout, Nero hacks at its head and the armored creature dissolves into ash.

That just leaves the tall knight. It’s still focused on V, his summoned friends having thoroughly marked it with their unforgiving blows. Its armor is dented and scratched, riven in two in some places and dripping demon blood. Nero sprints forward, but you refrain. You know the two men can finish it off easily enough.

“Slice them,” V’s dark battle tone commands, and Shadow shifts into her familiar bladed form, the sharp edge splitting the demon’s armor even further. She lands just as Nero lunges forward, his flaming blade piercing right through the creature’s gut in a death blow.

“Guys! We gotta get OFF THIS THING NOW!” Griffon cries from above. Shadow vanishes, her portion of V’s tattoos darkening to mark her return as he dashes alongside you and Nero for the edge of the stage and leaps off. The three of you land more or less gracefully on the earthen ground and turn to watch as the stage falls into a pit of darkness, a chasm opened by the Qlipoth. You choke back a sob as the last remaining portion of your beloved opera house sinks into the depths, never to be seen again.

 NOW it’s gone… gone forever. Even if it is rebuilt it won’t be the same.

It strikes you then, how odd it is that you’re as upset by the loss of this historic building as you are by the loss of thousands of the lives of your fellow citizens. Maybe because you never bonded with anyone in the city, never cared enough to try. None of them mattered to you, not really. You were upset that they were dead, enraged by the situation, yet felt almost no personal grief for them. You cared when their lives were in your hands, but that wasn’t a personal connection; more a result of your soul-crushing guilt than evidence of your humanity.

The opera house had meant something to you, had stood as a symbol of hope in a hopeless world. A beacon of the arts when you needed it most, when every day was the same as the one before and you couldn’t see a path forward that actually resulted in happiness for you.

 And now it’s gone.

The tightness in your chest intensifies, tears threatening to spill from your quivering eyes as V comes to stand beside you. His hand finds yours, fingers twining together tenderly as he speaks.

“I’m sorry, little fox. I know it meant quite a lot to you,” he murmurs softly, and you let out a shuddering breath and squeeze his hand in gratitude for his understanding.

“It… it did. But it was only a building. There are more important things to worry about,” you remind him with a sad smile.

Nero comes over to stand on V’s other side, a rueful smirk twisting his lips. “Took us long enough to get here. What, tired already?” he teases you and V, making light of the tense expressions on your faces.

“I’ve just remembered something… This town was attacked once before,” V announces with surprise coloring his tone.

“Is that so?” Nero comments.

V steps forward, pulling you with him as he approaches a small green horse mounted on a metal coil; a child’s playground toy.

“I was here… I can still see it. In fact I was playing right here,” V adds, dropping your hand to reverently touch the green horse in memory. His eyes seem haunted as he looks around, searching for something. He uses his cane to point to a house in the distance.

“That was the house,” he continues, “This is where we part ways. You go ahead.”

You and Nero both stare at the lean poet in surprise, eyes wide at his declaration.

“You’re gonna miss all the fun,” Nero teases lightly. V takes your hand again and frowns slightly, his emerald gaze darkening.

“No, I must seek the devil sword Sparda,” he rumbles, and Nero stares at him in shock.

 What the hell is he talking about? And why does Nero look so… scared?

“What? Yeah, I don’t think that’s such a good idea, trust me,” the young warrior urges the poet, worried gaze flicking to yours for some support. You have no idea what’s going on and stay silent.

“You are not the only one who thinks so. But to win this fight, we’re going to need all the help we can get,” the poet assures him, turning to walk away with you following close behind. You shoot one last concerned look at Nero before you and V leave him behind,

The two of you walk in silence for a long time, navigating a labyrinth of wreckage and devastation. Your confusion swirls in your mind as you try fruitlessly to remember something, anything, you may have heard or read about this supposedly powerful sword. Nothing comes to mind and you sigh in frustration as you give up and ask V.

“So, what’s the deal with this sword?”

The tattooed poet hums softly in acknowledgement, choosing his words carefully as he steps over a hunk of stone in his path. “It’s a blade with a complicated history. Originally it was wielded by Sparda himself, and when he sealed the Underworld off he imbued the sword with his power to strengthen the seal. To this day, it holds that power. It is most effective in the hands of Sparda’s kin, though it requires great strength of body and mind. I have a theory that Nero is a descendant of Sparda, and he may be able to wield it against Urizen,” the poet explains patiently.

 Oh, ok then. It’s just a sword that has demonic power inside it. Totally normal.

 What even is my life anymore?

A few short steps later and the two of you emerge in the remains of a graveyard, some of the graves having been shifted so far by the Qlipoth’s growth as to now be at a ninety degree angle from the ground you stand upon. V pauses at the precipice of a steep cliff, twisting his wrist to summon Griffon in a maelstrom of black shards as his arm lightens considerably. The blue demon lands on a nearby plinth with a flutter.

“What’s up, Shakespeare? Little lady,” the avian caws out, his three pronged beak splitting in a reminder of his strange origins.

“We need you to get a closer look around, the devil sword Sparda is nearby and we must find it,” V instructs him, and he lifts off with a huff.

“More scout duty… alright, be right back,” Griffon complains as he flaps away. You wait with V at the edge, glancing quickly at the crevasse below with a shudder.

 Don’t fucking fall here.

Griffon returns quickly, clearly agitated by whatever he spotted.

“Did you find it?” V inquires quietly.

“Uh, well… I don’t know what I found, but… I think I saw some demon’s dancing?” Griffon replies uneasily.

“Dancing? Are you serious?” you question the bird, and he nods seriously back at you as V speaks.

“Well, then I guess we keep going. The devil sword Sparda is nearby,” he comments with a wry smirk. He reaches out to take your hand and steps forward, eager to continue your trek.

The way forward is difficult, requiring you to scramble up over massive slabs of rocks periodically. A few Empusa rudely try to stop you, but are dealt with disdainfully by V. You enter a wide courtyard to see a few Caina and you draw your sword with a feral grin. Before you have the chance to cut them down, a low rumble sounds somewhere behind you. V roughly shoves you aside and follows quickly with a short tumble to the side as an armored Behemoth comes barreling through, turning the Caina into roadkill as it passes through the courtyard.

It slams into a stone mausoleum, the structure crumbling as the creature turns to face you and V. Taking another look at the beast before you, you sheath your sword and pull out your chainsaw-bat, activating the mechanism instantly with a snarl. The Behemoth rushes at you, it’s movements so linear that you easily move out of its path and drag the spinning blades against the chains holding its armor in place. One of the sheets of metal falls to the ground as the chain breaks, revealing a section of flabby grey flesh to your vision.

A slough of lightning balls shoots straight into the exposed area and the creature growls angrily as it turns around, its grey flesh seared like a fine steak. You spot a few Caina and an Antenora scrabbling through their small portals as the Behemoth charges again, and you have no choice but to dodge directly into the attack range of one of the Caina. You bring the bat up as you streak past it, blocking its scythe attack hastily. Adrenaline surges through your body as you shift the bat into a one-handed grip and draw your sword, slashing it against the Caina as its only weapon is locked against yours. The Caina disintegrates and you turn your attention back to the Behemoth.

V has managed to get another chunk of armor off, and the second Caina is already gone. Only the Antenora and the Behemoth remain. The Antenora is closer to you and you drop the bat as you prepare to face it. It rages toward you, a berserker-esque charge if ever you’d seen one, and you dodge yet again. Its swinging arms manage to strike you as you move, throwing you off balance and forcing your body to the ground. Your forehead strikes a rock as you fall and blood runs in rivulets down one side of your face as you scramble to your feet, desperate to put some distance between yourself and the Antenora.

 Assess the damage.

Other than the stream of crimson tinting your vision, everything looks as it should. No dizziness and you’re still able to think normally.

 No concussion, then. Just a cut.

You wipe the blood away with an irritated growl and turn to ace the Antenora again. Just as you’re about to attack it, Shadow races over and shifts, several black tendrils reaching out from her body to deliver a series of blows to the demon. You move in and stab your sword through its chest and it disintegrates.

You glace back to the Behemoth to see V landing on the back of its neck, sinking his silver cane deep into its face as he croons to it.

“Resist all you want…”

He gives his cane a sharp twist, his body following the motion into a flawless pirouette as he looks it in the eye in its final moments.

“What a pitiful sight,” he snarls and the Behemoth turns to ash, blowing away in the soft breeze.

His emerald eyes find your in the next instant, lips twisting in concern at the amount of blood on your face as he strides over to you.

“Are you alright?” he asks worriedly.

“Yeah, just a small scratch. Head wounds always bleed a lot,” you assure him and he smirks, leaning down to kiss you briefly before you sit down to press some gauze to the wound, helping slow the bleeding enough that it actually clots. Once you have a respectable scab formed, you stand and take V's hand, setting off again.

V is unusually quiet as you descend into a dark cave, a lake of filthy water shining in the low light. It’s difficult to tell what the structures here were before the Qlipoth, their forms so abused and broken as to be unrecognizable. Griffon has to help in a few spots, but overall traversing it isn’t difficult.

“You’re awfully quiet, V. Thinking about mommy dearest?” Griffon pipes up suddenly.

 His mother? Griffon makes it sound like something important…

“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t. But the past is… a bitter place for me,” V answers distractedly.

 Definitely something important.

“V, did something happen to your mother?” you ask him as gently as you can, but he still tenses. His expression is agonized as he turns to face you.

“She… she died many years ago. I saw it happen. She saved my brother but left me behind,” he tells you mournfully, a lost and hurt sheen on his piercing gaze. He bites his lower lip and you step forward to wrap him in your arms, hoping you can ease his pain even by a fraction even as your mind swirls at the implications.

“I’m so sorry, my poet… I had no idea. Is that why you hate Dante so much?” you prod carefully.

“It… it is a factor, yes. We didn’t get along well as children, too different but alike in our stubbornness. Eva, my mother… she tried to keep the peace, tried to treat us fairly. But even her kind heart couldn’t bridge the gap,” he answers slowly. You take his hand and lead him to a chunk of rubble to sit down for a moment.

“Do you want to tell me what happened, V?”

 Please tell me…

He tenses at the idea, going rigid as he wrestles internally with his own personal demons. He clenches his jaw and swallows heavily before meeting your sympathetic gaze.

“I… I’ll try,” he responds, his tattooed fingers clinging to you like a lifeline in a stormy sea. You sit in silence, waiting as he collects himself and prepares to speak about what must have been one of the worst days of his life.

[emospritelet]

Kiss of Life - chapter 5

I’m taking a break from the Rumbelle Angst War to post KoL.  Just recharging my batteries you understand...

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4]

AO3 link

#

Belle had Tuesday off, and she spent her time exploring the town, sharing an iced tea with Ruby at Granny’s and picking through the book selection at the local thrift store.  She walked through the park in the afternoon, smiling at the sounds of local children playing on the swings, bundled up in scarves and gloves and colourful hats.  The sun was out, frost sparkling on the ground, and she had her hands deep in the pockets of her coat, a scarf wrapped around her chin to keep out the cold.  An old man was making his way towards her, wrapped in a long coat with a black felt hat on his head, white beard twitching as he approached one of the benches.  Belle watched as he reached into the pocket of his coat, pulling out a book and promptly dropping it.

“Oh, let me get that for you!” she said hastily, trotting over, and bent to pick it up.

The old man smiled, bowing his head.

“Thank you, miss,” he said, in a low voice.  “Not as limber as I used to be.”

Belle turned the book over in her hands.

“Lord of the Rings?” she said.  “It’s been years since I read this.”

“I read it once a year, in winter,” said the man.  “Sort of a ritual, you see.  On sunny days like this I like to take some exercise around the park, sit on the bench until it’s too cold and then get a coffee at Granny’s.  When you’re retired, it’s good to get out of the house.”

“What was your work?” she asked, and he smiled, his eyes crinkling.

“I taught at the elementary school,” he said.  “Oh, years ago now, but I enjoyed it.  I’ve seen the kids I taught grow up and have kids of their own.  Makes you feel old.”

“Must have been rewarding, though, sharing knowledge and encouraging children to read and grow,” said Belle.  “I had plans to be a librarian when I left college.”

“Oh?” he said, interested.  “What happened?”

She shrugged.

“Life,” she said, a little gloomily.  “Couldn’t find work, and had to move back with my dad.  I’m working up at the hospital at the moment.  Just helping out, but it’s enjoyable.  Worthwhile, you know?”

“Ah,” he said.  “I was in there not so long back with my hip.  Wonderful staff.  A little lacking in reading material, though.  Mostly magazines.”

He lifted his book, with a somewhat rueful smile, and Belle chewed her lip thoughtfully.

“Well, maybe I could do something about that,” she said, an idea starting to take form in her mind.  “It was lovely to meet you.  I’m Belle French, by the way.”

He touched his hat, his beard twitching as he smiled.

“Alfred Prentice, at your service.”

#

The sunny weather didn’t last, the rain returning by Thursday and turning to sleet, but Belle was busy at the hospital and barely noticed.  She had decided to take Mr Prentice’s comments about a lack of reading material on board, and so she had returned to the thrift store and bought all the decent-quality novels they had.  Getting them to the hospital had meant persuading her father to give her a lift when he was out making deliveries, but as flowers were ordered for patients on a regular basis, they were able to kill two birds with one stone.  The locker room now had three boxes of books stacked in a corner, and Belle had hunted around for something that she could use to transport them around the wards, eventually borrowing an old cart from the janitor.  She hadn’t bothered to discuss the book collection with Zelena, instead going straight to Glinda South, who was Zelena’s senior.  Glinda was a warm, pleasant woman, who could see the benefit to patients being able to access reading material, and was only too happy for Belle to run the scheme.

Belle was in the process of arranging books into genres in the patients’ waiting area, separating romance from fantasy, horror from history.  She chewed her lip as she looked over the titles she had managed to gather together.  I need more children’s books on this thing.  The kids are sometimes in this place the longest.

“Here you go-o!”

Ruby’s sing-song voice made Belle look around, and she smiled as she saw Ruby standing with a wide grin on her face and a paper bag swinging from one hand.

“Pastrami with tomato and hot mustard, just as you like it.”

“God, you’re an angel,” sighed Belle.  “I’m starving!”

“Figured you’d forget to eat lunch if I didn’t remind you,” said Ruby cheerfully. “Too much dedication’s a bad thing.  You make my half-assy waitressing look bad.  Take a break.”

Belle smiled, nodding, and stacked the pile of books she had been sorting on the cart.  Ruby looked them over with interest as she handed Belle her sandwich.

“You running a library in this place?”

“Well, kind of,” said Belle.  “I bought a bunch of books from the thrift store, and added some of my own - the patients don’t get to read unless someone brings in material, so I figured this would help.”

She bit into the sandwich, mouth watering, and let out a tiny moan of pleasure as the heat of the mustard and the salt of the pastrami bathed her tongue.

“That’s so good,” she said, in a muffled voice.

“Hey, Belle.”

Dorothy’s voice made her look around.

“When you’re done with lunch, could you bring some fresh linens to the kids’ ward?” she asked, flicking dark braids back over her shoulders.  “Grace threw up again, and if I have to clean up another pile of vomit I think I’ll kill myself.”

Belle giggled.

“Not a problem.”

Dorothy sent her a grateful smile, eyes flicking to Ruby, and she nodded a greeting before stomping off in the direction of the children’s ward.  Belle took another bite of her sandwich, noticing that Ruby’s eyes had gone very wide in her face.

“Who’s that?” asked Ruby.

“Oh, that’s Dorothy,” said Belle carelessly.  “Nurse Gale to you.”

She gave Ruby a cheeky grin, and Ruby shook her head, huffing out air as she fanned herself with a hand.

“She could check me for a fever anytime,” she remarked.  “How come I haven’t seen her before?”

“New in town,” said Belle.  “I could ask her out for you, if you like.  Couldn’t go any worse than the date you arranged for me.”

Ruby sighed.

“Okay, I admit Isaac was a disaster,” she said.  “Don’t lose heart, okay?  We’ll find someone who’s perfect.”

“And in the meantime I can pass on your fondest regards to Dorothy,” said Belle, with a grin.

“Oh no, don’t do that,” said Ruby hastily.  “What if she doesn’t like me?”

“Only way to find out is ask.”

“You’ve never asked a girl out, have you?” said Ruby dryly.  “It takes at least two years of politeness and mutual pining before one of you gets brave or drunk enough to make the first move.”

“Sounds way too complicated,” said Belle.  “But have it your way.  Maybe I can see if she wants to come on a girls’ night.”

Ruby perked up.

“That would be okay.”

#

Belle found that she had to bow out of the Friday night get-together when she was asked to work a double shift that weekend.  An outbreak of flu was spreading through the town, and several of the hospital staff had been struck down, leaving everyone else overworked.  Belle rushed along the corridor, carrying an armful of fresh linen and trying to ignore her aching feet.  She had worked four days in a row, and hoped that no more of the staff would succumb to the illness.  They were short-handed as it was, and things were only getting worse as the weather turned colder.

For most of the residents of Storybrooke, staying in their own homes and drinking plenty of fluids was enough, but this strain of the flu had been particularly nasty, taking its toll on the weak and sick, the young and the elderly.  She bit her lip as she saw old Mr Prentice being wheeled along on a gurney, eyes closed above his white beard, looking drawn and tired.  Wishing him a speedy recovery, she hurried along to the children’s ward, pushing open the door and almost knocking Dorothy on her back.  Belle apologised quickly,  but Dorothy shook her head.

“It’s okay, we’ve all been here too long, I think,” she said wearily, and glanced over her shoulder.  “Especially him.  Do me a favour and see if you can get him to go home and get some rest.  The guy’s been here eighteen hours at least.”

Belle peered over her shoulder.  Dr Gold was reading a chart at the end of little Grace Milliner’s bed and frowning.  He looked exhausted, but she knew full well that he was always the first to arrive and the last to leave.  Getting him out of there wouldn’t be easy.

“I’m done for the day, anyway,” added Dorothy.  “Gonna go home and try to get a whole six hours of sleep before we do this again.”

She patted Belle’s shoulder and wandered off down the corridor, and Belle hurried over to Dr Gold’s side, setting down the armful of linen.

“You look like death,” she said, not unkindly.

Dr Gold glanced up.  His eyes were dark hollows in his face, his cheeks drawn, but he smiled briefly.

“Miss French,” he said.  “I had no idea you were still here.  Shouldn’t you be at home?”

“You’re one to talk,” she said, and he shrugged.

“There’s too much work here.”

“Yeah, and it’ll still be here after you’ve actually had some rest,” she said firmly.  “You know Dr Whale’s on shift now, right?  Let him take over.”

“With new patients coming in every hour?” he said dismissively.  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

He turned away, hooking the chart over the end of the bed and reaching over to feel Grace’s forehead.  He frowned again, and Belle sighed.

“Look, you know you have to sleep sometime,” she said reasonably.  “Sleep deprivation can lead to mistakes, everyone knows that.”

“I just need more coffee,” he said repressively.  “If you want to be useful, why don’t you go get me one?  And then you can go home, you look dead on your feet.”

He walked to the next bed, picking up the chart and fumbling it.  Belle caught it before it hit the floor, and he sighed and ran a hand over his face.

“Go.  Home,” she said firmly.  “Eight hours, that’s all I ask.  If you don’t rest, your immune system will be throwing a welcome party for that flu virus, and you know it.  How much good is it gonna do your patients if you’re too sick to tend to them?”

Dr Gold’s face appeared to go through the five stages of grief, but eventually he sighed heavily.

“Fine, you win,” he said, in a defeated tone.  “Get your coat.”

Belle blinked.

“My - my coat?”

“Well, if I’m leaving, so are you,” he said tersely.  “Or are you too stubborn to take your own advice?  I’m driving you home. Meet me outside the main entrance.  Ten minutes.”

He stomped off with an air of irritation, and Belle gaped after him.  He was driving her home?

[darthspideys]

Duty Calls ------ 5

mob! Tom x CIA reader

words: 1197

Summary: (Y/N) gets a little closer to Tom andmeets up with an old friend 

A/N: So we meet a new character in this one, Sophia I will admit that she does not end up being very important for rest of the story, but she ends up being important are little farther down the road (maybe the sequel *cough*)

Prolouge / Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 / Chapter 7/ Chapter 8 / Chapter 9 / Epilouge 

(Y/N) didn’t get any calls for two days after she took care of Rich Moreno. (Y/N) suspected, that Tom was trying to clear up the aftermath, male sure that no one was out gunning for her. (Y/N) herself had been extra villiglant to make sure that none of Moreno’s men came to her apartnmet to exact revenge for their boss. After two days Harrison himself came by and found himself standing in (Y/N)’s living room.

“Tom wants to see you.” He said plainly.

“Okay.” (Y/N) picked up her phone and walked towards the door.

Harrison stopped her before she reached it. “I mean-he wants to have dinner with you.”

(Y/N) blushed, “Oh. uh-I will go change then.”

Twenty minutes later, (Y/N) has showered put on makeup and a nice dress. Harrison smiled a little as he lead her out of the apartment and into the car. Twenty more minutes later rofund her stanidn otuside what was one of nicest restraunts in New York where Tom was standing dressed in a suit as always.

“Hi.” (Y/N) smiled slightly.

“Hi.” He replied, “Thought I would reward you for a good job. I saw the photos, nice and clean couldn’t have done it better myself.”

“Classic mobster, talking about murder before dinner. What if I have a bad gag reflex?” She laughed.

“Something about your past tells me that’s not true but still, I will stop, if thats what you want.” He lead her inside and the two of them were immidetly seated at a table facing the window. Two apptizers and a few drinks later the two of them sat silently across from one another, taking in the view and the food. “So tell me about Russia.”

“I thought you already know everything about me.”

“Humor me.” He said, “Tell me about Russia.”

“It was cold, and company was not nice to say the least. Those Russian mobsters a lot less hospitable, and a lot less greatful for a job well done I can tell you that. Also the accents drove me crazy, I swear if I hear another person talk in a russian accent I might scream.”

“Hmm.” Tom smiled at her.

“What?”

“Your beautful when you talk. The way your mouth moves, its memorizing.”

(Y/N) blushed again, for real. “Oh.” It’s working, be happy. “Thank you.”

He grabbed her hand from across the table. “You’ve never heard that before?” He smiled an innocent smile and she almost melted. His eyes were sparkling beneath the lighting of the restaurant, “A beautiful girl like you?”

“It’s kind of hard to get compliments when most of the men I interact with are killed soon after meeting me. Hard to make any sort of connection.” She told him. He laughed, “If you don’t mind me asking, why are we doing this? Honestly.”

He recahed across the table grabbed her hand again, “Honestly? I like you Amalia, I feel like there’s somehting between us, so why not explore it?”

Perfect. “I think your right.” (Y/N) pulled Tom up from the table and lead him outside behiind the restraunt.

They were within inches of eachother, standing in complete darkness save for the light streaming in from the restraunt feet away. “Why did you bring me out here?” Tom smiled, his mouth curling at the edges slightly. He leaned in closer to her, and he could feel her breath on his neck.

“Why do you think?” The two of them kissed, for a long time until they were intrupted by Harrison’s sudden prescence.

“Boss, there’s something you need to take care of.”

                                                          -------

“What did he need to take care of?”

(Y/N) was now sitting in the back of a Starbucks, face to face with someone less than pleasant. Two days after that fateful dinner with Tom, she had her first meeting with her contact, and her contact was someone she could not stand.

“(Y/N), come on, we don’t have all day.”

Sophia Herman had been at the agency for a year longer than (Y/N). A year longer because she had skipped a year of basic traning because the instrcutorshad deemed she was ready to go on her first field mission already. After that, she mostly became a legend at the agency, taking down most wanted, after most wanted, aceing op after op. She was less than enthused to be delgated to a contact on what should’ve been her op, and (Y/N) was less than enthused to see her former best friend again.

“What? Is someone upset that I got sent on this op and not you? I’m sorry Sophie, guess I was just better suited.”

“I am not, I’m taking a break, just tell me.”

“Well after Harrison interupted our dinner to pull Tom away I didn’t see him after that. I have no idea what he needed to take care of.”

“And he didn’t say anything to you after? I thought you were suppsoed to be his right hand or something.” Sophia crossed her arms and sat back in her chair, a smirk graceing her face.

“Harrison is his right hand, which you would know if you read any briefing packet on Tom Holland. I am a glorified bodyguard, which means he doesn’t have to tell me everything.”

“Although the way you’ve chosen to run this op says that he should be telling you everyhting.”

“You’ve never been on a mob op Sphie, tradinatly men don’t tell there grilfriends what’s going on in their bussniness.”

“So your his girlfreind, after a week?”

“No.”

“But you kissed him, didn’t you?”

“What-how-?”

“You left it out of the orginally story, huh? What do you have something to hide (Y/N)?”

“No. I’m telling you everthting, you should be focusing on Rich Morneos plan of action he was telling me about, if someone aiming to take down Tom before we do, then don’t you think the agency should know about it?”

“Sure, sure we’ll take a look at it.” Sophia wrote somehting else down in her notebook. “Just this relationhsip between you and Tom is somehting else to agency is going to have to take a look at.” Sophia smiled again, which made (Y/N) roll her eyes.

“Critqieing the way I do ops now, huh? Come on Sophie you and the agency know this is how I run things, it can get a little personal but I know how to seperate my personal feeliongs from the op. So go ahead and tell them, but mind you I took donw one of the most powerufl mobs in Russia-and this is how I did it.”

“I just have a few more-”

(Y/N)’s phone buzzed in her pocket, “That’s my cue to leave, gotta keep my cover Soph, you understand, say hi to the agency for me.” She stood up and walked towards the door.

“Wait, (Y/N) one more thing-the higher ups, they’re kind of ansy about this working out.”

“What do you mean?” (Y/N) stopped in the doorway.

“They’re going to pull you out in two weeks if we don’t see any results.”

“You could’ve lead with that.”

permanent taglist: @downeeyjunior  @peters-vlogs @tomsfireheart

duty calls taglist: @tomsfireheart @gab-spidey @call-me-zero-zro @bellagrayson-wayne @i-luv-doggos @upsidedownparker @verysaltyaf @tom-holland-imagines-are-us @spidertomholland @iron-spiderr @therealwatermelon @isisqueenoffandoms @brokenuntilmay3rd2019  @sorceressandy  @fuck-youimspiderman @vendylewin @shine-dont-shadow

[pocket-anon]

The Long Way Home (Epilogue)

It's finally done! Oh, thank God. *giddy laughter* It seems appropriate that I'm posting the epilogue to this story on a Wednesday, just as I did with the rest of the chapters. Writing this fic has been an insanely wild ride for me, fulls of high highs and low lows, and I really can't thank you all enough for the astounding things you guys have said about this story and the encouragement you gave me to keep pushing forward even when I really didn't feel like it. You're the best. XOXO

Find it on AO3.  

Missed a chapter?  Get caught up here.

Summary:  After an unnaturally long life fraught with personal tragedy, Killian Jones has become known throughout the realms as the infamous Captain Hook, an opportunistic ne’er-do-well and one of the most formidable pirates to ride the waves.  When he crosses paths with a mysterious young woman with no memory of who she is or how she arrived there, he recognizes the chance to claim a monetary reward that will constitute his biggest score yet.  But a journey across the world to get her home leads to a series of adventures that reveal that her value lies in far more than gold and jewels.  A Captain Swan Anastasia AU - sort of.  (Captain Swan Enchanted Forest AU.  Romance, Adventure, & Eventual Smut.  Rated E.)

Warning: Brief but graphic depictions of violence, peripheral character death, and smut.

“Your face is going to get stuck that way, you know.”

Killian looks up from the rolls of parchment laid out before him on the low table in the sitting area by the fireplace, the wrinkle between his eyes fading and his features turning amused.  “Afraid it will make me less handsome, Swan?”

Emma rolls her eyes and comes over, forcing him to sit back in the chair as she slides into his lap.  “Seriously, you’ve been studying those plans for an hour.”

“You’ve seen the Jolly,” he says patiently, settling his left arm snugly around her hips and admiring the way the her face appears luminous and her hair shines like actual gold in the firelight.  “You know how complex square-rigged vessels are.  Building a few more for the fleet is no small undertaking.  Failure to plan properly—”

“Yes, yes, I know.” She chuckles and touches her lips to his cheek.  “But tomorrow’s a big day.  We should go to bed.”

He hums, turning his head to meet her for a quick kiss.  “I’d like nothing better.”  He pulls back a few inches and tucks a stray lock behind her ear.  “But I can’t tonight.  Go to bed.  In our bed, I mean.”

Emma’s back goes ramrod straight, and she cocks her head.  “What are you talking about?”

“I’m not staying here tonight,” he says, blinking at her as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.  “It’s bad luck to see the bride before the wedding.”

She narrows one eye, an incredulous grin hinting at her lips.  “You can’t be serious.  We’re already married.”

His brows flatten into a straight line of pure indignation.  “A seafaring man—”

“—does not take superstitions lightly,” she chimes in, bobbing her head resignedly and rolling her eyes at him again despite taking great pleasure in how adorable her pirate husband is being. “I know, I know.”

As if on cue, there comes a knock on the door.  Marcus enters when they bid it open.  “Pardon the interruption, Princess,” he says with a little bow.  “I came to see if the Captain’s things were ready to be moved to the guest quarters.  We have the rooms prepared for him.”

Emma’s forehead creases at how she seems to be the last to know about Killian’s plans to spend the evening elsewhere, and her mouth opens and closes in unspoken protest as he moves beneath her to stand.

“I suppose I should be going,” he says, climbing to his feet after she clears his lap and leaning over to gather up his schematics.

She watches him set the papers aside on a bookshelf, and her jaw drops when he retrieves a small gunny sack that sits in plain view beside the washstand.  

He slings it over his shoulder and eyes her pout with a soft smile.  “Don’t worry, love,” he murmurs, coming back to her to plant a lingering kiss on her lips.  “After tomorrow, there’ll be no getting rid of me.”

The corner of her mouth twitches.  “Promise?”

The confident grin on his face makes her heart flutter.  “Aye.” He leans in for one last kiss before heading for the door, waving off Marcus’ offer to carry the sack and throwing her one last wily smile over his shoulder before he disappears.

Emma nods to Marcus as the groom gives her a hasty bow and hurries after him.  Despite her disappointment at having sleep alone, she catches herself grinning until her cheeks protest as she readies herself for bed. She studies her silhouette in the full-length mirror while she brushes her hair and bites the inside of her lip, anticipation stirring in her stomach.  Tomorrow is a big day, she thinks again, forcing herself to take a deep breath in and out to try to quiet her excited nerves.  A private smile pulls at the side of her mouth.

Understatement of the year.

 *             *             *

 Though it’s been busier than usual all week with the arrival of dignitaries and royal entourages and the delivery of food and flowers and other assorted provisions for the wedding, the courtyard becomes a virtual hive of activity just after daybreak.  Squires bearing the colors of their individuals houses run to and fro, maids and grooms bustle by on their appointed tasks, and an intense cloud of chatter rises to Killian’s ears as he observes it all through the open guestroom window.  His mouth quirks as he spies Alec and Thomas, as clean and well-dressed as he’s ever seen them, flirting with a pair of ladies-in-waiting, the young women tittering and flashing his men appraising looks before wandering away.

There’s a solid knock on the door, and Killian turns.  “Yes?” He blinks with pleasant surprise when Emma’s father appears, dressed in a resplendent bright red coat with elaborate platinum beading that is truly fit for a king.  “Good morning.”

“’Morning.”  David holds up a small polished wooden box. “The dwarves just delivered this, and I thought I’d bring it up myself.”

Killian accepts it with a curious wrinkle across his forehead.  “What is it?”  He flicks the small swinging latch open and uses his hook to lift the lid.  His brow arcs at the first glint of silver.

“As Emma’s husband, you’re entitled to a royal signet ring,” David explains.  “You’re not obligated to wear it, but it’s yours now.  You know,” he catches Killian’s eye and a wry grin tugs at his mouth, “as a member of the family.”

Killian blinks several times as he takes in the wide polished surface of the engraved sigil – the seven flowers above a lion that he’s grown accustomed to seeing everywhere now accented by a small object in the center of the chevron that separates them. His eyes widen as he recognizes the shape.  “Is that an anchor?”

The King shrugs, his crow’s feet crinkling.  “Hope you don’t mind us presuming.  We wanted to make it yours.  It was Emma’s idea.”

Killian licks his lips, a small swell of emotion rising in his chest at the idea of Emma and her parents collaborating on this in order to surprise him.  “It’s amazing,” he croaks.

“I know you’ve already got several rings,” David says hastily, gesturing at Killian’s hand.  He frowns when he realizes that Killian’s jewelry is conspicuously absent.  “Which are…”

“Put away, mate,” Killian supplies, rotating his wrist to display his bare fingers.  “Pieces of the man I used to be.”  He sets the box down on a dresser and pulls the signet ring out, finagling it past the knuckles of his first finger.  “This is a better fit for me now.”  He admires it one more time before setting the box aside and looking up at his father-in-law soberly.  “Thank you.”

David beams and claps a hand on his shoulder.  “It’s going to be a good day.”

Color blooms on Killian’s cheeks, and he chuckles.  “Yes, it is.”

 *             *             *

 The wedding is like something out of a dream, but better and more magical than any of Emma’s girlhood fantasies.  The bodice of her daringly strapless gown is covered in swan feathers that wrap around her torso and fan out over the top of the bustle behind her before giving way to yards of white organza that swirl and layer down to the floor like the foamy waves of high tide.  She’s tried the dress on several times for fittings last week, but it isn’t until she sees herself in it today – staring at her reflection in the mirror with her hair done up in a romantic chignon at the back of her head and borrowed, jewel-encrusted earrings dangling from her ears – that the thrill of the occasion really sets in.  She fingers the large, intricate, diamond-studded clasp that sits at her waist like a belt buckle and smoothes her hand down over her belly with her lip between her teeth. Everything is perfect.

Her mother looks weepy as she stands behind her shoulder and takes it all in, her hands pressed together and held up to her lips.  “Oh, Emma. You look incredible, honey.”

Emma aims a watery smile back at her through the mirror, her heart fluttering in her chest.  “The dress looks really good, doesn’t it?”

Snow nods eagerly, breaking into a happy laugh.  “Yes, it does.”  A knowing grin pulls at her cheeks.  “You’re going to have such a wonderful wedding,” she says with a blissful sigh.  “I probably shouldn’t tell you, but Killian has a few surprises waiting for you today.”

Emma’s brows angle upward. “Really?”

“Mm-hmm.”  Snow’s smile turns dreamy.  She steps forward and hugs Emma from behind, one hand wrapped around each of her daughter’s shoulders.  “He loves you so much.  I’m so happy you found each other.”

Emma runs her hand down the front of her dress again, fingers lingering momentarily just below her waist, and suppresses a happy shudder.  “I am too.”

The Rainbow Hall, the same room where her parents were married, is sparkling with its namesake colors, sunlight spilling through the enormous, jewel-toned stained glass windows to glimmer off every surface and set the room aglow like a prism.  Rainbow light, Emma thinks with a nostalgic grin as she walks through the grand double doors.  A good place to celebrate True Love.  

In the heart of it all, at the foot of the round central dais and surrounded by a endless sea of guests, stands Killian, handsome as ever in his long leather coat with his boots polished and his cutlass at his side.  Emma catches sight of a new deep red vest peeking out from between his customary layers of black, and she smiles as it reminds her of the color hidden in the stone of the ring he’s about to give her once again.  His lips part when he sees her, his shining blue eyes and his awed smile drawing her like a beacon as she makes her way down the aisle with her father on one arm and her mother on the other.

The dwarves stand at the front of the crowd beside spry old Granny Lucas and her granddaughter, Emma’s godmother, Red, and there isn’t a dry eye among them, least of all Grumpy’s.  The crotchety little man sniffles as she passes, moisture glinting in the corner of his eye like a diamond, and Emma chuckles and flashes him an affectionate smile.  

To her right she sees Killian’s men, hardly recognizable in clean clothes and freshly washed faces, and she beams impossibly wide and blushes at the wondrous expressions worn by Alec, Thomas, Martin, Smee, and even Roberts when they see her, the windblown girl who used to sit upon the top and dance barefoot on deck now looking like an angel come down from heaven.  Her heart swells as she takes a quick account and realizes that every member of the crew has come, and somehow she knows that they’re here for her as much as they are their captain.

When they finally arrive at the dais, she exchanges tearful hugs and kisses with her parents before her father genially grasps forearms with Killian and the King and Queen step aside. She reaches for her husband’s outstretched hand, blinking back the sting in her eyes, and the two of them share a smile that feels oddly private despite being witnessed by hundreds of well-wishers.

“Ready, love?” he murmurs, squeezing her fingers.

She glances down and notices the new signet ring on his index finger, the clean, silver band over his thumb, and a vacant spot on his ring finger – a spot reserved now for her ring – and she chokes back a little laugh and nods.

He leads her up the steps, and she gasps when they’re met at the top, not by the bishop, but by her godfather, Lance, a majestic sight with his close-cropped salt-and-pepper hair and blood red cape draped over his gleaming suit of armor.

Lance’s face splits into a big, white smile, and his dark eyes dance as her mouth falls open.  “Hope you don’t mind,” he rumbles jovially, “but I couldn’t let my favorite goddaughter be married by just anyone.  May I have the honor, Emma?”

Emma shares a look with Killian, his smiling eyes confirming that he was in on this first little conspiracy, and she swallows the lump in her throat and nods her head hastily, willing herself not to cry before she can even say her vows in front of the whole kingdom.  

Lancelot raises his voice to the crowd.  “My friends!” he booms, “Once upon a time I had the great privilege of conducting another wedding ceremony in a field far from here between the then Princess Snow White and the man she has always called her Prince Charming.  Not many people know that the King and Queen were married quickly and in secret long before their formal nuptials ever took place in this hall, but I remember it like it was yesterday.”  He throws Emma’s parents a wink before letting his gaze fall back to the young couple in front of him.  “As it is with you, she wore white,” he says to Emma, “and he wore black and red,” he tells Killian.  “And as it is with you, there was no question that pair of them were destined to be bound together forever.

“You, Emma and Killian, are yet another reminder that what is good and new can come from the darkest of circumstances and that hope for something better is always worth having, even when that something is hundreds of years in the making.”  

Beside her, Killian chuckles.

“Never lose sight of that hope or of each other, because they are what will sustain you if you must ever face darkness again,” Lance continues.  “Do you, Captain Killian Jones, promise to take this woman as your wife and love her for all eternity?”

Killian’s eyes swim with emotion as he accepts his brother’s ring from Emma’s godfather and slips it into place on her finger, taking her hand back into his and stroking her knuckles with his thumb as he nods solemnly.  “I do.”

“And do you, my dear Princess, promise to take this man as your husband and love him for all eternity?”

Emma blinks hard and suppresses a sniffle as she takes the simple silver wedding band from Lance’s outstretched hand and slides it home on Killian’s finger, a single tear finally escaping down her cheek when she looks back up at him and meets his widening grin with a breathless smile.  “I do.”

The abrupt honking sound of Dopey blowing his nose off to the side makes her burst into a little giggle, and soft laughter ripples through the crowd.

Lancelot chuckles. “It is my great honor, then, to pronounce you husband and wife.  May the love between you always be strong, true, and eternal.”  He fixes Killian with a broad grin and nods.  “You may kiss your bride.”

The applause from the assembled is deafening, the riotous cheers and whistles from the Jolly’s crew encouraging the dwarves to also let loose with enthusiastic calls, but it’s all largely lost on Emma as Killian’s arm snakes around her back and he pulls her to him for a kiss so long and so sweet that even those who still question the ability of a man like Captain Hook to reform for the sake of love are left believing in love’s power a lot more and doubting him a lot less.

The celebration that follows is an historic affair, with commoners and nobles alike packing the Great Hall. White roses appear to climb the stately oak columns that tower above the assembled like pairs of great trees, while gigantic, overflowing floral arrangements are scattered throughout the room and fresh new banners bearing the royal crest sway gently high overhead.  Firelight from dozens of gold chandeliers and candelabras and the hall’s six huge fireplaces combines with the last rays of the setting sun that filter through the series of tall, arched doorways standing open along the west wall.  The party extends to the expansive terrace beyond with guests passing to and fro, mingling and laughing and dancing beneath both the vaulted stone ceiling and the twilight-colored clouds to the lively melodies of a merry troupe of musicians that plays in one corner.  

No sooner have Killian and Emma arrived at the hall when Blue’s telltale light appears and comes down to greet them.  Around them, people crane their necks to get a glimpse of the fabled fairy as she hovers in front of the newlyweds.

“Congratulations, Emma, and to you as well, Captain,” she says with a warm smile.  “No one deserves greater happiness than the two of you.” She gestures behind her.  “Emma, at your new husband’s request, I brought you a special guest as a wedding gift.”

Their eyes travel beyond her, and Emma lets out a surprised cry as she recognizes the figure that starts forward from the crowd to greet them.  “Maggie!”

The tavernkeep, now in a fine green cotton dress, opens her arms wide, and Emma bustles forth to accost her with an exhilarated hug.  The pair laughs and sniffles at their happy reunion.  “Oh, my dear,” Maggie hums, her voice thick, “I just knew you were no ordinary girl.  What a sight you are for sore eyes, and what a stunning wedding it was!”  She reaches one arm out and claps Killian fondly on the neck.  “Well done, Captain.”

Killian chuckles, his cheeks flushing with pleasure.  “Maggie.”

Emma turns and fixes him with wide, delighted eyes.  “You did this too?”

“Well, she did this,” he says, nodding toward Blue, who continues to float next to them.  He amiably drapes his arm over Emma’s shoulders as she tucks herself into his side.  “But yes, I did ask.  You and I might never have met had it not been for Maggie,” he points out, flashing the older woman a grateful smile.  “It only seemed right to have her here to see us married.”

“It was the least I could do,” Blue adds kindly, “considering the sacrifices you made to keep the fairies safe from the Dark One.  We owe you a great deal.”

“I pretty near fell over into the cooking fire when she first came to me though,” Maggie tells Emma with a laugh and a shake of her head.  “Quite a shock to meet a fairy for the first time, though the news she brought was the best I’ve ever heard.”  She reaches for Emma’s hand and gives it a squeeze.

Emma chuckles and squeezes back.  “How long can you stay?”

“As long as you like,” Blue answers.  “When she’s ready to go home, you know how to find me.  I hope you all have a lovely time.”  They watch as she arcs upward and soars out through the nearest doors, her blue light disappearing into the evening sky in a brilliant flash.  

Emma turns back to Maggie with her brows raised hopefully.  “You’ll stay, won’t you?  At least a few days?  You’ll be our honored guest.”

The other woman laughs and comes forward again to wrap her arms around both her and Killian in another motherly hug.  “My gorgeous girl, nothing would make me happier.”

 It’s a bit later in the evening when Killian reveals his third surprise for Emma, nodding covertly to Roberts as he and the Princess finish yet another demure formal dance on the side of the hall that has organized into an impromptu ballroom.  Moments later, when he and Emma are dipping into their final bows, the sound of a fife suddenly pierces the air, and after several introductory notes, the entire group of musicians launches into a much more spritely melody with Killian’s quartermaster taking the lead.

Emma gapes as she instantly recognizes the tune, her cheeks glowing and her eyes bright, and they’re suddenly surrounded by the crew of the Jolly, the men clapping and whooping and launching into the familiar sea shanty with gusto.

The maiden, oh, the maiden, oh,

The sailor loves the maiden, oh!

 Laughter bubbles up from her belly, and she barely has time to kick her high-heeled slippers aside and appreciate the scandalized sound Marcus makes before she finds herself being swept around the floor by each of the crewmen in succession.  Tonight each pauses to kiss her on the cheek before spinning her into the arms of his comrade, and she cries out with delight when Alec busses her and then hands her over to her father, who’s left his sword with the Queen and stepped forward to claim his own turn.  

The King’s pale blue eyes gleam with gratification, his distinguished features stretched into the biggest smile Emma can remember ever seeing him wear, and though he’s a little less sure of the steps than the rest of them, he acquits himself admirably, the pair of them chortling through the dance and springing back and forth across the floor with carefree, if slightly uncoordinated, abandon.  And when at last his turn is ended, her father draws her forward and plants a heartfelt kiss on her forehead.  “I love you, sweetheart.”

Emma sniffles.  “I love you too, Papa.”  She looks back up at him with wet eyes and giggles as he raises their joined hands and whirls her in Killian’s direction.  The world around her blurs again until she lands back in her husband’s embrace with a happy shriek, her fingers closing instinctively around the curve of his hook while his arm winds around her back.  Her heart gallops even faster as he grins devilishly and tugs her close.  

“There’s my beautiful Swan,” he rumbles.  “Shall we show them how it’s really done?”

She consents with a laugh and allows him to launch them back into the familiar rhythm of their favorite jig, her bare feet flying across the cool stone floor, and while it’s harder to dance in this gown than it had been in her trousers, she still manages to follow his lead without faltering, anticipating and complementing his step with ease.  He sings again to her tonight, bellowing the tune unapologetically, and her smile feels permanently plastered across her face by the time the song is ended. Thunderous applause and cheers erupt around them, and Killian dips his head and silences her wild giggles as he kisses her for all he’s worth.

Unrestrained happiness threatens to burst from her every pore in this moment, and her face is alight when he finally pulls away.  “That’s three surprises,” she pants over the din, clinging to him and stealing another quick kiss before grasping his fingers and his hook and dragging him toward the terrace.  “Come on. My turn.”

The guests trail after them as she draws him out to the balustrade.  Emma she releases him and turns, elbows falling to her sides and palms aimed upward, and Killian and the rest of the crowd watch, enchanted, as her hands begin to glow with tiny colored flickers that seem to penetrate from beneath her skin.  Waves of rainbow light suddenly burst forth and rocket skyward, drawing every eye to the heavens.  The beams expand into huge, amorphous swatches of multicolored radiance that illuminate the sky, and the surrounding gasps turn into excited cries when the hues then twist back in on themselves and explode into fireworks, glittering showers hundreds of feet wide raining down high overhead in shades of pink and purple and blue. Emma’s self-indulgent smile spans ear-to-ear, her skin humming as she channels all her love and joy into her magic.

Killian laughs and presses his chest to her back, looping his arms around her waist.  “It seems I’ve been outdone,” he remarks, smiling against her ear as he marvels at her handiwork.

Emma chuckles, taking her eyes off her fireworks in order to shoot him a coy sideways glance.  “And I’ve still got another ace up my sleeve.”

His interested hum sends shivers down her spine.  “Pirate.” He presses a kiss to her cheek and raises his gaze back to the sky.  “And when exactly do you plan to reveal this other surprise, Swan?”

“Eager, Captain?”  She arches an eyebrow fetchingly, her heart skipping a beat beneath her ribs.  

She doesn’t need to see Killian’s face to hear the smirk on his lips.  “Naturally, when it comes to you.”

Goosebumps rise over her shoulders, and Emma funnels her pleasant shivers into another surge of magic, launching the last and most impressive of the fireworks in a kind of grand finale.  She rotates her head toward him and inches her mouth toward his, the extreme brilliance of the lights casting them in a warm glow.  “When we’re alone.”

He blinks, and his eyebrow raises in that way that makes her weak in the knees.  “I suppose it would be bad form to just hang the rest of the party,” he growls, his breath warm on her lips, “and let your husband haul you off to your chambers.”

“Our chambers,” she mutters with a smug grin.  “And yes, terrible form.”

His lashes flutter closed as he seals his mouth over hers.  “Damn.”

 *             *             *

 They do manage to sneak away half an hour later, once the festivities begin to die down, their hurried footsteps and hushed, conspiratorial laughs interspersing moments spent pressed up against stone walls and kissing like lovesick teenagers.

Emma chuckles against him as they come up for air for the third or fourth time, grateful that the guards who are normally stationed in this particular passageway are down at the celebration keeping an eye on the guests.  “If we keep doing this, we’ll never get there,” she says, her voice throaty.  She sighs blissfully as his lips find her jaw and begin to work back toward her ear.

“The door’s just around the corner,” he points out, humming with pleasure at the little gasp she makes when he nibbles his way along her earlobe.  He runs his hand solidly around her hip, relishing the idea of his Swan wearing feathers and simultaneously wanting nothing more than to get her out of them.

A mewl escapes her, and he feels her fingers delve into his hair.  “Actually,” she breathes, trying to stay focused, “I had another stop in mind first, if that’s okay.”

Killian pauses and pulls back to fix her with a playfully chiding look.  “Are you asking me to delay taking you to bed on our wedding night again, love?” he rumbles, his heart rate already quite insistent.  “Because I may not possess that kind of self-control.”

She giggles.  “Just one stop.  It’s for my other surprise.”

He hums in mock contemplation, his fingertips brushing aside a loose strand of her hair and drifting down her neck affectionately.  “I make no promises,” he warns, flashing his dimples like a scoundrel.

“Mmm.”  Emma bites her lip.  “I guess I better make it quick then.”  She seizes the collar of his coat and poofs them away.

The smoke clears to reveal a dark room, and it takes his eyes a moment to adjust to the dim moonlight that shines through the few windows of what looks to be a storage room, the ghostly shapes of cloth-covered furniture surrounding them on all sides.

Killian cranes his neck around curiously, and Emma gently pulls away.  “Um, darling?  Where are we?”

“Just above our chambers,” she answers breezily.  “At the top of the tower.  I need to find something.”

“And what’s that?”  He arches an eyebrow and glances around the room again as she moves closer to one of the windows, looking rather ethereal in her white gown beneath the pale light.  

She turns, and he can tell by the way she freezes that she’s found her quarry, her eyes widening and a smile curving her mouth.  “This.” She pulls at the sheet covering an object that’s long and rectangular and surrounded by decorative finials that reach chest-high.  

Killian squints as he approaches for a closer look.  “What is it?” He watches as she drops the sheet to the floor and runs her hand tentatively over the scalloped edge of...  His eyes grow round, and his heart stutters.  “Swan?” he croaks.

“It’s… it’s my old crib,” she mumbles, now looking shy and a little anxious.  “I just…”  She raises her eyes to him, her cheeks flushed and her lip between her teeth again. “We’ll be needing it early next year.”

His jaw slackens, and he’s never seen anything so wonderful in his life as the sight of her – his wife – glowing at him beneath the full moon and standing next to the crib meant for… for their child.  Bloody hell.  His stunned gaze darts toward her belly before fixing back on her rosy face.

“Is… is that alright?” Worry creeps across her brow.  

It’s as though her words restore his ability to move, and he rushes her, scooping her into his arms and kissing her fiercely, his eyes starting to burn.  “You’re…?”

He feels her relax and give in to heady laughter against his chest as she kisses him back and nods.  “Mm-hmm.”

Killian pulls back and cups the side of her face with his hand, studying her with helpless adoration.  “How long have you known?”

“Maybe a week,” she admits, eyes shining.  “I wanted to tell you first.”

A baby.  They’re going to have a baby.  The most perfect woman in all the realms is going to bear him a son. Or a daughter.  He realizes he doesn’t care which as he leans forward to capture her lips again.  Emma sniffles against his skin and winds her arms up around his neck, her fingers curling along the base of his skull and her shoulders quivering slightly as she shudders with perfect contentment.  She’s his.  And this child is his.  And he doesn’t bloody deserve either of them, but he’ll fight to his dying breath to keep them all the same.  Because this is his life now.  Emma and the little one growing inside her – they’re his life.  And more than he has since arriving at the castle, he feels home.

“I love you,” he whispers, tracing her cheekbone with his thumb and swiping through the wet trail of a happy tear.

“I love you, too.”  

He looks down at her stomach and lays his hand across it with the greatest reverence, and she laughs and lays her hand atop his.  

“So what do you think, Captain?” she teases.  “Are you ready for another adventure?”

Killian’s chuckle reverberates in his chest as he gives her belly another caress and then pulls her flush against him.  She rests her head on his shoulder, and he presses a kiss to her temple, his heart rising to his throat as it suddenly occurs to him that he’s holding his new family in his arms.   “With you, my love?” he murmurs, hugging her tighter and smiling into her hair.  “Always.”

Thank you so much for reading!  For a behind-the-scenes look at this fic, click here for a reader Q & A!

[inspectorboxer]

What Could Have Been

by Inspector Boxer

Fandom: Supergirl

Pairings: Alex Danvers/Lucy Lane, Alex Danvers/Maggie Sawyer

Rating: T

Author’s Notes: This is a prompt fill for @loumauve who wanted prompt #16, "You have no idea, do you?" Hope you don't mind some Lucy angst...

Thanks as always to zennie for the beta!

****

There was nothing quite like being hugged by a Kryptonian.

Lucy grinned, savoring the heat and strength of the arms around her as Kara gave her a little squeeze and released her. “You’re looking good, Ms. Junior Reporter.”

“Why thank you, Major Lane,” Kara answered readily, equally and playfully formal. They both grinned and settled on their respective sides of their favorite booth at Noonan’s.

The waitress arrived and took their orders, both so familiar with the menu they didn’t have to look it over. When she left, Lucy leaned in, eager to catch up.

“So what is up with you? I feel like we haven’t talked in forever.” Lucy took a sip of her water as rain pattered gently on the windows behind them.

Kara sighed. “Where do I even start?”

“Having that much fun lately, huh?”

Shaking her head, Kara absently twirled her water glass. “I’ve just never done well with change, and it feels like every day there is a more of it. Like Cat set off some sort of chain reaction when she left.” She offered Lucy a faint smile. “It really is good to see you. We’ve missed you around the DEO.”

“I’ve missed you, too. This is the rare business trip I jumped on with both feet.”

“How’s Washington?”

“Bureaucratic.” Lucy chuckled. “But that’s what I’m good at.”

“Well, J’onn told me to tell you to come back anytime. You’re always welcome.”

“Thanks. We’ll see if he still feels that way after the review.”

Kara grinned.

“So how is Alex?” Lucy asked, hoping she sounded casual. “I’ve heard some interesting rumors.”

Lucy’s interest in Kara’s sister had never been strictly platonic. Alex had a different kind of strength than her super-powered sibling that Lucy had always been secretly attracted to. Once or twice, she suspected Alex might have felt the same pull toward her, but nothing had ever come of it. It was a shame, really. Lucy was sure they would have been blisteringly hot together.

Kara straightened, some of her humor vanishing. “That’s… not really my place to tell.”

“Oh come on, Kara. She’s your sister. She starts seeing someone and nobody tells me? I’m offended.” Lucy smiled, propping her elbow on the table and her chin on her fist. “Spill.”

“It’s still early in the relationship. They’re not really public yet. Alex is still adjusting to her new normal, you know?”

“That’s not what I heard,” Lucy drawled. “Although I must admit, I never would have pictured the two of them together.”

Kara’s brow furrowed in confusion. “You know Maggie?”

“Maggie who?” Lucy asked.

“Who are you talking about?” Kara frowned as she took a sip of her water.

“Winn. Who else would I be talking about?”

Nearly spraying water all over the table, Kara actually coughed as it went down the wrong way, her eyes watering.

Lucy stared at her blankly. “Wait. That’s not who Alex is dating? Everyone I’ve spoken to says she’s constantly messing with him.”

“Because he’s Winn,” Kara answered in disbelief. “He’s like a little brother to Alex.”

“Then who were you talking about?” Lucy blinked, replaying their conversation in her head, her stomach plunging slightly. “You said Maggie. Who is Maggie? Is Alex dating… Is Alex dating a woman?” she whispered the last word in disbelief.

Kara shook her head. “No. I’ve already said too much.”

“I’ve got a name now, Kara. Don’t think I won’t use every tactic I learned in law school to suss out who we’re talking about.”

Sighing, Kara rolled her eyes. “Her name is Maggie Sawyer. She’s a detective with the science division of the NCPD.”

“She,” Lucy enunciated.

“Yes. And I will likely never know how happy they’re going to be together because Alex is going to kill me when she finds out I told you.”

Lucy gave the younger woman a look, trying to keep her features neutral about the news. “I… I had no idea Alex was gay.”

“Neither did she until she met Maggie,” Kara admitted coughing again and wiping at her eyes.

Lucy felt simultaneously crushed and oddly hopeful. “You have a picture?” She wasn’t sure she wanted to see the woman who had turned Alex’s head, but curiosity got the better of her.

Kara fished her phone out of her purse, bringing up her photos and sorting through them for a moment until she found the one she was looking for and handed it over. “Alex has no idea I took that.”

Lucy accepted the phone, her eyebrows elevating in appreciation when she saw the object of Alex Danvers’ affection. She whistled low. “Your sister has good taste. And apparently serious game.”

“Alex has no game where Maggie is concerned. And no chill either for that matter.” Kara smiled, her gaze affectionate.

Lucy stared at the pair. They looked disgustingly cute and happy. Alex had her head on Maggie’s shoulder as they sat on Kara’s couch watching television. Lucy wasn’t sure if Alex was asleep or merely resting in the photo, but there was something about her posture, something soft in the way she molded against her girlfriend where Alex was usually stiff and uptight. Maggie was grinning knowingly at Kara as she took the picture, her dark eyes sparkling. She was gorgeous.

Damn her.

“I’m coming by tomorrow. I have to see this for myself,” Lucy announced, deciding she was a glutton for punishment. If Alex and Maggie were just as adorable in person, she might not be able to stand it.

“Lucy…”

“Come on, Kara. You’re telling me your sister, who was as cool as a cucumber under interrogation when her very existence hinged on the outcome, is going gaga for a girl. There is no way in hell I am going to miss out on seeing this for myself.”

“You’re truly going to get me killed,” Kara told her.

“I’ll say nice things at your funeral.”

****

Feeling jealous and petty, Lucy stepped into the DEO. It had been months since she’d last seen Alex. She had no idea why the news the agent had a girlfriend was bothering her so damn much, but Lucy could barely sleep, obsessing over the fact. Tossing and turning most of the night, she’d finally climbed out of bed, dressed in her uniform, and walked the few blocks to the facility. According to Kara, Maggie had a habit of bringing coffee to Alex at work on her way to the precinct. Lucy was starting to kind of hate the woman, and she hadn’t even met her yet.

“Hold the elevator?”

Lucy pushed the button, hesitating in surprise as one of the women on her mind rushed in beside her. Maggie gave her a grin, and Lucy wanted to scowl when she got a glimpse of the most devastating pair of dimples she’d ever seen. No wonder Danvers had gotten all infatuated. Lucy suspected enough time in Maggie’s company might have the same effect on her.

The doors shut and silence descended on them as the elevator rose. Lucy breathed in the scent of coffee and pastries and a hint of pleasant perfume, casting a sidelong glance at the other woman. “So you’re Maggie, huh?”

Maggie looked at her in surprise, her keen eyes sweeping curiously over Lucy’s uniform. “That’d be me. Have we met?”

“Major Lucy Lane. I’m the DEO’s liaison in Washington.” Because she was an adult, Lucy held out her hand, and Maggie shook it, her grip warm and firm. Lucy tried not to imagine that same hand touching Alex’s body.

“Nice to meet you, Major. I’ve heard Kara and Alex mention you several times.” The doors parted, and Maggie stepped out, holding them open for Lucy.

Lucy smiled a little more genuinely, pleased to know even if she was gone, she hadn’t been forgotten. “I’ve heard a little bit about you as well.” They walked side by side toward the command center.

Maggie’s eyebrows elevated slightly. Lucy really, really wanted to hate her, but all her research the night before told her the woman was a hell of a cop and possibly a hell of a catch.

“Uh… yeah. Alex and I…”

Lucy managed a faint grin as she stopped walking, turning to face Maggie, and Maggie did the same. “Some of my colleagues at the desert bunker will be heartbroken to hear Alex is off the market. You landed quite the prize.”

“Alex is… special,” Maggie admitted after a moment. “Not sure why she picked me,” she murmured, “but… I’m glad she did.”

Swallowing, Lucy hoped her poker face wasn’t betraying the unsettled emotions roiling beneath the surface. Maggie’s soft, smitten smile, the way she glowed talking about Alex… Lucy wondered if that would have been her had she taken a chance.

“Please tell me there is a quad shot in there.” Alex’s voice rolled over them, and Maggie turned to meet her. “We were chasing that Aldorian all night and I’m about to drop.” She ducked her head and kissed Maggie, the contact lingering. Lucy had to look away.

“Of course.” Maggie handed Alex her cup and a small bag. “And crullers. Keep them away from Kara.”

“She’s at work, thank God.” Alex glanced at Lucy then and did a double take. “Lucy?”

“Hey, Alex,” Lucy greeted with a weak smile. This had been a bad idea. A very bad idea. Alex looked amazing, and regret settled like a thick and heavy blanket over Lucy’s shoulders.

Alex stepped forward, giving her a one-armed hug. She smelled as good as Lucy remembered, her body firm and warm. Lucy wasn’t sure if the contact was a reward for braving this moment or punishment.

“Like the hair,” Lucy managed as they stepped back, and Alex blushed. She always had at Lucy’s compliments. It was nice to see that hadn’t changed.

“Thanks. What brings you by?”

“Quarterly review. I head out to the desert in thirty. My hotel was close so I thought I’d pop in and say hello. Had the pleasure of running into your girlfriend in the elevator.”

Alex straightened slightly, glancing back at Maggie. “Oh. Right. You… This…” She gestured between her and Maggie, looking apologetic. “We’re…”

Maggie snorted out a laugh as Alex fumbled for the right term.

“You can’t be an idiot and get to the rank of major, babe.” Maggie hooked her fingers on Alex’s belt buckle and tugged her closer. “Enjoy the sugar and caffeine rush, nerd. I’ll see you tonight.” She kissed Alex gently. “I’m running late. I’ve got a briefing in ten.”

Smiling, Alex kissed her quickly again. “Text me when you can.”

Maggie dipped her head in a wordless promise. “It was nice to meet you, Major Lane.”

“Likewise.” Lucy watched her go, hating to admit the other woman looked hot in her jeans and leather jacket. Maggie had a swagger to her walk that was hard to look away from. Once the detective stepped into the elevator and waved goodbye at them as the doors closed, Lucy turned to face Alex again.

“Kara told you,” Alex muttered, taking an eager sip of her coffee.

“Accidentally. Don’t kill her. Pretty sure the paperwork would kill me.”

Alex grinned, looking more relaxed than Lucy had ever seen her. “So, how are you?” She sounded genuinely interested.

“I’m good,” Lucy admitted. “You look… you look happy, Alex.”

Swallowing, Alex ducked her head. “Yeah. I… I’ve figured myself out a little… a lot, actually. I… finally get me, if that makes any sense.”

“It does. I was in your shoes not so long ago.”

Alex frowned in confusion.

“I’m bisexual.”

Alex stared at her, and Lucy’s stomach quivered nervously.

“I… had no idea,” Alex said softly, her features contemplative.

“Well, it’s not like I walk around carrying a pride flag and shouting it to the rooftops.” Lucy gave her a smile. “Wish I’d known you swung that way.”

Alex’s eyebrows shot upward.

“So that I could have been there for you,” Lucy added quickly, wincing a little at her slip. “I told your girlfriend that she’d broken a bunch of hearts at the desert facility.”

“Pfft.” Alex laughed that off. “Who? No one… there wasn’t… I would have noticed…”

Lucy shook her head. “You’re clueless, Alex.” She couldn’t help but grin as Alex continued to be flustered, but the taller woman was looking at her a little differently now. Lucy didn’t quite know what to make of her expression.

“Name one,” Alex challenged.

“Vasquez.”

“Vasquez was crushing on you.”

“I didn’t say she wasn’t,” Lucy admitted, having enjoyed a round or two of flirting with the other agent. “But she sure liked watching you coming or going.”

Alex flushed, and Lucy fought a smile.

“Dr. Hamilton often commented on how sexy you looked in that thigh holster.” Lucy playfully tapped the butt of Alex’s gun. “Jordan in security often lamented that she’d give up a week’s pay for one night with you. She was pretty certain of her abilities to turn you, for what it’s worth, although apparently no ‘turning’ was required.”

By now, Alex was flaming red, but she was staring at Lucy curiously. She took a step closer, and Lucy’s breath caught.

“And what about you, Major?” Alex teased, but there was a tone to her voice Lucy couldn’t identify. “You apparently were in some of these discussions.”

Lucy prepared a deflection, to brush the whole thing off, but Alex looked like she needed the truth, and Lucy suddenly found she no longer wanted to carry the secret. There was no point in hiding it anymore. “You have no idea, do you?” she asked softly.

Alex frowned, confused. “About what?”

Staring at her, Lucy ached for all they could have been if she had dared to take a chance on what had been growing between them. That chance was gone now, having slipped through Lucy’s fingers because she’d never thought to hold tight to it.

Forcing a smile to her lips, Lucy stepped closer, leaning up on tiptoe and kissing Alex softly on the cheek, as close to the corner of her lips as she dared. “I’m happy for you,” she breathed before stepping back.

Alex’s eyes searched her face, her gaze abruptly gentling when she realized what Lucy meant. Her mouth opened but no words escaped.

“It’s okay,” Lucy promised her. She swallowed. “I should go. I’m going to be late.” They stared at each other for a charged moment. “See you around, Agent Danvers.”

“Lucy,” Alex breathed, clearly affected by the revelation, and Lucy sternly warned herself not to feel hope. Alex was happy. That’s all that mattered.

“I should go,” Lucy said again with a trembling smile. “Goodbye, Alex.” She pivoted on her heel and walked away, a tear for what could have been sliding unchecked down her cheek.

[readbookywooks]

PART III "THE VICTOR"

19 I clap my hands over my mouth, but the sound has already escaped. The sky goes black and I hear a chorus of frogs begin to sing. Stupid! I tell myself. What a stupid thing to do! I wait, frozen, for the woods to come alive with assailants. Then I remember there's almost no one left. Peeta, who's been wounded, is now my ally. Whatever doubts I've had about him dissipate because if either of us took the other's life now we'd be pariahs when we returned to District 12. In fact, I know if I was watching I'd loathe any tribute who didn't immediately ally with their district partner. Besides, it just makes sense to protect each other. And in my case  -  being one of the star-crossed lovers from District 12  -  it's an absolute requirement if I want any more help from sympathetic sponsors. The star-crossed lovers. Peeta must have been playing that angle all along. Why else would the Gamemakers have made this unprecedented change in the rules? For two tributes to have a shot at winning, our "romance" must be so popular with the audience that condemning it would jeopardize the success of the Games. No thanks to me. All I've done is managed not to kill Peeta. But whatever he's done in the arena, he must have the audience convinced it was to keep me alive. Shaking his head to keep me from running to the Cornucopia. Fighting Cato to let me escape. Even hooking up with the Careers must have been a move to protect me. Peeta, it turns out, has never been a danger to me. The thought makes me smile. I drop my hands and hold my face up to the moonlight so the cameras can be sure to catch it. So, who is there left to be afraid of? Foxface? The boy tribute from her district is dead. She's operating alone, at night. And her strategy has been to evade, not attack. I don't really think that, even if she heard my voice, she'd do anything but hope someone else would kill me. Then there's Thresh. All right, he's a distinct threat. But I haven't seen him, not once, since the Games began. I think about how Foxface grew alarmed when she heard a sound at the site of the explosion. But she didn't turn to the Woods, she turned to whatever lies across from it. To that area of the arena that drops off into I don't know what. I feel almost certain that the person she ran from was Thresh and that is his domain. He'd never have heard me from there and, even if he did, I'm up too high for someone his size to reach. So that leaves Cato and the girl from District 2, who are now surely celebrating the new rule. They're the only ones left who benefit from it besides Peeta and myself. Do I run from them now, on the chance they heard me call Peeta's name? No, I think. Let them come. Let them come with their night-vision glasses and their heavy, branch-breaking bodies. Right into the range of my arrows. But I know they won't. If they didn't come in daylight to my fire, they won't risk what could be another trap at night. When they come, it will be on their own terms, not because I've let them know my whereabouts. Stay put and get some sleep, Katniss, I instruct myself, although I wish I could start tracking Peeta now. Tomorrow, you'll find him. I do sleep, but in the morning I'm extra-cautious, thinking that while the Careers might hesitate to attack me in a tree, they're completely capable of setting an ambush for me. I make sure to fully prepare myself for the day  -  eating a big breakfast, securing my pack, readying my weapons  -  before I descend. But all seems peaceful and undisturbed on the ground. Today I'll have to be scrupulously careful. The Careers will know I'm trying to locate Peeta. They may well want to wait until I do before they move in. If he's as badly wounded as Cato thinks, I'd be in the position of having to defend us both without any assistance. But if he's that incapacitated, how has he managed to stay alive? And how on earth will I find him? I try to think of anything Peeta ever said that might give me an indication as to where he's hiding out, but nothing rings a bell. So I go back to the last moment I saw him sparkling in the sunlight, yelling at me to run. Then Cato appeared, his sword drawn. And after I was gone, he wounded Peeta. But how did Peeta get away? Maybe he'd held out better against the tracker jacker poison than Cato. Maybe that was the variable that allowed him to escape. But he'd been stung, too. So how far could he have gotten, stabbed and filled with venom? And how has he stayed alive all these days since? If the wound and the stingers haven't killed him, surely thirst would have taken him by now. And that's when I get my first clue to his whereabouts. He couldn't have survived without water. I know that from my first few days here. He must be hidden somewhere near a source. There's the lake, but I find that an unlikely option since it's so close to the Careers' base camp. A few spring-fed pools. But you'd really be a sitting duck at one of those. And the stream. The one that leads from the camp Rue and I made all the way down near the lake and beyond. If he stuck to the stream, he could change his location and always be near water. He could walk in the current and erase any tracks. He might even be able to get a fish or two. Well, it's a place to start, anyway. To confuse my enemies' minds, I start a fire with plenty of green wood. Even if they think it's a ruse, I hope they'll decide I'm hidden somewhere near it. While in reality, I'll be tracking Peeta. The sun burns off the morning haze almost immediately and I can tell the day will be hotter than usual. The waters cool and pleasant on my bare feet as I head downstream. I'm tempted to call out Peeta's name as I go but decide against it. I will have to find him with my eyes and one good ear or he will have to find me. But he'll know I'll be looking, right? He won't have so low of an opinion of me as to think I'd ignore the new rule and keep to myself. Would he? He's very hard to predict, which might be interesting under different circumstances, but at the moment only provides an extra obstacle. It doesn't take long to reach the spot where I peeled off to go the Careers' camp. There's been no sign of Peeta, but this doesn't surprise me. I've been up and down this stretch three times since the tracker jacker incident. If he were nearby, surely I'd have had some suspicion of it. The stream begins to curve to the left into a part of the woods that's new to me. Muddy banks covered in tangled water plants lead to large rocks that increase in size until I begin to feel somewhat trapped. It would be no small matter to escape the stream now. Fighting off Cato or Thresh as I climbed over this rocky terrain. In fact, I've just about decided I'm on the wrong track entirely, that a wounded boy would be unable to navigate getting to and from this water source, when I see the bloody streak going down the curve of a boulder. It's long dried now, but the smeary lines running side to side suggest someone  -  who perhaps was not fully in control of his mental faculties  -  tried to wipe it away. Hugging the rocks, I move slowly in the direction of the blood, searching for him. I find a few more bloodstains, one with a few threads of fabric glued to it, but no sign of life. I break down and say his name in a hushed voice. "Peeta! Peeta!" Then a mockingjay lands on a scruffy tree and begins to mimic my tones so I stop. I give up and climb back down to the stream thinking, He must have moved on. Somewhere farther down. My foot has just broken the surface of the water when I hear a voice. "You here to finish me off, sweetheart?" I whip around. It's come from the left, so I can't pick it up very well. And the voice was hoarse and weak. Still, it must have been Peeta. Who else in the arena would call me sweetheart? My eyes peruse the bank, but there's nothing. Just mud, the plants, the base of the rocks. "Peeta?" I whisper. "Where are you?" There's no answer. Could I just have imagined it? No, I'm certain it was real and very close at hand, too. "Peeta?" I creep along the bank. "Well, don't step on me." I jump back. His voice was right under my feet. Still there's nothing. Then his eyes open, unmistakably blue in the brown mud and green leaves. I gasp and am rewarded with a hint of white teeth as he laughs. It's the final word in camouflage. Forget chucking weights around. Peeta should have gone into his private session with the Gamemakers and painted himself into a tree. Or a boulder. Or a muddy bank full of weeds. "Close your eyes again," I order. He does, and his mouth, too, and completely disappears. Most of what I judge to be his body is actually under a layer of mud and plants. His face and arms are so artfully disguised as to be invisible. I kneel beside him. "I guess all those hours decorating cakes paid off." Peeta smiles. "Yes, frosting. The final defense of the dying." "You're not going to die," I tell him firmly. "Says who?" His voice is so ragged. "Says me. We're on the same team now, you know," I tell him. His eyes open. "So, I heard. Nice of you to find what's left of me." I pull out my water bottle and give him a drink. "Did Cato cut you?" I ask. "Left leg. Up high," he answers. "Let's get you in the stream, wash you off so I can see what kind of wounds you've got," I say. "Lean down a minute first," he says. "Need to tell you something." I lean over and put my good ear to his lips, which tickle as he whispers. "Remember, we're madly in love, so it's all right to kiss me anytime you feel like it." I jerk my head back but end up laughing. "Thanks, I'll keep it in mind." At least, he's still able to joke around. But when I start to help him to the stream, all the levity disappears. It's only two feet away, how hard can it be? Very hard when I realize he's unable to move an inch on his own. He's so weak that the best he can do is not to resist. I try to drag him, but despite the fact that I know he's doing all he can to keep quiet, sharp cries of pain escape him. The mud and plants seem to have imprisoned him and I finally have to give a gigantic tug to break him from their clutches. He's still two feet from the water, lying there, teeth gritted, tears cutting trails in the dirt on his face. "Look, Peeta, I'm going to roll you into the stream. It's very shallow here, okay?" I say. "Excellent," he says. I crouch down beside him. No matter what happens, I tell myself, don't stop until he's in the water. "On three," I say. "One, two, three!" I can only manage one full roll before I have to stop because of the horrible sound he's making. Now he's on the edge of the stream. Maybe this is better anyway. "Okay, change of plans. I'm not going to put you all the way in," I tell him. Besides, if I get him in, who knows if I'd ever be able to get him out? "No more rolling?" he asks. "That's all done. Let's get you cleaned up. Keep an eye on the woods for me, okay?" I say. It's hard to know where to start. He so caked with mud and matted leaves, I can't even see his clothes. If he's wearing clothes. The thought makes me hesitate a moment, but then I plunge in. Naked bodies are no big deal in the arena, right? I've got two water bottles and Rue's water skin. I prop them against rocks in the stream so that two are always filling while I pour the third over Peeta's body. It takes a while, but I finally get rid of enough mud to find his clothes. I gently unzip his jacket, unbutton his shirt and ease them off him. His undershirt is so plastered into his wounds I have to cut it away with my knife and drench him again to work it loose. He's badly bruised with a long burn across his chest and four tracker jacker stings, if you count the one under his ear. But I feel a bit better. This much I can fix. I decide to take care of his upper body first, to alleviate some pain, before I tackle whatever damage Cato did to his leg. Since treating his wounds seems pointless when he's lying in what's become a mud puddle, I manage to prop him up against a boulder. He sits there, uncomplaining, while I wash away all the traces of dirt from his hair and skin. His flesh is very pale in the sunlight and he no longer looks strong and stocky. I have to dig the stingers out of his tracker jacker lumps, which causes him to wince, but the minute I apply the leaves he sighs in relief. While he dries in the sun, I wash his filthy shirt and jacket and spread them over boulders. Then I apply the burn cream to his chest. This is when I notice how hot his skin is becoming. The layer of mud and the bottles of water have disguised the fact that he's burning with fever. I dig through the first-aid kit I got from the boy from District 1 and find pills that reduce your temperature. My mother actually breaks down and buys these on occasion when her home remedies fail. "Swallow these," I tell him, and he obediently takes the medicine. "You must be hungry." "Not really. It's funny, I haven't been hungry for days," says Peeta. In fact, when I offer him groosling, he wrinkles his nose at it and turns away. That's when I know how sick he is. "Peeta, we need to get some food in you," I insist. "It'll just come right back up," he says. The best I can do is to get him to eat a few bits of dried apple. "Thanks. I'm much better, really. Can I sleep now, Katniss?" he asks. "Soon," I promise. "I need to look at your leg first." Trying to be as gentle as I can, I remove his boots, his socks, and then very slowly inch his pants off of him. I can see the tear Cato's sword made in the fabric over his thigh, but it in no way prepares me for what lies underneath. The deep inflamed gash oozing both blood and pus. The swelling of the leg. And worst of all, the smell of festering flesh. I want to run away. Disappear into the woods like I did that day they brought the burn victim to our house. Go and hunt while my mother and Prim attend to what I have neither the skill nor the courage to face. But there's no one here but me. I try to capture the calm demeanor my mother assumes when handling particularly bad cases. "Pretty awful, huh?" says Peeta. He's watching me closely. "So-so." I shrug like it's no big deal. "You should see some of the people they bring my mother from the mines." I refrain from saying how I usually clear out of the house whenever she's treating anything worse than a cold. Come to think of it, I don't even much like to be around coughing. "First thing is to clean it well." I've left on Peeta's undershorts because they're not in bad shape and I don't want to pull them over the swollen thigh and, all right, maybe the idea of him being naked makes me uncomfortable. That's another thing about my mother and Prim. Nakedness has no effect on them, gives them no cause for embarrassment. Ironically, at this point in the Games, my little sister would be of far more use to Peeta than I am. I scoot my square of plastic under him so I can wash down the rest of him. With each bottle I pour over him, the worse the wound looks. The rest of his lower body has fared pretty well, just one tracker jacker sting and a few small burns that I treat quickly. But the gash on his leg. what on earth can I do for that? "Why don't we give it some air and then. " I trail off. "And then you'll patch it up?" says Peeta. He looks almost sorry for me, as if he knows how lost I am. "That's right," I say. "In the meantime, you eat these." I put a few dried pear halves in his hand and go back in the stream to wash the rest of his clothes. When they're flattened out and drying, I examine the contents of the first-aid kit. It's pretty basic stuff. Bandages, fever pills, medicine to calm stomachs. Nothing of the caliber I'll need to treat Peeta. "We're going to have to experiment some," I admit. I know the tracker jacker leaves draw out infection, so I start with those. Within minutes of pressing the handful of chewed-up green stuff into the wound, pus begins running down the side of his leg. I tell myself this is a good thing and bite the inside of my cheek hard because my breakfast is threatening to make a reappearance. "Katniss?" Peeta says. I meet his eyes, knowing my face must be some shade of green. He mouths the words. "How about that kiss?" I burst out laughing because the whole thing is so revolting I can't stand it. "Something wrong?" he asks a little too innocently. "I. I'm no good at this. I'm not my mother. I've no idea what I'm doing and I hate pus," I say. "Euh!" I allow myself to let out a groan as I rinse away the first round of leaves and apply the second. "Euuuh!" "How do you hunt?" he asks. "Trust me. Killing things is much easier than this," I say. "Although for all I know, I am killing you." "Can you speed it up a little?" he asks. "No. Shut up and eat your pears," I say. After three applications and what seems like a bucket of pus, the wound does look better. Now that the swelling has gone down, I can see how deep Cato's sword cut. Right down to the bone. "What next, Dr. Everdeen?" he asks. "Maybe I'll put some of the burn ointment on it. I think it helps with infection anyway. And wrap it up?" I say. I do and the whole thing seems a lot more manageable, covered in clean white cotton. Although, against the sterile bandage, the hem of his undershorts looks filthy and teeming with contagion. I pull out Rue's backpack. "Here, cover yourself with this and I'll wash your shorts." "Oh, I don't care if you see me," says Peeta. "You're just like the rest of my family," I say. "I care, all right?" I turn my back and look at the stream until the undershorts splash into the current. He must be feeling a bit better if he can throw. "You know, you're kind of squeamish for such a lethal person," says Peeta as I beat the shorts clean between two rocks. "I wish I'd let you give Haymitch a shower after all." I wrinkle my nose at the memory. "What's he sent you so far?" "Not a thing," says Peeta. Then there's a pause as it hits him. "Why, did you get something?" "Burn medicine," I say almost sheepishly. "Oh, and some bread." "I always knew you were his favorite," says Peeta. "Please, he can't stand being in the same room with me," I say. "Because you're just alike," mutters Peeta. I ignore it though because this really isn't the time for me to be insulting Haymitch, which is my first impulse. I let Peeta doze off while his clothes dry out, but by late afternoon, I don't dare wait any longer. I gently shake his shoulder. "Peeta, we've got to go now." "Go?" He seems confused. "Go where?" "Away from here. Downstream maybe. Somewhere we can hide you until you're stronger," I say. I help him dress, leaving his feet bare so we can walk in the water, and pull him upright. His face drains of color the moment he puts weight on his leg. "Come on. You can do this." But he can't. Not for long anyway. We make it about fifty yards downstream, with him propped up by my shoulder, and I can tell he's going to black out. I sit him on the bank, push his head between his knees, and pat his back awkwardly as I survey the area. Of course, I'd love to get him up in a tree, but that's not going to happen. It could be worse though. Some of the rocks form small cavelike structures. I set my sights on one about twenty yards above the stream. When Peeta's able to stand, I half-guide, half-carry him up to the cave. Really, I'd like to look around for a better place, but this one will have to do because my ally is shot. Paper white, panting, and, even though it's only just cooling off, he's shivering. I cover the floor of the cave with a layer of pine needles, unroll my sleeping bag, and tuck him into it. I get a couple of pills and some water into him when he's not noticing, but he refuses to eat even the fruit. Then he just lies there, his eyes trained on my face as I build a sort of blind out of vines to conceal the mouth of the cave. The result is unsatisfactory. An animal might not question it, but a human would see hands had manufactured it quickly enough. I tear it down in frustration. "Katniss," he says. I go over to him and brush the hair back from his eyes. "Thanks for finding me." "You would have found me if you could," I say. His forehead's burning up. Like the medicine's having no effect at all. Suddenly, out of nowhere, I'm scared he's going to die. "Yes. Look, if I don't make it back  - " he begins. "Don't talk like that. I didn't drain all that pus for nothing," I say. "I know. But just in case I don't  - " he tries to continue. "No, Peeta, I don't even want to discuss it," I say, placing my fingers on his lips to quiet him. "But I  - " he insists. Impulsively, I lean forward and kiss him, stopping his words. This is probably overdue anyway since he's right, we are supposed to be madly in love. It's the first time I've ever kissed a boy, which should make some sort of impression I guess, but all I can register is how unnaturally hot his lips are from the fever. I break away and pull the edge of the sleeping bag up around him. "You're not going to die. I forbid it. All right?" "All right," he whispers. I step out in the cool evening air just as the parachute floats down from the sky. My fingers quickly undo the tie, hoping for some real medicine to treat Peeta's leg. Instead I find a pot of hot broth. Haymitch couldn't be sending me a clearer message. One kiss equals one pot of broth. I can almost hear his snarl. "You're supposed to be in love, sweetheart. The boy's dying. Give me something I can work with!" And he's right. If I want to keep Peeta alive, I've got to give the audience something more to care about. Star-crossed lovers desperate to get home together. Two hearts beating as one. Romance. Never having been in love, this is going to be a real trick. I think of my parents. The way my father never failed to bring her gifts from the woods. The way my mother's face would light up at the sound of his boots at the door. The way she almost stopped living when he died. "Peeta!" I say, trying for the special tone that my mother used only with my father. He's dozed off again, but I kiss him awake, which seems to startle him. Then he smiles as if he'd be happy to lie there gazing at me forever. He's great at this stuff. I hold up the pot. "Peeta, look what Haymitch has sent you."