#then like that one vine they both try and hide the evidence under the bed

[luninosity]

So I’ve started putting Magician (the sequel / spin-off to Sorceress - which was my first-ever pro published fantasy story, way back when! m/f, bisexual main characters, a single mom, a prince, a dragon!) up on AO3, mostly for motivation / wanting to get excited about it with people!

(And it’s technically fanfic, properly, now, isn’t it? For my own story? *laughs*)

Anyway, if you might like...a magician in need of redemption (he was the villain, or at least the problem, of the first story!), and an optimistic prince who likes books, and tropical fruit, and also (eventually) only one bed at the inn...chapters 1 & 2 are up now! More soon, I promise - I’ve got about 30k written already! And you don’t really need to’ve read the first short story first; I think it stands alone fairly well!

Read at AO3 here! Teaser below.

#

The world’s greatest living magician, lying on his back on a rocky ledge halfway up a cliff and bathed in sunshine, felt the boat’s arrival on the shore below like an uninvited knock at a private door. He did not enjoy it.

 He didn’t move for a moment. He did not feel like it, and there’d be no rush. Nobody’d get past his wards.

 He kept both eyes closed. Sun streaked red behind his eyelids; gold warmed his skin, his hair. His body soaked in the sensations of strong heated stone, sank into stone, became stone: learning how the rock felt when bathed in lush late-morning light. His edges blurred, softened: time slowed, thrummed, grew earthen and deep, salt-lapped and wind-etched. He might’ve been here for centuries, unhurried. Equilibrium and erosion, solidity and reshaping: a balance.

 He had needed balance. Something he’d thought he’d known, once. Something he no longer understood.

 He’d thought the island might help. Being rock for a while, or the wind, or the seaspray: being suspended amid them all. Being alone, because he was not sure he recalled how to be human, not well enough.

 The island was warm—Lorre had always shamelessly adored being warm—and far enough from the mainland that he’d been mostly undisturbed, and close enough to trade routes that he could occasionally walk on water out to a boat and barter some repairs or some healing for some news of the Middle Lands and King Henry’s court at Averene and the Grand Sorceress Liliana. Lorre had promised not to magically check in on Lily or their daughter; he was attempting to keep that promise.

 Equilibrium. Difficult. Sunlight was easier. Sunbeams were weightless. Stones did not have to think about human promises. Human perceptions.

 The knock came again. It was not physical, or not entirely. It was a presence, an unexpected intruder standing below, shuffling feet in the sand and no doubt wondering where precisely a magician could be found, being faced with a towering blank cliff and no visible habitation.

 Lorre sighed, pulled himself back from frayed edges and heavy sleepy light, and sat up, pulling a robe on in an unfussy tumble of blue and gold, mostly just because he liked the caress of silky fabric on bare skin. His senses shifted, dwindled: more human, though not entirely. He’d been a magician too long to not feel the threads of brilliance—cliff, vines, fish, grains of sand, sea-glass polished by waves—all around.

 He peeked over the side of the ledge. Behind him the cave yawned lazily, reminding him of sanctuary: he could simply walk back inside, the way he had for several years now, and ignore the new arrival. That generally worked.

 He was rather surprised someone’d found him at all. He wasn’t exactly hiding—oh yes you are, said a tart little voice in his head, one that sounded like Lily’s—but the island, after a bit of work on his part, nearly always concealed itself from maps and navigation charts. At the beginning a few enterprising adventurers had managed to track it down, young heroes on quests or proving their worth by daring an enchanter’s lair or begging for Lorre’s assistance in some revenge or inheritance or magical artifact retrieval scheme.

 He’d ignored all but two of them. The illusion-wall kept everyone out, simple and baffling; the island had fresh water but little in the way of food. Mostly the adventurers’d given up and gone home, years ago; he couldn’t in fact recall the face of the last one. Two had become nuisances, loud and shouting; one of those had actually threatened to drink poison, melodramatically demanding Lorre’s assistance in collecting a promised bride from a glass mountain, claiming he’d die without her.

 The young man currently standing on the beach was neither loud nor melodramatic. In fact, he was calmly considering the sheer cliff-face, which revealed nothing; he stepped back across the small curve of beach, shaded his eyes, seemed to be measuring. After a second he put a hand up, obviously checking the edge of the cliff: having noticed the very slight discrepancy where sea-birds dropped behind the illusion-wall a fraction sooner than they should vanish in reality.

 Intelligent, this one. Lorre dangled himself over the ledge at an angle which would’ve been dangerous for anyone else, and watched.

 The young man had dark reddish-brown hair, the color of autumn; he wore it tied back, though a few wisps were escaping. He’d dressed for travel, not in shiny armor the way some knights and princes had: sturdy boots and comfortable trousers, a shirt in nicely woven but also practical fabric, a well-worn pack which he’d swung down to the sand. He wasn’t particularly tall, but not short: average, with nicely shaped shoulders and an air of straightforward competence, not trying for impressive or intimidating.

 Lorre, despite annoyance about the interruption, couldn’t help but approve. At least this one had some sense, and didn’t walk around clanking in metal under the shimmering sun.

 The young man called up, “Hello?” His voice was quite nice as well, not demanding, lightly accented with the burr of the Mountain Marches but in the way of someone who’d been carefully sent to the best schools down South. “Grand Sorcerer?”

 Lorre mentally snorted. He didn’t have a proper title, not any longer; if anyone did, it’d be Lily. His former lover, now wife of the brother of the King of Averene, was by default the last Grand Sorceress of the Middle Lands; she’d started up the old magician’s school again, welcoming and training apprentices. Lily always had been better with people. Lorre was not precisely welcome in Averene.

 The young man said mildly, “I expect this is a test; I thought you would do that, you know,” as if he thought that Lorre might answer, as if they were having a conversation; and looked around. “I’m meant to find you, is that it?”

 That was the opposite of it. Lorre on a good day barely recalled how to be human, and certainly wasn’t fit to interact with them. He’d lost his temper with the melodramatic poison-carrying prince, strolled invisibly onto the shore, asked the poison to turn itself into a sleeping draught, and then poured it into the idiot’s water flask. Then he’d found a passing ship and dumped the snoring body onto its deck. He hadn’t known the destination, and hadn’t bothered to find out.

 His current young man was looking at driftwood. Lorre wondered why. He was getting a bit dizzy from leaning nearly upside down; he considered the sensation with some surprise. A swoop of gold swung into his eyes, distracting and momentarily baffling; he pushed the strands of his hair back with magic.

 The young man found a stick, one that evidently met his standards for length and strength. He kept it in front of himself; he walked deliberately toward the cliff, and the illusion.

 Oh. Clever. Avoiding traps. Testing a theory. Lorre found himself impressed, particularly when the young man watched the tip of the driftwood vanish and nodded to himself and then set rocks down to neatly mark the spot.

 The island was not large, and the beach even smaller: a jut of cliff, a tangle of vines, a small lagoon and a trickle of water down to the shore. The illusion hid the cave-opening, but there wasn’t really anywhere else for someone to be; the young man figured that out within an hour or so of methodical exploration, and returned to the shore, and looked thoughtfully at the cliffs. He’d rolled up his sleeves and undone the ties of his shirt, given the heat; he had a vine-leaf in his hair, along with a hint of sweat.

 Lorre, in some ways still very much human, couldn’t not stare. Something about those forearms under the rolled-up sleeves. That hint of well-muscled chest. The casual ripple of motion, broad shoulders, heroic thighs.

 “I suppose,” the young man said, very wry, still looking at the cliff as if perfectly aware Lorre was watching, “I should introduce myself. I think I forgot to, earlier.”

 I suppose you should, Lorre agreed silently. Since you’re here. Disrupting my life.

 He ignored the fact that he’d had no real plans. Meditation. Quiet. A hope for calm.

  A hint of dragon-fire slid through his veins, under his skin. A memory. Restless. Beckoning. Dangerous.

[fific7]

Your Soul is Mine

Sirius Black x Reader

@omgrachwrites 500 Follower Celebration

Angst prompt 13 : I want all of you - your body, your heart, your soul

Summary: Sirius Black is about to be claimed whether he likes it or not... forever.

Warnings: Swearing, spiking, coercion, jealousy, revenge, mentions of sex so 18+please, slight dom/sub overtones. Age of consent is 16 in the UK, sorry if that’s not in line with your own country’s/state’s laws.

A/N: I do not condone spiking or coercive behaviour but the reader’s a bunny boiler, sorry.

(My GIF)

Y/N Y/L/N was a proud and determined Slytherin. Ambitious, smart as a whip, cunning when she needed to be. And she had a temper. Boy - did she have a temper.

But when it hit, she would never explode. Instead she’d become deathly silent, eyes narrowing, lips pulling into a thin line, thoughts whirring, working out exactly how she would bring retribution down on whichever unfortunate soul caused her outrage.

And that was precisely her current condition. She’d been strolling down to the lake, intent on having a short break from studying Potions when, giving a little gasp of excitement, she’d spotted Sirius Black.

He was lying in the shade under under a tree. But ... not alone. He and a girl were entwined like vines, mouths locked together, her hands running up and into his famed wavy long black hair.

Before the rage ensued, Y/N felt the sudden & excruciating pain of a dagger to the heart.

Only two nights ago, Y/N had been the one entwined with him, that beautiful, awful boy - in his bed, in his arms, totally immersed in his sweet kisses and honeyed lies.

“Hey Y/N, of course you’re not like all the others - you’re so special to me.”

“Of course this isn’t a one-time thing!”

“I really think this is the beginning of something beautiful between us.”

Ah, yes. And, clearly, judging by the evidence staring her in the face, that meant being his fucktoy whenever his busy ‘schedule’ allowed for it. An intolerable position for a prideful Slytherin to be in.

Well, fuck that, Sirius Black. And... fuck you too, Sirius Black, six ways from Sunday.

And to add insult to injury, she was supposed to meet him in the Gryffindor common room the following night, for yet another of the Marauders’ parties.

A plan dropped into her seething brain. Yes. Yes... with a little fancy footwork, that could work. A small smirk formed on her lips.

He wouldn’t know what hit him.

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

Sirius had told her to be outside the Gryffindor common room at 9. She was there promptly, of course.

She laughed to herself as she stood waiting outside it. He didn’t even trust her enough to tell her the stupid bloody password to his stupid bloody common room. Her foot tapped in irritation as the clock slowly ticked to 10 past 9. The freaking idiot can’t even be punctual!

The portrait hole eventually opened to reveal a tipsy Sirius, who looked her up & down before licking his lips and holding out his hand to her, drawing her into the room. He was in his off-duty uniform of vintage jeans, rock band t-shirt & Doc Martens. Still looks too hot for his own good, she thought, instantly annoyed at herself for thinking it.

His fangirls were certainly of the same opinion, she thought sourly, judging by the adoring looks coming his way (peppered with jealous dagger looks at her), as he helped her step through into the common room.

“You look gorgeous, angel,” he said, slurring his words just a little bit.

Her skin-tight emerald green dress, sky-high silver heels and artfully messy up-do were designed to get male attention, and it was working like a charm (ha ha).

Not at all pleased by the admiring glances she was attracting, Sirius huffed as he walked her to the table-serving-as-bar, hand on the small of her back, slyly running it up & down as he did so. He poured her a glass of firewhiskey. She downed it in one, and he burst out laughing.

She shrugged, smirking at him, “What?! I’ve got some catching up to do.” She placed her bejewelled clutch bag on the table, next to the bottles of firewhiskey.

His own glass was empty too, and he reached over to pick up both, but she laid her hand on his bare arm.

“Sirius,” she breathed against his ear, “let me fill that right up for you.” She smirked, “And maybe I’ll let you fill me up later on.”

Predictable response from Sirius, she was pleased to see. He froze, eyes meeting hers, mouth slack. “Uh... right. Right... uh, sweetheart.”

She handed his glass to him and he downed it in one. “Sirius! That’s just greedy,” she chided him.

He laughed out loud. “Let’s dance, love.”

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

Later, much later, they lay tangled together, naked & exhausted, on his bed.

“That was amazing, sweetness,” he gasped, trying to catch his breath.

“Mmhmm.“ she nodded in agreement. A heartbeat later, “Sirius?”

“Yes, love?”

“Remember how you told me, the first time we were together, that it was the start of something beautiful between us?”

He cleared his throat, “Umm... uhh... yeah?...Yeah.”

“Well... tell me how come I saw you two days later, kissing some mouldy little tart by the lake?”

He tried to sit up, but she pushed his shoulders back down. He held both hands up, palms out in a placatory gesture. “Look, Y/N, that was nothing, it wasn’t my idea, she started it...”

“Oh, and you just gave in, did you?”

“Well, yeah....”

“You know, Sirius, you really should be more careful what you do and what you say to people. I can hardly bear to admit this, but I actually believed what you said, all those lies... all that fucking bullshit.”

“But... Y/N, sweetheart...you know... you know I don’t do...”

“Relationships? Oh, I did hear that once or twice, yes I did, Sirius.” She laughed to herself. “But you should know, I liked to think that I would’ve been the one who finally tamed you - the bad boy. Tied you down, stopped your man-whore ways.”

Her hands on his shoulders kept him pressed down on the mattress. He spotted her placing her wand carefully on the bedside table. What the fuck...??

He was starting to feel really, really dizzy. He broke out in a cold sweat, and Y/N’s voice sounded like it was coming from far, far away, then much closer, then distant again.

He closed and re-opened his eyes, to find hers boring into his, staring intensely at him... did they look, yeah they did look... kind of red? That couldn’t be right. What was happening to him? He shook his head, in an attempt to clear it.

“Well,” she said, “this is your lucky night, sweetheart!” She slowly licked down one side of his neck. He let out a huff of breath.

“You see, I want you, Sirius. And I’m going to have you, it’s as simple as that. And I want all of you, your body, your heart, your soul....!”

His mouth opened, he tried to yell, but no sound came out. He felt invisible tendrils wrapping themselves around him, from neck to toe. Getting tighter and tighter. He couldn’t move and he was starting to gasp for air a little.

“And I’m taking them. All of them, Sirius! ...I’m just gonna take them from you, d’you understand?!”

She shook her head, feigning sorrow & remorse. “You’ve left me no choice, darling, as it’s highly unlikely you’ll give me them of your own free will.” Sirius just stared at her, still not comprehending exactly what was going on.

She trailed a finger down his neck, his chest, his stomach, ran it playfully through his money trail a few times before heading between his legs. She closed her hand over his velvety length, and stroked him firmly a few times. He huffed out some rapid breaths, knowing that he was very quickly getting hard.

“Do you like that, lover?” she purred. He nodded, then quickly shook his head. “Yes or no, which is it, darling?” He nodded again. Why was he incapable of speech, he wondered? Then shook his head again.

Laughing, she said, “I’ve cast a silencing spell on you, by the way - again no choice, sorry, sweetheart! Well, let’s see if this next little number gets you to make a firm decision. Although it’s only a formality, cupcake. Your body - every inch of it - totally belongs to me, after all.”

She leant over, roughly licked his tip, then kissed it lingeringly, before swirling her tongue round it and down his hard length. He writhed under her, still feeling the invisible tentacles curling round him. His head thrashed to & fro on the pillows, desperately trying to ignore the sexual onslaught happening to him, but still unable to.

He froze as he felt her tongue moving slowly & sensually over his balls, then without warning, she grabbed them.

His hips involuntarily hitched upwards. He heard her low laugh, and then she started squeezing, not too hard but still making him totally tense up. She placed her lips against his, kissing him hungrily and forcing her tongue into his mouth. Cupped his cheek, stroking the stubble there and on his chin.

Lips next to his ear, whispering to him.

“I’ve got you by the balls, Sirius, and you will never escape. Never, do you hear me!? “ she smirked in triumph, pulling back to look down at him. She straddled him, knees on either side of his thighs, trapping him even more.

Greedily, she drank in the sight of his handsome face underneath her, silky black hair spread out on the pillow, wide grey eyes staring up at her, long dark lashes resting momentarily on his cheek as he closed them briefly. When he reopened them, she laughed out loud as she saw the lust in them, mixed in with total confusion, he just couldn’t hide it.

She leant closer to him, lips touching his. “You remember how good I am at potions, yeah?”

He nodded, suddenly terrified. He still wasn’t able to speak. She sat back up.

“Well, I cooked up a special little concoction just for you. Slipped it in your firewhiskey earlier. And once I’ve said your name 7 times within 7 minutes, it’s gonna fully kick in ..... and then I’ve got you for eternity.... Sirius!”

Sirius felt the weirdest sensation he’d ever experienced in his life.

He felt as if he and Y/N were melding together. Pulling him up with the sheer power of it. As if his very body, heart & soul were being sucked out of him and being pulled into her body, fixing there permanently in an unbreakable bond.

Then it was over. His body collapsed back onto the mattress. He felt so dizzy...... and weak. So very weak.

Her voice again, whispering, whispering, whispering.

“I possess you now, Sirius. You’re completely and utterly mine, until the end of time.”

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

Sirius quite frankly didn’t know how he’d managed to make it all the way to 16 (almost 17!) without having a steady girlfriend. Now that he’d found Y/N and they were finally together, life was just so wonderful.

He’d bounced downstairs to the Great Hall for breakfast the morning after the party, announcing to the Marauders - and anyone else within earshot - that he’d found the love of his life. To say they were all shocked was an understatement, but Sirius didn’t care. In fact, Sirius seemed almost delirious.

It was in fact Y/N projecting her intense pleasure, through Sirius, at how well her plan had worked out.

All of his moods in future would be hers, but he wouldn’t ever know that.

She’d dug out her Advanced Charms mini-handbook from her clutch bag, after her possession potion had done its work. Pity she couldn’t tell Slughorn about that one - it was truly excellent!

She’d cast a sleeping spell on poor, confused, exhausted Sirius as he lay sprawled on his quilt, and then Obliviated him of everything that happened after leaving the party. She didn’t know the spell that well, as it wasn’t one she’d needed before now, and still had to read up on the details before she cast it.

Y/N had left a note on his pillow, which he’d eagerly grabbed as soon as he awoke. Ah, she’d just nipped down to her own dorm for a nice relaxing shower. He sighed happily, snuggling back under the quilt. His girlfriend, his lover, his soulmate. He loved her so very much.

(What he didn’t know was that Y/N was totally shattered after her little excursion into the Dark Arts. She ducked out of classes for that whole day. But she still had no regrets whatsoever. As she drifted off into a dreamless sleep, she chortled to herself, guessing that Muggle psychiatrists would probably deem her to be a sociopath. At the very least.)

Sirius almost felt like there was a telepathic link between the two of them. Amazing! Any time he even looked at another girl, Y/N’s face would appear unbidden in front of his eyes.

Her sultry, soothing, controlling voice would reverberate in his head, “Now, now, Sirius, down, boy! Remember who you belong to, yeah? ... I’m the only one who gets to touch you. Good boy, good boy!!” and he would feel the immediate need to run off and find her. Which he usually did, unless he was in class.

Whenever he did find her, she’d immediately demand sex from him. She made him strip in front of her. He would willingly peel off his clothes, as she lay back & watched him reveal that slim & athletic body she adored. She made him have sex in every single position she could imagine. Tied him to the bed all night, sometimes. “C’mon, Sirius! sex all night!” she’d order, like an Army Sergeant Major.

He felt compelled to obey her. Until he was so exhausted that by the morning light, he could hardly walk. He didn’t really mind the sleepless nights and jelly legs. Well, he couldn’t disappoint his darling girlfriend, could he?

She would smirk and run her hands through his hair, the same way that tart by the lake had. Not any more, love - sorry. Not sorry. In the least. Y/N would murmur his name and praise his prowess.

Funnily enough, the ‘girl from the lake’ had come looking for him, two days after the party. Y/N felt like that was poetic justice. She’d been suggesting another ‘interlude’ by the water. Sirius told her he didn’t know A) who she was and B) what she was talking about.

She didn’t notice Y/N lounging on the sofa behind Sirius, advanced charms book laying open at the O’s, smirking with wand in hand. The girl burst into tears and ran off, never to return. Y/N smiled so broadly, her face hurt.

She sometimes wondered if she loved him. She wasn’t sure, and didn’t really care, to be honest. She was totally obsessed with him, she knew that. And she owned him. Every piece of him. That was more than enough for her.

His fangirls were all broken-hearted; they were forever going to be out of luck in future.

His friends laughed at him, saying he was just so whipped.

Anytime she saw the grieving fangirls, or overheard his friends’ comments, a small, self-satisfied smile would appear on Y/N’s face. She’d sigh happily, and go back to her Potions essay.

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

[duhliriouss]

Gotham’s Little Prince:

Part One

A Request For: @jokers-doll Here you go Doll, I hope you like this first part :)

Summary: Y/N finds out she’s pregnant with Joker’s baby. Terrified of how he will react, she hides the evidence until she can muster up the courage to tell him.

A/N: Buckle up because this is more than just a story of reader telling Joker she’s pregnant. There’s aftermath, protection and a beautiful birth❣️this was supposed to be a one shot but I got carried away like always 🖤

Beta Reader: @arthur-flecks-lovely-smile thank you again! Im so glad I found you ❣️ The perfect Beta Reader. Everyone should check out her work too, it’s amazing and it inspires me :)

Word Count: 2,934

Warnings: Mentions of Sex, Swearing, Pregnancy, Mentions of Violence

You were tired, exhausted actually. After Joker had overthrown Gotham, you have both worked tirelessly day in and day out to get where you have gotten in this very moment.

And there you were - standing outside on the balcony of Wayne’s Manor, with your hands on the railings looking out over the trees at the cities buildings that stood tall in the distance. Even though it was right outside the city, it was the perfect place for a king and his queen. This is where you and Joker lived now after hearing of the Wayne families death, and a luxury it was. How ironic it had been that you both had everything you could possibly ever dream of; a warm bath in a marble tub that blended with the white marble floors, grapes picked right off the vine for you and Joker to share after a long day, aged wine worth hundreds, a magnificent California king size bed with a canopy of dark red drapes cascading down the frames. Everything, everything except the daily doses of Gotham’s chaos. It was too peaceful here for you and your king sometimes. 

So that is why you stood where you were in this moment, Joker and Your’s favorite spot, the only spot in the manor to be able to still see the tall structures as they inundated with the smoke that rose from Gotham’s streets.

You usually accompanied Joker during his daily tasks and crimes. He’s been a busy man since this all started, usually making sure his followers were keeping guard around the entire city’s borders.

No one comes in... and nobody leaves.

But you have stayed behind this past week and a half, you weren’t feeling well. You blamed it on your upcoming period since you tended to belong to the unlucky kind of woman who couldn’t even get out of bed during their cycle. Though your period never came, and you have grown worried. Joker has been very stressed recently so you haven’t dared to talk to him about your own distresses and concerns.

It was unlike you to keep things from Joker. You first met when you were walking home from work one day. You saw a clown dancing happily to piano music on the street with a sign reading “EVERYTHING MUST GO”. You watched him as you came closer only to find a group of punks stealing his sign and running away with it. You quickened your steps and followed as the clown chased after the teenagers. After a couple blocks you thought you had lost sight of his bright colored getup. Ready to give up, you went to turn around until you saw him laying almost lifeless down the ally in front of you. You saw no sight of the punks so you started to run until you were close enough to kneel down by the clown. You helped him up and brushed off the asphalt that stuck to his clothes.... and the rest has been history.

You sighed deeply, still flicking your (y/e/c) eyes to the buildings in the distance. You held your tummy as your mind rambled anxiously. You knew it was possible you could be pregnant. Joker wasn’t one to care for protection or pulling out. And neither were you for that matter. The sensation was just too staggering to give a shit. You were both so impulsive, you were perfect for each other.

As you looked out your mind continued to ramble with thought after thought. Joker was out there in between those buildings somewhere. You were planning on going out to get a pregnancy test without being seen by anybody. This would be a difficult task since everyone knew who you were, everyone knew you were Joker’s Queen.

You took one last sigh before turning on your heels to go back inside. You scurried down the hallways and corridors to your bedroom to change your clothes into something that would make you less noticeable. After a couple minutes of searching you found a oversized black coat that had probably belonged to Thomas Wayne. You also picked out some black jeans you owned. You quickly got dressed and took a look in the mirror, taking your (y/h/c) hair and pulling it behind your head to tuck it in the back of the coat. You then reached over and grabbed a clown mask, setting it over your face before pulling up the hoodie over your head. You felt confident that you could get away with this look and blend in.

And with that you were off, leaving the building with ease without being seen by any of the “guards” that Joker had stationed around your new home. You were allowed to leave whenever you wanted but you didn’t want to chance any of them telling Joker you had left. You had imagined beforehand what it would be like; Coming home early only to find one of his henchman tattling to him before he could even reach the main doors. Revealing to him how you were spotted leaving, without a return. You knew he would be very concerned for your wellbeing. You’d rather just come clean now than have to make Joker go through such affliction.

Your walk was longer than usual since you stayed in the shadows. You took allies that weren’t occupied and kept your head down as protesters and rallies passed. You entered the first convenient store you saw. You didn’t have to buy anything right now In this city as the mayhem was at its peak recently. No one was working since it was too dangerous. Almost all stores had smashes in the window and most people looted as they pleased. You walked straight in through the window and found the feminine section fairly quickly. You took what you needed and left and fast as you came.

You were home safe without being noticed by a soul. You peeled the clothes off putting them back where you found it and changed back into your dark blue polka dot flare dress. You walked straight to a bathroom that usually wasn’t used by Joker and Yourself. You lifted your dress and sat down, staring down at the box that contained the test. You felt unsure now.

Did you really want to know right now? What if it’s positive? How will your beloved Joker react?

Your heart started to pound in your ears as these new thoughts rose throughout you. You couldn’t see this being a positive outcome. You really didn’t want to see Joker mad. He was so unpredictable with his emotions that sometimes you didn’t even know if you knew him. He’s not Arthur anymore. However, Joker was still very tender towards you. Warm and gentle for the most part. But you also knew certain things caused him to lash out. You actually loved how unpredictable he was at times. It made everything new and exciting. But right now you were seeing how this could be a not so great and not so thrilling thing.

You were feeling dizzy now. Your mind going a mile a minute, you tried to get your breathing under control.

“You can do this. Joker will still love you no matter what. Just take the test.” You consoled softly to yourself.

You took a few more deep breaths before opening the box. 1980’s pregnancy tests were test tubes that took 2 hours before showing results. So you were in for a very tense wait. And a nervous one at that since you were never sure when Joker was going to be home. You did everything you were supposed to do. You shook the urine in the test tube and placed it behind the toilet on the floor for no one to see. You took the box and crinkled it up inside out, discarding it deep in the trash. Now all there was to do was wait. And it WAS a very tense wait. You made a mental note to keep your eye on the clock for when it was ready to check.

You tried to keep your mind off of it by watching tv, a fail. You paced the halls over and over with your hands clenched behind your back. You even went outside to get fresh air and smell the roses that had begun to wilt outside. You were running out of ideas to ease this edge. And oh so badly did you need a cigarette right now. You usually smoked almost as much as Joker but you haven’t dared the past few days. Joker actually noticed this the other day and questioned you to see if everything was alright. Only then did you stutter out an excuse by saying your throat was scratchy and it made it worse. And what a stupid excuse it was, initiating your guilt as he ran to make you herbal tea with tender kisses for the rest of the night.

You went back inside to check the clock.

30 minutes left

With a impatient huff, you went to go try and watch tv again In the bedroom. You walked down the hallway for what seemed like the 80th time today and turned to step into the bedroom. You gasped, jumping backward when you saw that Joker was standing right there. He saw that he’d startled you. He reached his arms out for you, a smirk evidently written on his face.

“My sweet darling girl, how I’ve missed you today”

You straightened yourself out and smiled sheepishly. He always made you a blushing mess. You skipped over and let yourself fall into his arms. He instantly scooped you up with ease, making you instinctively wrap your legs around him and letting your head fall over his shoulder. He wasn’t much taller than you but he still always managed to hold and carry you comfortably.

“I’ve missed you too. And you’re home so early.” You tried to hide the nervousness in your voice.

He started to draw circles on your back as he spoke. “A clown can only do so much crime my love. Besides, I thought I’d surprise you with something tonight since you haven’t been feeling well.” His voice cracked huskily.

Your body sunk heavier into him. You didn’t know your guilt could make you feel this culpable. You leaned back to look in Joker’s green orbs as he held you, putting on your best fake smile.

“What is it?”

“Stay here doll while I go get it for you, I left it in the kitchens”

Joker placed you down gently and began to make his way out the door, stopping at the door frame. He kept his gaze forward as he spoke. “Don’t move a muscle, I know how sneaky you can be, my little squirrel”

You smiled sheepishly one last time until he was out of site. Joker knew you all too well, seeing how you poked your head around the doorframe until he was out of site again. You were confident you had enough time to race down back to the bathrooms and check on your fate. The bathrooms were much closer than the kitchens. You couldn’t wait any longer. You took your first sharp right turn down another coordinator, making your way to the end before taking another sharp right which led off to the bathroom. As you took your last turn you stopped in your tracks instantly as you saw Joker standing right outside the bathroom doors talking to one of his female followers that helped keep guard around the building. You hid yourself around the corner and poked your head out slightly to listen. They didn’t notice you.

“Why are you showing me this? I don’t even know what that is”

“It’s a pregnancy test Sir, I don’t know who’s it is but it’s positive, just figured I’d show you before tossing it out”

You leaned your back fully against the wall around the corner now. Your hands found your mouth to muffle your sobs as tears poured down your cheeks. Not only did you just find out you were pregnant, but this was also not the way you wanted your Joker to find out. How was he going to react now, Keeping it from him like that?

Will he even still love me? he’s THE Joker. The infamous man that’s killed multiple under his own will. Why would a man like him want a baby with someone like me? Especially in such a disorderly world that we have created together. He’s going to make me leave this place. Probably force me to move somewhere else far away to somewhere safer. I’ll never see him again!

Your eyes were scrunched tightly closed. You let your hair fall messily around your face as you continued to muffle your sobs with your hands. You were so caught up in the shock you didn’t think to run away. And you didn’t notice Joker was standing right in front of you now.

“Y/N...”

Your breath caught in your throat. You slowly started to take your hands away from your mouth. You kept your head down with your arms stick straight by your sides, your hands balled up in little fists. You peaked your eyes up to look your destiny in the face. Your eyes began to dart around his face, desperate to find any emotion apparent on his features. But... nothing. You couldn’t see any emotion. His red painted lips displayed a thin line. His eyes showed emptiness, not even the green in his irises were visible.

Joker watched your eyes dart around him desperately. He knew it was your test. Why else would you be hiding around the corner in a complete dismantled mess? He cleared his throat and tried one more time.

“Y/N, answer me”

You finally let go and burst into tears. Covering your whole face with your hands and sobbing as you pleaded. “I’m so sorry!! I didn’t know either and I was just coming to check. I promise I was going to tell you today! I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you. I’m so sorry I left this place by myself and stole the test without telling you! I know I should have told you my worries sooner but... you’ve just been so stressed recently and so busy I didn’t want to bother you or stress you more. Please forgive me Joker! Please don’t make me leave this city! I love it too much now! I’m so sorry, I didn’t know what to do”

Your head stayed down as you sobbed and hyperventilated between each sentence as you cluttered. Joker watched you with his lips slightly parted without interrupting your break down. After you were finished, you continued to breath heavy and brought your hands up to wipe your tears with your balled fists. A couple seconds had passed without hearing a response from him, which caused you look up to see if he was even still there.

He was, but his features still looked emotionless to you. Maybe a little bit shocked? You opened up your mouth to speak again but was stopped short when Joker’s laughs began to fill the corridor, echoing down the halls. His face showed a semi wide grin as he laughed louder, placing his hand on his chest. He didn’t look mad, he also didn’t seem very sympathetic to you in this moment either. And it definitely wasn’t a laughing attack. It sounded like his real, true laugh. They started to die down into giggles as he wiped the tears from his face. This all hit you hard in the chest.

“I think I’ll go no—“

You were interrupted as Joker scooped you up in an immense hug. Swirling you around a couple times before stopping to sway you back and forth, drawing circles on your back like he did in your bedroom.

“My dear Y/N...You really are a sneaky little squirrel”

You couldn’t speak. Your mind bounced around to what the hell was going on. You felt comforted however as he held and swayed you before bringing his head back to look at you. None of this was what you were expecting.

“Look at me.” His voice was calm

You leaned back as he did and looked into eyes. You could see his green oceans now. And you could still see the tears in his eyes from laughing.

“My little squirrel, do you see these tears?”

“Yes...”

“They’re tears of joy darling, I would never be angry over something like this”

“Y-you’re really not mad?” You stuttered through your new found tears.

“Of course not.” He cooed in his high pitched voice. He began to walk forward until your back was against the cool wall, leveraging you as he still held you to free one of his hands, gently placing it over your tummy as he spoke more. “I put a prince in your belly”. He said it in a British accent, causing you to giggle.

“How do you know? It could be a princess!”

“I just have a feeling. But we shall see darling”

You couldn’t stop smiling now. And neither could joker. You started to feel a little silly for being so worried in the first place. You both cried happily as you brought your head into his chest, taking in his scent that smelled like cigarettes, mint, and blood. Joker took his hand off your tummy and brought you closer, placing his hand in your hair now to slightly stroke the (y/h/c) strands.

“Is that why you haven’t been smoking?”

“Yeah..” you replied innocently

“So sneaky...”

[lukehemss]

( i will follow you into the dark - luke & ashton. )

WHO: luke hemmings & ashton irwin & michael clifford. 

WHEN: 03/13/21 

SUMMARY: luke and ashton have a heart-to-heart after luke wakes up. 

TRIGGER WARNINGS: mentions of a car accident, mentions of drunk driving, cursing, hospital setting.

@xash-bloomx & @clifford5sosx

Ashton:  Luke was supposed to be home at midnight.   Now he knew better than to truly count on that.  It could be one or two, but there was also the prospect of dinner, or maybe Ashton just wanted him home.  He tried not to be the clingy boyfriend, but he didn't want to overdo and wake old habits when they went out to party.  He also didn't want to tell Luke what he thought he should do since it was a personal choice.  There were just a lot of things on his mind lately.  He wasn't sure what set him off the way it did when Luke didn't show up, but there was something that felt off.   As time wore on, a cute text became more frantic, and soon he was a ball of panic.  By pure luck he remembered how to use the Find My app to locate his missing boyfriend. He could feel his heart tighten in his chest.  The hospital.  He knew.  There was something, likely the paranoia that came with a missing boyfriend, that told him Luke wasn't a visitor.  Michael had agreed to pick him up as Ashton was making the phone calls to find Luke's room, confirming what he feared the most.   While Mikey tried to convince him that Luke wasn't dead, Ashton's mind was doing a thousand miles an hour, trying to fend off the worst thoughts.  Mikey had to help him in the car. He actually didn't remember the trip to the hospital at all.   He's only remember that it was really one of the first times Michael's car wasn't full of chatter or music.  He stumbled out, dressed in sweats and a hoodie and made it to reception to find the room.  He was informed that visiting hours were over, but since this was a new patient just brought in, they allowed the frantic boyfriend to go down the hall.   Ashton informed the nursing staff immediately that he would be staying.Once he had heard about the injuries and was finally left alone, he pulled up his chair and dropped his head against Luke's for a minute, avoiding the wires and tubes still connecting him to machines.   "I'm sorry," he whispered, not sure why he was apologizing at all.  The tears fell that he'd been holding in.  He was exceptional at keeping his feelings bottled up, but now they weren't about to be contained.  "Why, baby?  I love you.  I do.  You even said that to me.  Why?" He really wasn't going to get an answer very soon.  According to the next nurse to check, the morphine would keep him out for several hours.  Ashton curled up in the chair and she brought a pillow and blanket.  It didn't matter that he was entirely too tall and cramped.  This was home for the duration.  He wasn't sure when he drifted off, fading in and out when the staff wasn't checking up on Luke, but he did manage a little sleep.

Luke: luke was exhausted.it had been approximately fourteen hours since he had arrived at the hospital, a mixture of morphine and other various pain meds keeping him under from the moment he had been wheeled past the ER doors. his nose had been set and his arm had been placed in a sling to keep him from moving and disturbing his broken collarbone. his once flawless face was adorned with stitches, a chest tube settled between his ribs on his naked torso. to say he looked like hell was an understatement, but his appearance was the last of his worries. as he woke, glad the hospital lights had been dimmed, luke’s first worry was alex. his friend had been seriously hurt and it was entirely luke’s fault. the guilt squeezed at his heart, reminding him over and over about how bad the previous night had been. he had fucked up. bad. mouth dry and throat sore, luke could only assume that he had a breathing tube in earlier but it had been removed at some point during the day. thankfully.  “ -- alex?” he mumbled, still hazy from the drugs in his system. blue eyes flickered around the room, circled in a ring of a bruises. yeah, his nose had definitely broke from the impact. “alex?” he lifted his head, careful not to disturb the tubes and wires that wrapped around his body like vines. it wasn’t alex that his gaze settled on, but ashton.fuck. fuck. fuck. if luke didn’t hate himself before, then he did now. “ashton?” he didn’t dare raise his voice above a whisper, afraid that speaking louder would only unleash the wrath he was so afraid of. he deserved it, though. he deserved the anger and the hurt. he knew this. “fuck, ash. i’m so sorry.”

Ashton: Ashton didn't really know about Alex, or that they had been together.  Not that way, but hearing the other name as the first one out of Luke's mouth had an impact that wouldn't be quite evident by his face.  Ashton was the master of hiding pain.  Listen to the album, then look at his face.  The two didn't match, but they did.  A green eye opened under the dark curls that flopped over it.  He brushed it away and sat up.  He swallowed thickly and shoved that lump in his throat back down. "Hey.  You're awake."  He took the unsuspended hand, and held it.  All those tubed looked terrible.  "It's okay."  No, it really wasn't.  "They say you are going to be fine.  The wreck was pretty bad."  He didn't know exactly.  Technically he wasn't family, so they couldn't tell him everything.  "Do you remember what happened?"   He looked down after a moment, unable to handle all of this.  He knew Michael was angry, but he still lurked around the hospital.  Michael was like a sentinel, always the vigilant watchman until it was time to attack.  His presence had helped a lot.

Luke: "i'm awake." luke confirmed, letting his head rest back down against the soft pillows. his head was killing him, a faint throb always present. it would've been so easy to slip back under and let sleep claim him again, but he didn't dare. he wanted to be with ashton. "mmm. i wish i didn't, but yeah. left jack's party and hit a cement pole on the way home." he gave ashton's hand a squeeze, thinking over his next words. luke's main worry, aside from alex and his condition, was ashton's reaction. "i was ... uhm." he paused, swallowing. fuck. luke didn't want there to be any secrets between them, but it killed him to be truthful. "i was drunk behind the wheel."

Ashton: Ashton swiped at his cheek where a stray tear had fallen.  He was angry.  Really he was hurt, but there wasn't much difference.  He was being selfish and stupid and he chastised himself silently.  Of course the hour of sleep that he had dozed off wasn't doing him any favors.  Green eyes stared back at his boyfriend while he chewed the inside of his lip until he tasted blood.  Slowly he let go, and stood and walked to the window.  For a minute, he just couldn't look at Luke.  It was way too much.  He wasn't surprised.  He was more surprised that it hadn't happened sooner, but he was hoping that it would change while things were good between them.  They were both healthy, or in a much better place, so those things would follow.  He was wrong.  He was at a complete loss for words.  "You are going to be fine.  That's the biggest thing, but then what?"

Luke: luke's fingers curled around the open air before he let his hand fall back to his side. there it was -- that moment of abandonment that he feared. he had always been his own worst enemy. emotions were buried in drugs and liquor, keeping himself comfortably numb. he always had to be the life of the party, always had to make sure everyone had their eyes on him. it was finally catching up to him. he watched ashton walk towards the window, silent before he let his own eyes focus on the wires that were taped to the back of his hand. he was nervous, wondering if he'd be leaving the hospital single and more alone than ever. "-- then what?" he frowned, finally glancing up at the back of ashton's head. "then i get to go home. i get to fix this mess."

Ashton: Ashton didn't have any plans on leaving, but he just couldn't look, couldn't touch or anything right now.  He was overloading, but he wasn't going anywhere.  He'd stay, kind of like the Greyhound in his song.  He ran around and around never getting anywhere until Luke broke them up.  He rested panes on the cool glass.   He forced himself to breathe.  "What about me?  What about us?  Didn't we even matter to you?  I swear," he turned to look, catching his breath at the miserable mess that he was, "Were you gonna just leave me like that, or go to jail or what?  Then what?  Do you even think before you do stupid shit what it could do to us, or does it even fucking matter?"  There were tears that came and slipped past the defenses.

Luke: there it was. there was the verbal lashing he had been expecting. luke glanced away, taking in each and every single word. usually such anger would be met with his own, but he didn’t have it in him. ashton had every right to be angry and all luke could do was sit there and take it. “ash...” his chest ached, but not from anything related to his injuries. “i’m sorry. i’m so fucking sorry.” he could say it until he was blue in the face, but he wasn’t sure it mattered. ashton deserved better. “of course you matter. you’re the only one that matters. i never meant to hurt you. i wasn’t thinking. i—“ anxiety took over, that empty feeling in his chest very present. “i never wanted you to doubt that. i never wanted you to question if i cared. it literally kills me that you are. i just — i understand if you don’t want to be here.”

Ashton:  Ashton looked at him and exhaled, close to a sob that wasn't as hidden as he liked.  "You don't get it, do you?  I'm not leaving.  I love you."  His voice caught and he shook his head.  "I fucking love you.  I can't - ."  His hand was in his hair, pulling down curls to cover tears.  "You're always sorry."

Michael: "Hey," came a voice from the other side.  Michael had two cups of coffee.  He came around the bed to Ashton, seeing the upset in his face.  "Take this.  Go calm down for a few."  He wrapped a large hand around the back of Ashton's head and kissed his forehead.  "Give me a few okay."   Ashton seemed reluctant, but he left, watching Luke every second before he hit the door. "Good morning, Sunshine," Mikey smiled sarcastically.  "What is up with the look on his face?"

Luke: luke knew the arrival of michael wasn’t good news. he knew his friend, knew how he reacted to such situations. he bit his tongue, the familiar taste of blood returning. “he’s upset with me. and understandably so.” he replied, silently trying his best to calm down. it felt like everything was slipping through his fingers, getting closer to tears with each passing second. he needed to relax, needed to remember how to breathe. “how long have you been here?” luke asked after a second, eyes on michael.

Michael:  Michael also looked pretty ragged.  They were the oldest friends.  Michael was the original rebel, the punk that didn't fit in except here with this band.  He was the awkward turtle, but also the protector.   He sipped at the mocha, and rubbed tired eyes.  "He loves you.  You scared the fuck out of him.  You should have seen him though.  He came flying in here.  If I didn't let him out of the car, he was going to jump out and run in on his own.  He was up here before I even came in the door, and he was telling the nurses he was staying the night."   He exhaled and came a little closer.  "I've been around, mostly drinking coffee and doing some puzzles that someone left on a table.  Oh and late night infomercials.  They're great."  He took another drink.  "Now what the fuck would you have done if that was Ashton in the car with you?"

Luke: luke didn’t bother with the other drink, too distracted and distraught to really care. “thank you for driving him.” luke replied, forcing a small smile. he was at least thankful for that much. “why are you asking me that, mikey? i would’ve fucking hated myself for that mistake. you know that.” luke shifted in his bed, uncomfortable with the entire situation. “it wasn’t him and i’m thankful for that. but it was my friend and i’ll have to live with that regret for the rest of my life.” he could feel the emotion building again, hate blooming deep within him. not towards anyone but himself. “i fucked up.”

Michael: "Because I don't believe you," Michael shrugged.  His aloof attitude could rattle people.  He didn't show anger until it exploded and hands were thrown.  "See I thought about him before I got him in a car, or got in a car myself.  I knew he couldn't drive because he wouldn't be paying attention, and all he wanted was to see you."  He shook his head, taking a drink again.  "When do you stop being a selfish prick?  Maybe that's the real question.  You do whatever the fuck and you don't care who you hurt then go back and apologize for your mistake.  Dude, that was a fucking choice, not a mistake.  Your friend could have been Ashton, or Cal, or me.  I wish them the best, but fuck, you just don't fucking get it.   Being sorry doesn't make up for you if that other person is dead because of you.  We all party and get all wasted, but you are just fucking stupid about it."  That was Mikey, blunt and to the point, protective of Ash who was a mental health twin in a way.

Luke: luke didn't know why, but everything always seemed so much worse coming from michael. maybe it was the bluntness of it all. "you're not wrong." he rubbed at his face, careful not to bump any of the stitches. "i get it -- i'm a selfish prick. i ruin everything for everyone, and i'm ruining ashton now. you got your point across, so you can go now." maybe he was being rude and selfish, but he was exhausted. fighting with his band mates was the last thing he wanted right now. "we can argue it out when i get home, mikey. just ... not right now."

Michael: If that was all it took, that would be great, but it wasn't.  Michael was way too stubborn for that.  "Look at you playing the sympathy card.  I ruin everything.  Shut the fuck up and listen.   What you do, all this bullshit, affects all of us.  This band is all I've got, and honestly, it saved me.  My head was never in the best place, and here we are, and I'm doing this good because we've stuck together.  Calum too.   We didn't know about Ashton until after that album then whoa, there's shit going on.  I knew a little but not all.  We all need this, and you give no fucks.  You can decide to give a fuck after you've already fucked up.  Now you lay there and fucking think about it." He was about to walk away and then turned back.  "He really does love you.  He won't leave here until you leave.  You better know what you have.  Sierra and the thing were temporary.  Ashton - you better fucking fix this."  He turned again, "I'm going to check on Alex then I'm going to take a shower."

Luke: luke resisted the urge to roll his eyes, keeping his gaze straight as he listened. michael was right about it all. maybe luke was trying to play the sympathy card, but he hadn’t been lying when he said he was exhausted. he’d been awake for only a short time, but he felt entirely drained both emotionally and physically. “thank you for your input, mikey.” he mumbled, watching as the other headed towards the door. he was slightly happy that his friend was leaving, not quite enjoying being called out and put in his place. “i’ll fix it. i promise.” he would stay true to his word, of course. he wouldn’t lose ashton. he couldn’t.

Ashton: Mikey walked out and combed a hand through his hair.  He leaned against the wall and breathed.  He didn't like being a hard-ass.  Hated it in fact.  He was angry, but deflating fast.  Where were they when he struggled?  Likely right where they always were when he wasn't talking about it.  Fuck it.  He did what he had to do.  He needed to go sleep somewhere.  He'd probably have to find Cal first. "Are you alright?" Ashton asked, looking at the blond who was adjusting the hat on his head. "Good," he said, but the real answer didn't matter anyway.  He'd live.  "He's waiting for you.  Sleep when he sleeps, okay.  I'll text you later." Ashton was back in the room a moment later.  "Hey," he said.  "Looks like you didn't lose any more blood."  With Mikey who knew what would happen.  "The nurse was going to bring you a tray of liquids in a little bit.  She warned me against smuggling in the good stuff."

Luke: the sound of the door opening made luke glance up, not surprised to see ashton had returned. it was nice to have him back, but luke didn’t really have any words. he let himself get comfy, pulling the blankets over his torso. “thankfully. think he wanted to punch me, but maybe he’s saving it for when i get home.” he chuckled, able to find a bit of humour in it all.  “sweet of her. hopefully i can find my appetite for it. if not, at least i’ll be getting a jump start on my tour diet.”

Ashton: Ashton really had needed a minute to just breathe.  All the emotions were swelling, making him want to dive into a bar until he couldn't see straight.  He pulled the chair over and reclaimed the hand that he let go of.  His head leaned against what he could.  He was angry, but he loved his boyfriend, and likely had for years - really had for years.  The last two weeks he'd been so happy, just staying together.  There were concerns, and this brought them all to the front.  They had similar demons, and a deep fear of being left alone, and a very similar crutch in the booze and other things.   "Everyone's got room for Jello," he mumbled.  "I'll help.  Maybe the nurse thought I was cute enough to bring me a tray too."  He tipped his head up to look into blue eyes.  "I'm gonna have Mikey bring back some clothes."

Luke:  there was a sense of relief when ashton took his hand again, emotions extra high. luke had been convinced he was going to be left alone, that his band had truly had enough of his bullshit. he wouldn’t have blamed them for it. everyone needed a little break every now and then. “look at us having a romantic lunch date in the hospital. it’s practically peak romance.” he chuckled, winching a little at the effort. broken ribs really were the most painful thing he ever had to deal with. “think you can talk him into bringing me my toothbrush, comb, and other hygiene stuff too? i feel like hell. maybe a shower will do me some good.” he wasn’t entirely sure how he was meant to shower with his new little body additions, but he would figure it out.

Ashton:  Ashton would have to admit it was strange when he had more time to think about it.  He'd really never been in love.   He'd take breakups with his usual shots at the bar, then he was kind of over it in a very detached way.  Now he found himself sticking like glue.  Yes, he was hurt, but he didn't want to go anywhere.  He wanted to stay, and he wanted them to be okay.  "Oh it's so sexy.  We can share a straw."  He waggled his eyebrows at Luke and his other hand found the curls that showed through bandages and tubes.  "He's pretty stubborn.  I'll have him bring it though.  I get to help with the shower.  I don't want the nurses doing all that.  This body is mine, tubes and everything."

Luke: luke was silent for a moment, watching ashton as he spoke. he had always been fond of the older boy, always looking up to him and seeking his approval. he had been able to convince himself it was because he saw ash as an older brother, but it had obviously been so much bigger and deeper than that. now, sitting together in the silent hospital room, he was finally able to take it all in. he loved ashton. it was different with him than it was with sierra or anyone else. well, yes, sierra did hold a special place in his heart, he wasn't foolish enough to turn a blind eye to the ways that she had ruined him. but ashton was different. ashton was gentle and kind and sweet. he looked at luke in ways that had the lead singer falling head over heels all the fucking time. "can't say it's not original." he smiled, coming back down to earth. he was glad that ashton hadn't left him, his anxious heart slowly settling. one day at a time, one step at a time. they would get through this and come out stronger than ever. "look at you stealing their chance to see me fully nude. bet they're gonna be heartbroken about it." luke teased, the hand in his hair making him visibly relax a little. "you should fully join me. shower might help you relax and feel a little better."

Ashton: Ashton shrugged and smiled as much as he could.  He hated the situation, hated the tubes and wires everywhere.  He was trying to ignore it and ignore the reason he was angry in the first place.  It didn't matter.  "It's pretty sexy.  That straw is getting a lot of tongue," he teased.  He probably didn't need to make Luke laugh, but he tried.  "Hey, I'm not sure that's what we should even do in the shower at this point, not that I don't need one.  I do.  But I think giving you a blood pressure boost is probably not the right thing to do.  I'm going to be there though.  That I promise, breaking hearts one shower at a time."  He stayed right there, both hands occupied.  His face turned serious after a minute.   "I can't lose you, you know.  You can't do this to me again.  Not once."  His voice was barely over a whisper and there was a grittiness to it while he battled another flood of worry.

Luke: he appreciated the light moment, appreciated that ashton was kind of making an attempt to make him laugh. it worked, of course, and a little chuckle escaped his lips, but it quickly died out as the conversation turned serious again. "i'm not going to do it again. i promise, ash." he was determined to stay true to his word, already swearing off liquor and drugs. he could do this. he could keep himself in line and make his band proud. "you don't have to worry about losing me anytime soon. you've got me. i'm here to stay. i know it sounds like a load of shit considering the fact that we're sitting in a hospital room right now, but i mean it. i want to do right by you, ashton. you deserve better than the bullshit i've been pulling these last few years."

Ashton: Ashton smiled sadly.  "I wish you wouldn't but I'm not sure you won't."  That was just the truth.  Trust was earned, not free.  He trusted Luke in a lot of things, but not this.  "I need you to try.  You know how much it would hurt if you weren't here?  Mikey, Calum, me -- we wouldn't be us without you."  He bit his lip.  "Sometimes I wonder how much I matter to you because you just go away like this.  I'm trying to be healthier, but I want to do it together.  I wouldn't be healthier without you.  I'd be worse."   He was worried that Luke might push him away, or think he was bad for Ashton who was managing his own recovery.  "I don't want to have to be okay without you."

Luke: "can i ask you something? and i want you to be one-hundred percent honest with me." fuck it. might as well rip the bandage off now. luke was determined to be the best version of himself, but it was growing increasingly clear that nobody really had faith of him. did he blame them? well, no, because this was his biggest fuck up yet. he made a horrible choice and it resulted in horrible consequences. taking a deep breath, he did his best to keep the self-deprecating thoughts at bay, nervous about falling back into that familiar dark place. his fingers twitched, resisting the urge to pull his hand away. "do you even trust me at all? it's fine if you don't and i understand if that's the case. i'm just ... curious."

Ashton: Ashton sighed, but looked at him.  It was important to see someone's eyes when you are saying something important.  "Yeah, I do, most of the time, except stuff like this."  He gripped curls a little harder just to draw attention.  "I've been through bottles, done a lot of stupid shit that none of you know about.  I thought I was being so sly for a lot of years.  When you dropped on my doorstep, I was wrecking day by day on my own, but you needed me, and in a way you pulled me out and I had to be a better man.  That sounds like a song someone sang."  His own - Scar.  "I had to pull myself together not only for me, but for you.  I know how amazing you could be if you wanted to.  I know I can't give up on you, and I won't.  I just wish you'd think of me sometimes instead of the next drink."

Luke: luke noticed the tight grip in his curls and said nothing of it. the moment was tense, his heart beating furiously as ashton spoke. he knew this little confrontation was needed. ashton had a complicated history with alcohol, one that had been planted from a young age, and luke hated that he had added to it. sometimes it was easier to replace emotions with vodka, letting the alcohol numb him and keep him from having to deal with anything. it was a cheap way out. "i'm not going to argue it. i know i'm quite .... messy when it comes to drinking. always being cut off and dragged home. i just -- i never meant for it to go this deep." the confidence he usually held had faded, blue eyes flooded with tears that he refused to shed. "i'm sorry, ashton. i can sit here and promise that i'll do better, but i know it won't matter until you actually see it happen. i'm going to stay true to my word. no more drunk nights. no more putting you after whatever drink i'm going to have next. i promise. i really fuckin' promise."

Ashton: "I know you promise."  Ashton was staying right there.  He was showing him that he wasn't going to run.  "It was funny that when you came, I was pretty low.  I needed something to focus on other than all my bullshit and you were there.  I could focus on what you needed, and heal myself at the same time.  You didn't need to know all that, but I did.   Taking care of you helped me."  He leaned in as far as he could, and kissed his forehead.  "I started writing my album then.  I didn't do all of it, but I started.  I wanted to be that for you.  I wanted to be that one that kind of gave you enough so you could start to come out of all that.  I need you to be okay."   A rogue tear slipped out.   He knew he didn't quite believe all the promises.  Hell, he'd promised himself that long before he'd toned it way down and he'd broken all the promises.  "I want us to be okay.  Not just as us, but all of it."

Luke: luke sighed, a feeling of defeat washing over him. maybe it was just the overall exhaustion of going through something so traumatic. "you liked taking care of me?" a frown crossed his lips, surprised at the little confession. he didn't know why it was so surprising, but it was. "i mean -- why? i was never really any fun to be around. always crying about the end of things and how fucking shitty it turned out to be." he shook his head at the thought of it all. luke hated his low moments, hated that he usually dragged someone down with him. "don't get me wrong, though. i appreciate that you took care of me and let me stay with you. it's truly the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me." he reached for the hand in his hair, taking it into his own. "we'll get better. one step at a time, ash. now kiss me again."

Ashton: "I did.  I needed that, and I really needed to be needed.  I also wanted you to be okay.  When you were feeling better, so was I."  He hadn't minded in the slightest.  It wasn't an invasion on his life, not that he really had one at the time.  "It wasn't a burden at all.  I'd do it all again, and I don't even have to think about it."  Ashton would consider this a much lower moment than that, and obviously he was now going to do it again.  He leaned in and kissed him again as told.  "I can't wait until we lose some of these machines.  They are in the way."

Luke: "you're too good to me." it was a simple statement that held so much truth to it. luke had never really been the best person around. always so caught up in his own devices and his own plans. he was just grateful that ashton was willing to take a chance on him then....  and now. he probably didn't deserve it. "it was nice living with you the first time. i'm glad we're doing it again. we've got a place together, a dog -- i don't want to be the one to fuck that up." he smiled at the kiss, feeling a little better with each passing second. well, emotionally. "mmm. fingers crossed that they take a few off on their next rounds."

Ashton: "I know," Ashton teased, and to him it was just a tease.  "I know it's not going to be easy, and I'm not going to try to control you, or make you do what you don't want to do.  I'm going to help with whatever you need."  They had a place together and a dog, almost two dogs, and likely would once Luke was back to moving around again.  Those good moments had become priceless to Ashton.  "Yeah, you better not.  We have another dog on the way.  We have to take care of them."  He considered the space for a moment.  "Maybe if they move enough of them I could fit up there with you."   It was likely not allowed, nor could the bed accommodate two six foot tall boys, but it was a nice idea.

Luke: "another dog on the way." luke chuckled, already knowing that petunia was going to hate it. she was much too spoiled to share, but that was all going to change. "makes it sounds like we're expecting a child or something. it's cute." he really couldn't wait until he was released and reunited with his dog again. something about the animal always made luke feel better, petunia proving to be 'home' for him. "i could move over and you could take up the space on my good side? i mean, i should be getting the green light to go home tomorrow, so we'll be back to sharing a bed soon enough. thankfully. hospital beds are by far the worst beds i've ever had to lay in, and that's saying a lot considering how many hotel beds i've slept in. i'm sure you know that, though."

Ashton: "Have you ever tried a chair?  This chair is way too small even if it reclines a little."   It was an older recliner, not in the best shape.  Ashton managed with legs hanging off the end.  He'd probably be stuck over there again.  "We are expecting another, so you better behave yourself, Mister.  We have a growing family."  He'd have to text the boys and have them make sure Petunia was fed and let outside.  Mikey might have done that already, but he didn't know if he had a key.  "I could probably get up there for awhile.  Talk puppies, and stuff."  It might not be the best idea until some of the hookups were removed, so he was patient.

Luke: “i’d rather the floor. looks way more comfy to me.” however, depending on certain things, luke knew the broken collarbone might have him sleeping in a recliner for a few weeks. lame. “i’ll be on my best behaviour. for you, the new addition, the band, and tour.” he wasn’t going to promise it, but that part really went unsaid at this point. “any names for the dog in mind?” luke asked, happy for the small talk. he was calm, relaxed. any tension had left his body, just happy to be having a conversation where someone wasn’t yelling at him.

Ashton: "We can do one more night.  It will make our bed that much better when we get home," Ash told him.  If he needed the incline, Ash would go buy one from the medical supply store.  That way they could sleep snuggled up.  It was funny how quick he adjusted to having someone there every night and had no desire to sleep alone.   He just nodded and continued the affections that came with the relief that his boyfriend would be okay.  There would be consequences, but they were fine.  He'd wait and see on the rest and hope Luke could do it for himself and for them.  "I'd love to name one Kitty.  Is that overdone too much."

Luke: "gonna have to keep petunia off the bed for a bit. you know how she loves to be a spoiled baby and wake us up." luke smiled at the thought. he was already longing to go home, hating the hospital setting and the heavy cloud that hung over his head. was he stupid enough to think that it would go away upon his release? no, but that didn't stop him from thinking about it. "a dog named kitty? i like it. don't think i've ever met one with that name before, so i'm gonna say no to it being overdone. it's cute, original." he let himself get comfy, careful of everything connected to him. "thanks for coming, ash. it's nice having you here." he mumbled, words soft and just above a whisper as though their perfect little moment would be ruined if anyone heard them. "i love you. maybe it's too soon to say it, but it's how i feel. you don't have to say it back. i just ... -- it feels right to me."

Ashton: "You tell her that.  Good luck."  That dog had a mind of her own.  She was lazy, but persistent when she wanted something, and if they were sleeping, they couldn't stop her.  He couldn't wait to go home, even if he wasn't in the bed he was here for all of it.  "I think a dog named Kitty is perfect.  Here Kitty!"  It was cute.  Of course the name would have to fit the dog. "I've seen it twice."  He shook his head and almost missed the words.  Luke didn't have to thank him, like somehow it was a choice.  He HAD to come, it was that simple.  He didn't miss them though.  "Not too soon," he whispered back, eyes bright as they could be on no sleep.  "I love you, too.  We've known each other forever anyway, but yeah."  Now he felt awake and happy.  They would have a lot to face, but they could do it.

[im-a-slut-for-an-accent]

Embarrassing Breakfast

Summary:  Sam and reader have finally slept together but you are Tony Stark's daughter and Bucky may decided to hold whatever he saw against Sam for blackmail

A/N:  First Sam Wilson fanfic but I love him so much and there isn't enough love for him so I make my own. I am thinking of a prequel and a sequel to this story if you guys like it. Let me know what you think and please be kind this is my first Sam Wilson fanfic after all. I also feel as if I summoned more sebastian stan energy than bucky barnes but eh whatever.

Rating: M for mild language and mentions of sex

The light of the sun filtering in through the window began to wake you from your peaceful sleep. In your half-awake state, you could feel the warmth of a body behind you as a strong arm pulled you closer. You smiled as the memory of last night flashed through your mind. Sam Wilson was in your bed.

After months of mutual pining and sexual tension that you could probably cut with a butter knife and you finally arrived at this moment after a few hours of sweaty, fun, hot sex. You wanted to enjoy this moment instead of getting up so you snuggled closer into Sam’s chest, he let out a hum of approval.

“You awake?” You peaked up to look at his face.

“If I say yes does that mean we have to get up?” His eyes stayed closed.

“Not necessarily but we can’t have awesome morning sex if you’re still asleep.”

Sam’s eyes flew open, “I’m up! I assure you I am very much awake.”

You laughed, wiggling out of his arms to a more upright position letting the sheet fall to reveal your nakedness, you leaned over and kissed him. Thankful that neither of you had morning breath. You kissed like it was the first kiss again, soft and then a bit more aggressive as he began to roll you to your back, his body leaning over you pressing you into the mattress.

Your heart swelled with happiness but that quickly changed as your door slammed open banging against the wall. “Y/N, your dad-.” Bucky looked between you and Sam as the two of you quickly tried to cover yourselves. Bucky let out a laugh. “Wilson, you are so fucking dead.”

` “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sam gave Bucky a stern look.

Bucky chuckled, “Stark is going to murder you.”

“No, he won’t,” you piped in.

“Uh, yeah he will,” Bucky countered.

Sam looked uneasy but mostly just annoyed, “He won’t kill me, he didn’t kill you,” Sam gestured to Bucky.

“Yeah well, I just killed his parent’s while being under mind control, you however fucked his daughter.”

“Please don’t tell him," you begged.

Bucky gave you a soft look, “Alright I won’t tell him.”

Sam and you sighed in relief but it was short lived.

“But,”

“But what?”

“You,” Bucky pointed to Sam, “have to be nice to me for the next twenty-four hours.”

Sam groaned.

“No old man jokes and you have to do what I ask for twenty-four hours. Deal?”

Sam looked at you and then back at Bucky, “Fine.” Sam raised his hand for a contractual handshake.

“Ew, no, I am not touching your hand. I know where it has been.”

Sam shook his head at the comment.

“Hope she is worth it.”

Sam looked at you, “She is.”

“Well for my original reason of being here is that Stark sent me to get you because I guess we are all eating breakfast together as a team?”

“Why?” You asked.

“Don’t know but you two better get ready and going before Tony shows up. I’ll leave you two to get dressed.”

Bucky left and you and Sam quickly put some clothes on.

“I better go change so no one notices anything, then we’ll talk about what this is and what we want to do.”

You smiled before kissing him, “okay.”

Sam kissed back, “okay.”

Once you were satisfied with how you looked, making sure to cover all evidence of last night’s activities you made your way to the dining room where you were sure everyone was starting breakfast. Everyone already seemed to be there, you couldn’t help but notice the only seat left open was right next to Sam. You wondered if this was Sam's or Bucky’s doing but the smile on Bucky’s face gave you the confirmation that he was the one to blame and was definitely up to something.

“Morning Y/N, morning Wilson.”

“Good morning Bucky,” you forced a polite smile.

“Sam, aren’t you going to tell me good morning as well?” Bucky asked bringing his glass of orange juice up to his lips probably trying to hid a smirk.

Everyone was look between Bucky and Sam clearly knowing that something was going on.

Sam frowned but then forced a tight smile, “Good morning James.”

Bucky didn’t hide his smirk at the formal use of his first name.

It was soon forgotten as everyone began chatting about last night’s party.

“Samuel, would you please pass me the bacon?” Bucky asked, laying it on thick with a shit-eating grin. Everyone’s attention was back to Sam and Bucky as they waited to see what quick quip Sam was going to give.

Sam just grinned and bared it, “Of course.” Sam lifted the plate of bacon and handed it to Bucky.

“I’m sorry but what the hell is going on?” Your father asked.

Sam answered first, “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

“No, Tony is right, something weird is going on here,” Nat spoke.

“Maybe Sam has just finally warmed up to me.”

“As much as that would please me, having my two best friends getting along, I feel as if that statement is untrue” Steve sighed.

“Well maybe Sam would like to enlighten us on why he has had such a kind nature towards me.”

“Can we please get back to breakfast? It is really good Bruce, thank you.” You did your best to change the subject.

“No, I want to know what is going on because this is way more interesting,” Tony looked between Bucky and Sam waiting for an explanation.

No one spoke, but everyone stared. You reached under the table grasping Sam’s hand in your own, in the hopes that it gave him a bit of strength or help in anyway. It seemed to help because he finally gave an answer. “He’s blackmailing me.” Bucky’s smile fell knowing that his fun was now over.

Natasha grinned, “Ooo, on what?”

You felt it was your turn to be brave, you squeezed Sam’s hand. “Bucky walked in on us this morning and threatened to tell Dad about it unless Sam was nice to him for twenty-four hours,” you answered in one breath.

Sam and you squeezed your hands together waiting for the yelling to begin, if you were going to go out then you’d go out together. However, the yelling never came. Then you heard laughter. Looking up you could see that your dad was laughing.

“Dude, I think he’s having a mental breakdown,” Clint spoke obviously freaked out.

“No, no,” Tony answered between bursts of laughter. “I’m not angry.”

“You aren’t?” Sam asked, thankful and confused.

You breathed a sigh of relief and Sam seemed to relax but you could see the confusion in his knitted brows.

“Of course not. You two have been dancing around each other for months. We all knew it was just a matter of time. Also, Y/N is and adult and can make her own choices. Plus. I’m sure birdman here knows that if he hurts her that I will arc reactor his genitals right off his body, don’t ya?” Tony took a bite of his bacon.

Sam nodded his head and smiled, “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

“Well this sucks,” Bucky huffed in annoyance.

Steve patted Bucky’s back.

“Better luck next time, greatest generation my ass,” Sam flipped Bucky off.

Bucky smiled, “Still friends?”

“Not on your life,” Sam responded, but everyone knew he meant yes.

You leaned over and kissed Sam on his cheek.

Some cheered and whistled and others groaned at the public display of affection.

“Oh, look at us, we’re in love and not dead inside, get fucked the both of you.” Bucky quoted.

This time you laughed, “I should have never showed you vine.”

“Okay, I have some ground rules,” Tony interrupted before someone else could talk, “None of that where we are eating or I can see. I do not want to see any activities, hear any activities, or have any details associated with activities. Am I clear?”

You rolled your eyes but agreed to the rules.

“Excellent.”

Everyone went back to eating breakfast. No further incidents except when Wanda asked how you and Sam finally got together.

Tony had chimed in, “That falls under details and will not be discussed in my presence.”

You whispered, “I’ll tell you later.” Wanda and Nat smiled, eager to hear all the details your father wanted nothing to know about.

You looked over at Sam as he listened to one of Steve’s stories. You guessed he had said something funny because Sam started laughing and it was the most beautiful thing you had ever heard. You couldn’t help yourself as you leaned over and whispered in his ear, “I love you.”

When his face went blank you worried that you had come on too strong and you knew that it was too early but you really meant it, you loved him. Relief washed over you as he leaned back and whispered, “I love you more.”

The words went straight through you. “Oh, uh, Sam, we forgot that we had something we were suppose to have done this morning.”

Sam looked confused, “We did?”

“Yeah, you know, that thing I promised we’d go do if you weren’t still asleep, you remember?”

Sam choked on his water, “Oh yeah, we should definitely go do that.” Sam sat down his water, stood up and grabbed your hand. The two of you fled the room quickly shouting a goodbye behind you.

“Well that’s gross,” Clint grumbled.

“Zip it, no details, we will just assume they did have something they had to go do.”

Nat snickered, “Yeah, each other.”

Additional Notes: Posted on my AO3 under slut-for-an-accent

[ladyfogg]

May I? - 3/?

May I? - 3/?

Fic Summary: Ensign Faith Diaz struggles to hide her mental illness from her fellow shipmates aboard the Enterprise until an intrigued Data goes out of his way to try to understand her behavior. At his insistence, Faith tries to figure out what she's truly passionate about and eventually seeks the professional help she needs. Fic Masterpost.

Fic Rating: NC-17

Pairing: Data/Female OC

Warnings: tw: depression, tw: anxiety, fluff, friends to lovers, eventual smut

Data went back to his work.

Before that day he had not had a conversation with Faith and after two he found himself more puzzled than before. 

When Geordi had spoken of the ensign, he had mentioned her tardiness and overall dismissive demeanor over the last few weeks. Data could not comment on the tardiness but he had not found her to be dismissive unless questions were directed at her own well-being.

The fact that she used the Jefferies Tubes as a way to escape during her rotation was troubling. Handling stress in a fast-paced environment was essential to any position within Starfleet. If Faith could not handle the stress, how had she gotten as far as the Enterprise?

Data scanned Faith's Starfleet personnel file and found nothing of significance. She had adequate marks in the academy and had served on another vessel before the Enterprise. Her transfer orders included a glowing recommendation from her previous superior officer. 

Data concluded that something must have happened in the time between her last posting and her current one. If her behavior had changed once on the Enterprise, then it stood to reason the Enterprise was the issue. He had several hundred theories but not enough evidence for a clear hypothesis.

Switching his main focus, Data finished the project he had been working on and decided it was the best time to dream before the night ended. 

He climbed into bed, dimmed the lights, and closed his eyes. 

He was in a forest. A dense forest, thick with vegetation. It may have been daylight but he could not tell through the canopy created by the massive trees around him.

Data walked forward, listening to the crunching of the leaves under his shoes. It was the only sound he heard which was strange. Forests had animals did they not? He should be hearing birds at the very least. 

"Data."

His name was whispered and he turned in the direction it came but saw no one. He kept moving forward.

"Data."

This time the whisper came from a different direction. Yet still, he saw no one. At first. The harder he stared, the more the plants began to twist and change, winding themselves into a distinct shape. He took a step closer for a better look.

"Data!"

This time the voice with louder, right behind him. Data spun around and came face-to-face with Dr. Soong.

"Father?"

Dr. Soong smiled. "I'm surprised you found this place so quickly, son," he said. "I didn't even program it. It developed on its own when I added your dream function."

"What is it?"

Soong looked around, a mysterious glint in his eye. "The unknown, Data." He turned Data around and suddenly there was an archway of branches and vines, unintelligible whispers beckoning him forward. "The unknown."

Then he pushed Data through.

Data sat up. In the months since he began dreaming, he had cataloged over one-hundred and fifty dreams. In ninety-two percent of those dreams, he had found himself on the Enterprise while the remaining eight percent took place in various locations he had visited throughout his life.

This was the first dream where the location was fictitious. He was not sure how to interpret what he saw. Was Dr. Soong there or did his brain create his image as a "guide" of sorts? 

Data was required on the Bridge, which left little time for him to dwell on the matter. He would have to examine the dream another time, perhaps during his session with Counselor Troi the next day.

He reported to his station on time, as always. 

The planet they were surveying had no life forms and the previous day's excursion to the surface yielded nothing special. 

"What are your thoughts, Number One?" Captain Picard asked.

"It's like I said in my report," Riker responded. "There were a few structures but they were empty, seemingly abandoned years ago. No idea who made them but whoever did couldn't be found."

"Any reason why they were left?"

"I'm assuming it was due to the atmosphere. We were down there for a short time and even then it became difficult to breathe. We just barely managed to leave before storms rolled in."

Picard studied the screen thoughtfully before he sighed. "Best move on then. Data, set a course for the next planet in this system."

"Course set. We should arrive in fourteen hours and fifty-two minutes," Data announced.

"Thank you, Mr. Data. Engage."

And so they moved on.

Data's shift ended hours later and he retired to Engineering to continue his improvements with Geordi.

"Hey, Data, glad you're here," Geordi said when he arrived. "I need your help."

"Certainly. With what?"

"Here, let me show you."

Geordi led Data to the assistant engineer's console where a piece of machinery was physically out of place. It did not interfere with the console's function. Yet it was still troubling.

"Interesting…" Data said. "This reminds me of what Faith found yesterday. There is no reason for this unit to have been disassembled."

"No there isn't." Geordi raised his eyebrow. "Two pieces of Engineering machinery physically moved in less than twenty-four hours? I don't like those odds."

"It is extremely unlikely such occurrences are random."

"But what could cause such a thing?" Geordi asked. "These things are heavy. It would take at least three people to move them, maybe four. And that's if you detach it from the wall."

"The reasoning is also unclear," Data said. "I suggest running diagnostics on both units to ensure they have not been tampered with."

Geordi nodded in agreement. "I'll start on the one Faith was examining. By the way, thanks for taking care of her. Things could have gone south fast if you weren't there."

"It was no trouble," Data said. "Geordi, may I ask you a question about Faith?"

"To tell you the truth, Data, I don't know much about her."

"It is about her work. You said her performance has been lacking in the last few weeks?"

Geordi crossed his arms, leaning against the wall in the process. "More like months. When she first joined there wasn't an issue. I mean, she worked a little slow but still got the job done. Now she seems...I don't know, distracted. She's been late multiple times. Sometimes I ask her to do something and it takes hours, or she gets side-tracked and forgets. She's also had a bit of an attitude." He frowned. "Why? Was she rude to you?"

Data shook his head. "I did not find her rude. Although, I am curious about her behavior."

"What do you mean?"

"She injured herself but was reluctant to seek medical attention. Even when she was bleeding."

Geordi's dismay turned to concern. "That is troubling. Well, I know she's been ordered to rest per Dr. Crusher. Maybe she just needs a break. We haven't had shore leave in a while and who knows when she had a break on her last ship. I guess I never considered she may be overworked."

"It is possible. She was particularly unconcerned regarding her own safety. As her superior officer, I thought you should know."

Geordi stood up straight and adjusted his uniform. "Thanks, Data. I'll keep that in mind and will keep an eye on her when she gets back."

"That would be wise."

Satisfied the matter was settled, Data took a seat at the center terminal to begin to work. A few moments later Geordi joined him. 

"Data?"

"Yes, Geordi?"

"Why the sudden interest in Faith?"

Data stared at him, puzzled. "What do you mean?"

"You seem particularly concerned about her."

"Should I not be?"

"I'm not trying to discourage you. I think it's great. I guess I'm just curious."

"I am as well."

A sly smile spread across Geordi's face, though Data was not sure why. "Is that so?"

"Yes." Data studied him for a moment. "Judging by your tone you find this amusing."

"Maybe a little."

"May I ask why?"

"I've never known you to show such fast interest in a woman before."

"Ah. You think my interest is sexual in nature."

Geordi snorted with laughter. "Well, is it?"

"It is not. You of all people know I do not have any feelings, let alone sexual ones."

"It doesn't have to be sexual. You can just want companionship."

Data considered Geordi's point of view. "Currently I only wish to understand what Faith is going through. However, I have found our brief interactions pleasant enough, if not confusing."

"Confusing?"

"Yes. Her reactions to certain topics. For example, at times she will be conversing with no issue but when certain subjects come up she shuts down or grows defensive."

"That's not new to you, Data. You've been around plenty of people who don't want to share what's on their minds."

"I am aware of that, Geordi. But this is different."

"How?"

"I do not know. Hence the curiosity."

Geordi still had a slight smile on his face, almost as if he knew something Data did not. "As your friend, all I ask is that you be mindful of your questions. You may not feel, but Faith does. And she may not appreciate the extra attention." He picked up his tricorder. "I'm going to go check that console. Let me know if you need anything."

Data frowned as he watched Geordi walk away. Faith had approached him the previous evening and had even apologized for snapping at him. She did not seem bothered by his interest, only frustrated by the repeated question of her well-being. Data planned to avoid asking that particular question in the future, especially with Geordi's warning.

The more he learned about humans the more he grew confused. Yet, his resolve to be like them never wavered. If anything it strengthened as he hoped to fully understand them someday.

He and Geordi worked for several hours, exchanging thoughts about the latest mystery and reviewing the results of the diagnostics. In Geordi's initial sweep nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Still, the staff was told to keep an eye out for anything that seemed physically out of place. 

"I need a break," Geordi announced, rubbing his forehead. "My brain feels like mush and I still have some calibrations I have to run. Why don't we call it a day and meet up in the morning? Start fresh."

"Good idea. I need to feed Spot and I would like to work on my painting."

"Well, enjoy. I'll see you tomorrow."

Data took his leave, heading for his quarters. Spot greeted him when he arrived, meowing and curling around his legs. 

"I know it is time for your dinner," Data said, making his way to the replicator. 

After making sure Spot was fed, Data turned to his paint supplies. There was an abstract painting he had been working on for a number of weeks, but when he reached for the canvas, he decided he did not want to work on it. He wanted to start something new.

Data propped a fresh canvas in his easel and carefully selected several paints for his palette. His thoughts focused on the dream he had and he found himself painting the lush forest, dark and mysterious with beams of light attempting to peek through the canopy.

When he was finished, he stared at it for some time, reliving the dream vividly. There had been something in the underbrush before his father had appeared. It nagged at him, tugged on his mind until he propped up another fresh canvas.

Without hesitation, he dipped his brush in brown paint, mixing it with a small amount of white to lighten it some.

Then he began to paint.

Data was capable of computing multiple thoughts and actions at once, yet often limited them when he painted. He had been told creative endeavors required your full attention and he made it a point to follow said rule. 

Often he knew exactly what he wanted to paint and what techniques he needed to implore to achieve his goal. 

This time, it was different. This time, his hand seemed to have a mind of his own, gliding across the canvas in sure, deliberate strokes. It took Data a moment to register what he was actually painting.

Two light brown eyes stared back at him from the canvas. There was no face, no skin, just the eyes framed with long dark lashes. 

Faith's eyes.

Data lowered his brush, staring at what he had done and unsure of why he had done it. It was supposed to paint the vines and leaves, twisting together. Not this. He considered stopping but the urge to continue was strong. So he did not fight it. 

He added more white to the brown mixture until he was able to match her skin tone, filling in the blank spots on the canvas. 

Fresh brown paint was squeezed onto the palette, and this time Data added a drop of black, darkening it to match her hair. The eyebrows came next, thick and dark, with a small imperfection in the left one, no doubt leftover from a faded scar. 

Last was her hair, escaping its braid as it swirled around her face. It was not until her image was complete that he finally added the vines he had been attempting to recreate. Various shades of green wove together, twisting just as they appeared in his dream. They blended into her face, almost as if they made her.

Hours had passed by the time Data lowered his brush, staring in awe at the image he had managed to produce. It was nothing like he had ever painted before.

"Most curious."

[pastelwitchling]

Blame @malex-allthehearteyes (≖_≖ )

Love at first assassination attempt.

***

               “You still up?”

               Alex looked up from his computer, his eyes dry and burning. He blinked several times, his vision clearing to reveal a tall man with a badge at his belt. His arms were crossed as he looked down at Alex with a frustrated fondness.

               Alex sighed, and leaned back in his creaking chair. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, groaning as the burning slowly faded.

               “I’ll just be another minute,” he said, and his friend sighed.

               “Manes, you said that two hours ago.”

               Alex kept his eyes on his computer screen, the picture staring back at him almost tauntingly. “I’m close, Evans. I can feel it.”

               Max pulled up a chair beside Alex, his eyes narrowed at the screen. He reached for one of the many papers Alex had scattered all over his desk, and looked it over. “How long have you been scanning this stuff?”

               Alex tapped his finger on the desk, trying to match the culprit’s stare. “Alison Oswald.”

               Max ducked his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Alex—”

               “Seventeen, Max. Seventeen. How am I supposed to stop knowing two girls barely out of high school never made it home last week?”

               “The same way we always stop,” Max said. “By remembering that we’re only human, not machines. If we don’t rest, we fall. You’re no good to anyone half-dead, Manes.”

               Alex rubbed his jaw, finally forcing himself to look away from the criminal on his computer – his curly hair, his bright eyes, his smug smirk directed at Alex as if he was teasing him, telling him that this was one case the famous Alex Manes would never crack – and he sighed, the corners of his lips slightly quirked upward. “Is that your chief of police wisdom?”

               Max rolled his shoulders and smiled at Alex, though Alex could tell by the dark circles under his eyes and the way his lids seemed half-closed that Max was no less exhausted. “Well, we’re a highly intelligent species,” he said. “I’d listen to me more if I were you, unless you want to end up like Peter Kaenik.”

               Alex raised a brow. “Who’s Peter Kaenik?”

               Max winked. “Exactly.” He stood, patting Alex on the shoulder. “Come on, McGarrett—”

               “Don’t call me McGarrett.”

               “I’m officially giving you a curfew. Go home.”

               Alex shook his head. “I’m not McGarrett!” he called after Max who was already making his way to the door.

               Max turned to him, walking backwards. “You’re both crazy enough.”

               “I’m not nearly as crazy as that guy is!”

               He shook his head, and turned back to the door, raising a hand in farewell. “Goodnight, Manes.”

               The door to the office opened and Max soon disappeared behind the elevator doors. “Goodnight,” Alex muttered with a sigh as he returned his attention to his computer screen. Eventually, he shut his eyes, forcing himself to stop, and he exited the file.

               By the time Alex got back to his apartment, his entire body was aching. He felt like his bones were made of lead, his breaths were labored, and the exhaustion settled on his eyes like anchors, tempting him to just fall asleep in the elevator.

               He groaned, rubbing his eyes with his forearm, the files under his other arm heavy. He was making plans to set an alarm as he unlocked his door, and walked into the dark place. He would sleep for four hours, he didn’t need any more than that. He’d have an apple in the morning, maybe buy some coffee and a bagel on the way to work, and get back to his case. He tossed his keys on the kitchen counter, setting the files beside them, wondering if maybe he should spend another half-hour before bed taking another look at the forms. Maybe there was something he had missed.

               He heard a creak and he froze, all plans coming to a halt. He looked up from his fridge and saw nothing. He thought it might have been a tree branch or his neighbor’s cat walking on the ledge again, though something in his chest itched uncomfortably. He leaned down again to grab a bottle of water, and felt a presence behind him. He subtly grabbed his small gun off his belt before he suddenly turned, his weapon aimed.

               As he had suspected, there was a man casually leaning against his counter, his arms crossed in his brown leather jacket. He had a gun at his belt as well, though he made no move to take it. He seemed to be content with just watching Alex, his expression amused. But his face… Alex knew that face. It was the same face he’d spent an entire week staring at. Only this time, his curls looked almost blonde at the tips, his eyes were a brighter green, and as his eyes raked Alex’s body, his smirk widened.

               “Tsk, tsk, Alex,” the man said. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve been waiting? I expected you back hours ago.”

               Alex’s eyes narrowed. “Michael Guerin.”

               His eyebrows rose. “Oh, so you do know who I am. Impressive.”

               “Not the exact word I’d use on you.”

               He tilted his head. “Damn, I was right. You are cuter in person.” Alex said nothing, following him with his gun as he stood straight. He remembered pictures of Alison Oswald’s body, the way it had been found in the forest – naked, beaten, and pale – and he resisted the strong urge to pull the trigger. If only Michael had a weapon, Alex wouldn’t have needed to hesitate at all.

               “You want to put that down?” Michael asked, turning toward the living room. “We both know you’re not going to shoot me.”

               “We do?” Alex said. “Because I can think of a few ways this could go, and they all end with you on the floor.”

               Michael swung around to meet his eyes, smiling. “That does sound fun, Manes. You look like you’d know all the right places to hit.”

               “You know my name. You know who I am, you know I’m studying your case, why are you here?”

               Michael turned the lights on in the living room, and settled in a large red armchair. His body was spread out, his legs slightly spreading wider as he beckoned Alex forward. Alex kept hold of his weapon and came to stand opposite him, against the wall.

               The criminal pursed his lips. “You’re too far away.”

               “I’m close enough.”

               “Can you at least put the gun down?”

               “No.”

               “You sure you could even hit me from that distance?”

               Alex was getting annoyed. His apartment was small, and even on opposite ends of the wall, he and Michael were no more than a few coffee tables apart.

               “I’m a good shot,” he said, a humorless smirk at his lips. “Now talk. How’d you find out about me?”

               Michael matched his glare for a second, then two, then five, then he sighed, leaning back in the chair. “Homicide detective, right?” Alex said nothing, and Michael almost pouted, as if he didn’t like the fact that Alex wouldn’t humor him. “I’m used to being on the police’s radar for theft, but homicide? I heard through the grape vines that you guys were looking into me for murder. When I tried to find out which cop was on my case, sources led back to you.”

               “You’re surprised?” Alex asked, the edge evident in his voice despite himself. “Where do you think killers are usually supposed to end up?”

               Something turned dark in Michael’s eyes, his shoulders gone stiff. “Why’d you take the case? I’ve been watching, Alex, and I know what they call you; Steve McGarrett. It’s because you’re always working. Why?”

               “You’re asking me why I want to stop a murderer?”

               “I’m asking you why you try so hard,” Michael said, and Alex was surprised to hear no mockery in his voice. He smirked, but it seemed empty, something to hide a genuine emotion there. What was this man trying to tell him?

               “I want the truth,” Alex said simply, and realized that he had been lowering his weapon. He sucked in a sharp breath and held his gun back up.

               Michael watched him thoughtfully, then, “You didn’t say me.”

               “What?”

               “You didn’t say you wanted me.” He stood. “The truth,” he repeated, as if it was a foreign word, something he thought had once existed, and then had lost all faith in. “You sure that’s what you want?”

               Alex stared. “Don’t tell me,” he said slowly. “You didn’t actually murder anyone.”

               Any pretense of humor fell away from Michael’s face, and he took a step toward Alex. “I’m a thief, the best there is, and I’ll admit to that. But I don’t kill.”

               “And I’m supposed to believe that?” Alex asked, but something felt wrong. For a week, he’d looked over Michael’s files, his past felonies, and he’d struggled with it more than any other case because something just didn’t add up. Could the reason he’d been having such a hard time pinning Michael to the crime be the fact that Michael hadn’t actually committed it?

               “I told you,” Michael said, taking another step, and Alex held his gun straighter. Michael seemed unafraid. “I’m a thief. I’ve taken your archived files, I’ve seen your work on past cases. You’re smart, Alex, you know I didn’t do this.”

               “The murder weapon points back to you,” Alex said, though even he couldn’t focus on what he was saying. If Michael knew how good Alex was, why show up here? Why risk getting caught? Unless he was desperate… “Your fingerprints were on Alison’s discarded dress.���

               “Then whoever is doing this knows how to get to me,” Michael said.

               Alex blinked, realization dawning. “Someone close to you.”

               Michael nodded, though the expression on his face indicated he would’ve rather not come to that conclusion.

               “You think they’re framing you?”

               “It’s the only thing that makes any sense.”

               Alex shook his head, his thoughts already running a thousand miles per second. “Depending on who it is, there could be a number of motives,” he muttered. He would have to look into Michael’s family, his friends, pull up his older records again. There may be someone, another criminal, that had been in contact with him, that maybe Michael had helped get into trouble. Maybe a past crew member, or a jealous boyfriend or girlfriend—

               “I can see you thinking,” Michael suddenly said, his face mere inches away from Alex’s and Alex gasped, standing back against the wall with his weapon held up in less than a second. He clenched his jaw to keep himself from panting. What had happened to him? Since when was he ever caught off guard?

               Michael held his hands up in defense, as if afraid that he would send Alex further away if he stepped any closer. Damn it, Alex thought. Why was his heart racing?

               “Don’t come any closer.”

               Michael shook his head, his eyes searching Alex’s face. “I already know you’re not gonna shoot me, Alex.”

               “I could.”

               “You already know I didn’t do this,” Michael said. “Which means you’d be shooting an innocent man.” Alex scoffed, and Michael tilted his head. “You’re one to talk about innocence, you think I can’t see that blush on your cheeks?”

               He stepped closer, his hands still up. “Don’t be embarrassed,” he said when Alex moved back. “I think it makes you even cuter.”

               “Suppose I believe you,” Alex said, ignoring Michael’s comment. “Not that I do, but if I did… would you have any idea who might be trying to set you up?”

               Michael blinked, and Alex didn’t fail to notice the shock that passed his features, as if he hadn’t been expecting anyone to believe him at all about being framed. “Noah Bracken,” he finally said. “My brother-in-law.”

               Alex’s brows furrowed. Noah Bracken. He’d read that name in Michael’s file last week, barely glossing over it. He remembered there had been something that bothered him about Noah’s clean record, though he had been called into a meeting before he ever got the chance to figure out what, and had come back to his files having lost that train of thought.

               He stepped closer to Michael, and after a lot of hesitance, lowered his weapon. “If you’re lying,” he said, his voice dark, “I’ll hunt you down, and kill you myself.”

               Michael’s smirk widened, and in a second, he was in Alex’s space, his breath fanning Alex’s lips as he said, “I’d expect nothing less.”

               And with a quick peck to Alex’s lips, Michael was on his window ledge. When Alex blinked, the thief was gone. Alex slowly reached up and touched his lips where Michael’s had pressed his, and he swallowed. Maybe he was as crazy as McGarrett.

***

Okay, wait, I know it deviates since Michael doesn’t actively attempt to kill Alex here, but I really, really wanted and envisioned a lot of flirting on Michael’s part, and if he had tried to come in and kill Alex, and then they got to seriously talk with the potential of a sexy and romantic relationship, it just wouldn’t have made sense! At least, not to me. Not in a one-shot.

I’m sorry it’s so different, but I hope you enjoyed reading regardless. As for the prompt, well you roped me into that, so. There.

[aaltena26]

Unmasked ~ Eleven

Written by: ~ M ~

Prompt #88

Rating: E (Explicit) This fic will contain consensual sexual content; mild language; discussions of injuries, illness, and amputations in a historical setting; discussions of miscarriage; discussions of minor character suicide; references to non consensual sexual situations.

My thanks to the moderators of @everlarkficexchange for always running an entertaining event, and for playing along with a little fun and mystery. Also my thanks to @aaltena26 and everyone else who has offered up their inbox for submissions. Please enjoy the eleventh chapter of this adventure. Previous installments can be found here. Regards,

~ M ~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~~ Chapter 11 ~~

I sleep wretchedly. In fact, I am certain that I slept better in the days leading up to our wedding than I do on the wedding night, despite being left utterly alone and untouched. There are a few moments of tension in the morning, with Peeta and I moving around one another in an attempt to prepare for the day.

“I swear this room was enormous just two days ago,” I mutter as we nearly collide for the fourth time. Peeta laughs then and reaches behind him to grasp my morning dress from where it lays. I hold my dressing gown closed tight, hoping he will not be able to see how my chest heaves with my rapid breathing as he hands the garment to me.

“I suppose this will require some further adjustment on both our parts. I will try not to be so much underfoot, madame,” he say, offering the gown to me.

“It is your room as well,” I mutter through clenched teeth, accepting my dress and turning away from him, giving him some semblance of privacy to dress as I wash my face.

In the mirror, I catch a brief glimpse of him and avert my gaze. Heat creeps up my neck like grasping vines of ivy climbing walls. The sensation will not cease and urges my eyes up and up against my will until I become a spy, stealing a glimpse of my husband with no shirt and barely any pants on his body.

The day we met, I considered that what appeared to be broad shoulders beneath his coat might be a trick of the tailor, but no. There is no trick at all. Peeta is solidly built. As he moves, I feel as though some sort of string has been tied between his arms with their evident strength, and my gut. Surely that is the reason for my reaction to him, for the hollow feeling when his shirt is in place and he asks me a mundane question about the arrangements for church today.

I answer him and finish scrubbing. By the time Mary arrives to help me dress, Peeta is fully garbed and leaves me in the clutches of my maid. I am in a daze until I reach breakfast and eagerly grasp at the food as a distraction from the feelings churning inside me. It does little good with the source of my distraction seated across the table, engaged in easy conversation with his brother and sister-in-law, Maysilee perched in her now usual spot on his knee and Emma beside her, explaining how she combines flavors of jams to create new ones and what does Maysilee think of strawberry-apricot?

“Katniss are you feeling well?” Madge whispers to me and I startle, nearly spilling my tea.

“What? Fine!” I hiss under my breath so that no one might hear. She glances between Peeta and I, and I can see the concern in her eyes. It is then that I notice the faint rings beneath Peeta’s eyes that speak of poor sleep. At least he suffers as I do. Serves him right. “I will tell you later.”

Church presents its own form of torture, being forced to sit still and exude pious serenity with so much turmoil in my brain, especially given how centered on the bedroom and copulation my thoughts are this morning. Father Crane prattles on about devotion, the need to fulfill one’s promises even in the face of extreme adversity. I fume silently, twitching with the heat in the stifling building and hoping the sermon is burning my husband’s ears. Devotion indeed.

Father Crane continues, berating those who might attempt to influence the Hand of God, to alter their fate or question the Almighty’s plan, to escape their duties. I am certain that I have heard this exact sermon before and tune him out. His nasal voice disturbs my thought processes and I must be focused if I am to sort out the mess that is my marriage.

Peeta sits across the church from me, apparently serene and focused on the words, head bowed slightly. The sun even dares to shine on his hair in such a way that he seems almost divine. Beside him, Haymitch snores, although no one bothers to wake him. To do so would cause more disturbance to the sermon than the snores themselves, Although Father Crane sends him several withering glares throughout. On Peeta’s other side, his brother Henry stares out the windows, as though longing for an escape.

He is playing some game by not touching me, my husband. I am certain of it. Perhaps he means to force a divorce or an annulment by claiming that I have neglected my duty as a wife. Yes! That is it. If we do not consummate our marriage, he can use the lack of children to discard me. Or perhaps he means to weaken me somehow in refusing to act as a husband, lulling me into a sense of security before claiming what he truly wants. Whatever game it is he plays, I cannot allow this. I have worked too hard to secure a husband and a fortune to support my family to allow it to all fall apart now. I will simply have to seduce him tonight.

With a plan and resolution, I am better able to sit still through the sermon. It is once we are at home after that things begin to fall apart.

“Katniss,” Madge grabs my arm and keeps me back from the remainder of our party. “Are you alright?”

“Quite fine, now that I have a plan.”

“A plan?” Madge asks, her hand flying to her throat. “Oh no. Was it that awful last night?”

“Awful? Yes, it was wretched.” I bite out the words, unable to hide how embarrassed I feel. Why I am embarrassed is beyond me. I am not the one in the wrong here. It is Peeta who is shirking his duty in our bedroom, not I.

The more that I think about it, the more I am convinced that he either is repulsed by my scars and is therefore the worst sort of hypocrite, or he is using this to somehow manipulate me. I will not allow that. I will instead outmaneuver him.

Before Madge can question me further, I tear myself away from her and focus on our guests. Most of them will depart tomorrow, leaving us in peace to establish our new lives. I will have time to talk with Madge then, after I have seduced my husband.

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

In the evening, there are games and conversation. Music and laughter. Primrose plays on the piano to great appreciation and the atmosphere is cheerful, lively. Haymitch and Peeta engage in a game of chess. Aunt Effie and Angelica Mellark somehow find common topics to discuss. Henry reads and on occasion joins in with the ladies’ conversation. Madge embroiders and I sit content with my book.  A strange sort of domestic tranquility settles over the group. Frivolity continues into the evening and yet my book fails to win my interest.

In fact, the warmth of the scene lulls me into a relaxed, almost dreamy state. I blame the exhaustion of the past few days as I am jostled partially awake, lifted into arms and held against a solid chest.

“If you could assist her in preparing for bed, Mary--”

“Of course, Mr. Mellark,” I hear Mary answer as I am moved through the hall. “Poor dear has had an exciting few days.”

“Haven’t we all?” he says and I hear my maid chuckle.

“Where is Mrs. Everdeen?”

“Upstairs with the Mister.”

It is a haze of movement and whispers. I drift in and out, only aware of vague instructions that I follow until I am tucked in and content, fall asleep.

In the middle of the night, I wake, startled by thoughts that finally coalesce. I sit up and stare at the back of my husband’s head as he sleeps in the chair, seemingly at peace.

“Curse him!” I mutter. He evaded me, the bastard.

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

Our wedding guests depart, and I discover just how inept I am at seduction. I am thwarted at every turn. Peeta fabricates all manner of excuses to remain out of our room until late at night, past the time I fall asleep alone in our bed. Other nights, if I attempt to stay awake with him, I inevitably fall asleep in a chair or sofa only to have him carry me to bed and leave me alone there, still a maid.

Madge frets over me, concern apparent in her eyes each morning at the breakfast table as I struggle to hide my growing fatigue. I do not know how to tell her that my lost sleep is due not to a situation similar to hers, but to an entirely different dilemma. She might tell me how fortunate I am to not have to suffer my husband’s amorous attentions, and that would only aggravate me even further. My only consolation is that my husband appears to be suffering the same affliction as I. The circles beneath his eyes gradually darken and his limp grows more pronounced. My indignation grows with them.

“Mr. Marvel comes to call this week to discuss terms of sale,” I tell anyone who will listen one morning.

“Is that usual?” Peeta asks and Madge’s eyes dart between us. I can see her increasing desire to ask private and prying questions. I hope she does not. I am not sure how to answer them.

“Yes, they are fond of establishing terms of sale in person.”

“Perhaps you should have Peeta with you for that meeting,” my mother suggests and I scowl at her.

“Mr. Marvel knows me. Father always had me present at our negotiations in the past.”

“Yes but your father will not be there this time.”

“Are you suggesting I cannot handle the bargaining and sales on my own? That I need a man to accomplish it for me?”

“Of course not, Katniss,” my mother answers with clear exasperation. “I am simply considering the implications of you conducting business alone with two men.”

“I am married now. That affords me some freedom and protection from scandal, does it not?”

“I think perhaps,” Peeta says softly, leaning towards me as though we are conspiring. I turn my head to better hear him as he continues, “that your mother means to protect Mr. Marvel from your strong will and any hard bargains you might drive, madame. And perhaps from that ferocious scowl of yours.”

This, of course, only serves to make me scowl at him and he grins in response. After a beat of silence, Prim’s laughter rings out. My mother smiles and I lift one shoulder in indifference. “It is not my fault if a man cannot hold his ground in negotiations with me. Very well then husband, if you must attend, by all means, do so to protect Mr. Marvel from being intimidated.”

I can feel Madge’s eyes on us through the entire exchange and my cheeks heat in shame and embarrassment. I feel as though I am somehow lying to her, yet I do not know how to soothe her concerns for me.

Two days later, Mr. Marvel arrives with his son to conduct business.

“Ah, Miss Everdeen. A pleasure to see you again. Where is your father?”

“My father is indisposed, Mr. Marvel, I wonder that you had not heard.”

“I did hear of his accident in spring but had hoped he would recover by now.”

“Unfortunately not.”

“I am sorry to hear it. Surely then the rumors of a recent wedding are false then? I cannot fathom Miss Primrose marrying without your father’s blessing.”

“My sister is not married,” I say, spine stiffening at his words, at the assumption that it must be Prim who married. Am I so undesirable that everyone believes it impossible for me to find a husband? “Now are there any changes you wish to make to--”

“I am glad to be reassured of Miss Primrose’s prudence,” he says, turning to share a strange look with his son and it occurs to me that perhaps Mr. Marvel means to see his snivelling son wed to my sister. Not likely. “Surely it is unseemly to negotiate with your father indisposed? Miss Everdeen, a young, inexperienced, and unmarried woman--”

“Mrs. Mellark,” I say. It is the first I have demanded someone refer to me by my married name and causes a strange tingling in my skull.

“I beg your pardon?”

“It is Mrs. Mellark, not Miss Everdeen. The rumors of a wedding were quite true, Mr. Marvel, only not in regards to my sister. How rude of me to neglect introductions. Mr. Marvel, this is my husband, Mr. Peeta Mellark,” I turn then to find him standing right beside me, if slightly behind, in a position of support and solidarity. He inclines his head to Mr. Marvel and his son as the introductions continue.

“My dear girl how did this happen?” Mr. Marvel asks, near to sputtering.

“It took a great deal of convincing on my part, I am afraid,” Peeta says, giving me what can only be termed as a very convincing look of complete devotion. “But I fell madly in love with her and simply could not allow her to escape.”

“Yes,” I say with as much charm as I can muster at his complete lie. “I could not imagine my life without you, husband.”

There’s a brief flicker of something in his eyes, but he deflects whatever his thoughts were, lifting my hand to his mouth in a gesture of affection. It gives me the chance to gather my wits and refocus on Mr. Marvel. “My father would be more apt to encourage the continuation of life as normal, Mr. Marvel, than to have his family wallow in sorrow and allow the farm to deteriorate. So if there are no further objections, shall we adjourn to the study and order refreshments?”

“Very well then, if you insist.”

As we turn to enter the study behind the Misters Marvel, Peeta offers me his arm. My hand shakes slightly as I take it. He covers my hand with his, and presses down, leaning over to whisper in my ear. “They are already shaking in their boots, atremble with fear. You’ve no idea the effect you can have.”

I am uncertain what that means, or even if it is meant as compliment or insult, but I’ve no time to discern which as Mr. Marvel launches immediately into negotiations

“Mrs. Mellark, I have issue with this price for the sage.”

“Indeed?”

“Yes it is much too high. It will fetch no profit at six pounds a bushel.”

“That is the same price you paid last year, and as I recall, you were quite pleased with your profits.”

“Indeed but demand for such herbs has lowered.”

“What price then do you suggest?” I barely notice Peeta accepting tea from Mary and pouring for us as the younger Mr. Marvel stares at my husband. Is it so shocking that a man might pour tea?

“Four pounds.”

“A one third reduction? Mr. Marvel, that is ridiculous.”

“Yes of course. This is why ladies should be left to the tea service and the gentlemen to the bargaining. Were it left to them, we would pay our entire income for a trifle,” Mr. Marvel states as he accepts the tea from Peeta. “Don’t you agree, Mr. Mellark?”

“Not at all. Mrs. Mellark is an expert on the functions of her farm and the values of her product. If you are disinterested in a fair price and exceptional product, no matter. We have other buyers more than willing to meet our price.” I glance at Peeta, uncertain where he is taking this as he hands me my tea. It is true that we have other buyers, but the Marvels have long been one of our larger sales. “Here you are, my dear.” I thank him for the tea. “Isn’t that right, Mrs. Mellark?”

“Indeed it is,” I say automatically, too bewildered to question or contradict him. Such a thing might make the situation worse than I have already done.

“In fact one such buyer plans to expand our market beyond the borders of Panem. Oh dear I cannot seem to remember the name. Harmon? Blackthorne?”

“Hawthorne,” I say the name most present in my mind that fits and Peeta snaps his fingers with a bright smile.

“That’s the one! Mr. Gale Hawthorne. He is traveling abroad at the moment but should pay us a visit...within the fortnight, isn’t it dear?”

“I believe so, husband,” I say, catching on to his game.

Mr. Marvel blusters still, yet his son engages with him in furious conference. Peeta’s eyes meet mine as he sips his tea, almost tranquil. If I were not looking directly at him, I would miss the subtle wink he sends me.

“We are loyal customers, Mrs. Mellark. You cannot in good conscious sell our wares to someone else.”

“On the contrary, I can. Until you sign, the wares are not guaranteed for you. Mr. Hawthorne has offered a most generous price.”

“How much?” Mr. Marvel squeaks.

“Five percent increase from last year,” Peeta says. My stomach drops and I attempt to signal that this is too much.

“Ridiculous! I shall offer you a two percent increase.”

“Three,” I counter. “A bargain for an old friend. A sign of my father’s respect for your business acumen, Mr. Marvel.”

“Done,” he says and smiles as though he truly did just achieve a bargain. “Shall we discuss terms for this goat cheese your father mentioned in his last letter to me in the spring? I am most intrigued by the possibility.”

“Of course. Shall we ring for a few samples?”

The meeting proceeds quite smoothly from there, and as Peeta and I stand on the front steps, waving farewell to our visitors, I watch Peeta in my periphery. Today has given me a new appreciation for him, and when he turns to face me again, I am struck with my good fortune in finding, however unknowingly, such an apt partner and ally, despite our remaining differences.

“Have I anything I need apologize for?” Peeta asks me, true concern in his eyes. I consider my feelings on what he did today, but I do not feel that he did anything to demean or countermand me. True that he showed how smoothly he is capable of lying and yet I feel...empowered. I set out to find a business partner, not a romance, and that is precisely what I seem to have gotten. A partner I can rely on. He suggested that his presence would protect Mr. Marvel from my biting tongue and stubbornness, yet it turns out that what Mr. Marvel truly needed protection from was Peeta and I working together.

“No. Nothing today, husband,” I tell him and he smiles, tilting his head as if in regret.

“I shall try harder tomorrow then, wife.”

“Well, it shall be a new day with fresh opportunities.”

“If it is to be spent with you, then I look forward to it.”

Once more, he lifts my hand to his lips, no audience, no buyers to convince, and the effect of it is overwhelming. A brush of heat up my arms that gives rise to the thought that perhaps I am failing so completely at seducing my husband because he is attempting to seduce me, in a different way.

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

The days begins to shape a pattern. In public, Peeta and I are the picture of domestic tranquility. It is strange how easily we work together. How simple he makes the labor and how smoothly he defers to my judgement, even when people first seek his approval as the man. Our encounter with Mr. Marvel and his son is only one example in what becomes a pattern of us working together, and I quickly learn just how dependable my husband truly is. He is as at home laboring beside the common folk -- as evidenced by the day he spends digging and shoring up drainage systems after a rainstorm nearly washes away half of a field -- as he is negotiating terms of business in the parlor.

In the privacy of our rooms, it is another matter entirely.

Why does he not wish to touch me, anyways? He has proved himself most persuasive and does not hesitate to compliment me and yet he has not used that power tempt me into bed with him. It confuses me. I cling to the idea that he must be repulsed by my scars, although that does not hold up under even a cursory examination.

He is not afraid to touch me in smaller ways and has never once flinched from contact with me. With a grasp of my hand in assistance into or out of a carriage, he causes flutterings of sensation up my arm. A simple touch of his palm on my back, a deference of the lead to me as we move from one room to another, is like a shovel digging those unpleasant worms right back up to turn my innards into a squirming mess. I will not even speak of what happens when he assists me down from Sagittaria after our daily rides.

Each day passes much the same as the last. The hours while the sun hangs high in the sky are spent dealing with the business of the estate, preparations for the harvest and for selling our wares. Contracts are drawn up and signed. The goat cheeses we now offer in all their varieties of flavor  begin to take off with great popularity. There are moments of quiet when I will catch Peeta working diligently over a book he seems to carry with him at all times. I wonder at the contents but do not muster the courage to ask just yet.

In the evenings, after retiring to our chamber, Peeta and I will sit before the fire and share a drink. We restrict our talk to that of the business of the estate and family. Everdeen -- all of his concerns seem to revolve around Everdeen. It is unemotional and forthright. It is maddening.

When it is time to sleep, he remains in the chair. Most nights he removes his trousers and I think his false leg as well. I cannot be certain as I am too occupied hiding beneath the sheets, battling an insane desire to demand that he consummate our marriage. Why? I ask myself. He has given me what amounts to a stay of execution and here I am considering pulling the lever on the guillotine myself.

Most nights, I lay awake and analyse each brush of fingers at the dining table, and most especially each reassuring squeeze of my hand or comforting caress of my shoulders when father’s health looks to be taking a turn for the worse. Caresses on my scarred shoulder, nonetheless.

What remains of my hold on my quest to seduce him disintegrates when my mother asks Peeta about his time in the infantry at dinner one evening. He speaks of several of the foreign lands he has been to, strange cultures that sound lovely and exotic -- and so exciting. He enchants the entire table and I am left feeling small, inconsequential.

My husband has seen the world, experienced so much of life. Despite what Haymitch said of the absence of any lovers in Peeta’s past, I cannot believe it. A soldier traveling in foreign lands would have a much simpler time disguising his dalliance with a mistress or lover. No one would think twice about it nor consider it amiss for him to have such worldly experiences. What do I know of seduction compared to the exotic women he has likely lain with? Absolutely nothing. Of course he is not tempted by me, why should he be? The last time I attempted any sort of flirtation or seduction before this, it turned out horribly. I drove away every other potential suitor and then my intended eloped with another woman!

I sit vigil over my father that night rather than going to bed and facing the chasm between Peeta and I. It must be near midnight when my mother wakes me.

“Katniss, darling you should be in bed, not here,” she whispers, soothing back my hair and kissing my brow.

“I was worried about Father,” I argue and she nods.

“As am I. We shall ask Doctor Aurelius to make another visit as soon as he is able. In the meantime, your husband surely worries after you.”

I do not argue with her, although I am certain he could not care less. Gathering the frayed ends of my resolve, I return to my bedchamber only to find it empty. Peeta’s coat is draped over the chair as usual. The fire, left unattended, has burned down to mere embers.

I disrobe and change to my nightdress and dressing robe before examining the area where he sleeps for clues to his whereabouts. His book which he usually carries with him is set on the small table, open to a page. I should not pry so, but my eyes are drawn to it despite my intentions.

An exquisite sketch of Maysilee smiles up at me from the parchment, her youthful glee over the flower in her hand sparkling with such light, even rendered so in charcoal pencil. I gasp and snatch up the book, forgetting Peeta’s privacy as I turn the pages, reversed from here to the front of the book, and marvel at the drawings he has made. Dozens of pages filled with renderings of Everdeen and her people, her teeming wild life and cultivated life as well. Beauty leaps from every page, leaving me breathless and misty eyed.

There are a few scattered pages that have been torn from the book, as though their presence angered or offended the artist. Then I find one of a beautiful woman with softness and love glowing in her expression. It stops me cold. I do not recognize this face at all, but the way Peeta has so lovingly depicted her, I know that she is exceptionally important to him.

Now the coldness lives in my veins as something that has never before occured to me strikes deep in my heart. There are pictures of everyone at Everdeen -- Maysilee, my mother and Prim, any number of the servants and laborers, even Madge and Haymitch and Aunt Effie -- yet there are none of me. Only this strange woman with her soft smile. Perhaps in marrying me, Peeta lost someone he loves, someone he wished to marry.

I dare to flip another page to find more of my mother and Prim, more of Everdeen, one of Cicero and Joe. Near the front, there are several more pages torn from the book and then the drawings shift to people and places I do not recognize -- with the exception of his brothers and their families. The strange woman makes several appearances throughout. She is the one constant. The drawings grow somehow darker and more disturbing the closer I get to the start of the book, until finally, I reach the beginning. Staring aghast at the first ten pages, I discover distant battlefields, bodies in agony, hazy nightmares, the haggard face of a tired man.

I move to return the book and then decide against it. No, I wish to know more. I wish to know more of the nightmares that plague him. I wish to know who this woman who crosses my husband’s mind so often is. What place in his heart she holds.

Clutching the book tight to my chest, I venture forth into the midnight darkness of my home to seek out Peeta and confront him with my questions. My bare feet grow cold and I chastise myself for not pausing to don slippers. Noises from the kitchen alert me to human presence and I turn in that direction. The sight that greets me halts my tirade on my lips.

In the light of the fire, Peeta stands dressed in a simple shirt and trousers, his sleeves rolled up and flour kissing his forearms. His hands are sunk into a mass of dough as he kneads it with fluid motions. A stray lock of hair falls across his forehead, his blue eyes intent on his task. My mouth falls open at the domestic scene before me.

I must make some sort of noise that draws his attentions to me. Pausing in his motions, Peeta lifts his head and smiles at me, the expression slow, soft and welcoming, yet also shy in such a way that I momentarily forget about the strange woman in his drawings.

“You have discovered me, madame. I hope you do not mind.”

“I am not precisely sure what to think….since I do not know precisely what you are doing.”

“Kneading bread dough,” he offers and I can’t stop the short note of laughter.

“That much is clear. What is not clear is the why.”

“It helps me to relax.”

“That is a strange hobby for a soldier and field medic, the son of a marquis, to assume,” I say and he shakes his head.

“But not so strange for someone raised as the child of a baker.” I do not know what to say in response to that and remain silent. He sees my confusion and uses one hand to beckon me into the kitchen.

“Are you hungry? I confess to baking one of the loaves meant for tomorrow to sate my own hunger. This is meant to replace what I plan to eat.” He motions to the dough on the table before returning to his task.

Intrigued, I slide the sketch book into my robe and enter the room, taking a seat opposite to where he works.

“Is this where you vanish to in the night? When you are trying to avoid me?”

“Ah, I see I have not been as subtle as I would have wished,” he says and glances at me, holding my gaze for a moment before he continues. “Please understand, it is not meant as an insult. I simply needed something to help me sleep. This helps.”

“You say you were raised by a baker?” I ask rather than dwell on the hurt I feel, despite his reassurances.

“I did not always live with the name Mellark,” he whispers and sudden warmth fills my cheeks. Haymitch urged me to ask of Peeta’s past, and yet I did not, perhaps to protect myself. More likely to protect my animosity towards him. If I remained angry with him, righteous over the way I was forced into marriage, it was easier to forget that Peeta was forced into this marriage as well. That seems silly now, although there is still the strange woman in the sketch book to contend with. Perhaps I can learn her identity as well if I learn of his past.

“Where did you live before? Before you went to live as a Mellark, then?”

“With my mother,” he says simply and gives me another smile, this one sad. “My real mother.”

“What was she like?” I ask, drawn in to the story before he even begins, seduced perhaps by the crackling fire and the comforting smell of spices and herbs and yeast that lingers in the kitchen.

“She is...she was...beautiful.” I fold my feet beneath me and arrange my robe for warmth and comfort.

“Tell me more?”

“You really wish to know?” I nod eagerly, curiosity eating away at my patience.

“I would not ask if I did not.”

“Very well. She was not glamorous or wealthy, Katniss. She was a maid. Specifically a lady’s maid to the three daughters of a very prominent and wealthy family. The ladies my mother served… their names at the time she began her employment were Tabitha, Fanny, and Chastity Hilston. When Tabitha was married, my mother remained with Fanny and Chastity at their parents’ estate.”

I blink and search my memories for a connection. The name sounds vaguely familiar. Peeta seems to recognize my quandary and, slapping more flour on the table, flips the dough and resumes kneading.

“You would know her as Lady Tabitha Mellark, Marchioness de Vale.” I stare at him in shock and shake my head, denying the truth of where I sense this story is headed. “You still wish the sordid tale, madame?”

“I--” I swallow and search for courage. I find it in the challenge in his blue eyes as he levels a stare at me. Sitting straight, I nod to him. “Yes. I wish to know your origins, husband. Your past and all your family’s secrets shrouded in darkness. You have become privy to mine, after all.”

His lips twitch and he watches his own hands as he works and speaks.

“It is quite simple, really. Moving through society as someone no one wishes to see and is therefore generally ignored, I have since seen it more frequently than I would care to acknowledge. A man of wealth, power, and privilege can claim most anything he desires with little consequence, even in the home of another wealthy man.

“The Marquis, even after they were wed and had children, would often take his Marchioness home to visit her sisters and parents at their country estate -- how thoughtful of him allowing this family connection to continue rather than cleaving her from her beloved mother. They would bring their children and stay for some time. While there, Lady Tabitha would enjoy the service of her old maid who now served only her sisters now that she herself had a much fancier lady's maid befitting her title. And the Marquis...well he demands a different sort of service of the maid.”

“He raped her?” I ask, appalled and Peeta shakes his head.

“I believe so. I speak based only on the conversations I overheard between my mother and my father as a child. I do not think my mother fought the Marquis or denied him in so many words, but I believe that is because she felt that she could not. But not fighting, a sort of frightened acceptance of the thing, is still not equal to a desire to participate in the act,” he says. I mull over that for a moment. “When I was a child and Lady Tabitha would visit with her husband and sons, my mother would inevitably fall ill. She would sequester herself, despite Lady Tabitha’s pleas for her former maid to dress her and fix her hair.

“I did not understand the connection, nor why my father would insist that I stay in the kitchens and work with him during those visits. I was scarcely allowed outside the servant’s quarters while the Mellark family was present.”

“Your father?” I ask, confused momentarily with his choice of words.

“The man who raised me. The man I knew as my father until I was ten years old.” He pauses then to set the dough aside to rise, covering it with a cloth and checking the bread in the oven.

“The baker then? You knew the baker as your father.”

“Yes,” he says, using the paddle to remove the bread from the fire and setting it on the table before me. He sighs as he takes a seat, the steaming and fragrant loaf between us. “That will need to cool before we slice it.”

“Then you have time to tell me more,” I say and he folds his hands together, tilting his head to examine me.

“You are not scandalised yet?”

“I am not so fragile as that,” I whisper and he smiles. It courses through me, warm and comforting as the bread cooling between us.

“No you’re not, are you? As you wish, madame. The man I knew as my father was named William Thackeray, and he was a baker at the Hilston country seat. He and my mother, Nancy, had fallen in love as children living and working there. They had plans to marry when the Marquis...took liberties he should not be allowed. When my mother discovered she was with child as a result, she attempted to break her engagement with William. He refused, insisting that he loved her and that they could still marry and raise the child as theirs. Which is precisely what they did for ten years.”

“You had a happy childhood then?” I ask, touching the loaf of bread, my fingers dancing lightly over the crisp, golden surface to avoid burns.

His eyes dip to the motions then back up before he continues.

“I did have a happy childhood. Loving parents, a cousin who was the child of another serving couple and a dear friend--”

“Delly?”

“Delly,” he confirms with a smile. “As I have told you before, she was like a sister to me.”

“So then what happened?”

“My father -- William, the baker -- died when I was ten. For years, my parents had kept me separate from the Mellarks when they came to visit, fearing the truth coming to light. Until then, no one looked closely enough at the servant’s child to notice. There was no reason to. That year, without my father around to keep me occupied and protected, and with my mother fighting her usual response to the presence of the Marquis, worse this time without her husband around...well let’s just say that Lady Mellark was furious to find her youngest son playing with a servant boy who looked to be his brother.”

“No.”

“Yes. You can imagine what happened. My mother was let go, dismissed without references and thrown from the house with her son and little else. She struggled for close to a year to support us, I helped any way that I could, but no family nearby would take her in and the city offered only questionable sorts of employment for a widowed mother. One day, when we were both nearly dead from hunger, she stole a bar of soap and told me to wash.  It was pouring rain that day and bitterly cold. We took to the streets, she claimed so that she might find work, but instead she knocked on the door of the Mellark household.”

“Oh Peeta,” I gasp, holding my nightdress collar closed against the imagined feel of the rain, against the heartache Nancy Thackeray must have felt in giving up her son.

“She demanded that the Marquis see to the needs of his illegitimate son, if nothing else, demanded that at least her child be cared for since he had cost her everything. I will never forget the things Lady Tabitha called my mother that day, but the Marquis...he accepted. He promised my mother he would give me his name, educate me, give me a future and a home, raise me as his son. On the condition that she would leave and never see me or any of them again.”

We sit in silence, the fire the only sound as the pop and crack of the wood does little to dispel the chill in my bones at his story.

“Some days, I am convinced he only did it to anger Lady Tabitha, to remind her of the power he holds over the lives of everyone around him.”

I blink the unwanted tears from my eyes and bring forth the sketch book from my robe. I stare at the cover and then glance up to catch his furrowed expression. “I am sorry. You left it on the table...open and…” I cannot finish and find one of the many drawings of the strange woman. How desperate and sad she must have been that day. How terrified Peeta must have felt, abandoned and lonely in a strange home with strange people, many of whom likely resented his presence if not outright loathed him for it. How sad and confused he must have been for months, perhaps years of not understanding why his mother had left him so. “This is your mother...is it not?”

“Yes,” he says softly.

“What happened to her?”

“I do not know,” he says, and I hear the resounding crack of pain and regret in his voice. “I never saw her again after that day in the rain, although I have looked for her.”

He takes the book from me, running one finger down the side of the page before shutting it and setting it aside. I watch his fingers splay over the cover as something else strikes me.

“That day in the rain -- with me -- when you brought me home,” I prompt and he confirms with a nod.

“I had news of someone who might be her. That is where I was headed in such a hurry.”

“Oh no. Peeta, I am so sorry,” I whisper as guilt floods through me. His warm fingers brush over mine and pry my hand free of my dressing robe.

“I was days late, Katniss. Practically a week late, in fact. Not hours. By the time I arrived, whoever she was had moved on long before. Stopping to help you did not cause me to lose her trail again. It was already cold.” I stare down at our hands as he winds our fingers together. It is comforting, this small touch, almost a promise in itself as I realise just how much of his heart he has revealed to me, entrusted to me, tonight. When I lift my eyes, he’s watching me with a steady sort of trust or understanding.

“And to think I was angry with you so long for not dismounting. Such a silly thing and--” Peeta’s laughter halts my words.

“I imagine that had I dismounted to assist you, we would have both wound up in the mud.” He leans over and I cannot help but chuckle at the strange sound his fist makes on his false leg. “But enough of that, we should not let this bread go to waste,” he says and stands abruptly, releasing my hand to pick up a knife and slice the bread.

I reach out to halt his motions, my hand on his wrist. He stares first at my hand then into my eyes. I take a deep breath and rise up to kiss him.

A brief touch of warm lips and a flutter of pulse is all I am allowed before he lifts his head away from me and places his hand on my shoulder, shaking his head as I wonder what objections he could possibly have now.

“Pity is no better a reason than duty, Katniss.”

“It is not pity I feel right now.”

“Then what is it?” He asks the question, still close enough that were I to pitch forward the slightest bit, we would be kissing instead of speaking. I search my heart and attempt to put a name to the thing blossoming inside me and yet I cannot.

“I do not yet know.”

“At least you are honest. I would rather have the truth between us, wife. The last kiss we shared with false ideas in our heads did not result in much good.” He gently pushes me back and I sit heavily as he continues slicing bread. “When you determine what it is, and still wish to kiss me, then perhaps I shall kiss you back.”

I grip my braid as he sets aside his knife and looks around the kitchen.

“Do you happen to have any goat cheese? Perhaps some apples,” he says and I stand, glad for the task. I find what he needs, and with a few more swipes of the knife, Peeta hands me a slice of bread, spread with goat cheese and topped with apple slices. “And now, wife...it is your turn to tell me a story.”

“What sort of story?” I ask and he thinks for a moment.

“A happy story, I should think.”

I hum and bite into the treat Peeta has made us, closing my eyes to savor the tastes as they caress my tongue. Finally, I settle on a story, telling him of the time Father took me into town to purchase a birthday present for Prim. I had the most elegant blue ribbons selected for her, but on our way home, we stopped to speak with the Goat Man. As my father conversed, I gazed into a pen where several goats were busy feasting on their lunch.

“I was not paying nearly close enough attention and one of the goats snatched Prim’s ribbons right out of my hand and ate them! I started shouting and kicking up a fuss, so loud that my father thought the goat had bitten me. When he finally discerned what had happened, I demanded the slaughter of the goat so that we might retrieve the ribbons.”

Peeta laughs at this, preparing a second slice for each of us. “You were quite bloodthirsty. So then what did he do?”

“He bought the goat with the condition that the goat man provided an undigested blue ribbon. I tied the ribbon around the goat’s neck, after lecturing her that she was not to eat any more ribbons, and that was Prim’s birthday gift instead.”

“That is a very happy story,” he says, our fingertips brushing as he hands me the slice of bread.

“Indeed. That goat produced excellent milk. You are in fact eating cheese made from the milk of one of her many granddaughters.”

“The beginnings of your goat cheese empire then,” he says. “All born of your love for sister.”

“The goat owed me after eating those ribbons,” I say, lifting my nose in a haughty gesture.

“And she wouldn’t dare disappoint you.”

The night hours dwindle as we talk and eat, sharing pleasant stories of childhood and friends. When we are both full and content, we clean up our mess, bank the fire, and walk upstairs. Peeta is limping again and so, despite my freezing feet and the beckoning of my bed, I slow my pace to one that seems more comfortable to him.

When we reach our room, a strained silence fills the air. I twist my braid round my fingers, round and round as I consider my next course. Do I kiss him again, and risk another rejection? I was telling the truth, it is not pity that I feel for him, but something more akin to...understanding. He opens our door and then pauses, stepping aside to let me pass first, ever the gentleman. I move to do so.

“Wait, Katniss,” he says, stepping forward and filling half the opening. I might still pass by him if I wanted, but I find myself standing perfectly still, gazing up at him as he caresses over my cheek, back to my ear. He takes a breath and leans towards me, halting with a pained look on his face, close enough that I can see the freckles that grace the bridge of his nose, each individual lash. They are so long that I wonder how they do not tangle when he blinks.

“I told you that I would spend months courting you, would you grant them to me.” An almost foolish happiness forms in my chest and I strain to keep it contained.

“Are you asking to court me, then, husband?”

“As best I can, given the circumstances.” His fingers trail down my neck, over my scarred shoulder with layers of fabric still between us.

A smile curls my mouth upwards at the idea. It is so sweet and endearing and utterly maddening. “I will...allow it.”

His smile mirrors mine then and he once more laces our fingers together, as they were downstairs. “Then allow me to escort you home, madame.”

I nod and turn into our room, trailing Peeta behind me and then beside me as we approach the bed. It rises in the darkness, draped in welcoming fabrics like the arms of a lover, inviting whispers and secrets. I turn and lift on my toes, kissing his jaw, not out of pity or duty, but because I wish to do so.

He assists me onto the mattress and essentially tucks me safely beneath the covers before turning towards the fire and his chair, a soft smile on his face. For one moment, I consider inviting him into the bed with me, but as I lay down and finger my smiling lips that still tingle with the scrape of his stubble beneath their caress, I think that such a kiss is a very good start indeed.

To be continued...look for the next chapter on the blog of @sunflowerslyf

[worldcakecakecake]

Feliciano and the King of Hearts

Chosen by the gods as the Queen of Hearts from the moment of birth, we follow Feliciano’s story as he grows into royal life, learns to rule, go against age old customs, and his relationship with his husband to be, the King of Hearts.

Chapter 1 I  Chapter 2 I Chapter 3 I Chapter 4 I Chapter 5 I Chapter 6I Chapter 7 I Chapter 8 IChapter 9I Chapter 10I Chapter 11I Chapter 12 I Chapter 13 I Chapter 14 I Chapter 15 I Chapter 16 I Chapter 17 I Chapter 18 I Chapter 19I Chapter 20 I Chapter 21 I Chapter 22 I Chapter 23 I Chapter 24 I Chapter 25 I Chapter 26 I Chapter 27 I Chapter 28I Chapter 29 I Chapter 30 I Chapter 31 I Chapter 32 I Chapter 33 I Chapter 34 I Chapter 35 I Chapter 36 I Chapter 37I chapter 38 I Chapter 39 I Chapter 40 I Chapter 41 I Chapter 42 I Chapter 43 I Chapter 44 I Chapter 45 I Chapter 46I Chapter 47 I Chapter 48 I Chapter 49 I Chapter 50 I Chapter 51 I Chapter 52 I Chapter 53 I Chapter 54 I Chapter 55 I Chapter 56 I Chapter 57 I Chapter 58 I Chapter 59 I Chapter 60I Chapter 61 I Chapter 62 I Chapter 63 I Chapter 64  I Chapter 65 I Chapter 66 I Chapter 67 I Chapter 68

                                                                      Chapter 69

                                          Feliciano was bandaged, numerous healing spells were placed on him that were still doing its effect, he was forced to drink potions, to try breathing exercises and to keep his mind calm with words that Kandake was there to spare.

 “The twins are doing fine,” she at least let him know with a deep smile upon her last checking, one that was watched by many healers in the room, who surely held the same curiosity.

 He was glad to know that despite the excesses in this war, his children had survived through the first wave. He gloomed once he knew there would be several more, worst now that Khaos knew about it. He brought his arms to wrap around himself as if he was hugging them, letting them know in this warmth that everything would be all right. He would protect them and do the necessary so they are born into the world he wishes to make for them.

 As the healers considered themselves done with the Queen’s care, they began emptying the tent, leaving more space, more sight…to the King’s sitting, glaring, dark, imposing even with his own bandages, left without the strong symbols and defense of his armors.

 It was terrifying, having Feliciano hitch his breath, refusing to look more into those piercing swords, the only comfort the caress he gave to the jewels, now new vines having begun their surroundings. Feliciano wondered if Ludwig was even blinking, as he kept a singular gaze towards him that didn’t give the slightest movement, no beating of breaths, no tapping, no pointing. Even as the tent continued its emptying, many leaving as they understood their royals were to speak on the coming heirs, he was frozen, even so when there was finally nobody there, their only evidence but murmurs outside. Feliciano sighed as it elongated with nothing, trying to hold an outpour of tears as he moved his direction to his husband.

 “I…did something terrible, I know,” he admitted, hoping to hear Ludwig’s agree…yet he remained as he was. “I…I want to apologize but I know it won’t mean anything. You must be very angry and no matter what I say, it won’t change your mind on the fact that I dared come to war bearing our children.” It was the first time he said it out loud as such, and for once he drew out a breath from his husband, a calming one, a small glimpse of ease in his eyes, but he was still as fortified.

 “But…you know that I couldn’t just stay behind…I couldn’t just let you all deal with this without my help. I knew…” he gripped his arm around himself tighter, “you wouldn’t let me go.”

 No reply, no reaction, Feliciano thought his words lost in the air.

 “…you should have told me…” Ludwig’s words were so meek, Feliciano had to keep his ears perked to have been able to hear it.

 “I know…I know…”

 No more words, no more glances or even acknowledgement. It was like neither was there, the words but those murmurs and movements from outside the tent. Feliciano let himself the tears, the whimpers, but he refused a leaning, still managing to keep a proud sitting, a caress to the jewels. Ludwig eyes fell heavily on them that moment, for once giving them the extended gaze everyone else had done on the finding. He constantly tightened the grasp of his hands, at one point his breaths became heavy to the point that Feliciano could easily hear them, surely the same thoughts Feliciano held when he had found out.

 Bearing, now? In this war, with Khaos, with a future of uncertainty. Would he be strong enough to protect not just Feliciano, but the jewels that held his children? Would he be able to give them the lifestyle of princes or princesses afterwards? Could the world they’ll be granted be the one he always dreamed for his heirs, the one he himself lived? Could he face whatever Khaos will throw now in certainty to rid of them as well? Could he…oh but there was glow, a red, a small moment of love, devotion and sacrifice, oh so much sacrifice for them already.

 He loved them. He already adored them and wanted nothing more than protection, their warmth, wanted them held in Feliciano’s arms, knowing that it’s where they would feel the biggest of love and power.

 He would do that…he would grant them that…even if it meant…

 “We’re leaving…” he decreed, standing, taking a jacket, his boots and beginning his wear.

 “Wha-what? Leaving?” Feliciano looked up startled yet tears still coating him well.

 “To Berlin. This instant.”

 “Now? We can’t just-”

 “Now! Feliciano! Get what you need now.” He headed out from the tent, already decreeing to anybody near, hoping that any could give them the sudden transportation, opening and navigation on quickest way back to Berlin.

 “I need to be there by tomorrow morning,” he had told, and many had bowed and followed sure.

 Feliciano had grabbed a jacket and cloak quick, still with stings, but pushed it aside as he followed behind Ludwig, trying to understand what exactly he was doing, trying to hold down any commands, for anybody to explain anything they knew. None of them did, yet they followed, for the Heartian King’s tone and eyes begged and angered in ways they knew it would end dangerous if they disobeyed.

 Tino was the first one to bring them a pair of small silver dragons, surely from the Scandinavian provinces in Hearts, tied to a coach decorated Heartian. Many had already given them way so they could settle off.

 “They’re the fastest dragons out there and will get you to Berlin by the morning you wish. They can be a little distracted, but I have talked to some of my men and they will accompany you to make sure they obey as they should.”

 “Perfect. Are they ready to leave this instant?” He already took their reigns.

 “Right away, your majesty.”

 “Feliciano, get in!” He shouted, one of the Viking men opening the door for the Queen.

 “Ludwig, I can’t just-”

 “Get in!” He shouted, burning angry, growing taller, imposing with shades of darkness that made him as menacing…well…as menacing as Khaos.

 Feliciano trembled, meek, small under his shadow. He tried to find exit in any of the nearing lights, dared to move away, but Ludwig’s fury had attracted eyes, worried, judging, their eyes still constant on the exhibited jewels in Feliciano’s hands. It pushed him forward to the coverage of the coach, grasping his hands in hiding, head down, not wanting to look at anything, not at the red and golden intricacies of the coach, nor at the majestic silver dragons or even as the surrounding weighted more with Ludwig’s entrance, sitting right next to his Queen, shutting the door with a loud bang, enough command in it to let the others know that they should begin flying or running or whatever these dragons did. In all honesty, he didn’t care, he just wanted to make it back home.

 Words were shouted in different Scandinavian languages outside, and after mere seconds, the coach was being raised in the air as the dragons began taking their flight, others of the joker Vikings surely using their magic to stabilize the coach enough so it could fly well in its passage. Despite the rarity of such a mode of transportation, the constant movement of the coach as it flew above the battered land, the speed, the rush of the Club and Hearts kingdom under them, they remained silent, apart, looking down, their eyes not really fixed, they felt like they weren’t really there.

  They arrived to Berlin at the sunrise of the next day. The sky was in a beautiful shade of oranges, blues and purples, the city silent, many surely still in their beds, unaware of the return of their royals. A maid who had been awake managed to spot the animals and the coach, coming from the distance, the joker Vikings on it signaling their descend and the presence of their King and Queen. She fretted and began waking and warning the entire castle. Many were up and standing, reaching the entrance courtyard, dressed still in their nightwear, including the former King and Queen. The coach landed right on their footsteps and before any ceremonious thing could start, Ludwig was out the coach, Feliciano following him as he wanted out of that trapped space and into the familiar sight of his castle.

 It was odd for him to see something so pristine, cleaned, unfazed…when in the last few days he had been used to fields destroyed and continuing fires that were hungrily eating all.

 “Ludwig, what is the meaning of this?” Aldrich fretted, coming before him and wanting immediate answers.

 Ludwig moved past him, forcing Feliciano to do so as well.

 “You’re both supposed to be dealing with Khaos back in the field!” Louis reminded hoping she could awake them.

 They passed her as well. That’s when she noticed a shine in Feliciano’s hand, following it, finding the jewels and gasping at its knowing.

 “Feliciano! What is this?” She shouted, now more desperate in her voice and going behind them, stomping and trying to be imposing even in the silk and simplicity of her nightgown.

 “What, what is the matter?”

 “I believe she saw the bearing marks on Feliciano,” one maid noticed as well, trailing behind the former king as he gave his own astounded rush behind the couple.

 “Bearing! Feliciano! Are you really bearing?” Aldrich shouted.

 The assembled went down the halls none the less, the King and Queen silent, Ludwig leading on, Feliciano with his head down, the shouts behind him only weighting more on his head, tempting to make more tears fall out. He tried to keep his hands under his cloak, tried to warm himself from a shiver.

 “What is going on?” A new voice came, Feliciano ready to ignore as all the rest, but he couldn’t ignore those green eyes, couldn’t ignore the little hand reaching for him. Without even thinking, he came forward and picked his nephew in his arms, embracing, kissing, rocking and wanting to remain with him instead of whatever mystery Ludwig had in store.

 “Your fathers are all right. They’re fighting so much for you and they miss you lots,” he whispered to the little one, who smiled unknowingly. “They love you, amore. And I love you very much too.” The little boy found himself wrapping himself completely on his uncle, and Feliciano let a hand caress at his small strands of wavy hair, the jewel now showcased and sure for all to see, who stood as Feliciano devoted to Augustino. The deepest gasp was of the caretaker, like a ring of alarm and Feliciano noticed what he had silently told. He only looked up to Ludwig, waiting, begging, not wanting to look at anybody else.

 Wanting to avoid the questions that would surely come, he reluctantly had to give Augustino to the hands of his caretaker. He didn’t dare turn, he only walked on along the halls still shaded in darkness with Ludwig, leaving the others in accepted silence, remaining in their place with only wondering and hopes for answers later. Augustino yawned and looked ready to head back to his bed.

 They went deep, pass unfamiliar halls, abandoned works and with darkness that had been there for surely decades. Feliciano reached a hand, hoping Ludwig could now tell, could turn to him different and say…everything was going to be all right. That’s what he needed, those were the words he wanted, but Ludwig kept moving away from them, kept hiding, only stopping once they reached a dead end.

 “Why are we-” Ludwig passed his hands over what surely had to be some old encryption, the symbol glowing red by his palm, loud hinges, dust flying, a shake, movement…this specific square they were on began a descend down.

 Feliciano by now was shaking, feeling colder, wanting nothing than a wrap of arms. Ludwig must have felt for it, for in a moment of compassion he came near and let those very arms take him, caressing, kissing a sort of comfort to his head. Feliciano adored this act, but it didn’t erase the questions, didn’t make the unease he felt go away.

 The descend continued, through depths he didn’t think extended more than the other darkened halls of where the harp was once located. He wondered if he would even truly visit all the secrets of the Heartian castle. Each time there was something new, something to change and- it finally stopped to yet another hall. Ludwig let go, but keeping a hand to Feliciano’s own, moving forward without an ounce of hesitation, the Queen only taking small steps, until he noticed that the hall was circular, extending around another important room. The walls were in the expected reds, wines and golds, with paintings of several different Queens…all with their children in them. The floor was ornated with fallen pillars, vases or statues, with dust, cobwebs and cracks that signified the rarity of such a hall being used. They turned in what seemed infinite circles, but finally they met with a large deep reddened door, one that they only but had to push to be introduced.

 It was a large circular room as Feliciano expected, beautiful, with frescos, rose curtains, a round bed with clean sheets and blankets, ornated as wonderfully. A particular thing was the glass dome that took its ceiling, in a sunset gold, woven with vines designs that really didn’t offer a view to something particular. A light surely from the sun came down, illuminating the room in a kind warmth. How in this deepened room could it reach was Feliciano’s question.

 As he looked around to what the light showcased, he noticed many shelves filled with all kinds of blankets, magical jewels, potions and…toys…clothes and blankets…mostly for newborns. This… he realized… this was once a birthing chamber…it was a place that they had built to gather as much comforting energies as possible to make it easier for the birthing father or mother, private, away from any eyes that could bring danger, until they knew it was safe to bring the infant prince or princess to the higher towers and the real glow of the sun.

 “The last one to use this room was my great grandfather, only for the healing and calming magic around it. He was brought up to the castle with opa right after the day he was born. There weren’t really threats and much of the healing magic here they managed to transport to other rooms up in the castle…and after him, the castle just didn’t find it useful to keep coming here. Still, under some strict rules and scheduling, maids come here from time to time just to make sure that the sheets and towels are fine…in the event the time could come to use it again,” Ludwig easily told as he spun the room, inspecting. Feliciano expected more an explanation, yet silence elongated.

 “Why did you bring me here?” The question was now clear, with no distraction or even noise.

 Ludwig found himself gripping an old decorative column, turned away and not even at this mentioning did he meet his gaze with the other.

 “They…won’t arrive now…I’ve only been bearing for about a month,” he reminded just in case, but Ludwig remained as he was.

 Feliciano gave a frustrated sigh, “Ludwig, millions of people are risking their lives at the field right now and it’s heavily important were there too for if Khaos returns. The alignment is in a matter of days and we cannot waste time silent like this…” the words echoed, but their spread didn’t produce a response either.

 Boiling anger began, Feliciano deciding on keeping a grasp to his cloak so he wouldn’t rail on in it. “I told you once that it hurts when you distance yourself away from me…when you hide and don’t tell me what’s going on.” It stung like it used to, producing tears and shivers. Those whimpers got Ludwig to finally turn, approaching with such love that Feliciano couldn’t deny as it wrapped around him, as it turned his head and kissed with thousands of passions, coloring and making Feliciano obeying to its ignition, mending back, hands over each other, but especially on their necks and hair, intensifying such a powerful kiss that didn’t even make them notice as they reached the bed, as they were laid, as if they were in peace, as any other day in the castle that they dedicated to their devotion. That vivacity in their gazes, that warmth that settled, those caresses on each other trusting, not controlled, they seemed to follow their own path of love.

 “I once told you…I would do anything…absolutely anything to keep you safe…to make you happy…” he took his hands and brought it to his lips, that promised shouted enough. He caressed the jewels with loving intention, wanting to whisper endless love for them as well. “…even if it means not having me… I would rather die than let anything happen to you…”

 Feliciano only saw defeat in that expression, raising his hands to caress at the side of his face. He noticed the reddening of Ludwig’s eyes, edged with tears, ones that he easily wiped away with the soft pad of his fingers.

 “No…there is no need…you die, I might as well die myself.”

 Ludwig sighed, “you’ll find your way.”

 “No! I won’t!” He brought him down and held him tighter, bringing him away from such faith. “Why do you even say that? Nothing is going to happen, Ludwig! We’re going to be fine! Everything is going to be fine.” Yet he whimpered those words, falling at his own tears, joining Ludwig’s own, both laying and keeping their hold on another, tighter, tighter, tighter and tighter, their comfort and their revolve. They wanted nothing else, they wanted no more thoughts sketched with worries, on twins, on Khaos, on alignments, on whether it was to be victorious or even not. They just wanted this wrap and let everything else crumble away.

 Somehow between that panicked fest, they breathed again, they eased, they could speak. “I like… Alexander…and Heinrich…if they’re girls…I like Analiese and…Giovanna…” Ludwig whispered tenderly, in such softness Feliciano couldn’t avoid smiling to.

 “Hmm…I think I prefer Alessandro though…and I always wanted to have a little Bella…I like Isabella.”

 Ludwig chuckled against his neck. “Fine…two boys, Alessandro and Heinrich. Two girls, Analiese and Isabella. One boy, Alessandro, one girl, Isabella. Promise?”

 Feliciano didn’t understand, but in the sweetness, in that smile and enchantment in Ludwig’s eyes as he raised to meet their gazes once again…he nodded and uttered, “…promise.”

 Ludwig leaned to his forehead, keeping the uttered well on his mind to make him sure.

 “When…I found out about what it meant you being Augusta’s great grandson,” he began, voice soothing and lulling that kept Feliciano relaxed, “…I…prepared for many things…for the alignment, for you…for if we had heirs…and…I told myself to stay true to them no matter…even if most changed and it ended…with marrying you and truly showing you my emotions…but now…” It felt like there was more that needed to be told, but there was a new care in his eyes that drove him more into Feliciano.

 “Augusta herself once used this room…”

 There was actually a painting of her with her own twin boys, the children looking glowing and beautiful…but Ludwig could read misery in the eyes of this representation of Augusta.

 Feliciano didn’t seem to notice.

 “I love you. Dearly, infinitely and the power fitted for a king,” he leaned and kissed Feliciano into a lost of that depth, hazed to the point that Feliciano swore he could only but look at the colors of this love, surely in their kingdom symbols, hypnotized and stranded that it took him a while to notice that Ludwig was no longer on him.

 “Lu…Ludwig…” he called, reaching, trying to awake. By the time things could become solid in his vision, Ludwig was already near the exit, a hand on ancient jewels and encryptions. He had already begun a spell, whispered and not a word for Feliciano to understand from the distance. He glowed powerful, eyes shining in deeper reds with even darkness in between, symbols he had never seen on him began to glow and Feliciano knew he was working on something powerful.

 “Wha-what?” He managed to sit up, to begin easy steps forward to him, but it was just as the entire room glowed in different ancient symbols, spreading all the way to the very dome, initiating…a sort of shield, coming down in quite a beautiful shade. Yet Feliciano trembled, fearing that it could fall upon him, a singular voice, sounding too similar like Augusta saying: ‘He’s doing it again…he’s doing it again!’

 “What is he-” he found himself asking aloud, hoping perhaps Ludwig could explain this time, but as he turned to him, he noticed that Ludwig was now out the door, the symbols on him dwindling…only making sure that the shield came down as it should.

 “He’s not…he’s not…”

 “So on the day they were supposed to leave to fight, to be ready to face Keron near the field…Romulus refused Augusta to come along in deep fears of losing her…so…he used power of the validity spheres to keep her, along with their twins, locked in the Heartian palace so she wouldn’t come along and so she could stay safe.” Feliciano could clearly hear Elizabeta’s voice as she had once told it, realization coming, dashing, running, trying to get out before the field landed on the ground.

 “Ludwig! Don’t! Stop this, stop it this instant!” He screamed, but it was useless.

 “Don’t touch it!” Ludwig warned, but Feliciano clashed into it as it sealed. The shot was like lighting, burning strongly on the skin of his forearm despite the cover of his jacket. He fell and whimpered at the intensity of this pain, raising his sleeve to see a burning mark. Luckily nothing reached the jewels and vines, but it tainted and gave enough warning and mock over what just occurred.

 “You didn’t…you didn’t…please tell me you’re not doing this…” he managed to beg as he set the wound aside, standing and looking forward, hoping for a sort of instant escape.

 Ludwig just stood at the other side, the magic from the spell he just used still dwindling, but there was a determination in him that put enough blame.

 “Ludwig…raise this shield now and let’s go back to the field!” He sounded hard even with hisses of pain, of more tears threatening, gripping his hands. Ludwig didn’t move.

 “Ludwig!” Feliciano called out again.

 Ludwig’s hand kept a shaking raise that made Feliciano think he was close to following, but he ended up forcing it away and continuing to stare him down with that decree.

 “…No, I won’t.”

 “Ludwig, please!”

 “I cannot let you risk your life and our children’s’ like this.”

 “It’s my duty!” He exploded in a scream that was almost maddened, unlike anything Ludwig had ever heard him in. “Even as I am bearing, it is prophesied that I am that one that has to defeat Khaos. You’ve seen me practice, you’ve seen how powerful I can be, you know I’m the only one who can stop him…” how he wanted to punch and kick with all his might at the shield, but the shimmering colors only reminded him more of the ache that could come. It only seemed to make the wound burn more.

 “You have seen me prepare as well. We have read all the books we got from Khaos’s library and I have found out more about the dark magic I possess that could help me to single handedly defeat him. You don’t have to be put at risk…you don’t have to die…” there was so much hurt in those eyes, as if the very words had become true.

 “Ludwig…” it was hard to soothe no matter how he tried, but he just had to make him understand, “I’ve seen the paintings and murals they did of what Khaos will become, Augusta has giving me nightmares and the Clubian royals read to me the writings. They’re terrifying and unlike anything we can expect or imagine. This alignment will be different, and he will surely turn into something more monstrous than what I’ve seen. Millions will die and all the kingdoms will surely perish if I’m not the one to stop it. Please don’t let this happen! Let me out this instant and I assure you nothing will happen to me…I’ll be safe, I’ll…I’ll…” with how worn and tearful he looked, he doubted he proved that image of strength he wanted to be.

 Ludwig looked on with no changes, with even a turn ready to leave. “I’ll deal with it…at whatever price.” He began his paces to leave.

 “You know what happened to Romulus after he did this exact same thing!” Feliciano shouted, broken, wishing that he didn’t have to say it, looking above as if to stop the form of tears, as if trying to blind himself with the light and not see the images these words tried to implant on his mind.

 Ludwig stopped, entering fully in the hall, as if he was already surrounded in the voids of death…but learning to be acceptive, expressionless and still.

 “You said it yourself…things can be different this time.”

 “Not like this…not like this…” Feliciano was surely using magic to keep himself standing and from falling in pieces to the floor, the last look Ludwig had of him being anger, fear and shredding, holding to his cloak to cover himself from these constant shivers…from coming apart.

 “Everything I have done and will do is for you…” the last words and he was off.

 “What have I told you about trust! About believing in me!”

 Ludwig continued.

 “This will cause us our doom, Ludwig!”

 Nothing.

 “Ludwig, please, this time I can’t go after you! Please come back! Please, please, please…”

 By now Ludwig had rounded the corner and his vision was gone. Feliciano released the hold of his cloak, losing control, walking forward to the shield, testing his palm, feeling burning heat that felt numbed with each step he heard Ludwig take away.

 “Ludwig! Ludwig! Ludwig!” He screamed to coughing, power began to burn in him and with the last call of his name, he surged and attacked the shield with the most potent of his fires…the shield only brightened in colors and nothing else.

 “Get me out! Get me out!” His cloak was gone, most of his jackets were gone, trying to use as much space and extend of his body to use whatever powerful ace magic he possessed to crash against the shield. He heard the gears of the elevator moving upwards, and by now he had become a beacon of pure red and fire light in constant battle. Even Ludwig could see the hellish glow round to his part of the hall, the last colors before he faced his ascend.

 In desperation, in only agony and tension, Feliciano was taken by an impulse to take one of the near vases and swing. It exploded to pieces with the magic and it only gave him more a testing to throw pillars, shelves, towels, toys, curtains, even the bed, throws of powerful magic being combined with the destruction of any items in the room. He screamed, his throat hoarse, tears scared his face, the shield remained as it was, shouting at him warnings of what could come, warnings that beckoned him down, made him kneel and bow before the misery.

 By the time Ludwig had reached the normal commute halls of the castle, he met with the others, waiting as desperate as he left them. They reached, already starting with their usual questions, but the most common ones: “Where is Feliciano?”

 “The old birth room,” he admitted coldly.

 “What is he doing there?”

 “Should we get him?”

 “I’m sure the coach can wait.”

 “I’m leaving without him.”

 “What do you mean?”

 “Ludwig, I insist he goes.”

 “I placed a new validity sphere shield.”

 Silence, he walked on as the others halted, crashed with the intentions, slow to reach an action, letting Ludwig carry on to the exit.

 “You cannot let this happen!” His grandmother was the first to rush in fury, a walk quick and deadly that seemed ready to execute.

 “Ludwig, what are you thinking? You know the war needs Feliciano!” Aldrich joined his wife.

 “You can’t expect to deal with this by yourself!”

 “I am just as capable, and I prefer to not be underestimated at this moment. I will stop Khaos myself and Feliciano will not have to bring himself to the misery that can come if he were to fail.” He was out, the coach still in its wait. The joker Vikings who held it were also as questioning for the King’s return without his Queen.

 “You are a fool yourself for underestimating Feliciano.”

 “I’m only trying to protect him!”

 “At the cost of the kingdoms!”

 “I will not let that happen!” Ludwig in his anger, caught his grandfather by the collar, pulling him in such an ache that Aldrich feared some sort of lash. Ludwig, at noticing such release, breathed, letting his grandfather touch the ground again and moving aside, heading into the coach, command in his stare and signals to leave back to the field. Aldrich was left breathless at such an impulse.

 “Ludwig…think about what happened to Romulus when he did this very thing…are you sure you want this to happen?” Louis said with a reached calm, hopeful yet, the rest joining in her raise, in their beg that Ludwig would give an answer that would mean his return to get his Queen.

 The King remained, no movement, no vivacity. He only shut the door decided, leaving the rest in shaking fear, broken as if Khaos was right at the entrance of their city ready to inflict darkness.

 “I’m willing to deal with whatever the consequences.”

 The dragons began the lifting of their wings, the Vikings placing the necessary spells on the coach.

 “The birthing room work as it used to. Anyone can walk in and out. You can see Feliciano if you wish…but I recommend you don’t do so this instant.”

 The coach was off high in the skies, to the known distance that would lead to the Club Kingdom, back to the war, to what was to come, the stars above them coming closer and closer to their align. The near servants held to each other, whispers of death to come, some already whimpering, others beginning a lost of color, one that they had tried to glow red with hope, go grey. The former king and queen were desolate, nearing to each other with a hold that tried to comfort, forced to believe, but it was all like a goodbye, a horrible goodbye that tainted a future. Louis whimpered and fell herself, fearing that it could have been the last time she saw her grandson.

 As they stared to those stars, they desperately hoped that history wouldn’t repeat itself. For the life of their king, things had to turn out different.

[yeehawyoongles]

BTS Vine Drabble 4- The L Word

I believe i’m giving you a challenge here but i would love to see how you execute it lol. I want to request 10, 39 and 50 // hoseok x reader (you can choose the genre, thanks 😎)

10. “I won’t hesitate, bitch.”

39. “I still love myself”

50. “But you didn’t”

Word count- 1.8K

-I’ve been given a lot of freedom here, And decided to go with a fluffy friends-to-lovers concept.  I had a lot of fun writing this, even though the plot isn’t anything outstanding, I thought the thing was kinda cute (: I hope you enjoy it as much as I did!

You can see the rules and prompts for requests here.  I would really like to do some more so feel free to send some!

“Ugh.” You groan as you sit on the side of your bed, in front of your fan.  Sticky, salty sweat coated your skin, making you look like you were fresh off of the set of Twilight.  The weather forecasts underestimated how oppressive this heatwave was going to be- there was no escape from the heat, even in the shade, fans and air conditioning units are sold out across the country and the streets are bare, save a few very brave souls who thought that they could take such heat. You stare out of your apartment window momentarily, looking at the haze which came across the neighbouring buildings, the entire city is a blur of buildings and smog.

“Time’s up with the fan, jackass. Move along,” Your friend, Hoseok, playfully pushes you.  He was, in fact, one of the aforementioned brave souls.  He had the day off, a rarity for him, and thought he would come to visit you. “This apartment is so hot, why don’t you have any air conditioning installed?”

“I don’t have the money for air conditioning,” You reply weakly, you can hear the heat drying your throat.  You stand up to close the curtains, so that the sun wasn’t coming in.  You leave the room to prepare two ice-cold glasses of water, handing one to Hoseok when you return. “Besides, AC is for babies.”

“You’re calling me a baby?” He shuffled back on the bed to stare at you with an offended expression plastered on his face, while he points his index finger towards it. “Meanwhile you still drink juice from a carton... and you have all of these soft toys in your bed?

“Hey! Don’t act like you sleep with twenty different mang plushies in your bed!” You giggle as you bicker with each other, your backs both falling back against the bed, rolling onto your sides while you do so.  It was frightening how much you two resemble each other when you laugh, especially when you are together.

“That’s not childish, that’s just being lonely.” He makes his statement as he slowly stops laughing, under his breath.  You hold your own breath for a second, processing how sad the comment was, however, your silence makes the room feel awkward, you need to say something...

“That’s not completely true,” Your voice was an octave higher than usual as it pieced through the heavy atmosphere surrounding you. “You share your room with Jimin.  He’s cuddly, you should go and receive a hug once in a whi-”

“I won’t hesitate, bitch.” - These are the last words you hear before meeting your doom, meaning Hoseok whacking you in the face with one of your plumped-up pillows.  Your nose began to ache as you let out a cry which overwhelmed Hoseok’s manic laughter.  You lift the pillow off of your face and gently slap him on the shoulder.

“Fuck you! It’s way too hot for pillow fights, I deserve the fan now, piss off.” You whine before rolling half of his body towards the end of the bed, you move in the same direction, eventually experiencing nirvana as the crisp, cool air from the fan kisses your injured face delicately.  You let out a gentle sigh at the sensation. Hoseok, on the other hand, may be dead.   His body looks limp as he half lies face down on the bed, not moving, not saying a word.  That is until, he lets out a very loud moan, swiftly sitting himself up.

“Fine! Fine! I’m sorry, I’m an idiot! Just please, please, let me-”

“Not happening sunshine,” You try to hide your smug smile, but it merely made you look even more smug, The cool breeze of the fan moving your hair. “This is mine.  Fair and square.  If you couldn’t handle the heat you should’ve stayed at home with your precious AC, shouldn’t you?”

Hoseok groaned again.  “Excuse me for being a good friend to you.  I travelled so far, in such horrible, oppressive conditions, I fought so hard to get here, only to be treated like this? That is truly shocking, you know, many girls would welcome me with open, loving arms, but you have to be the exception.  My own friend, or at least, that’s what I thought I was...” He’s practically crying by the end of his Shakespearean soliloquy, grabbing you by the shoulders and staring deeply into your eyes.  You try to look around at anything but him; you knew this was a gag, but you couldn’t help but feel a little...  Flustered.  Anyone would if the person they have had feelings for for several years would feel the exact same.  You try to pass it off as an eye roll, rotating your body to face the fan again, completely ignoring his dramatic, lengthy speech about your betrayal, for a few moments.

“I am not many women.  I’m special.  You told me that once, remember?” You say monotonously, quietly, still facing away from him, so that he doesn’t notice the redness scattered across your cheeks.

“I-I did?” He asks, a small amount of panic evident in his voice.  He shuffles in his spot, staring at his bare feet as he searches his brain for such an incident, unsuccessfully.  His cheeks too begin to redden.

“Didn’t think you would remember,” You giggle silently. “You were really drunk.  I think you were at a party, for the last tour.  You called me at three in the morning, you woke me up — Thanks for that, by the way — and I’m pretty sure I could hear you crying.  You said my name, and told me I was special.”  You both take a long pause as the story sinks in, the only thing that could be heard were your sighs and the humming of the fan.  After a few seconds, Hoseok leans forward and looks at you.

“Bullshit.”

“Hah! It made you think though, huh!” You exclaim, jumping up from the bed. “Thats how you act well, that was miles better than your Hamlet recital before!”  Your eyes were wide to match your smile, like a caricature.  However, little do you realise the mistake you’ve made.  The two of you now stare at the space on the bed that you have just vacated.  A moment passes before you both scramble in order to get to the seat, but, to your dismay, your friend prevails.

“Who’s laughing now?!” Hoseok yells before breaking into laughter at the sight of your face; the expression you made was a sight, capturing emotions of upset, betrayal, anger and humiliation.

“Ugh,” You sigh as you slump on the bed next to the throne which he had just claimed. “I swear to God I hate you Hoseok.”

“That’s okay,” He still wears a proud smile on his face from his victory. “I still love myself.”

The heat was beginning to get to your head, providing you with a sudden wave of confidence, perhaps because you are still pretty pissed off about the ordeal too. 

“Me too.” You mumble, however louder than you would’ve liked, as evident through Hoseok’s reaction.  He jumps up suddenly and stares at you intensely, as the familiar redness rises in his face, and because of his over-the-top reaction, of course you can see it. What the hell is he doing? you think.

“What exactly do you mean by, ‘me too?’” He asks, leaning towards you ever so slightly, he is definitely panicking.

You brush off your comment with ease.  “I love myself too.”  You hide a grin as you watch his reaction carefully.

You wish you could record this, his face an oscar-winning movie; He transitions from shock and slight embarassment, to disappointment, then realising that he’s showing his disappointment and smiling.

“Good,” He nods frantically, the expression completely false. “That’s the spirit we want in this house.”

His verbal response is met with a very awkward silence as you watch him, meanwhile he’s following your tricks earlier and trying to look at things that aren’t you.  At this point, you know that your feelings towards Hoseok’s goofy ass are mutual.

He extends a long finger towards your bedside table, but you don’t turn around. “I-is that a new lamp? It looks really nice, it suits-”

You disrupt him by placing your lips upon his. You do this soflty, incase he doesn’t kiss back.  However, he reacts by deepening the kiss, placing his hand on your head so that his thumb caressed your cheek.  You melt into each other, not so urgently, but nonetheless passionately; years of pent-up emotions were spilt into this single gesture.

“M’kay,” You pull away reluctantly, your skin even more clammy than before.  This is not the perfect weather to kiss someone that you deemed your soulmate back in a very old diary. The kiss, however, was perfect, a moment of calm within your chaotic relationship “perhaps, I meant that in the way that you think I did.  And no, that lamp isn’t new, unobservant jackass.”

Hoseok chuckles. “Only you would confess your feelings to me and call me a jackass in the same breath.” He rubs your sticky arm affectionately, gently.

“And that, my dear, is exactly why you love me.”

“It’s a little early for the L word, is it not?” He leans close to you, a heart-shaped grin on his face.

“I don’t know, is it?” You throw the question back to him as you lean in too.

He hums. “Don’t know, I mean I’ve felt like this forever, I’m pretty sure.”

You pause, an inquisitive look on your face.  “You kept those feelings to yourself this whole time?”

“Well yeah, I thought about telling you a couple of times before-”

“But you didn’t” You exclaim, whacking his arm playfully.

“Oh, so you’re telling me these feelings have just miraculously creeped up on you in the past few minutes?” You respond with silence, and you look down towards your toes.  “That’s what I thought,” He wears a smug smile, prodding your shoulders.  You frown. “Hey, what’s up?”

You look up and make eye contact with him. “Oh- nothing, it’s just that we really liked each other this whole time but we didn’t know? It seems like we wasted a lot of time...”

Hoseok rubs his cheek with your thumb, making sure that you keep eye contact with him. “The important thing is that we both know now, right? We can make up for lost time.  We’re ready now, I wouldn’t have done this any differently, as long as I’ve got you,” He places a gentle peck on each cheek, making your face go red as you giggle, showing Hoseok a smile he’d never noticed you do before- a smile of adoration, love.  That reminds him: “by the way, you just said like, when you technically said that you love me before because of the whole love-myself-love-you-too situation, so you love me too.”

“Too?” You ask, raising an eyebrow.

“Of course.” He says without hesitation.  He leans into you yet again.

“How did you just say the L word without saying it?” You ask, but the only reply you get is your second kiss, the smile that Hoseok gave you before hand imprinted in your mind.

[honorguk]

dating ➔ bang chan

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what it’s like to date chan from stray kids (based on my assumptions)

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─ • OVERALL:

- soft and cuddly and constantly “annoying” you with hugs

- so much pda in private and around the members but barely anything on v-live (he’s still shy)

- always checking up on you and asking if everything is okay

- “do you like this place? do you like me doing this? are you happy if i-”

- “chris, for the hundredth time, yes.”

- he converts your style into all black, just like his (he didn’t even try, either)

- constant pick up lines because he is a dad

- flowers. teddy bears. the corny stuff.

- can’t wait to bring you home to meet his family and berry

- POUTS. A LOT. usually bc you aren’t willing to cuddle him and you have work to do

- doesn’t distract you from work or school. he understands that if you give him space then he should too, which he does naturally since he has such a workload on his back already

- speaking of work, he sure is a workaholic

- like literally everyday he just comes to the dorm or your place and just falls onto the bed, and it’s usually at 3-4 a.m.

- well, that’s what he wants to do. oftentimes he phones you because you can’t don’t want to fall asleep without him (and even though you tell him he doesn’t have to do that since he’s tired he always call you to hear your voice since there’s no better way to end his day than that)

- he’ll wait until you’ve fallen asleep or if you need to go to end the call. other than that he rarely ends it himself

- when you finally meet up he just holds you. constantly

- like you’re always on his lap or under his arm or just touching yk

- deep inside he’s scared to let go - what if you leave? though it’s silly to him, that’s the way he views it. and the numerous times you’ve said that you won’t only makes him hold you closer

- but yeah when you are on his lap, though, you’re usually resting your head on his shoulders or tracing shapes on his chest or both 

- bringing takeout to the studio for him is a routine

- and lets you wear his chains and bracelets

- as much as you want to stay you get that he needs to be alone to focus better so after you bring him lunch you’d chat for a bit, possibly eat if he has the time, have a few kisses here and there and then go watch the other boys practice or somewhere else

- he’s so chill about you being friends with the members though like

- well yeah he does cuddle and touch you more around them but like obvs let him show off

- felix is jealous he’s found someone who speaks english lol (assuming that’s what you’ll speak with him)

- and chan, as much as he doesn’t want to admit it, gets jealous too (and it’s very obvious) just not with the members 

- but man if he finds out your previous bias was someone that wasn’t chan, he’ll be (jokingly) on the look out

- after the day is done you’ll give him a massage <3 usually it was only after long days of work but now long days became ALL days instead

- his neck’s always so tense. that’s where you kiss him the most, too.

- true AuSSiE accent comes out when he rants. he’ll do it in korean too but the swearing is ONLY in english. “sounds more effective” according to him. huh.

- but still shy to swear around you. you keep calling him pure and he’s waiting to show you how little innocence he has (just..not yet)

- asks your opinion on songs. you’re always the first to listen hehe

- is your best friend, basically

─ • DATES YOU GO ON:

- honestly, to get away from his hectic life you’d usually take a stroll in the park or take a walk by a riverside or somewhere nice and calm to stray away from his endless thoughts

- probably end up at a coffee shop, too. sitting by the window you’ll chatter away or simply enjoy each other’s presence in calm. he’ll be holding your hand and tracing circles on the top of it

- he occasionally treats you to expensive dinner dates and as much as he wants to do that more often he really can’t

- and can’t in general he’s got such a workload

- but most of the time you’re either in some park or at home, chilling

- also a lot of cuddling on his stupid creaky bed. felix joins you, too, he’s like your pet at this point

─ • PET NAMES:

- will pout and whine ‘babyyyyyyyy’ while smothering you in a hug

- ‘babe’ ‘princess’ ‘honey’ ‘darling’ ‘baby girl’ literally anything bro

- will also think of cringe shit like ‘honey buns’ and ‘cinnammon apple\ because he saw it in a vine once

- you call him king, baby, babe, prince, pup (he dies at the last one it does something to him)

- instant cuddle mode if you call him pup like genuinely the sub comes out (just look at the gif below oh my days)

─ • WHILE ON TOUR:

- i honestly don’t think he’ll change much? like he continues with the pet names and calling you until you fall asleep

- just he’s more confident in the jokes and pick up lines he says since you can’t see him blush

- but he’ll also check the timezones and text you good morning and good night if he wasn’t able to call

- when you don’t call, he sends you messages on how his day went and you do the same so both of you know what’s going on

- will make lil videos and send to you as well uwu

- and the other members will interrupt your calls, especially 3racha and hyunjin

- and they keep teasing you allllll the tiiiimeeeeee (but you love it, obviously, hehe)

─ • ARGUING/MAKING UP:

- as calm and collected and cool and chill as chris may seem he can and will snap.

- he tries not to, believe me, but little things tick him off, especially after a long day at work

- “oh my god y/n/ can you please...just...” he’ll begin but trail off when he realizes he sounds mean, then groans and rubs his temples

- like maybe you put his folded laundry in a different space than usual or toasted the wrong bread and yes its silly but thats what the sparks it

- will bite his tongue and the inside of his cheeks to stop himself

- like that’s the worst feeling tho - when u make him mad (even though he’s undeniably hot)

- he isn’t mad, he’s disappointed. at you if it’s evidently your fault, and at himself if its anything else. he wants to seem strong and collected but he sometimes can’t help but get ticked off

- he gets quiet, usually leans onto something/his arm onto the table or wall with his head slightly hanging down, thinking

- if its too much pressure he’ll leave, more for his own sake than anything else

- doesn’t like going to bed angry but will if he needs to prove a point. he believes the morning is clearer than night

- will never kick you out or tell you to ‘fuck off’. ever. that’s a different type of low for him

- you both end up talking it through, but it takes a little bit for him to go back to how things were before the argument, or rather how HE was

- does take a walk to clear his head or goes to the studio to let it out if its serious

─ • NSFW:

- pretty vanilla in practice, but in theory...this guy’s head is everywhere. he wants to try everything 

- takes control. a natural leader. usually a soft dom

- probs expect a comforting hand around/next to your neck, on your shoulder, or holding onto your own

- likes looking at your face but very much likes your ass so a lot of position switches throughout

- can definitely go rough, and sometimes prefers it, especially when you’re a moaning mess and hiding your crying face in the pillows as he’s pounding into you from behind and causing bruises to form on your hips

- barely speaks, but if he knows you like dirty talk he’ll have a few lines in store

- voice gets croaky and husky, will chuckle and smirk a lot

- buys you pretty lingerie and hopes you wear it, especially under his big shirt or hoodie

- has a thing for you in his clothes and chains, if that’s not obvious heheh

- will say i love you before, during, and after constantly. because he does, and you do too.

- the cutest baths and aftercare, and a lot of pillow talk and cuddling as you fall asleep. he’ll be stroking your hair, whispering sweet nothings as you fall asleep

- or it will be the other way around if he subbed that time, which is pretty often considering he’s tired and just wants someone to take control

- he’s so into being cuffed up and you taking control, not letting him touch you as he whimpers 

- “be quiet pup” “did i say you can touch me?”

- leash him up please 

- scratch him and mark him when he’s being subby it’s all he wants

- a lot of praise but throw in some degradation as well. he’ll do whatever you want omg

- but either way there are always safe words that you remind each other of, and a lot of care and love throughout <3

[audreycritter]

Rated M for language. Bruce Wayne & Dick Grayson

After a severe, life-changing injury, Dick and Bruce have an epic fight and then fall back together.

Sometimes, family hurts you the most, but that doesn't stop how much you need them.

***

The house was so quiet that the heaviness of it wrapped around Dick’s chest like thick ropes, and tightened. He was sick of it, was sick of creeping around the house where even Damian went on silent tiptoe the past several days.

He kept the milkshakes level in his hands while he turned the knob and pushed the door open with one foot.

“Hey,” he said into the shadows. The lump on the bed didn’t move. He flicked on the lights and there was an irritated huff from beneath the covers.

Dick crossed the carpet and set the milkshakes on the bedside table, irritation scrabbling up his throat like poison vines. He swallowed them down so hard it hurt. He could do this. He could be gentle and empathetic.

“I brought you a strawberry chocolate chip shake,” Dick said, grabbing a dusty book from the bedside. He blew it off, not wanting to think about what the dust said about the distance Alfred was keeping outside of necessary contact. He curled the soft binding and poked Bruce with it.

“Stop,” came the growl that was barely a word.

“C’mon, B,” Dick cajoled. “You can’t mope all the time. Sit up and have a shake with me.”

He knew the second he said it that mope was the wrong word. He could tell by the way Bruce stiffened under the mountain of blankets. The childish rebuttal he was hoping for didn’t spill out of Bruce’s clenched teeth. There was merely silence.

“Bruce,” Dick said, pleading a little. “You’re scaring Damian.”

Nothing.

“Mope was the wrong thing to say, okay. You’re allowed to mope all you want. Just do it with me instead, okay?”

Nothing.

Dick ran a hand through his hair and bit back an annoyed sigh.

“Boss Man. Up. Or I’ll get Jason in here and take him up on his bet that you can’t.”

It was a lie. Jason hasn’t said anything of the sort— Jason had barely spoken in the past week, after that first day when he’d yelled and thrown up and yelled some more. It was also maybe just too close to cruel but Dick felt the vines climbing out of his mouth and pressing against those thick, corded ropes that trapped his ribs.

“Fine,” Bruce said.

“What— no. No, it’s not fine, would you—” Dick shoved at the shoulder closest with the book again. “Sit up and look at me, dammit!”

More silence.

Then, low and rasped like tumbling gravel at the bottom of a river: “No.”

Dick sucked in a breath and willed himself to calm down.

“Please look at me. Can you try, at least? Try to drink a milkshake with me?”

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

“I get it,” Dick said, closing his eyes. “You’re angry. I’d be angry, too, I am angry, I’m fucking pissed for you. You can tell me that. I’m right here, I’ll listen to whatever you need to say to get it off your chest.”

Silence.

He poked with the book a third time.

“Bruce,” he sing-songed. “B-man. Brucester. Did you fall asleep?”

The shoulder inched away from his poking reach.

Dick exhaled loudly and rocked back on his ankles. He laced his fingers behind his head and tried inhaling, counting, and he lost it somewhere around six when Bruce let out a low, incomprehensible growl of a syllable.

“Godammit, Bruce. Would you stop? Stop shutting me out.” Dick snapped. He could hear his voice rising with his waving arms and he didn’t care anymore. “I know it sucks, I know you’re mad, but you lost your leg, not your fucking heart. You can’t just shut down like this! I’m not asking you to get up and run laps, just sit halfway up in the fucking bed and have a milkshake with me! You could at least try!”

There was silence in the room as his words died away, muffled out of any echo by the thick curtains.

The vines looped around his neck now, choking every ounce of fury out of him. When Bruce still didn’t respond, Dick’s answer was tipping over from shouting to outright screaming.

“I’m trying to help you, you asshole!”

Arguing with Bruce was like fighting a brick wall until the instant the wall became a raging, rabid bear. The breath it changed was so sudden Dick took a half step back, because Bruce flipped— finally, finally facing him— and propped himself up on one elbow. His stony face was already carved into something ugly and mean.

“I didn’t ask for your help!” he snarled, one blanket clutched in his fist as if to still it. “I didn’t ask you to come help me.”

“Maybe that’s the goddamn problem!” Dick yelled back. “Alfred had to call me because you have your head so far up your ass you can’t see that you’re scaring your kids. You’d rather just hide in here feeling sorry for yourself.”

“Alfred should mind his own damn business.” Bruce shoved further up on his elbow, but he still wasn’t eye level with Dick, not even on the high bed.

“You are his business and that’s why he fucking called me! We care about you, even if that’s impossible for you to understand. Nobody wants you to rot away in here except you. And maybe if you’d called for my help to begin with you wouldn’t even be in this position!”

“What position?” Bruce hissed. He flipped back the covers and Dick stared, and the blood drained from his face before he could control himself, and he nearly puked. The thought of a strawberry milkshake now made his stomach turn.

One leg was bruised and scraped all the way up the bare shin, and the other was simply not there below the knee. It ended in a swath of gray, soaked bandages that looked yellowish and wet in spots. Bruising was black-blue all the way up the thigh and after another second, Dick had to tear his eyes away and glare at the wall behind Bruce.

“What position?” Bruce hissed again. “Invalid? Amputee? Go on. Say it Dick. Say exactly what you mean. I don’t want your help now, I didn’t want it then. I wanted to keep you away from the situation with Killer Croc and I did exactly that.”

Dick blinked back tears, hot and rebellious as they spilled onto his cheeks.

“You can’t keep protecting me just because you get scared,” Dick said, trying to keep his voice even. It was a losing battle from the second he opened his mouth again. “I’m completely capable of taking care of myself so stop making that call for me. I’m not a kid.”

“Oh, really? But you still think you can just waltz in here with milkshakes and bad jokes and fix this. And you need to fix me, don’t you, Dick, because I’m not good enough if I’m broken. I’m already a worse father, according to you.”

“You...fucking...asshole,” Dick gasped. “You...you’re so convinced you ruin everyone’s lives that guess what? You’re a self fulfilling prophecy, you incredible son of a bitch. You did ruin my day and I’m having second thoughts about the last couple years, too. It’s no wonder someone finally got the upperhand and tore off your leg; I bet it made him sick to the stomach, too, because it was yours and you’ve just got poison in your blood, don’t you? Don’t bother calling. I won’t answer.”

Dick slammed the door on the way out.

He stomped down the stairs, muttered under his breath while he scribbled a call me note to Damian, and yanked his jacket on while blowing by Alfred toward the garage.

There was a pang of regret for the older man, whose face looked worn and more tired than it had in a while, but really that was Bruce’s fault and Bruce’s mess.

“Don’t ask me to come back,” Dick warned, barely slowing. “I’m done with him. I’m just done.”

He broke the speed limit before he was out of the long drive. ***

Clark looked at him from across the beaten kitchen table, his hands clasped together.

“How long ago?”

“Two days,” Dick said, resisting the urge to squirm.

That was the weird thing about talking to Clark. He looked right at you, didn’t tinker and work with things while you were talking. Sometimes it made it easier. It was comforting seeing evidence that you had his full attention.

Other times, it made it harder. There was no distraction. No distraction from things like,

“And you said what to him?”

“I know, I know!” Dick moaned, his face in his hands. “Just...don’t, okay?”

Face in his hands was, as it turned out, far preferable to looking Superman straight on while his eyebrows pinched down in that quizzically disappointed expression.

“I’m sorry,” Clark said. “I know you know. I’m just...Dick, you have to imagine how he’s feeling right now.”

“With his entire half an emotion, probably pretty shitty,” Dick mumbled, a spark of acid in his tone. “But he does that all without my help.”

“But…” Clark said, drawing out the syllable.

“I don’t need to make it worse,” Dick sighed. “I get it. I know.”

“You’re just confirming it for him,” Clark said. “Don’t get me wrong. I know he can be…”

“A fucking idiot.”

“...difficult,” he finished, with an acknowledging, wry half smile. “And also that. It’s okay if you need some space. It sounds like he was being pretty cruel, too, and that’s not exactly fair to you.”

“So do I go apologize? Or wait a week? Wait for him to call?” Dick’s voice broke into a hysteric, short laugh on the last one. “I mean. We both know I’d be waiting until hell freezes over.”

“Because you told him not to call you,” Clark reminded him gently. “And you know how literal he is about things like that.”

“Yeah,” Dick sighed. “I might be changing my mind about that beer.”

Clark wordlessly got up and opened the fridge and withdrew his hand with a glass bottle. He popped the cap off with his thumb, which Dick thought was one of those showy-off things that still just made him remember how much he loved Clark. Someone else could have made it look like a really obnoxious trick, but it looked natural on Clark.

“This is a northeastern brew,” Clark said, setting it down. “I picked it up at a place in Boston. Let me know if you don’t like it.”

“It’s fine,” Dick said. He was barely going to taste it anyway. His hand closed around the glass and Clark didn’t let go.

“You drink this, you sleep on my couch tonight.”

“Aw, Clark. It’s one beer.”

The grip did not relent.

“Alright, fine,” Dick grumbled. He took a swig as soon as it was free.

“There’s a sleeper sofa in the office now. Jon won’t bother you.”

“So. What do I do? Go back tomorrow? Give him space first?” Dick picked at the matte paper label on the bottle, now beading with condensation.

“I think you need to do what you know in your gut you need to do,” Clark said. “You’ve got good instincts, Dick. You know him better than anyone.”

Dick wanted to swear because he hated that, hated when Superman gave him that fatherly smile of reassurance and the ‘I know you’ll do the right thing, kiddo,’ because it made it impossible to disappoint him. There was no shirking the right move with the excuse, “But Superman told me…” There was no way to shift the blame.

“Fine,” Dick muttered. He gulped beer down and let the bitter aftertaste swill in his mouth, bubbling against his teeth.

“I’m sorry, Dick,” Clark said earnestly. “I know you’re hurting, too. It’s not fair to anyone.”

Dick nodded and kept his head down. He stared at the worn grooves and crayon marks on the table so Clark wouldn’t see him nearly cry.

“Yeah,” he said hoarsely. “It isn’t fair.”

“I’ll get some pizza,” Clark said. “You can figure out what to do in the morning.” ***

Dick didn’t last until the morning. He figured that tossing and turning on the sleeper sofa until 3 AM counted as ‘sleeping off’ his single beer. He suspected Clark just wanted to make him feel taken care of— he was like that sometimes when Bruce was being especially Bruce-ish.

In any case, Clark must have heard him folding the sofa back up and folding the blankets and unfolding his jeans to slip them back on. He didn’t come stop him when Dick slithered out the office window and crept down the building on the fire escapes.

Dawn was breaking pale gold and pink on the horizon when he pulled his cycle into the manor garage hours later. He shut off the engine and, with a weight growing steadily denser in his gut, padded silently through the house and toward Bruce’s room.

The lump on the bed was in nearly the same place. The heaviness that had been ballooning the entire trip burst now and Dick was crying before he’d even reached the bed. He paused at the edge of the mattress.

“Bruce,” he said, raggedly. “Bruce, are you awake?”

“Yes.”

Dick climbed onto the bed without waiting for further invitation. He arched to climb over Bruce, careful not to jostle him, and settled on the covers facing him in the dim light. Someone had left a lamp on across the room.

“You’re crying,” Bruce said softly. “What’s wrong?”

“‘m an idiot,” Dick said, gulping for air and choking on the words. “I’m sorry, Bruce, I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have...I shouldn’t have said all of that. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“It was true,” Bruce said, gently. A thumb reached out and brushed a tear off Dick’s cheek.

“It wasn’t— fuck. No. No, B, I was mad and scared and I don’t know how to help you. It wasn’t okay.”

Bruce’s lips parted and then he seemed to think better of whatever he was going to say. His lips were chapped and his face was marred with deep circles under his eyes, like for all the time he’d been in bed he hadn’t slept.

“I’m sorry, too,” he finally said, in a tone like sandpaper. It wore away at the parts of Dick already raw and he winced.

“It’s okay,” Dick said, scooting closer so he could press his forehead against Bruce’s chest. “This doesn’t hurt you, does it?”

There was silence.

“B?”

“No,” Bruce managed, in a voice so choked and hushed that Dick knew he was trying not to weep. His second attempt was a bit clearer. “No, it’s fine.”

“It does hurt though, doesn’t it.”

“No, it’s…” Bruce trailed off. “Yes. But it’ll be alright.”

An arm slipped around Dick’s shoulders and tugged him a bit closer, and then the hold tightened even more and he could feel Bruce shaking.

“I’m so sorry, B. It’s just fucking unfair.”

There was a shake of Bruce head against his hair and Dick exhaled at the thought that even now Bruce would try to argue that. He settled instead for slipping an arm around Bruce in return and squeezing.

“I’m sorry,” Bruce whispered into Dick’s hair. “I’m sorry.”

“Hey, hey,” Dick said, hugging. “It’s okay. You’re allowed to be pissed and sad about this. I wasn’t wrong about that.”

There was a dry gulp of a sob in the quiet room. Dick realized they’d both been whispering, it seemed so loud.

“Fuck,” Bruce exhaled.

He stilled and Dick pulled back to look at his face, and then he was wrestling out of the arm that clutched at him and sitting up on his knees and tapping Bruce’s cheek.

“B. Bruce. B, you gotta breathe. Come on.”

There was a rough nod and Bruce’s eyes pinched shut, tears in the crow’s feet in the corners.

Another ten seconds and then twenty and then there was a hoarse intake of air and a ragged exhale, and then another. Dick kept Bruce’s hand pressed to his chest the whole time, hoping Bruce picked up on his even breathing and not the wild thudding of his heart.

“Goddammit,” Bruce sobbed, when he had enough air in his lungs. His hand against Dick’s chest was shaking and his other hand clawed uselessly at the blankets and his missing leg beneath them. “I can’t...I can’t…fucking hell.”

“What do you need? What can I get?” Dick asked frantically, scanning the dresser and bedside tables.

Bruce shook his head.

“Nothing,” he said, between gritted teeth.

His hand dropped to clutch and twist in the blankets while he panted and Dick knelt beside him, feeling helpless while he tangled his fingers in Bruce’s hair to give him some kind of anchor.

Finally, after an eternity, Bruce sagged limp into the bed and pressed his face into a pillow while he groaned.

Dick, tentatively, laid back down beside him and stared at him.

“Muscle cramps,” Bruce said, not looking at him. “The nerve endings are...well. Wrong signals. Just have to...the painkillers aren’t…”

“How often?” Dick asked, his mouth dry.

“A few times a day, still. Leslie said they should lessen in frequency eventually.”

“Eventually,” Dick echoed. He wanted to cry again. “B.”

“It’s okay, Dickie,” Bruce said, hoarse but gentle and kind. How he pulled it out in those moments Dick never could figure out. “I’ll be alright.”

He sounded exhausted.

Dick slid until he was tucked up against Bruce again and swallowed back the ache in his throat.

“I love you, Bruce. I know you get weird about it, but I do. Whatever you need, say the word. I’m staying for a while.”

Bruce’s arms encircled him again.

“I don’t deserve you, chum.”

Dick had to bite back the argument that nearly flew out of him, but he managed to stop it for now.

“You think you can sleep?” Dick asked. Bruce’s hold already felt slack and weighty with drifting.

“Hnn,” Bruce said, his breath a hot whuff of affirmation on Dick’s forehead. Chapped lips pressed a kiss there. “I’ll try.”

Bruce breathing grew deep and steady and Dick turned his head so his ear was against Bruce’s ribs. He listened to the ka-thump, ka-thump, ka-thump of Bruce’s heartbeat, and let the selfish gratitude wash over him.

A missing leg wouldn’t keep Bruce down, and Bruce was alive.

Alive was enough for Dick.

He sniffled despite himself.

“Sweetheart?” Bruce said, so quietly and gently Dick thought for a second he’d imagined it. He was slightly jostled. “You alright?”

“Don’t give up, okay?” Dick sniffed again. He kept his ear right where it was.

“I wasn’t planning on it,” Bruce said. “You missed Alfred yelling at me for going to the bathroom and back on my own.”

“You didn’t,” Dick’s laugh was shaky. “B.”

“I said he already yelled at me,” Bruce defended in a sleepy whisper. “I got the message.”

“Thank you for being you,” Dick said, a bubble of hope expanding in his own chest. “I mean that. Don’t grumble at me. You’re the best man I’ve ever known. I’m glad you’re you, even if you aren’t.”

“Dick, chum, I’m trying to sleep,” Bruce said roughly.

“Sweet dreams, B. I’ll be here when you wake up and we can both apologize to Alfred.”

Bruce nodded and Dick drifted off, still listening to the reassuring beat of Bruce’s beating heart.

[warriorofdragons]

Light in the Dark Chapter 2: Recovery and Introductions

Word Count: 5.7k

Warnings: Language

You wake up to find yourself in a hospital bed. Although the room you’re in is definitely no hospital. You attempt to sit up, but whimper at the burst of pain in your side.

“Don’t move,” a man’s voice says, “You’ll only make it worse.”

Glancing to the side, you see a man in armored gear over medical scrubs standing beside the bed. Not taking your eyes off of the man, you slowly settle back down. A bit of movement catches your eye and you spot another individual similarly dressed walk away from you and out of the room. Your eyes widen when you notice that the “door” to this room has bars on it. It currently sits open but you see a heavily armed guard just opposite the door, staring silently into the room.

You have no memory of how you got here or where here even is. Looking down you notice there’s one of those heart rate things on your finger and an IV in your arm. Reaching with your left hand to pull up the collar of the hospital gown you’re dressed in; you see there’s a fresh bandage on your wound.

“Don’t touch that.”

You bristle at the man’s voice.

Smoothing the gown back down, you bring the blankets over you. You stare up at him, but he doesn’t even move to look at you. You can’t see his face, but you decide it wouldn’t be a good idea to ask him any questions.

The sound of footsteps across the hard floor draws your attention.  Looking back towards the door, you see a blue-haired elf followed by a big, red-haired man. They both stroll towards you and stop at the foot of your bed. The elf glances at the man still standing beside you and nods at him. The man moves away from you and quickly makes his way out of the room. You stare silently at the two in front of you. The elf’s blue hair is mostly tucked behind his ears save for two strands which fall just in front.

He’s well dressed of course, what elf isn’t?

His three-piece suit is a dark purple, the jacket has leaves and vines in a lighter purple embroidered across his shoulders and down his lapels. The vest continues this motif by being completely embroidered. His pocket square and his tie are the same lavender color, and as your eyes drift to his neck you fix your gaze on the silver gorget tucked neatly over his tie and under his vest. You can only actually make out a few of the words, but you don’t need to read it. The gorgeous elf in front of you was just like most of the elven men you’d seen in elf town.

Your eyes shift from the elf to his human companion. The big man was rather plain in comparison, his suit was brown and black, his hair being the only color that stood out on him. There’s a glint of metal near his waist and as you focus on it, you stiffen when you realize that it’s a badge.

Your eyes focus on the elf once more, “Who are you?” you ask.

The elf lifts his head up, “The Special Agent in Charge,” he replies.

Special Agent? Oh no.

“Where am I?” you ask.

“What didn’t nobody tell ya? You’re in the Magic Task Force HQ,” the red-haired man interjects.

Your eyes widen and you can hear the rate monitor beside you spike.

This is your worst nightmare. This is exactly what you’ve feared all these years.

“How did you find me?” you question trying to harden your resolve.

The Special Agent tilts his head at you, “You don’t remember?”

You don’t. You really don’t.

“It’s all kinda fuzzy,” is your response.

He studies you carefully. His human counterpart chuckles, “Sweetheart, you called us.”

“What?” you whisper horrified.

“Yeah, you practically begged us to come rescue you,” he continues.

Shaking your head, he has to be lying there’s no way you would call the very people you were trying to avoid. That was the last thing on your mind. The only way you would have done something like that is if…it was a last resort.

Realization hits you and you gingerly place your left hand on your side. Looking back to the elf, he still has his head tilted at you. Probably waiting for you to come to this conclusion on your own.

“How bad was it when you found me?” you ask tentatively.

He raises his head and takes a long inhale and slowly exhales lowering his head again. You hated it when elves did that.

It was a well-practiced move that looked casual, but in actuality he’s scenting you from across the room. When an elf wanted to scare someone they would get in their personal space to smell them. You know your fear must be radiating off of you but whether or not he enjoys it, he makes no show of it.

Dipping his head down, he closes his eyes for a moment and then opens them again to stare directly at you.

“You had lost a lot of blood. You were barely conscious and likely delirious,” he said simply.

“It’s probably why you were so flirty on the phone,” the ginger says with a smile.

“What?!” you exclaim, again horrified.

“I was flirting with you?” you ask.

He shakes his head, “Not me, Ol’ Kandomere here,” he says nodding towards the elf.

“Montehugh,” the elf sighs. His eyes dart towards the man as if he’d wished that he hadn’t mentioned that.

Flirting with the elf you could believe, the man’s gruff voice did nothing for you.

Kandomere’s on the other hand….

To put it simply his voice was…. nice.

You remember being alone, had you heard that voice in a compromised state like the elf suggests. Well, might as well if the odds are you aren’t going to live very long.

But you had lived and now the embarrassment was creeping it’s way into your face.

“Kandomere is it?” you begin.

“If you say that’s a nice name I swear,” Montehugh interjects.

“I- what? I wasn’t…how many times have I said that?” you blurt out confused.

The man takes his hand out of his pocket and holds up two fingers, smiling. You think for a moment, “Wait, when was the second time?”

“I was just about to get to that,” Kandomere states, looking at his counterpart, he then strides towards over to you until he’s standing next to your bed. Reaching into his jacket pocket he pulls out something small and sets it in your lap. Picking it up you examine it.

It’s a leather restraint.

What’s left of one anyways. There’s a part where it’s…been burnt through.

You swallow.

“After surgery you woke up sooner than anticipated. Evidently, the anesthesia did not agree with you,” he explains. “You suffered a panic attack and then attacked my men.”

You screw your eyes tight. “Did I kill anyone?” you ask fearful of the answer.

“No.”

You look up at the elf in both surprise and relief. He raises his eyebrows, taking note of your reaction. He extends his hand towards you, palm facing upwards. You place the restraint back in his hand and he pockets it.

“No one suffered any injuries either,” he replies, walking back to rejoin his companion.

“I-I don’t like to be tied down,” is all you manage to say.

“Apparently not,” he remarks.

“Now, how did you sustain your injuries?” the elf questions.

“I was attacked,” you respond.

“By?” he inquires.

“By a dragon,” you whisper quietly.

“The L.A. Dragon doesn’t go around attacking people. Unless they attacked him first,” Montehugh says pointedly.

“It wasn’t him okay!” you exclaim. “It was another dragon, a grayish-blue dragon with orange eyes,” you say quietly, casting your eyes downward. “Burning orange eyes.”

Montehugh looks to Kandomere.

“What else can you remember about that night?” Kandomere asks.

Rubbing your forehead, “Um, well there was an elf with him for one,” you say.

“An elf?” he asks, surprised, “What did this elf look like?”

You sigh, “He was tall, had silver hair, typical elven eye color… you… you know,” you say gesturing towards Kandomere.

“Is there anything else?” he questions.

“Because that’s real specific, no seriously it’s a lot to go off,” Montehugh says sarcastically.

“It was fucking dark okay!” you exclaim. “And I was a little bit more preoccupied with the dragon bearing down on me.” You attempt to cross your arms but immediately wince the moment you so much as move a shoulder and stop.

“Alright, that’s enough,” the elf says looking to Montehugh.

The man pulls his hands out of his pockets and puts them up in a relenting fashion. The big man sighs, “Are there any other details you’d like to share with us? Like where were you when this happened? Was there anyone with you? How did you escape? No, seriously how? It’s a dragon.”

You blink, “One: outside the city,” you say, counting off on your fingers. “Two: no it was just me, the elf, and the dragon,” you lie. “And three: I used a magic portal.”

“You made a magic portal?” Kandomere asks.

“Yes,” you lie again.

“Oh, also the elf is also a Bright,” you add.

“That might have been good to have mentioned at the beginning,” the man says. Montehugh then looks to Kandomere, “I guess we got one down, one to go.”

“It would appear so,” the elf replies, glancing at his companion.

“Okay just so we’re clear the dragon gave you that gash on your side?” the big man questions gesturing towards you. You nod.

“How are you not dead?” Montehugh asks.

“It was just a scratch, like when you smack a fly out of the air, it was at least lessened by the protection spell I had up,” you reply.

“Protection spell?” he asks.

“It’s like a dome of magic energy, with a radius of about five feet,” you explain.

“Ah,” he says nodding. “Like a bubble.”

You smile, “Like a bubble.”

You swear for a brief moment there’s a tiny upward tug at the corner of Kandomere’s mouth, but then just like that it’s gone again.

“And the storm?” the elf asks.

“Ah about that, I…that was me,” you admit, “I was using it to hide from you guys and the elf.”

Kandomere nods.

“If you could give us an approximation of where you were the other night, so that we can investigate and see if we can’t find this elf and this dragon,” Kandomere says.

You tell them to the best of your knowledge, after all it wasn’t your idea to head out there in first place. And then they take their leave and you’re left alone with your thoughts. The memories of what really happened playing over and over again in your head.

                                                                   *******

You had just finished the lunch they had brought you when the elf walked into the room. He headed straight for you and when he got near, pulled a stool up next to your bed and sat down.

“Yes?” you ask hesitantly. He’s without his jacket currently and sporting a silver-gray vest with a black tie and slacks.

He crosses his arms and eyes you for a moment.

“Yesterday after lunch the cameras in here went dead for about ten seconds,” he states. You swallow.

“What were you doing in those ten seconds, Hm?” he asks.

His eyes flicker over to your left arm. You look and remember that you’re bruises are now gone. Fuck! You shouldn’t have been so obvious!

Turning back to him, he levels his gaze with yours.

“Well? Show me what you were up to,” he says.

Nervously you clench your fists and lower your gaze.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he says softly. You meet his eyes once again and there’s this… gentleness you hadn’t expected from him in those silver eyes.

You pull back the covers and slowly lift up the shirt you had been given, just past your navel. Enough so that you could both see the edge of the bandage and the wound. Tenderly removing the bottom part of the bandage, you place your left hand on your abdomen.

Kandomere leans forward and his eyes dart from your hand to your face.

You close your eyes and focus. After a moment you feel a warmth spread from your hand to your abdomen and from there to your chest. And you feel you can breathe a little easier.

You have to stop though, because you feel a wave of exhaustion suddenly hit you. Slowly, you open your eyes and you blink a few times. Then you focus on Kandomere, who tilts his head at you and leans back.

“Was that all?” he asks an amused smile on his face.

You nod tiredly. His brows pinch together slightly.

“You don’t need to do that. It’s not necessary for-“

“It hurts Kandomere,” you interrupt him. You take a few slow breaths, “It hurts to move, it hurts to breathe.”

“We have pain medicine to help with that,” he offers.

“And what about the elf?” You ask shaking your head, “I’m human, it’ll take me months maybe even a year to heal. Do you really think that elf is gonna wait for me to get better? Or do you think he’s going to take the opportunity to finish me off?” you question.

His expression is unreadable, but there’s that slight pinch in his brows again.

“Alright,” he says.

“What?” you ask confused.

He stands, uncrossing his arms, “I’ll let you keep healing yourself,” he replies.

You’re momentarily stunned; you hadn’t expected to be able to convince him.

“Provided,” he leans in close, “that you stop tampering with the cameras and other equipment. And you don’t use any other magic without my authorization,” he says.

“Deal?”

You nod. “Deal.”

“Good, I’ll get the medics to start redressing your wound after lunch from now on. At this rate you’ll heal over those stitches,” he continues.

You hadn’t thought about that. You hadn’t thought too far ahead in all honesty. You just wanted out of here.

“I need you to work with us, not against us,” Kandomere finishes.

You smile at him and nod, “I can do that.” He smiles back, “Now get some rest,” he says, and with that he leaves you alone once again.

                                                                  *******

It takes you about five more days after that to finish healing your wound, until all you’re left with is a scar. To your continued surprise, the elf had come to check in on you every day. He hadn’t told you any more details about your case, only that he was still looking into it. You had been disappointed by that; you were honestly hoping that they would have caught the guy by now. Although, if you and your “Aunt” Selina were able to give them the run around, the elf almost certainly would.

At least today they were going to let you go home.

“Here,” one of the agents says, handing you a bin with some fresh clothes and a pair of shoes. The man was dressed in a suit and had a gun and badge on his hip, but at least you could see his face. You frown looking down at it and lift your head to stare at him.

“These are mine,” you say.

“Yeah,” he responds.

“From my apartment,” you state flatly.

“Well, I mean they searched your place obviously,” he retorts.

Your shoulders slump.

“One of the female agents picked that up for you, the other day though,” he adds, waving at it.

You sigh, and take a moment to look through it. There’s a pair of jeans, some flats, a grey, plain t-shirt, and matching bra and underwear.

Now you definitely know a woman picked this out.

It’s all relatively plain but comfortable clothing, at least you won’t stand out too much. Also, a man would have never picked matching underwear.

You take the bin and go to the bathroom to change. They’ve been relatively unconcerned about you going to the bathroom alone, because the bathroom you’ve been using is a single person one anyway and there aren’t any windows. They also post guards outside the door if you do decide to try anything. But you’ve been well behaved since you woke up (the second time), which has earned you a little leniency, (though you suspect the elf might have had something to do with it as well).

You get dressed and try to get a look at yourself on the reflective surface of the faucet. There’s no mirror in here. They’re not foolish enough to give you something potentially sharp you could use. You comb your fingers through your hair and grumble to yourself; it’s dirty and needs to be washed, but that’ll have to wait until you get home.

When you exit the bathroom, the agent walks you down a series of hallways and stairs until you get to the main entrance of the building. The agent checks his watch before putting his hands in his pockets, clearly bored. Looking through the double glass doors, you can see a couple more buildings not far from here.

You’re only made to wait a couple of minutes however, before you start to see two familiar faces walking towards you. The agent glances up at them, “Ah, there they are right on time.”

Kandomere and Montehugh walk through the two doors and up to you.

“Hey! Look at you up and walking around,” Montehugh remarks.

You smile at him and shake your head.

“Can I go home now?” you ask.

“Not quite we still have a few things to discuss,” Kandomere says.

Your shoulders droop, “But I thought-“

“Soon I promise,” he responds, holding a hand up.

You still didn’t fully trust him, but he has kept his promises so far. And you get the feeling you don’t really have a choice in the matter anyway.

The agent claps his hands together, ”Well, she’s all yours,” he says, more than happy to be rid of you. Kandomere nods to the man.

The elf then gestures for you to follow him. And you walk between the two as you leave with Montehugh in front and Kandomere behind you. Stepping outside you breathe deep at the scent of fresh air. And hope that it’s not the last time.

You walk from the building you were in, to the larger of the neighboring buildings. This one appears to be the main office building and as you enter, the three of you walk past the reception desk to the elevators. Upon entering one of them, the two flank you and Montehugh presses the floor button. As the elevator goes up, you shift uncomfortably. The elf spares you a brief, sideways glance, before looking forwards once more. The elevator stops and the doors open and the elf lightly places a hand on your back, urging you forward. You obey and step out and then the two escort you down the hallway. You pass by an open area with a bunch of desks and other agents milling about. Most of them are human with a couple of elves speaking to lower ranked agents. But you do see a handful of dwarves working on paperwork at their desks. You continue past this area and past what appears to be a break room, along with several closed office doors. Glancing down a hallway you stop.

There’s a woman’s bathroom. And you forgot to actually use the bathroom earlier.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” you say. Both agents turn to look at you. Montehugh furrows his brows, “Look, if you think we’re just gonna let you walk around unsupervised.”

Knitting your brows together, you stare at him a moment, “I would like to request a female agent,” you finally say.

“That can be arranged, Montehugh?” Kandomere prompts, turning to the man.

Montehugh smiles, “Heh, yeah I think I know just the lady for the job.”

The big man briskly walks away and after a few minutes, of which you stood in awkward silence with the elf, he returns with a dwarven woman. Her long red hair is pulled into a thick braid that runs down her back. She’s wearing a purple blouse with a black cardigan and black slacks. And a gun holstered on her hip.

“This is Agent McTavish,” Montehugh declares with a smug smile.

Her green eyes are fixed on you untrustingly. You can’t really blame her, she’s just been asked to watch a human Bright.

“Gwendolyn, if you please,” Kandomere says.

She stiffens a little at the use of her first name.

“Alright, come on,” she says motioning you in the direction of the bathroom. “Let’s get this over with,” she then mumbles.

McTavish has you walk in front of her into the bathroom, her hand placed over her sidearm. As you go into one of the stalls and turn around to close the door you see her staring unblinking at you, and you slowly close the door, finally breaking the uncomfortable eye contact.

When you lift up your shirt, you spot the still fading scar on your right side. You brush your fingers over the mark. With a few more healing sessions it’ll be completely gone, but you need to recoup your strength first. You let out a sigh and finish up, carefully opening the door when you reemerge. That’s when you notice the shoes Agent McTavish is wearing. They’re a pair of white and black Mary Jane heels with little, black bows on them.

“Your shoes are cute,” you comment pointing to them.

“Thank you,” she deadpans, refusing to take her eyes off of you.

You smile at her and walk to the sink. Agent McTavish moves to stand behind you. Washing your hands you look up and can barely see her head and shoulders over the counter.

“Hey how do you-“ you start to ask.

“There’s a stool,” she says flatly, interrupting you.

You look under the counter and sure enough there’s a wooden stepping stool tucked under the counter. “Oh,” you reply.

You dry your hands and once again she has you walk in front of her as you leave the bathroom. She then escorts you back to Kandomere and Montehugh.

“Thanks, Gwen,” Montehugh says.

She nods at him and then walks away.

“Alright, Sweetheart, let’s go,” Montehugh says with a smirk.

You sigh and follow the two agents once more.

The two lead you down a hallway to a door and Kandomere opens it for you. You walk into the rather spacious office. It was bigger than the other offices you had passed earlier leading you to presume this one must belong to the elf. Directly on the opposite end from you was a heavy wooden desk with a leather office chair and two leather chairs in front of it. The large glass windows that covered the entire wall behind the desk had the blinds pulled open letting in the afternoon light. To the right there was a leather couch with a glass coffee table in front of it and a standing coat rack beside it. To the left there were a couple more leather chairs turned out at an angle to face one another with a small end table between them, along with some filing cabinets on the side furthest from you. Kandomere strides over to behind the desk and takes a seat, and gesturing to one of the chairs in front of him he says, “Please, sit.” You sit in the left chair and Montehugh sits in the one next to you.

Once you’ve made yourself comfortable the elf speaks, “We’ve investigated the area you’ve specified and there’s nothing there.”

“What?!” you blurt out shocked.

“There’s nothing there, because it’s been glassed,” Montehugh announces.

You look from the man to the elf.

“Which is evidence enough that a dragon was there,” Kandomere states. “However they have covered their tracks and it will be difficult to find them,” he continues.

You lower your head.

“We did find something else,” he says, reaching into his desk and pulling out a file. Opening it he takes out a few photos and places them on the desk in front of you. You pick up the pictures and examine them, the twisted and melted bits of metal that was your car is almost unrecognizable.

“Had a chopper sweep the area to look for anything else, found that about ten miles from the site,” Montehugh explains, tapping the photos in your hand.

“Bastard, flew off with my car,” you scowl.

“I was hoping it’d still be okay but-“ you mutter.

You glance up and Kandomere has his eyebrows raised slightly and his fingers steepled as he rests his arms on the chair.

“I tried to make a run for it when the dragon showed up, but then he just picked up my car and disappeared with it,” you explain.

His pale eyes stare at you closely.

“You had a bag with you, when we found you,” Kandomere begins.

You’re afraid you know where this is going.

“Yes,” you admit.

“And in it we found a couple of spellbooks: one in Övüsi and the other in English,” he continues. And there it is.

“There were also some spell components. Our guys down in the lab think they were a part of a tracking spell,” Montehugh chimes in.

“And a number of the components had already been used,” Kandomere states.

“So I will ask this once, what were you doing out there?” he asks flatly.

You can’t tell him. If you tell him, you’ll definitely end up in prison.

“I was looking for something,” you say.

“That much is obvious. What were you looking FOR?” the elf questions, his tone serious.

“A necklace,” you say. It’s not entirely the truth, but it’s not exactly a lie either.

“It…it belonged to my Aunt. My ex-boyfriend stole it and told me he threw it out there. So I went looking for it,” you lie.

He raises his head slightly and his eyes move from you to Montehugh and then back.

“But it started to get dark and I got a little lost heading back to the car and that’s when I accidentally stumbled on the elf,” you continue to lie.

“Then what happened?” Kandomere questions.

“He seemed angry that I had discovered him and shouted something into the sky,” you say.

“Like what?” Montehugh asks.

“I don’t know,” you admit, shaking your head. That much is true, you don’t know what language the elf spoke but it hadn’t been Övüsi.

“Then the dragon flew down and scorched the ground. I put up a spell to protect myself and then tried to run to the car,” you explain. “The dragon took off with it, then came back, landed and did this,” you finish, gesturing to your side.

Kandomere nods, “Thank you, for clearing that up. Now, seeing as you don’t have a car, I will have a couple of agents escort you home.”

“We’re also gonna be watching your place for a while,” Montehugh says, “Don’t want you skipping town on us.”

“Oh one more thing,” Kandomere speaks, reaching into another drawer. He pulls out a clear plastic bag containing: your wallet, keys and cell phone and hands it to you. You open the bag and take out your cellphone; noting that it’s been switched off.

“I’ve taken the liberty of programming my work cell number into your phone. Should you need me,” he offers.

You stare blankly at your phone. Did the elf just give you his number? I mean it’s his work number, but still.

“I won’t, but thanks,” you reply, and stuff the phone into your back pocket.

“Can I go now?” you plead.

“You may,” he replies.

Montehugh stands, “Alright, come on, Sweetheart,” he says.

“Don’t call me that,” you snap with agitation.

You follow him out of the room and back down the hallway until you reach that room with all the desks again. The two of you maneuver through them until you spot a familiar face. The dwarven woman from earlier is silently watching you approach, along with a pale man with greasy, slicked back hair.

“This is Agent Davidson and you’re already familiar with McTavish,” Montehugh states. You nod.

“Alright now play nice, Princess,” Montehugh remarks with a pat to your shoulder before walking away. You sigh at the new moniker he has chosen. Turning your attention back to the two agents, “So is this your partner?” you ask her.

“No,” she responds quickly.

“Her partner is out sick, so I’m fillin’ in,” Agent Davidson explains.

“She usually sits right over there,” and he points to a desk with a nameplate that reads: ‘Hernández.’

You look at her desk and then look across from it to see that Davidson’s faces hers.

“Maybe she got sick of staring at you,” you joke.

McTavish covers her face with her hand and tries to hold back a snort. Davidson frowns.

“Alright, let’s go,” he says now shoving you in the direction of the elevators.

McTavish follows, “Sick of staring at you,” you hear her snicker under her breath.

                                                                 *******

They escort you to your apartment and you unlock the door. You flip on the lights and walk into the living room. Agent McTavish stays at the threshold of the open door, while Agent Davidson stays in the hall.

You knew that the MTF had searched your place. As soon as they had found out your name you knew they would come here.

But looking at it?

It’s more disheartening in person.

The books have been thrown off the shelves, the couch cushions and pillows thrown to the floor. The potted plants have been uprooted, ripped from their containers and soil is now spilt all over the floor. And it seems someone stepped in it at some point, because there’s boot prints leading around the room and then out the door. From here you can see they’ve gone through the cabinets in your kitchen and left a lot of the drawers and doors open. Glancing at your bedroom down the hall to the left, you can see that your clothes have been strewn about the floor. Turning your attention back to the living room, you spot a picture frame that had fallen off the wall and onto the floor. It’s laying face down and when you walk over to it and crouch to pick it up, you’re met with the tinkling of glass as it falls out of the frame.

Shoulders slumped, you sigh and place it back down.

You can clean later.

You look over at McTavish who’s taken a few steps in and is looking around. She opens her mouth to say something then thinking better of it, closes it again.

You walk back over to her, “I’m probably just gonna take a shower and then head to bed,” you state, gesturing down the hall.

“Um, there’ll be an agent by tomorrow morning to pick you up,” McTavish says.

“Alright, what time?” you question in a quiet, emotionless voice.

“Eight,” McTavish answers.

You nod. Agent McTavish looks around again and fixes you with a look of sympathy. It’s a far cry from earlier today, but at the moment you just want to be left alone.

“Well, goodnight,” McTavish says.

“Goodnight,” you respond, shutting the door as she and Agent Davidson leave. You lock the door and put the chain over it.

Walking to your room you turn the light on, you briefly survey the damage you couldn’t see from the hall, set the plastic bag down, and reach into an already open drawer from the dresser and pull out a pair of panties and a nightgown. Then you walk into the bathroom and set it on the counter. You take off your shirt and then move to take off your pants and realize that your phone is still in your back pocket. Turning it on, a cursory glance shows you have no new notifications, but looking through the missed calls you have plenty of them.

Of course they looked through your messages.

Dozens of missed calls from people at work, your boss, and… your Mom. Closing your eyes tight, you then switch to look at your voicemails.

It’s full.

The most recent ones are from your Mom, there’s some from your boss, and your coworkers too. You scroll back further and stop when you see a familiar name. Selina.

You stare at it for a moment and then press play.

You hold the phone to your ear and after a moment you hear a voice, “Hello, it’s me. I think I have a lead on where we might find that thing I was telling you about. Meet me in our usual spot in an hour.”

Tears well up in your eyes and begin to stream down your cheeks.

Taking the phone you stalk back to your room and throw it down on the dresser and return to the bathroom and slam the door. You take off the rest of your clothes and hop in the shower. Turning on the water, you lean back against the wall and bury your face in your hands, and sob.

You don’t know how long you stayed in the shower, but at some point when you’ve calmed down somewhat, you actually manage to wash your hair and use soap. Eventually, you do get out when the water turns cold and forces you to. Drying off with a towel, you put on the clean clothes and wander to your bedroom.

Spotting the phone you pick it up absentmindedly and plug it into the charger you left near your bed. Whoever had searched your apartment had also searched under the mattress and you take a moment to shove it back into place. Placing the comforter and pillows back onto the bed, you close the bedroom door and turn out the light. You sit on the bed a moment staring into space and then reach to pull the covers back. You rest you head on the pillow and curl up, wrapping the covers tight around you. You close your eyes and try to go to sleep.

[dulciscoeur]

It took me some time, but the last chapter of Lapses is finally up. Click here if you want to read the whole fic on AO3. Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Relationships: Lou Miller/Debbie Ocean Summary: Lost time doesn’t matter now. Trigger warnings: child neglect/abuse, trauma, dissociation. It’s angsty!

Lapses

Chapter 1: Conquest

Lou wakes just past three thirty. January is unapologetically cold, bringing along freezing air that filters through the places of her loft that don’t quite close or aren’t sealed properly. The only illumination comes from city lights outside and the pink Christmas lights on the opposite wall that she forgot to turn off last night, her attention focused on something-- someone else. Frost creeps up the windows behind Debbie’s sleeping form next to her the same way that realization of what they did just hours before creeps up her spine to settle vividly inside her mind. It definitely makes the cut for her top three most precious memories. She smiles, lets warmth sink into her chest when her eyes travel to Debbie’s face.

Debbie looks softened like this, no barriers around her. Lou thinks of lilies and soft summer breeze. Shadows from the snow falling dance across her face, bare shoulders and comforter like military expedition ghosts. Her lashes, dark and curled, rest against the softness of her cheeks, lips slightly parted. Fingertips ache to touch them, itching at the sense-memory, now familiar with how they feel against the pad of her skin. Lou moves as quietly as she can to rest on her side, right hand advances slowly as does the tightening in her heart.

The sound of the ice maker slices the quiet of the night, and she retrieves her hand as if she were a child caught doing something wrong.

Maybe she is.

Falling in love with Debbie came organically, an inevitable fate that she couldn’t nor wanted to fight against. Doing something about it though, that was something different. She was painfully aware of that, looking away whenever she caught herself admiring the way Debbie’s mouth curled when she spoke, making sure her hand didn’t linger on her lower back for too long when guiding her through doors, or straight up leaving the room when her emotions were too much to handle, her lone-wolf personality as an excuse.

Debbie interrupts her thoughts mumbling something in her sleep and snuggling closer to Lou, smooth legs wrapped around her like silky vines. The warmth emanating from her body is well appreciated, and she sighs at the time lost. When Debbie squeezes Lou with her arms, a small smile on her lips barely imperceptible in the dim light, Lou closes her eyes. Lost time doesn’t matter now. She lets the current of her emotions pull her back to sleep.

Chapter 2: War

Lou’s sipping the last of her coffee when Debbie wakes, eyes wide for a moment. Lou watches her from the small kitchen, half expecting Debbie to sigh in relief once she realizes where she is. She knows Debbie got good at sleeping at unfamiliar places, growing up with a dysfunctional family that would take her to jobs if needed. But this is not a hotel room, or the back of a car, or even a friend of her dad’s house. This is Lou’s bed and so Lou’s not really disappointed when, instead, Debbie sits up and smooths her hair, face twisting with concern. Judging by the way she does sigh, definitely not relieved, she’s either still confused or, on the contrary, very aware of where she is and what’s happened.

Lou suspects the latter.

She wasn’t expecting Debbie to have a breakdown once guilt (or regret) settled in, exactly. But she’s cursed with knowledge and some part of her she’d tried really hard to ignore figured she would react like this. Debbie’s predictable that way.

It still takes her by surprise— the tightening that forms a lump in her throat, the prickling of hot tears behind her eyes. She finds a distraction by pouring water into a cup of tea she had prepared for Debbie, instinctively dissolving two teaspoons of sugar in it, painfully aware that she’s done this so many times before under different circumstances that she knows how Debbie takes her tea without having to even think about it. Of course.

Feeling strangely out of place, she moves slowly and deliberately to let Debbie know she’s there. Debbie’s peripheral vision catches the movement and she regards her presence with a stare, whole body going tense. Her face is impassive, but Lou sees right through her.

Quietly, so as not to scare her: “Hey.”

Brown eyes remind her faintly of a scared deer before Debbie looks away, eyeing the items of clothing carelessly discarded the night before scattered on the bed and floor, mentally targeting each, and then standing up to collect and most likely erase (at least) the physical evidence of what happened between them as fast as she can, not even bothering to hide her nakedness.

Deep burgundy underwear in hand, she has the decency of darting her eyes at her when she says, “Lou,” her name on her lips a blend between an embarrassed apology and a low warning. Don’t.

It absolutely guts her, how Debbie acts sometimes. Lou’s used to ignoring it, the way Debbie just pretends her actions don’t have any impact on the people around her, as if the things she does and says don’t affect anyone except her. A whole minute of silence, Debbie in her bra and panties now, and Lou’s tired of pretending.

There’s a coppery taste on the back of her tongue when she speaks.

“We need to talk about this.” She slides the mug intently towards her on the breakfast bar that serves to divide both the kitchen and the bedroom, and them both. An unspoken threat.

Debbie stares at the mug as if it were a Molotov cocktail, then back at her, and Lou senses her trying to decide whether or not to act like she doesn’t know what she means. Scrutinizing her, she holds her gaze steadily, impassively. Another minute of silence (or hours, Lou doesn’t know anymore) where the weight of her words thread through the space between them, making its heavy presence impossible to ignore, humming and buzzing in the air like tension wires.

A sigh at last, defeated, Debbie gives her that face that says she’s irritated by Lou mind-reading her before moving to the end of the bed where her pantsuit is.

Lou can’t find the strength to look away from the paleness of Debbie’s legs starting to disappear as she puts the dark grey fabric on. She finds herself taking mental notes of the newly discovered birthmark on her upper thigh, almost hiding where the silk of her underwear begins; convinced that would be the last time she’ll see it. Africa-shaped, kind of. Faint cinnamon in color. Small, but noticeable if you’re close and interested enough. Which she is, both. And then the pants move upwards, upwards, past it, and Lou suddenly feels like she’s lost something valuable.

Her gaze flicks back to Debbie’s face, where a pantomime of emotions plays out across her features.

Debbie breathes in deeply, smiles a sad smile right into Lou, and says, quiet, like an afterthought, “Okay.”

Chapter 3: Famine

It hurts Debbie, looking at Lou’s hopeful expression and knowing it’s about to turn into something much more hurtful because of her. So she doesn’t, because it’s pitiful and that’s the last emotion she wants her face to show when she takes one last look at Lou and says the words that weight heavy on her chest, struggling to come out and cause inevitable damage. She’s also selfish and knows that look will haunt her later, and God knows for how long, which is the last thing she wants. They’ve known each other for years now, and Debbie sort of curses Lou for making her do this. Lou knows better than to force her to explain her feelings (feelings she’s more than happy to ignore and go back to pretending that nothing changed between them), knows better than to trick her into confessing why this (whatever this is) shouldn’t be happening in the first place.

Debbie manages to get through the awkwardness of getting dressed while pretending that Lou wasn’t blatantly staring, and finds herself moving to sit on the small couch where Lou’s already taking up half the space with her legs spread. She considers sitting on the coffee table to put more distance between them without it being so obvious, but she’s not so certain it will hold her weight and isn’t particularly inclined to find out. At last, she settles for the second best option, which is as far away from Lou at the other end of the couch as she can.

She feels Lou breathing deliberate shallow puffs of air in and out waiting for Debbie to look at her, the burn of those stubbornly expectant blue eyes that surely already predicted what she’ll say but probably want to, knowing Lou, search what truly hides in Debbie’s eyes when their gazes lock as she finally speaks, looking to find any hint of emotions that’d contradict her words and give her away. So Debbie keeps her face lowered, glares intently at anything that isn’t Lou, partly because she can’t bear exposing herself like that, but mostly because she’s never been one to make things harder than necessary. A pragmatist, if she’s ever seen one.

Still.

Her mind runs with thousands of useless excuses she could use to get out of the situation. Her eyes flicker to her phone on the bed, hoping for something to come through instead, a call about an emergency that requires immediate attention.

No such luck.

Reluctantly, she decides that Lou deserves better than her stalling. She deserves better than her, period. As ready as she’ll ever be and not wanting to prolong the tension any longer, she opens her mouth, only to be interrupted by Lou.

“At least have the decency of looking at me when you say it,” comes dryly, measured voice through clenched teeth.

Oh. So she really is tired of letting her off the hook. Fine.

Debbie sternly instructs her face to stay impassive, tilts her head and finds Lou watching her almost defiantly. Defiant is better than hopeful, she supposes. She’s not sure why that doesn’t make her feel any better. If anything, the pang in her chest feels even more painful than before.

“This can’t happen again.” She says simply and honestly, and it’s about as cold as she was afraid it would be.

“I thought you’d say that,” Lou says automatically with an irritably knowing look on her face, but the usual fondness in her voice is nowhere to be found, replaced instead by a disappointed but unsurprised tone.

Debbie doesn’t remember moving closer, but somehow, her leg is almost pressed against Lou’s, and she’s acutely aware of her own body betraying her, embracing the warmth that seeps through her skin with a sigh she thinks for a second she had managed to suppress, but if Lou tensing next to her is anything to go by, she hadn’t. Lou notices because of course she does, she’s fluent in Debbie.

Debbie almost rolls her eyes. There’s an odd stirring and restlessness in her limbs as if she were physically rejecting this whole situation.

She is used to being the one in control. She is used to well thought out plans that she ploys carefully in advance so that everything happens as it should, her mind calculating every option and possible outcome in every situation because being a few steps ahead makes her feel safe. She’s used to knowing what to say and do, which is why her mood further darkens as helplessness takes over her.

She’s never meant for any of this to happen because yes, they flirt, their bodies are drawn to each other magnetically and the air is filled with undeniable chemistry buzzing and sparkling between them even in the most innocent exchanges, but before last night, Debbie could count on Lou to efficiently make a witty remark when the atmosphere got too heavy and lighten the tension so that Debbie could breathe again.

It’s not that she feels like she’s drowning when Lou invades personal space or says something that’s charged with a little too much double entendre, enough to make her chest heave unpleasantly, which happens more often than she’d like. It’s just that the air catches in her throat when there’s not enough physical distance between them and her mind feels foggy at the innuendos and the blood thrumming incessantly in her ears makes it impossible for her to concentrate on whatever task she’s taking care of that needs to be done properly lest she makes out of character errors— which leads to her feeling like she’s losing touch with who she is, which then leads to her needing something to ground herself. That something usually being Lou reading her body language and taking a step back instinctively, giving her space, or Lou willing her eyes to erase the unbearable adoration (raw enough to suffocate Debbie sometimes) that shows there when Debbie catches her staring without meaning to, or Lou changing the subject and guiding the conversation into (safe) work-related territory when her actual feelings for Debbie lurk behind a teasing joke. All things that Debbie greatly appreciates because she relies on them being part of the equation, part of the routine.

That is, until now.

“I just can’t afford to lose you, Lou, when I eventually fuck up,” Debbie catches herself saying, only the slightest hint of a waver in her voice.

Lou seems to chew on that for a minute, but apparently decides it’s not good enough for her. Debbie sighs impatiently, not sure what Lou really expects.

“I’ll hurt y--”

“Oh, don’t fucking patronize me!” Lou bites out wryly, offended that Debbie would still try to take the easy way out. “Don’t make this about me. You don’t wanna face your feelings, fine, but don’t pretend this is about you worrying about me,” her voice is brittle and crisp.

Lou’s only inches away from her face now, a fact that Debbie only noticed because all her instincts are telling her to move back as if Lou’s hard expression were scalding her, earnest as ever, eyes roving across her face trying to read her.

Debbie can feel herself pale despite her best efforts to keep her composure, words caught in her throat. “I--”

She sees the exact moment Lou realizes she’s pushing the right buttons, holding her gaze and refusing to let go. Her mind registers the shift with panic, caught like a prey with no escape. Lou’s intent on further needling at her, Debbie knows she wants to make sure she feels as off-balance as she’s feeling.

“I’m more than capable of keeping things professional, Debbie. In fact, let’s keep it at that from now on. That means you don’t get to send mixed signals,” Lou snaps heatedly, standing up abruptly and whirling to walk towards the bed to grab Debbie’s phone and put it inside her purse forcefully.

Debbie stands up awkwardly, looking at Lou inching closer to her, tries to clear the dismay from her face when Lou shoves the purse to her chest, dismissing her.

“You don’t get to flirt with me the way you do and then push me away whenever you feel like me flirting back is too much.” Lou hisses, careful to keep her voice low, threateningly forcing her to step back towards the exit without ever touching her, even when Debbie trips on her feet a little. 

“You don’t get to put your hands on me and then act like I’m the one who’s pushing it too far when I lean into your touch,” Lou pushes on, almost nose to nose, blindly opening the door beside her, glare glued to her own. 

“You don’t get to act jealous and possessive when a woman looks at me, because I see you, Debbie, and I’m not your fucking toy. You don’t get to play with my feelings anymore,” Lou finishes, radiantly angry; but before she shuts the door in her face, Debbie manages to catch the hurt that passes across her blazing eyes.

Chapter 4: Death

Debbie’s eight the first time it happens. It was supposed to be exciting, the first winter storm of the year, but that day something more than just snow falls around her and eight-year-old Debbie dies, along with most of her innocence and all of her immaturity.

And at that moment, dying felt like this: Being held from behind by big muscular arms that are too strong for her fragile body. The cold barrel of a gun like a kiss of death pressed against her temple, the foul smell of alcohol hot in contrast at her cheek when the man speaks,

“I won’t hurt her,” he says, voice thick. You already are, Debbie wants to say, “if you just give my boss his money back.”

The playroom is freezing despite the fact that the heater is working. The temperature was not supposed to be a problem because Debbie took it all into consideration when she made the list of things she needed to keep herself warm: her fluffiest stuffed toys, piled up pillows and blankets on the carpet and a mug of hot cocoa. Now the improvised fort sits abandoned and the beverage must be as cold as she is in just her pajamas.

His father looks at her like he’d just realized she was there, and Debbie tries her best not to cry because he doesn’t like it when she does but the tears prickle her eyes all the same.

Oh, but then.

The hesitance she reads in his face digs a hole deep and wide in her chest that webs out and expands, expands, expands with every passing second until there’s no more room and suddenly something clicks and everything shatters, tears spilling down her face that somehow have nothing to do with the stranger holding her and everything to do with the one that’s looking at her like he’s considering her worth with mild resentment, like she just cost him his plan. She understands, because she’s little but she’s always been too smart for her own good.

Mr. Ocean opens his mouth to speak, but before he does, the man’s cell phone rings and he interrupts him to answer, the hand holding the gun still aimed at Debbie’s head.

She stands in place, dead but not quite gone. Listening, but not really.

She somewhat feels like she’s escaped her body to watch the scene develop from above, like the camera that hangs on the corner of that very room— unmoving, quiet, like an all-seeing eye rhythmically blinking red.

Her gaze darts down to stare at her own chest quizzically like it’s a stranger’s, contracting with sobs that she didn’t know were breaking through her. It looks like it should hurt but it doesn’t. She tries to logic her way out of it, to will her body to stop whatever it’s doing because it’s scaring her, but there’s no response. She feels empty, like static on a radio signal that chirps with every little breath she takes but that communicates nothing but buzzing hollowness, interference noise that makes no sense to her.

The idea of continuing to exist physically trapped, limited and controlled this way suddenly overwhelms her.

She says, “I can’t feel,” but it comes from the voice inside her head instead of her own, the words caught in her throat like fragments of bone.

She forces herself, ruthlessly, to swallow in much the same way she does when they have Borscht for dinner. Her mouth is sandpaper dry, but she thinks it would be silly of her to ask for water.

Instead, as if she were in class, she tries really hard to pay attention to the man’s chatter that continues to reach her ears like her head is sunken underwater, distorted. With difficulty, because the lurch of terror that is making her sick is still there, she follows the sound of the voice that seems to be coming from another room until the syllables start to make sense. There are curse words, lots of them, then something about his boss’s rule, not harming any kids and coming back. For her father, she supposes. It should make her feel bad. She feels guilty that it doesn’t.

When the man lets her go, she barely registers the burn on her knees as they hit the carpet.

After some time, when she looks up, there’s no one else in the room with her. After some more time, when the sun is starting to set, Danny finds her, curled up on the bed of pillows and talking to herself. Lately, he’s been ignoring her because he thinks he’s a grown-up, and Debbie only notices his presence when he asks if she’s seen his special deck of cards.

“No,” she says. Something in the way she’s said it must’ve caught his attention. He stares at her. She stares back. “What?”

“What’s wrong?” Danny asks in that worried voice that’s reserved only for her.

She tells him what happened mechanically because they never told her she should keep it a secret and she likes that he is finally talking to her again like he used to. She decides she won’t cry because she’s afraid he’ll think she’s not strong and she wants to prove that she is. Danny looks at her like she’s weird, as if trying to figure out what’s wrong with her. Before Debbie can get defensive because she thinks he doesn’t believe her, he rolls his eyes, embarrassed about what he’s about to do, then hugs her for the first time in months and sits with her to teach her about Schödinger’s cat.

He says it might make her feel better.

It... doesn’t.

She understands the concept, kind of. Mostly. But it still upsets her that Danny is defending their father to some extent and acting like “dad isn’t capable of doing such a thing.”

“Yeah, to you,” she thinks.

“You weren’t there to see it but I was!” she wants to say.

Instead, because she’d hate to make her brother sad:

“Thanks. I feel much better.” Her index and middle finger are crossed behind her back. “Now leave, loser. Unless you wanna have a sleepover with me and Ms. Sprinkles.”

She looks pointedly at the light pink teddy bear that’s been sitting next to them smiling perpetually.

He leaves and she doesn’t sleep, that night and many others, wondering what would’ve happened if rules about harming children didn’t exist and her father hadn’t been interrupted.

Debbie hears what people don’t say. Always has: the “I’m not” behind every dishonest “I’m sorry” she’s ever received, the “I’m doing this to hurt you” that’s covered up by “this is for your own good”, the “but” after every “I love you” before the words are even spoken.

“but you can’t give me what I want and this is not enough.”

“but there’s something wrong with the way you handle emotions that I can’t quite figure out and I rather leave.”

“but what is it with you and your family?”

“but you won’t open up and let me in.”

To read unspoken words and non-verbal cues is freeing as it is useful. She did make a living out of it after all, collecting paychecks thanks to her ability. Or more like stealing them. But for all her skills, she’s pretty bad at reading angry Lou, because her anger has never been directed at her and she doesn’t know what to make of that because it’s not the type of anger she’s used to being surrounded by growing up.

No shouting, no threats, no punishment. There’s only cold and she’s good at reading people but she’s not good at reading... nothingness.

She’s lost track of how many times she’s knocked on the door that Lou just closed, fighting not to let her body sink to the floor. She waits for the clamor, for the door to open again and the sharp accusations to cut deep into her but they never come. She waits and waits and waits but she’s not sure what answer she’s expecting, if there will be one at all, because she’s saying something but she doesn’t know if she’s apologizing or cursing or making sense at all because already she’s starting to experience the sounds coming out of her mouth in the surreal, distorted way she recognizes and loathes.  

Lou’s silence is so loud she can hear it over her own heartbeat thrumming erratically in her chest and echoing in her ears.

Her heart weighs heavy in her chest when she accepts silence is an answer in itself like she used to accept her mom telling her TV static is expected during a storm. The last thing she remembers before willing her feet to leave is telling Lou “I understand”, and braces herself to listen to white noise buzzing and humming, glitched and broken, for however long it takes for the signal to come back.

Lou doesn’t speak to her for four days. Her absence in the aftermath is abrupt, it leaves a mute echo everywhere and only hollowness to fill her outstretched hands with, wrapping her up in a cemetery quiet similar to the one she sees in the movies after a grenade has gone off.

Coincidentally, she feels the passing of time acutely during those days, like a sharp blade that is slowly sinking into her, making it bleed pain inside - pain that seeps over, under, around.

She’s thought about calling her, about texting her. She’s considered knocking on her door, going to the places she knows she frequents, asking about her to a friend in common.

Endless possibilities, but all of them with the same result: breaking her trust by disrespecting her boundaries. And as a result, watching the ledge she is standing on begin to crumble, only to shatter and widen the space between them like a rift in the landscape.

Lou has never asked anything of her before. Debbie owes her this, respecting that she wants to be left alone.

It is more than she knows what to do with, but she tries.

It’s hard.

Debbie thinks that she should be used to knowing what dying inside feels like by now. She became capable of not being paralyzed by it because she’d been forced to adapt to survive as a little girl. Good times. The thing is, after she’d left the family house, she never felt the need to fight to regain control of herself again, and now that is happening to her more often than she considers fair and she feels out of practice.

She tries to remember how to block out her emotions enough to function properly but not so much that she disconnects from her body, because that’s even worse.

She can’t remember and she loses herself, over and over again. Each time is different, each time feels the same.

Five days after that day, the day when everything went wrong, she gets a text from her. Lou tells her she should talk with Tammy, then doesn’t reply to her when she tries to make conversation. Debbie takes the hint with a heavy heart, grateful that at least she is speaking to her, and eventually meets Tammy at a café after a long panic attack bent over behind a drugstore that has seen better days.

Tammy counts four different pill boxes at the bottom of Debbie’s purse when she opens it to put the paper with all the necessary information of the target into her bag. She is smart enough not to mention it but she does ask,

“Is that everything you need?”

“Yes,” she answers too quickly. Tammy looks at her, achingly sweet. Debbie’s right leg bounces impatiently.

“Debbie...” her voice holds an extra layer of caution like the one people use on wounded animals.

Even knowing she means well, she resents her for it.

“I’m fine,” she says, flat.

She’s not. Tammy must notice because she touches her arm very gently before saying goodbye.

Debbie finishes her tea watching the snowflakes fall outside the café window, one after the other. If she could muster any sort of fondness for it she would, but she just rolls her eyes because she has come to hate winter. No need for another reminder of how she feels inside.

There is a party being held at this hotel, Tammy had told her. Lots of rich people. Lots of stupid rich people. Lots of stupid rich people drinking. Easy. Tammy also telling her Lou would be there had been more than enough for Debbie to put extra effort into the way she looked. It was presumptuous and she hated herself a little bit for it but it made sense earlier.

Now, not so much. Dressing up is no fun when the only person she is hoping will notice is nowhere to be seen.

She mostly succeeds in not letting her eyes roam the room looking for her and do her part of the job -  like she said, easy, really: run into businessman, swap key cards and put his in the plant pot near the entrance for Lou to pick it up and do the rest - but she can’t help the rapid fluttering of her heartbeat at even the suggestion of blonde hair.

It’s done in a matter of seconds and she sits at the waiting lounge by the reception area instead of joining the party, eyes glued to the Monstera Deliciosa.

She has to tear her gaze away when she feels fingers poking her shoulder. For a moment, her traitorous mind thinks it could be Lou and a rush of adrenaline courses through her but when she turns, it is a man that is looking at her expectantly. She raises her eyebrows in question.

“Hi, I’m Joe. Can I buy you a drink?” and then says something about seeing her there all alone but she’s distracted enough to miss most of his words.

She never gets the chance to see Lou that night-- by the time Debbie turns around to look back at the plant pot she is already gone.

Excusing herself absentmindedly to a confused Joe, she laments a quiet “maybe next time” on her way out, though she is not talking to or about him.

In the parking lot, she looks up at the barely shining stars hidden behind clouds that announce storms, self-conscious in only her aubergine dress. She tells herself she is shaking from the cold breeze that is curling sweetly around her, but she can’t justify the apprehension that’s radiating from her heart and pushing against the slashes of her ribcage.

So she looks up for a long time, lets the night engulf her until it feels like she’s suddenly in space. Darkness, no oxygen, no sound except for the rush of blood in her ears.

The silence expands.

There’s a sob trapped in her throat when she finally grabs the car keys from her purse, eager to get home and take off a dress that feels tighter by the minute, clinging to her in a suffocating way.

Debbie ponders what to do with the money on her account now that she’s not spending half of it going out to eat with Lou or purchasing top-shelf vodka from the fancy liquor store across the street to keep in her apartment— no use in doing that if the person she used to buy it for doesn’t stop by anymore.

The last bottle she bought for Lou has been sitting there half empty, untouched, for a week now. She feels like it’s mocking her by just existing but stops that train of thought before it evolves into something else and drags her away.

She grabs the bottle of wine next to it instead, her laptop, sits on the couch. She checks online shops to see if there’s anything worth buying instead of stealing.

Six open tabs later, she can’t really think of anything she wants besides... well.

She researches properties in Italy just to imagine what it would be like to live someplace else, far away.

It’s two weeks later that she finally meets Lou, really meets, for the first time in what felt like forever.

It’s not like they haven’t seen each other at all lately. They have, but definitely not like this. Most of the conversations about how to approach their jobs have been over the phone and whenever they did saw each other it was painfully impersonal. They talked briefly about going separate ways after what happened but agreed that it made no sense to either of them. They’re just that good when they work together, seemed stupid to waste their potential.

Although in moments like these, Debbie regrets their decision.

Lou’s gaze focuses on anything over Debbie’s shoulder but never on her when she meets her in the casino bar. She sits next to her, close enough to touch if she wanted to (was allowed to), which is already nerve-racking enough, but then her hand covers Debbie’s, discreetly putting there the earpiece that’ll whisper numbers in her ear when she goes to play blackjack in a minute, and bittersweet ache fills her lungs. She feels like she might burst into tears when Lou breaks contact, already missing it.

Lou seems unaffected, a fake-warm smile on her face while she goes over her part of the plan monitoring the cameras. Debbie nods at her and tries to breathe through the pounding of a heart that seems too big for her chest so it looks they’re having a normal conversation to anyone who might be watching.

She tries to ignore Lou’s hand resting too close to hers, but can’t help it when her pinky twitches involuntarily to brush against Lou’s.

Debbie feels a hot rush of shame, embarrassment coloring her cheeks pink when Lou pulls her hand away almost immediately, giving her an accusatory look.

“Lou,” she says. Sorry, she means.

Both of them stay in silence, looking at each other for seconds that feel like forever.

“I’ll see you in an hour,” is all Lou says, and is gone before Debbie can respond.

Debbie stands to do what she came here to do on autopilot.

It becomes a routine. Days of silence that become a week, sometimes more, and then a text or a phone call or, if luck is on her side, she gets to see her.

“You look like shit,” Lou says one night after pulling off a job successfully, her smile the closest thing to experiencing what heaven is like.

They’re at the rooftop of the second hotel they’ve checked into with fake names in as many days. Lou is usually gone right after she finishes her part, so Debbie is pleasantly surprised she is still there with her, looking at her in a way she’s not quite familiar with. Almost tender, like the look the Lou that usually bleeds into her dreams has, but not quite. There’s an elusiveness and vulnerability to it that serves as a reminder of what she’s done to her, and suddenly all the exhaustion and sleep deprivation and guilt and shame she’s been burying hit. She is so, so tired she thinks any second her legs might give away. She sort of wishes they do, just so she would have an excuse to look away from Lou’s eyes.

“I also feel like shit,” she says, and hopes it didn’t sound as pitiful as she thinks.

Two things happen:

Something about the way Lou’s hands shake makes Debbie think she is about to reach out to her, a thought that is only reinforced by the way the air, biting and crisp just seconds ago, seems to shift and turn into a current of nervous anticipation, humming between them like a live wire.

A group of friends chooses right that moment to open the door that leads to where they are, startling them-- and just like that, the moment is gone.

In some ways, Debbie feels as though she’s been waiting her whole life for it to end.

“I should go,” Lou half-whispers, but to Debbie’s complete surprise, she doesn’t move.

The wind had ruffled through her blond hair and her eyes seem to be sparkling and it’s only then that Debbie realizes just how much she’s missedher. Warmth spools through her organs, for the first time in ages. She doesn’t want Lou to go. She tells her that.

Lou wavers.

Thoughts whirling, spiraling, Debbie blurts out, “Let’s go to my place. Let’s just talk.”

Lou considers this, frowns for a moment as she contemplates an answer.

“Please,” Debbie adds softly, and the low timbre of her voice is enough to make Lou nod.

“Okay,” Lou breathes, and it’s filled with so much-- something familiar, something electrifying and pulsating and right.

The tiny quirk to her lips, the molten eyes that shine as if the sun had set in their depths ignite a flicker of hope inside Debbie. She breathes in, feels a pressure against her ribs, scribbles of emotions weaving a thread, like a spiderweb, around her heart, stitching up the broken parts together and mending the cracks.

“Okay.” She repeats, voice only trembling a little.

Everything is quiet around them except for the sound of heels piercing the silence and echoing on the city streets as they make their way to her apartment.

Determined to keep her nervousness at bay, Debbie focuses her attention on her steps, studying the ground moving underneath her feet, the yellowy blobs of light thrown downward by street lamps, the shadows that contrast with the neon pink that dances with a tidal motion as they pass by a tattoo parlour. The lights wavers and flares in yesterday’s rain reflection, and it’s not long until she feels dizzy and has to will her gaze to focus on something else.

Lou, looking straight ahead, all business, doesn’t seem to notice the way her eyes roam over her body, appreciating the black turtleneck that insinuates soft curves, the red faux-fur jacket thrown on top that ends at her hips where toned legs clad in leather pants start and end in graphite ankle boots to tie everything together.

Just when she’s about to complain about how long it’s taking them to get to her place, Lou stops abruptly, and Debbie almost bumps into her.

“Like what you see?,” she jokes, amused, and Debbie would’ve acted like she wasn’t blatantly staring if she weren’t too tired to pretend she wasn’t doing just that.

And this Lou who is trying to hide in the shadows the playful smile at the curve of her mouth, whose gaze feels like it’s reaching something remote inside her, reminds her so much of the Lou that would throw an extra blanket on her in the middle of the night or bring her something to eat when she would forget how to be a person that she wants to swallow the faint curl of her lips with her own and just soak in the warmth that is working through her body and pouring over and into every part of her. It’s hard to stop herself from reaching out, but she does, too afraid of breaking this image that seems to soften her around the edges, diffusing the coldness that had settled into a pang in her chest ever since she stopped talking to her.

“I’ve missed you,” is all she murmurs. Is all she can say.

This time, not only Lou’s eyes don’t skitter away from hers at the raw honesty, but there’s no bitterness to her voice when she eventually says,

“Yeah,” she agrees, not scornful, neither her tone nor her look. Just understanding in that way of hers that still surprises Debbie to this day.

Lou has written her code into hers with such naturality that it’s hard not to believe they’re not intrinsically linked, she is so planted into her that she is able to sense everything she’s feeling as if she were experiencing the emotions herself. There is a part of her that is afraid she will never be able to fit as seamlessly into Lou’s life here as she had been able to fit into hers. But standing in front of her apartment with the world seemingly slowed to a standstill in a city looks like it’s been here forever, silent and untouched and unwavering, she makes a decision.

“Let’s get inside,” Debbie says after a beat. Lou nods.

Her grip is tight on the keys when she moves to open the door. If she listens closely, she can pick up the steady sound of Lou’s breathing behind her, even over the thunderous beat of her own heart, and sense the tenseness of her posture mirroring hers. She feels faintly sick with anticipation as she steps inside.

By march the winter is already starting to die, but the cold in the flat is still present-- delicate, calm, the fading baseline at the end of a song. She doesn’t have to ask Lou to take a seat because Lou is already moving to her spot on the couch, the one Debbie avoided even looking at just hours ago and it’s almost like nothing ever happened between them.

Almost, anyway.

Lou is looking up at her like she’s waiting for something and, oh. Debbie had forgotten how her irises look under the soft glow of the fish tank, fire burning blue.

The scent of her perfume is comforting as she closes the distance between to sit next to her, hands pressed between her knees. Lou doesn’t comment on her closeness but clears her throat impatiently. Debbie knows she’s invited her for a reason other than just sitting in silence.

She wants to say Don’t make me say everything you already know but she’s tired of disappointing the people she cares about.

Fuck it.

“I need a drink, first,” she says, mostly to herself. Lou agrees with the softest smile, nodding.

It is essential to her psyche to distract herself so as not to have an anxiety attack, so she takes her time walking over to the kitchen, putting some ice cubes into two glasses and pouring more than enough whiskey into them. When she comes back, she finds Lou in the same place she’s left her, only mildly surprised she’s still there. Lou stares back with interest through her inspection, head slightly tilted to one side.

She offers one glass to her as she swipes a droplet of condensation off the side of her own, sitting next to her once again. They sip in silence for a second, both cognizant of how they filled in the void last time they were in a similar situation.

It isn’t the liquor, but she finds her throat cleared to speak, emboldened by it, committed.

“I’m sorry,” she begins, meeting her eyes, sharp and full of emotion. It’s a relief to look at her and see something familiar.

“I know,” Lou says.

It’s not enough, though. She needs to get this right.

“No, listen,” she continues, conscious of their proximity. “You were right,” she acknowledges. “I was-- I am terrified of my feelings.”

It’s comforting how transparent she sounds when she says it. Lou chews her lip, light dancing to life in the once guarded ice of her eyes, making her feel twelve and daring.

A sort of sound of amusement, and then: “Feelings, huh? I think we’re going too fast.”

Lou’s mouth, shaped like laughter, makes it hard for Debbie to concentrate, but with a proud tilt of her chin she manages to say,

“Feelings, yeah. I just... It’s not an excuse, but I don’t have much experience with those.”

“Deb—” Lou starts, with a soft look accompanied by an even softer smile.

“And I’m tired of that,” she goes on quietly, frown heavy on her face.

She thinks of how right the confession feels, and how true it is. For someone who considers herself strong and fearless, all her life she had instinctively leapt back when it came to facing her emotions, used to disdain emotions because to her, they meant weakness-- weakness she didn’t need or want. She has sought physical company as frequently as she wanted, but never committed to anything past that because she’s experienced first hand what loving someone does to you if things were to go wrong.

But things don’t have to be that way, she understands that now.

“And if I’m being completely honest, I really didn’t want to hurt you.”

“But that’s not your decision to make, is it?” she asks, voice imbued with the knowledge of one who already knows the answer.

The way she is looking at her is something out of a movie, in that way of hers that even if the best artist were to paint her they wouldn’t get the emotions quite right. So she looks and looks and looks. She doesn’t answer but she lets herself enjoy the longing, the unbreakable circling, the pressure of every single one of her molecules being pulled by Lou’s gravity. She doesn’t answer, not with words, but she lets herself fall into everything that is Lou, her lips against hers a near-worshipful thing, and for once, she’s not afraid of how Lou makes her want for things she never thought she would.

All her guilt collapses until it’s nothing but a flat surface where she can rebuild again, something better, something with Lou.

That is the last thought that reigns in her mind as she pulls her closer, fingers tracing the nape of her neck, slipping through silky hair like she’s holding onto a lifeline. And then she’s too preoccupied with the delirious torment of Lou’s body pressing against her-- skin warm, mouth pliant, greedy-- to think about anything else.

[professor-hiddles]

Unspoken [bucky barnes]

pairing: bucky x reader (modern au??? but bucky still has the arm)

words: 2.6k 

warnings: implied smut, some violence? also maybe just a little slut shaming (not from any of our faves i promise) uhhh some angst & swearing too

a/n: this might be kinda sucky but whatevs i just wanted to post something lol. also theres a vine reference in there for some comic relief :) enjoyyyyyyy

The two of you knew what you were getting into. It was a mutually beneficial relationship, but purely sexual. Something to release the tension. There were five rules you had set in place, rules that kept both of you safe. 

Rule 1

No physical contact outside of your bedroom sessions. Since you shared a friend group, it was common to be seen out in public together, but this was your own rule. No touching. You could talk, make jokes, and even flirt, but no skin to skin contact.

Rule 2

Don’t stay away from potential relationships at the expense of the other. If an opportunity for a relationship presented itself, don’t stay away to protect feelings, and don’t try to keep the other person away from someone with potential.  

Rule 3

Keep emotions or pillow talk to a minimum. You’re not building an intimate relationship, but rather just having fun and enjoying one another physically. Only engage in emotional conversations if absolutely necessary. This was a rule broken rather often, as the both of you were usually under intense stress. 

Rule 4

No dates. No meeting for coffee, no going out to dinner. If you were gonna hang out, it would be with your friends. 

***

Something changed around two months into your agreement. Bucky was getting more sensual with you, being incredibly gentle and making sure that you were completely comfortable before he did anything. This was unusual, as he was typically a bit rough and fast. It was certainly different, but you weren’t complaining. 

“Buck, is there a reason as to why you’re being so gentle with me?” you asked, gently tugging on his hair. His mouth left your body for a moment, eyes meeting yours. 

“No reason, why? Are you uncomfortable?” he asked, his metal hand drawing circles on your thigh. He got back to work, pleasure coming over you in waves.

“No—not at all. Just wondering,” you said before arching your back off the mattress. Damn, he was talented with his mouth. 

He hummed in response, the vibration going through your whole body. His hands held your hips, keeping your body firmly planted on the bed. Your heart was racing, the euphoria coursing through you. 

Bucky crawled up next to you, laying on his back. You rolled onto your stomach to face him. Your hands met his hair, twirling it around your finger. 

“I think we should stop this, Buck,” you whispered, avoiding eye contact. His head turned toward yours, his smile dropping. 

“Why? I thought we were having fun, Y/N,” he said, his hand grabbing the one that was intertwined in his hair. 

“We are—were, but I met someone.” 

Rule 2. 

He could feel his heart break a little. All he could think of was someone else touching you in the ways that he did. 

“Oh. Do I know him?” he asked, his voice as low as yours. 

You nodded, “Brock Rumlow, I think he goes to your gym.” 

Fucking Brock, Bucky thought, Of course he would rob me of the one good thing in my life.

Bucky didn’t respond, instead just closing his eyes. You knew he heard you, and you knew he was hurt. You didn’t push the topic, so you let sleep wash over you.

You woke up to an empty bed, the sheets next to you were cold. A frown formed on your face, but you knew what this meant. 

You knocked your head back onto your pillow, letting a groan escape. A part of you felt empty, but a part of you felt enlightened, free to explore what other men have to offer. 

Bucky returned to his apartment, dreading the loneliness that was bound to ensue. He had fallen for you, hard. He hated the idea of someone else holding your heart, someone else taking part in your life. 

He knew he wasn’t supposed to fall for you, but love works in mysterious ways. He loved your laugh, how you got a bit embarrassed when it was too loud. He loved the way you said his name. He loved the way you joke with each other, more sarcasm than he’d ever experienced. He liked that you weren’t afraid of him, metal arm and all. That usually drives people off, but not you. He loved that you bear your feelings to him, your vulnerabilities. 

He longed to hold your hand. He wanted nothing more than to kiss your cheek and tell you how beautiful you are. Truly stunning. He longed to kiss you in front of your friends, call you his once and for all. He longed to be the one you come to after a long day, just for comfort. 

He felt miserable. The one thing that actually meant something to him had been taken. He knew this day would come. He just never pictured it would be so soon. 

He should have told you how he felt. He still should. 

Bucky pulled himself together, put on a happy face and made his way to the gym. He walked in, eyes scanning the area for Brock. He hoped that he wasn’t there, but nothing ever goes the way you want it to. He decided it might be good to talk to him at least.

His eyes landed on the man in question. Bucky took a deep breath and walked over to the weights he was using. 

“Need a spot, Brock?” he asked, hoping that he would say yes. Brock looked at him, realizing who was asking. 

A cocky smile grew on Brock’s face, “Hey, man. If you don’t mind, that’d be great.”

Bucky forced a smile on his face, he stepped behind the bench press. Half of him wanted to drop the barbell on the man, but the other half wanted to grill him about you. He decided on the latter.

“So, uh, you and Y/N, huh? How long has that been going on?” Bucky said, trying to casually slip questions into the light conversation. 

A smug look crossed his face, “Around two weeks or so, she’s a cool girl. Surprised one of you didn’t pick her up already.”

You and me both, buddy, Bucky thought, gritting his teeth. “Yeah, she’s the best. Treat her good, man.”

A short laugh left Brock’s mouth. “To be honest with you, I think this’ll be more of a hit it and quit it kind of thing, you know? She’s stupid hot, but not really girlfriend material. Seems like a bit of a whore. I heard she fucks every dude in your friend group.” 

Bucky scoffed. It was taking everything he had in him not to punch the man’s teeth in. 

“Who fed you that bullshit lie? You’re lucky she even considered you, dipshit,” Bucky growled. He couldn’t just stand idly by anymore, he took the bar out of the man’s hands and pulled him up by the collar of his shirt, “If you even think about hurting her, I’ll hunt you down and fucking kill you.”

Brock looked genuinely scared for a moment, before a smile appeared on his face. “My god, you’re in love with the whore! Let me guess, you’re fucking her too?” 

“Alright, thats it. You asked for it, you piece of shit!” Bucky yelled, before charging at Brock. Several punches were thrown before Bucky felt someone pulling him off of the man. 

Steve had a strong grip on the man, guiding him toward the exit. “Dude, what the hell? I know he’s a douche, but you can’t lunge at him in the middle of the gym! What was it even about?” 

Bucky’s hand curled into a fist, “He was calling Y/N a whore, and saying he was only with her for sex. I just couldn’t help myself. I hate when assholes like him get such wonderful women and then drop them like they’re nothing. She deserves someone better than that, Steve. She deserves someone who’ll listen to her, and keep her happy, and take care of her in all the best ways.”

A small smile worked its way onto Steve’s face, “Someone like you?”

Bucky nodded his head, “Yes! Wait—how did you know I meant me?” he looked at the man, clearly puzzled. You two were careful to hide your relationship, you were sure none of your friends knew.

“Dude, you think no one notices how you stare at her? You get this little sparkle in your eyes every time you talk to her, its almost sickening how cute it is,” Steve said, patting his friend on the shoulder. 

“She doesn’t feel the same, anyway, so what does it matter? I wasn’t supposed to fall in love with her, Steve.” Bucky said, his eyes glued to the pavement. 

Steve sighed, “What do you mean ‘you weren’t supposed to fall in love with her,’? Why not?”

Bucky’s breath hitched in his throat, “Uh, never mind. No reason.” 

Steve didn’t look convinced, but he let the topic go. “You might not have noticed, Buck, but she definitely does. When you aren’t there, all she does is talk about you.”

His eyes flicked up to meet Steve’s, his cheeks flushed. Bucky could barely get out a coherent sentence. 

“No, I—that can't be,” he mumbled, but all evidence of doubt was erased when he saw the look on Steve’s face, “Really? But she’s so beautiful and kind and downright great; and I’m me.” 

Steve nodded, “Yeah man, but she wont like you for long if you don’t explain your side of what just happened in there. For all we know, Rumlow could be telling her that you attacked him for no reason.” 

Bucky’s eyes went wide for a moment, before running a hand through his hair. He let out a shaky breath before pulling out his phone. 

“Shit, ok, I’m gonna ask her to meet me at the bar later. Hopefully I can lay everything out and we’ll be on the same page, but if not, be prepared to nurse my broken heart.”

Steve gave a short nod before clapping him on the back, “Good luck, Buck. You’ll do great, I know it.”

After a shower and a quick bite to eat, Bucky walked down the sidewalk, trying to figure out what he would say to you. Would he apologize for putting Brock in his place? Hell no. Would he apologize for letting it get that out of hand? Possibly. Would he tell you how he felt and accept your answer, good or bad? Absolutely. 

He took a seat at the bar, ordering a whiskey, neat. His eyes darted around the bar, his nerves making him a bit jumpy. The door to the establishment opened once more with the ring of a bell, your senses taking in the familiar sights and sound that the bar has to offer. 

You heard shot glasses hit the bar counter; the sharp sound of a cue ball being hit. Your gaze almost immediately caught the glimmer of the metal arm, a smile crawling up your face. Your heels clicked on the floor below you, the sound catching Bucky’s attention. 

He stood up, arms enveloping you in a hug. Rule 1, you remembered, but maybe I can let it slide just this once. Your arms slid around his waist, returning the embrace. Bucky pulled away first, his hands resting on your shoulders. 

“Y/N, sit, please,” he said, pulling the bar chair out for you. You took the seat, still wondering what you were doing here. “I know you said you want to end things because you found someone, and I respect that decision, but please, just hear me out for a moment.”

You sighed, but stayed silent, signaling him to go on. 

“Okay, this might come out the wrong way, but please understand that I mean absolutely no disrespect to you,” your eyes widened slightly, but still you let him continue. “Brock isn’t the guy for you, you should cut things off with him.” 

A short, dry laugh left your lips, “Why? Who told you that this was your decision to make?” 

Hurt flashed across his eyes, but he stayed calm. “Y/N, he called you a whore. He also said that he’s only going out with you to get in your pants. He doesn’t want the real you, he only wants the idea of you. I know its not my decision to make,  but I really think that this is whats best for you.” 

“No, you’re lying. How do you know that? Last I checked you weren’t all buddy buddy with him,” you said, shaking your head. “How do you know whats good for me?”

He ran a hand through his hair, “Thats my opinion, Y/N. I’m sorry if it’s not what you want to hear, but it needed to be said. If I can save you from this guy, then best believe I’ll put everything on the line to do so.”

“Please, you think I need saving? I’m perfectly capable of handling this on my own, thank you very much,” you said, close to tears.

“I know you can, but I’m worried that your feelings might blind you from whats actually going on!” he yelled, but you stormed out. Bucky was quick to follow, lightly gripping your arm. 

You spun around to face him, anger clear on your face, “Why? Why do you care so damn much?”

Both of your hearts picked up, nearly beating out of your chests. Bucky’s eyes looked glassy, he didn’t mean to upset you. All he wanted was to warn you, and tell you how he felt. 

“You wanna know why? Because I‘m fucking in love with you, Y/N! I know I wasn’t supposed to, but you made it damn hard to resist. When you told me about Brock, my heart nearly cracked in two. I didn’t even want to think about him having what I hold dearest to my heart. I’m in love with you for you, not your body, or the idea of you. I love that you listen to me, and confide your feelings in me. I love how much you care for those around you, and the kindness that’s so clearly within your heart. I love the way your eyes light up when you talk about something you love, and the smile that makes my heart jump. I didn’t want to fall in love with you, but I’ll be damned if I tell you I regret it, because I absolutely don’t,” his chest was heaving now, and you couldn’t tell if the wetness on his face was the pouring rain around you or tears.

You stared at him, the weight of his words weighing on your shoulders. You wanted to cry, punch him and kiss him all in the same moment. 

He looked like he was going to speak up again, but you cut him off by pressing your lips to his. It wasn’t at all rushed like your past ones, but more passionate and loving. His arms were protectively wrapped around you, your bodies pressed close. 

You pulled away, resting your forehead on his, “Buck, we broke rule five.”

A smile was on his face, “I think we broke all of the rules, but fuck ‘em, especially rule five.”

Rule five wasn’t a rule you talked about often, because it was understood by all parties. Technically, the ‘unspoken’ rule. 

Rule 5

Do not, under any circumstances, fall in love with the other. 

[asleepyskeleton]

I don’t really know if anyone’s paying attention to this blog now. I know it’s been over half a year now since I’ve last posted, and over a year since my last fic ended.

I have not been in an Undertale mood for the past several months. I’m not sure when I will be, or if I’ll ever be. In other words, I’m not sure if I’ll ever get back to the proposed mid-quel to my story. I feel bad about this... but I hope you understand.

But as I stated back in August of last year, the first chapter is finished. I don’t know how good it is, and it’s not been looked over, but... it would indeed be a waste not to post it. Please do not get your hopes up that this will be continued, but I do hope this will give at least a little bit of satisfaction. You may want to skim chapter 15 of my fic before reading this so you can better understand why characters are reacting to things the way they are. This takes place immediately after that chapter.

Here you go.

He felt, at some point, that he must have forgotten how to breathe.

Not that it was terribly important to do so--skeleton monsters never had to breathe, and only tended to do it as a way of imitating other monsters or calming themselves--but it worried him. Why couldn’t he breathe? Come to think of it, why couldn’t he move?

Why couldn’t he see?

Blinking, once, twice, he tried to clear his vision, to will himself to see, but only vague shapes answered. It was so dark, but there may have been something around him--trees, perhaps? Had he fallen asleep at his sentry station?

...No, he wasn’t at his sentry station, but he was in the forest.

He remembered, now--Flowey had called him out here. Because someone had gotten in trouble, except… there hadn’t been anyone in trouble except for him, because Flowey had grabbed him, and--

A high-pitched cackle echoed around him, and his entire body tensed, but he couldn’t move, he couldn’t bring up his magic, he couldn’t breathe, but he could see something, something all around him, writhing on the ground, off to either side of him, around his chest, writhing and squirming--

Vines.

The warped laughter began to morph, the sound somehow taking physical form, taking shape in front of him as a small, wriggling flower. Flowey was faced away from him, but he was still laughing.

Let me go, he wanted to say, but his voice didn’t work--nothing but a squeak left his throat. He struggled with all his might, finally working one of his arms free, and tried to tug at the vines on his chest. Though they were soft and shifted slightly under his grip, they did not let up, no matter how much he clawed.

The laughter grew in volume and intensity as the flower began to turn, slowly, slowly, until it whipped itself around, suddenly inches from his face.

Flowey’s eyes were wide and glazed, mouth split open and fanged, blue-white foam dripping off of his lolling tongue as he gagged again, and again, and laughed, and laughed--

Something cold and wet--the tongue? the spittle from it?--pressed into his chin, and he yelled, struggling, swinging his free arm, the world exploding into light and color again.

The first thing Papyrus registered was the sound of a very loud, very confused YIP as he finally managed to push himself upright. The next thing he registered was something heavy sliding off of his chest and onto his lap.

While Papyrus wasn’t sure if he’d actually screamed in his sleep during the nightmare, he was definitely screaming now.

There was a lot of commotion at that moment, but he couldn’t tell exactly what it was over the sound of his own screams and the pain overwhelming his entire body. Once the pain had faded to slightly more tolerable levels, his yelling went with it, and it was then he realized that the commotion was a large dog and an even larger dog chasing a smaller dog in circles around his room and barking incessantly.

He stared at the animals for several long moments, trying to make sense of the situation. A week or so ago, he might have been yelling in fury at the sight of the animals inexplicably charging around his room, but right now his mind was preoccupied with managing the pain that still racked his frame, and his voice was already sore from yelling. Or maybe it had been sore before that; he couldn’t remember.

Evidently, Papyrus had been so dazed that he’d entirely missed the smallest dog’s escape from the room, which was strange, since he didn’t remember either the door or the window opening. The other two dogs, however, rumbled and huffed something to each other before turning to face him, tilting their heads simultaneously.

He could only stare at them, dumbfounded.

What was going on?

He looked from the larger dog--a big, short-haired, cream-colored beast--to the smaller one--a fluffy white sort--and while something was naggingly familiar about the two, he still couldn’t make sense of what they were doing in his room. For lack of a better idea, he reached his hand out to beckon one of them over.

The larger dog’s head shot forward, neck elongating until it met his hand.

And in a moment he had his back pressed against the wall as his feet scrambled to push him further back. It’s just Lesser Dog, it’s Lesser Dog and Greater Dog, you know that, they’re your co-workers, why are you acting like this? he thought, but that thought didn’t keep his soul from pounding, agony surging through his bones with every pulse. There was nothing scary about this situation, and yet he was terrified--he couldn’t stop trembling, he couldn’t shake the thought that something bad was going to happen, but it was just the dogs, Lesser Dog had just wanted to be petted, but something about a long object coming flying toward him like that--

Vines, it had been like the vines, whipping toward him to grab him, grab his wrists, grab his ankles, grab his neck, they were grabbing him, they were choking him, they were--

A loud whine followed by something licking the side of his face brought him out of it. Both Lesser Dog and Greater Dog were on the bed beside him, ears drooping and both dogs whimpering. Greater dog was pawing at his nose.

“...I-I’m sorry,” Papyrus stammered, his voice scratchy and weak. His chest heaved as he gulped down breaths, trying to calm his still-pounding, aching soul. “I-I don’t know why… wh-what’s…”

The dogs looked at him helplessly, and Papyrus stared back. While they could understand him, he only understood a handful of phrases in their language, and they could not communicate anything useful to him on their own.

Shutting his eyes, Papyrus tried to gather his thoughts, trying to remember what had happened the night before. He remembered the forest, and Flowey--and his soul began pounding in his ribcage again, sending waves of pain with it. He yelped, wrapping his arms around his chest, only to find that his wrists hurt, and his chest hurt, and everything hurt why did everything hurt--

Greater Dog gave a bark, followed by a sneeze, snapping him back to the present again. That was right--they’d come for him. Sans, and Undyne, and all of the dogs--they’d all come and gotten him, and… and he couldn’t remember what happened after that.

Opening his eyes again, he found himself staring down at his ribcage. There were scars all over his ribs, mainly on the inside, and most notably one that went completely around one of his lowermost ribs. Undyne had started to heal him--he remembered now. But the rest of him still hadn’t been taken care of--there were deep, darkened gouges around his wrists, and spine, and…

Papyrus’s head snapped back upward, and he quickly grabbed at his sheets and yanked them over his lower body, partially because he was naked, and partially because he couldn’t stand another glimpse of the ugly wounds in his bones. No wonder he hurt so much--the sight of the gouges in his bones made him feel sick, and his mind was in a whirl trying to block out any memories of why he had injuries there of all places.

Not to mention, both Greater Dog and Lesser Dog had seen that--they’d seen the wounds all over him, they’d seen him as Undyne had carried him through the forest like a useless sack of bones… they’d seen what a failure he was.

And now he was crying again.

Great.

Papyrus covered his face, trying to hide his flushed cheekbones and the tears that were dripping down his jaw. Couldn’t this at least happen when no-one else was around?

He felt his mattress give a bounce as one of the dogs hopped off the bed, and heard his claws scratching against the carpet as he trotted somewhere else in the room. In a moment the bed was jostled as the dog jumped onto it again, and Papyrus winced at the feeling. Now what was going on?

Scrubbing some of the tears from his face, Papyrus looked up to find Greater Dog staring at him eagerly, a bright red scarf dangling from his mouth.

Papyrus stared for a moment, sniffling, then forced a smile, reaching out to pet the dog. “G-good boy,” he said, and though Greater Dog ducked away from his hand with another loud sneeze, he wagged his tail with enthusiasm.

“All right, what’s going on here?” came a muffled voice from the hallway, and Papyrus yelped when the door swung open.

Undyne stepped into the room, blinking her one eye wearily, as though she’d woken up roughly two minutes ago. Her eyepatch was off, her webbed feet were bare, and she appeared to be wearing the same shirt and jeans she’d worn yesterday.

Immediately the dogs leapt off the bed to greet her, barking and wagging their tails enthusiastically. Undyne grumbled some affectionate nonsense, petting them absently, while Papyrus scrambled to pull his blanket up higher, hiding his bare ribcage.

“Get back in your armor, ya nudes,” Undyne said, shoving the dogs away. “Grillby’s gonna be here with food soon.”

Obediently they darted to the other side of the room and hopped into the suits of armor sitting there. Lesser Dog, the larger of the two, hopped into the smaller set, while Greater Dog hopped into the larger. Now appearing to match their names, the two guards barked and yipped excitedly as they marched out of the room, leaving Undyne and Papyrus alone.

“...So,” Undyne started, her voice taking a gentler tone.

“P-please… c-close… th-the door,” Papyrus muttered weakly, staring very intently off to the side and clinging to his bedsheets for dear life.

“Hm? Oh, oh, got it.” Shutting the door softly, she strode over to his bed and sat at the end of it, twisting around to look at him. “How you feeling, Papyrus?”

Papyrus swallowed. Like ten of your spears are digging into my bones. Like I’m full of something more disgusting than grease, inside and out. Like I’m the worst sentry that ever lived.

He tried to form the words, but wound up choking back a sob instead.

“Ugh, dumb question.” He heard scales brushing against scales as she rubbed her hand over her face. “Uh… we--”

“Wh-where’s Sans?” he asked, suddenly looking up at her, and turning away when she gave a surprised look in return. It had only just now occurred to him how strange it was that Undyne was checking up on him rather than his brother. “H-h-he is all right, isn’t--?”

“Oh, yeah, he’s fine,” Undyne said, waving her hand dismissively. “Worn out, but… we all are.”

When he looked up at her again, she looked embarrassed.

“Shoulda’ mentioned... You were asleep before we got here, but we all sorta… crashed at your place, ‘cept the gyftrot--she’s still out in the forest. Everyone’s beat.”

Well, that explained what the dogs were doing here, but it still didn’t explain why Undyne was the one to check up on him, not Sans. Papyrus shifted uncomfortably under his sheets.

“Grillby’s comin’ to bring us some food, since none of us are in any real shape to cook. And we called for the Snowdin doctor to come have a look at you.”

Wincing, Papyrus pulled up his covers even higher, partially obscuring his face. “Th-the G-Gr…eat…” Trying to form the words made his non-existent stomach twist; they felt like a dirty, dirty lie. “I-I do not need to see the d-doctor.”

“Uh, yeah. You do.” Undyne was staring at him firmly--he could feel her hard gaze even without looking at her. “The Royal Guard’s mostly trained in combat magic, not healing magic. You know that. If you had just a few scrapes, it’d be one thing, but none of us can handle…” She broke off, and he heard her hair sweep against her back as she shook her head. “You’re going to see the doctor.”

It was not a statement, but a command.

“...Y-yes, sir,” Papyrus whimpered, shutting his eyes.

“Now c’mon, let’s get downstairs so you we can get somethin’ to eat. I’m starved.” She rose from the bed.

Papyrus stayed.

Undyne stopped at the door. “You comin’?” she asked, giving him a bewildered look.

“...U-um…” he mumbled, pulling the bedsheet slightly higher in an effort to hide his reddened cheekbones.

Remembrance crossed Undyne’s face, and she blinked. “...Oh.” And immediately she burst into laughter, bending over and slapping her knee. “Fuhuhuhu! Yeah, Paps, let’s haul you out there in your birthday suit!”

“I-it’s not funny!” he cried, partially angry and partially hurt. It wasn’t like he intentionally slept this way. “U-Undyne…!”

Mercifully, her laughter died, and her amused look shifted to an ashamed one, her fins drooping. “Sorry, dude. We’ve all been through hell… some of us more than others”--she gestured toward him, giving a sympathetic expression--”and I’ve been tryin’ to get everyone’s spirits up.”

Well, that was something he could understand, at least. Normally he could tolerate (or quickly get over) being teased, but this… “...P-please… d-don’t do that at my expense.”

“Eh, it was more at mine, since I was the one who forgot Dogamy took his coat back after we put you in bed.” She gave a fangy grin, twisted a little in embarrassment. “Sorry about that.” Now she strode over to his closet, opening it up and looking through his clothes. “Let’s get you covered, huh?”

She picked out a black tee that read “RAD TO THE BONE” in white lettering and grabbed a pair of shorts at first, before quickly putting them back and grabbing a pair of comfy-looking sweatpants instead. At any other time, Papyrus would have been infuriated that someone would do such a menial task for him, as though he were incapable of doing it himself, but now he felt a saddened weight tug at his soul. He really couldn’t get out of bed to pick out his clothes… and part of him wasn’t sure he’d even be able to do something as simple as that again.

Undyne approached his bed, seeming to debate something for a minute before setting his clothes down and heading toward the door. “I’ll give you some privacy--lemme know if you need, uh, anything.” With that, she slipped out the door and shut it softly behind her.

Papyrus stared down at the neatly-folded clothes in anxiety.

He pulled on the tee shirt first, trying valiantly to hold back any whimpers or moans as the action strained the bruised and torn bones of his joints. But he managed it, even though his efforts left him sore. The pants were going to be worse, he knew, but there was no way he was going to neglect that part.

It was as awful a process as he’d anticipated. Every movement of his legs was like a thousand magic spears being driven through his ankles, femurs, and pelvis. An action that should have taken a few seconds was taking him several minutes as he had to keep pausing, waiting for the pain to fade enough for him to pull his pants up higher. Once they were finally around his pelvis, it still hurt, the elastic band digging into the sides of the injured bone, but there was nothing to be done.

Stars. He hadn’t even gotten out of bed yet, and he already wanted to lie back down and never get up.

...He hadn’t even gotten out of bed.

And he’d have to get up, get up on his injured legs, and walk down the stairs, and just thinking about it made his joints scream in protest, and half the Royal Guard was there and they would see what a hard time he was having performing the simplest tasks in the world--

Papyrus flopped back down onto his bed, buried his face into his pillow, and stayed there.

Knock, knock, knock.

“Papyrus?”

He turned his head. “G… go ahead, Undyne,” he croaked, hoping she could hear him through the door. “I’ll stay here.”

“LIKE HECK YOU WILL!” Undyne roared, barging into the room, and Papyrus yelped, bolting upright, even as his every bone screamed in protest. Immediately Undyne looked embarrassed and ducked back behind the door, but, seeming to register seconds later that he was already dressed, stepped back in. “You’re not gonna stay cooped up here in your room all day!”

To his surprise, Papyrus felt anger bubbling up within his ribcage, his soul burning painfully. “ Y-you didn’t even knock!” he cried. “D-don’t you know a privacy?”

Undyne took a step back, facial fins drooping. “Uh--”

“G-get out!”

When she didn’t immediately respond, his magic reacted of its own accord. At first he tried to form an attack, but the effort left both a gnawing sensation in his magic reserves and a spike of pain through his soul. Immediately he held out his hand, and on the opposite side of the room one of the dormant bones sprang to life, flying out of the box and toward Undyne. She barely managed to dodge, and it clattered against the bed before dissipating.

She stared at him in shock, and he met her gaze with a glare.

For a moment it looked like she was going to say something back, but her face fell. She turned, exiting the room, and shut the door behind her.

Papyrus glared at the door for several moments before it hit him what he’d done.

Panic seized him, and he fell back onto his bed, grasping at the scarf he wasn’t wearing and clawing at his ribcage through his shirt as he realized he’d just attacked his friend, he’d tried to attack Undyne, he’d never done that outside of training, he’d never lost his temper at her, why did he do that? Why would he do that? What was wrong with him?

Part of him wanted to call out to Undyne again, but he felt like he was choking, and he didn’t know what he could say. She could fire him for insubordination. She probably would. He would never get into the guard--but then he was never going to anyway, not with what happened last night, not with how he’d nearly been killed, what was wrong with him what was wrong with him--

“Papyrus, please answer me.”

The voice was hoarse, especially as it was forced to be louder than normal. It wasn’t overly-loud, but the volume in combination with the owner of the voice was enough to break through Papyrus’s panic. He tried to answer, but he was still choking.

Please come in, Sans, please, help me, don’t leave me like this.

“I’m gonna open the door, okay?” And he did so, the door creaking open. Sans kept his head down as he entered the room and shuffled toward Papyrus’s bedside. He was wearing the same turtleneck and shorts he’d worn yesterday, and his eyes were unlit.

While he avoided looking into Papyrus’s face, he did seem to be looking in the direction of his chest and hands. Wordlessly he reached out and held one of them, gently pulling it away from his ribcage. Papyrus clutched his brother’s hand as Sans guided him out of his panic, showing him to breathe slowly and rhythmically and counting with him.

“No one’s mad at you, bro,” Sans said after a while, still not meeting his gaze. “Undyne wanted me to tell you she’s sorry.”

Even after calming down, Papyrus still felt exhausted, and shaky, and guilty over what he’d done. “B-but I… I-I threw a bone at her…”

“Yeah? Well…” Finally Sans looked up, one of his eyes lighting as he looked askance at his brother. “She gave you a pretty good target. She was being a big butthead.”

Papyrus burst into laughter, but quickly tried to stop--the action hurt his ribs. But then he remembered why he was hurt again, and… oh.

Sans was looking away again, refusing to meet his gaze. “I know you don’t want to do it, but you need to let the doctor patch you up, and then maybe we can… uh, see where to take it from here.”

Take it from here? “B-but… isn’t he just going to heal me?” He looked at his brother in confusion, and wished Sans would look him in the eye. Why couldn’t Sans look at him?

“About that… um. You’ve… uh, your soul hurts, right?”

“Y-yes…?” Couldn’t that just be healed like the rest of him?

“That’s… going to be a bit more difficult than the rest.”

“Oh…!” Papyrus shut his eyes, wishing everything would stop for a while. He was home now--why couldn’t everything just be okay now? Why wasn’t he okay?

...Was Sans okay?

Opening his eyes and pushing himself up on one arm, Papyrus looked at Sans in alarm. “S-Sans, were you hurt? D-did…?”

For a moment, it looked as though a heavy weight had been placed onto Sans’s back, as he shifted his stance. It took him a second to answer. “Let’s… not talk about what happened, there, bro,” he said, voice taking on a quieter tone.

Papyrus looked away ashamedly; of course that had been a bad question to ask. “S-sorry.”

“Not your fault,” Sans said, giving his hand a squeeze. “Not your fault, bro.”

They stayed there in silence for a moment before an explosion of barks erupted from the ground floor, startling them both. Sans was the first to relax. “Guess Grillby’s here with the food. Want me to grab you something?”

Part of Papyrus ached in hunger, but at the same time, he felt so sick he wasn’t sure he could muster up the will to eat. “N… no.”

“All right. I’m gonna grab some food though, then I’ll be back.” He forced a laugh. “I’m so hungry, I’m nothin’ but skin n’ bones, here.”

Papyrus didn’t laugh this time--he could tell a forced joke from a sincere one. Sans was not doing well--that was plain to see--and he worried about his brother. As he watched Sans step out of the room, he couldn’t help but wonder what had taken place between the time Sans and the gyftrot had left, and when Papyrus and Undyne found them again. Had… had he been hurt by…?

A deep shudder overcame him, and he frantically tried to push the thoughts back out of his mind. No, no, no… He wasn’t going to think about that, he wasn’t going to think about any of it, he wasn’t going to think about… about Flowey… No… no…

But he could remember being out in the snow, out in the forest by himself, just him and Flowey, because Flowey had tricked him and he’d been so stupid, how could be so stupid to fall for that, and Flowey had grabbed him and…

Knock, knock.

He snapped upright, groaning as the action hurt his back, and looked at the door wearily. “Wh… who’s there…?”

“Eggs.”

Annoyance crept in, chasing out some of the terror he had felt. Sans, why? “Eggs… who?”

“Eggsellent question.” With that, Sans opened the door, carrying a paper plate with a burger on it, and on top of that, another paper plate with an omelette and a plastic fork. “I know you’re not hungry, but this’s light n’ fluffy and it’ll be easy on your stomach… or, y’know, it would be if you had a stomach.” He was looking at the food as he spoke, not at Papyrus.

Papyrus eyed the plate warily, but took it anyway, staring down at it. It didn’t… look greasy, but he still didn’t feel like eating.

His empty magic reserves groaned.

No, he didn’t feel like eating.

Sans, meanwhile, had dragged the desk chair over to sit on, and was chomping down on his burger, focusing completely on eating. He wasn’t even looking to see if Papyrus had started on his food.

Papyrus stared down at his breakfast (lunch? He wasn’t sure what time it was), nudging it with his fork. Eating didn’t seem to matter as much as…

“Sans?”

“Hmph? S’uh matt’r?” he mumbled between bites. Taking a quick glance at Papyrus’s plate, he swallowed. “Oh, did you want ketchup with that? No prob, bro, I’ll get you some.” And immediately he stood up, carrying his food with him as he shuffled toward the door.

“S-Sans?”

He was reaching for the doorknob. “It’s all right, bro, I’ll be back in a--”

“SANS!”

The soggy plate and half-eaten burger dropped separately to the floor. Sans’s shoulders were hitched, his eye sockets blank, and a full-body shudder racked his frame, making his bones clatter.

No, no, not again--! He didn’t know what he’d done, but he’d upset Sans, somehow, worse than he already had... “I… I’m sorry.”

“...No.”

Pain shot through his chest as his soul jumped into his throat, choking him. Sans wasn’t--?!

“Y-you’re not the one that should be apologizing.”

Papyrus could breathe again, but it didn’t stop the pain in his chest, especially when Sans finally, finally turned to look at him.

Or he thought he did, anyway--it was hard to tell with his eyesockets still very, very blank.

“I… I should have been there for you, Papyrus,” he said quietly. “Nothing… n-nothing would have happened to you if I hadn’t been sittin’ around, feeling sorry for myself.”

Papyrus shook his head. “No. I sh-shouldn’t have been so stupid in the first place--”

“You’re not stupid, Paps.” And Sans’s eye lights were back, burning into his own eyesockets, if only for a moment. But they drifted down the the bed, staring at something that was sitting at the foot. Papyrus wondered what it was until he caught sight of the white paper.

His sketchpad? He hadn’t even noticed it there; it had nearly gotten lost in the mess that was his sheets. Looking over the page--the current one was blank--his brow furrowed. “I don’t understand.”

“You drew that…” Sans gestured helplessly, “thing. If you hadn’t done that, none of us would have known what to look for. We’d’ve never found you.”

Part of him recoiled at Flowey’s being referred to as a “thing,” but he tried to focus on the rest of Sans’s words. They’d found him because of the drawing that he’d made? That didn’t sound right. “Drawing doesn’t help people,” he mumbled.

“But it saved your life,” San retorted. “...You saved your life.”

As Papyrus tried to process this, a yell from downstairs tore through his thoughts.

“HEY! THE DOC’S HERE!”

Oh. Right.

Sans heaved a sigh, picking up the food he’d dropped, while Papyrus set his plate (which had already gone cold) on his table. He could hear the stairs creaking as the doctor made his way up, and gave Sans an uneasy look.

“Want me to stay?” Sans asked, shuffling his slippers against the carpet.

It was hard to say--he hated the idea of being alone in the room with the doctor, but he didn’t want Sans to see… what had happened to him. Not again, anyway. Perhaps a compromise was in order. “C-could you stay outside the door?”

Sans seemed relieved at the suggestion. “Yeah, I can do that.”

And when Sans stepped out of the room, the doctor stepped in. Or rather, squeezed in--he was a large, bipedal polar bear with elongated fangs jutting out from his upper jaw. Papyrus remembered seeing Doctor Boreas many years ago, but either the bear had filed down his fangs since then, or a much younger Papyrus had greatly exaggerated them in his mind back then. Either way, they still made him look… fairly cool, Papyrus had to admit.

Not that it made him any happier to see a doctor.

“G-good… morning, Doctor Boreas?” Papyrus stammered, forcing himself to sit at the edge of his bed. Stars it hurt his pelvis, but… that’s what the doctor was here to fix, wasn’t it?

“Afternoon,” the doctor corrected, looking the skeleton over. His features made it hard to tell if his expression was neutral, or if he was genuinely angry. “Captain Undyne tells me you ran into some trouble.”

Papyrus flinched. “I-I…”

“As I understand, the threat’s been neutralized.” Boreas stepped closer to his bed, kneeling so he was level with Papyrus. “But you’re still in pretty rough shape, huh?”

Of course he was in rough shape--that’s why the doctor was here in the first place. He nodded, hanging his head and shutting his eyes and wishing the doctor would just get it over with.

“You are aware of how healing magic works, correct?”

Papyrus nodded, wondering what that had to do with anything--then froze, realizing belatedly what the doctor meant. His non-existent stomach dropped.

“I’m sorry, but you will have to disrobe. I’ll give you a moment.” With that, Papyrus heard the doctor step out of the room, leaving him by himself.

He hated everything about this.

Several minutes and several attempts at fighting the urge to break down into tears later, Papyrus had finally gotten his shirt and pants off again. He kept a corner of his sheets draped over his pelvis--doctor or no doctor, he wanted to have some dignity--and crossed his arms protectively in front of his ribcage. “I-I’m ready, Doctor Boreas,” he rasped out, hoping he wouldn’t have to yell to get the doctor’s attention.

The bear stepped back into the room, humming in approval and approaching Papyrus again. Papyrus could not meet his gaze as the doctor looked over him.

“Let me see your arm,” Boreas commanded, and Papyrus held it out uneasily. The doctor held it gingerly in his paw, hovering the claws from his left paw over it. “Let me know if you want me to stop, all right?”

Papyrus shut his eyes again. “P-please just get it over with,” he whispered.

In a few moments, he felt the tingling of healing magic working its way through the torn bones in his wrist, where they had--where… something had been grabbing hold of them and tearing into them. He shuddered, pulling his thoughts away from that and instead thinking about how different this felt from when Undyne tried to heal him. Undyne’s healing magic had felt fierce, but indirect, scattering over places where it wasn’t needed and only healing the surface of some of the bruises and gashes. Boreas’s healing magic, however, worked itself deep into the wounds, healing them from the deepest point up to the surface.

But after a while, he noticed that the pain in his wrist was gone, yet the healing magic was still working its way over the healed bone. Papyrus opened his eyes to find Boreas staring at his wrist in concentration, still working healing magic into it. “I-it doesn’t hurt,” Papyrus said, and the bear kept up the magic for a moment before finally pulling away.

With the green magic gone, Papyrus could see his wrist clearly, and his brow furrowed to find that it was covered in faint scars.

To his dismay, Boreas seemed just as confused. “Something’s not right,” he said, holding up Papyrus’s wrist and frowning. “Captain Undyne had mentioned something, but I wasn’t certain…”

Wait, hadn’t Sans mentioned this? “D-does… does this have to do with my soul?”

“It may,” the doctor replied. “If that’s the case, I’ll have to take you to someone else. But for now, let’s take care of the rest of you.”

Papyrus complied, holding out his other arm for the doctor to heal. But much of the relief he felt at the deep wounds finally being healed was dampened at the aspect of their leaving scars behind. True, his gloves would cover most of what was on his wrists, but what about his spine? His legs? Why would healing magic be unable to take care of scars in the first place? He’d heard of monsters losing things like teeth or eyes due to getting to a healer too late--that had happened to Undyne during a training accident, he’d heard--but scars on monsters were rare.

Why was he scarring?

Boreas moved on to heal his head, jaw, and neck, healing the spots that Undyne had failed to reach with her inexperienced magic. Next, however, was the ribcage, which Papyrus bore with gritted teeth; healing magic felt nothing like… that, but it was still unnerving, and he had to fight to keep the mental image of vines crawling through his ribcage out of his head.

Sensing his patient’s discomfort, Boreas pulled his paw away. “Would you like me to stop for a moment?”

“N-n-no, no, please get it over with,” Papyrus hissed, wishing he could stop shaking.

So Boreas moved on, moving his paw around the front and back of Papyrus’s ribcage as he continued to heal it. Papyrus was grateful that he didn’t have to reach inside his ribcage, or he might not’ve been able to bear it.

Next, Boreas helped Papyrus move his feet back up onto the bed so he could heal those. His ankles were torn up just as badly as his wrists had been, and it was a relief to see them healed. But his legs were another story--while the fibula and tibia had a few bad scrapes, his femurs were a nightmare, and only got worse the closer they got to his pelvis. He couldn’t stop shaking as the doctor’s healing magic continued to move up his legs.

The doctor’s paw pulled away. “Papyrus, are you all right?”

“P-p-perfectly fine,” he stammered, staring blankly at the wall off to his side.

“Would you like me to stop for now?”

He shook his head; he wouldn’t be able to stand it if he had to wait.

“All right. I’m going to uncover the rest of you.”

Papyrus nodded, and covered his eyes when he felt his pelvis being uncovered. It felt like a long moment--what was the doctor thinking?--before he heard a sigh, and felt the healing magic seeping into the abused bone. He kept one hand over his eyesockets, and gripped the bed beneath him with his other, grinding his teeth as he waited for it to be over. It didn’t hurt, of course--that was the point of healing magic--but the feeling of anything near there made him feel sick. It was that strange mix of feelings--the feeling his body gave him that nothing around there felt wrong, but every other part of him vehemently disagreeing. He didn’t understand...

But after what seemed like ages, it was over with, and Doctor Boreas stepped back, covering Papyrus up again. “How are you feeling now?” he asked, and Papyrus uncovered his face.

There was no pain in his bones. He could move his limbs, tilt his head, open and close his jaw, and sit upright with no pain. But… something wasn’t right.

Sitting at the edge of his bed again (and feeling relieved that it didn’t hurt to do so), Papyrus looked up at the doctor uneasily. “I… my bones don’t hurt, but it feels like…” He grasped his ribs, trying to think of how to phrase it. “It… it still hurts, something… else. Like my soul--like my magic itself hurts.” Stars, it sounded stupid, yet the doctor seemed to understand.

“It is something to do with your soul, then,” Boreas said, looking Papyrus in the eye. “Soul pain is a serious issue… But luckily a few of my colleagues in the Underground have studied it. I’ll have to have a word with Captain Undyne first, but I believe I can transfer you to someone who can help you.”

Papyrus looked over his scarred wrists, ribs, and ankles, then back up at the doctor. “Y-yes. That would be good.”

Unfortunately that did not signify the end of the visit. Boreas had to retrieve a few items from a briefcase he’d brought in--none of which Papyrus knew the names of. The first, while annoying, was not overly-intrusive--it was an instrument the doctor used to peer into his eyesockets and nasal cavity and mouth, checking to make sure he hadn’t sustained any damage within his skull that would need special care. But either there was no damage in the first place, or Boreas’s magic had already taken care of it, so everything was fine there.

The next instrument, Papyrus was significantly less thrilled about. It was a stethoscope, he learned later, and Boreas pressed it gently but firmly into different parts of his chest and spine. The metal of the instrument was cold and touching bones that he very much did not want to be touched right now, but this had to be done. He tried to keep as still as he could, willing himself not to breathe or rattle his bones, as he was wont to do. It didn’t help that the doctor’s expressions were not reassuring--his brow furrowed, and his ears tilted back.

Papyrus had never been the best at reading expressions, but he knew that couldn’t be good.

Finally he put the instrument away, humming in thought. “Your magic reserves are nearly empty,” he remarked. “You will need to eat more if you want to recover.”

“I’m… I’m not hungry,” Papyrus muttered, shivering. Lies always tasted bitter.

“Please try to eat regardless. Your magic capacity will dwindle if you don’t eat enough.”

A terrible thought rose within him, and he swallowed it back down as best as he could. “Y-yes, sir.”

The doctor still wasn’t leaving. Papyrus dug his toes into the rug beneath him.

“...A terrible thing has happened to you, Papyrus,” Boreas said. His shoulders slumped as he spoke, making him look less intimidating than before. “A thing that no monster deserves to go through. But please remember… terrible things are not the end.”

He let that set in for a moment.

“I’m going to refer you to someone else, to take care of your soul pain. But if you find anything else acting up, or if you wish to discuss something, please call me.”

Papyrus wondered if he was expected to say anything in response, but the doctor only grabbed his briefcase and left, wishing him goodbye and a good recovery, and leaving him to think on what he’d said.

Terrible things were not the end, no… but it sure felt like they were.

He’d gotten his clothes on again--a much, much easier task now that his bones weren’t constantly screaming in pain--and finally managed to get out of bed. That had seemed like a feat worthy of celebration in and of itself, until he realized he was celebrating something he used to be able to do every single day without a problem.

He felt like he was becoming more and more like Sans every day.

Shuddering, Papyrus decisively marched to his door, finding the action a little more difficult than he anticipated, as he felt lightheaded and dizzy, and his magic reserves still groaned in protest. Opening the door, he found the downstairs to be significantly noisier than he’d expected.

Greater Dog, Lesser Dog, Dogamy, Dogaressa, Sans, and Undyne were all chatting, the TV was blaring, and scraps of food, paper plates, and plastic utensils were strewn around the table and floor. It was a mess, but… it was a comforting one.

Everyone sounded normal.

As Papyrus started to descend the stairs, he nearly tumbled when Undyne gave a shout:

“PAPYRUS!” she cried, bolting over to the bottom of the stairs. “You’re out of bed!”

His soul was pounding, and with it, pain pulsed through his bones. Calm down, it’s just Undyne, calm down…

Sensing her friend’s distress, Undyne cleared her throat. “Sorry, dude, didn’t mean to startle you. But… the doctor told me he was gonna have to refer you to someone else!”

She sounded weirdly happy about that. Papyrus stared at her, and blinked.

“You get to see Al--uh, Doctor Alphys!”

“...Doctor Alphys?” he repeated, now intrigued. “I-I know an ALPHYS on the Undernet, and the Alphys you--”

“Yep!” she cut him off a bit too quickly. “Same person. She’s great!”

Papyrus resumed easing himself down the stairs, fighting to keep himself steady while Undyne (and everyone else) was watching. “So she can help me?”

“You bet! I mean, uh, I don’t think the doc’s talked to her just yet, but I’m sure it’ll be fine. If anyone can help you, she can!”

“You… you really think so?” He looked up at Undyne, who had approached him with a fin-to-fin grin.

“Uh, yeah? She’s the Royal Scientist, dude. She’ll know exactly what to do!”

The idea of having to go to yet another doctor for more help was not appealing, but Undyne looked so excited and hopeful, it was… difficult not to feel the same. Plus, Alphys was someone he knew, sort of, so it wasn’t like this was a total stranger, right?

In spite of how tired, lightheaded, sick, and sore he felt, he looked at Undyne’s fangy grin, the hopeful looks of the dogs around him, and finally at Sans--Sans, who was hanging back by the table, ketchup smeared across his tired-but-true smile… and eye-lights focused on him.

Papyrus was not okay right now.

But… maybe he would be.