#I wouldn’t call myself straight edge but I have very little knowledge when it comes to this stuff so this is me working off of what I know

[bludpudding]

Does weed have an effect on Cori?Now onto my more important note,I think smoke coming out of his eye mouths would be very sexy,thank you for your time

I don’t know much about the science behind marijuana but purely based on the fact that it’s an earthly substance - nah. he doesn’t have a brain that can be altered by drugs or alcohol.

he’s got this thing. I call it his core since it’s never referred to by name. think of it as a motherboard in a computer rather than a mammal brain.

HOWEVER,,,, he does smoke. and it does come out of his eyes.

and I feel so normal about it

need more of this. a lot more of this.

if I had to guess, he smokes because he likes the physical sensation of breathing the smoke in and out. a calming ritual even though it has no chemical effects. he has no lungs or internal organs that can be affected, either.

[elean0rarose]

I wasn’t very good at being a witch. No matter how much I tried to bring nature into my shitty little apartment, my distinct lack of green thumbs got in the way. Herbs had to be bought readily prepared because even the mint wouldn’t take, and that thing's roots are notorious bastards. The half-dead chrysanthemums on the balcony were the best I could do. Sure, I watered them, but they were still lacklustre, browning at the edge of their leaves.

I was much better at working with spirits and entities. Since childhood I had been able to perceive and interact with them. As I grew up, my interest only increased and I began to learn and experiment. Perhaps unwisely, I dove straight into trance work. In my journeys through the Otherworlds, I conversed with dragons, rode on the back of unicorns whose trust I had gained, and danced with the fae. I travelled far and wide—I much preferred these beings to those that lurked in the concrete jungle I lived in—and my mind expanded with the knowledge I had gleaned from these fabled creatures.

So imagine my surprise when I was tending to that poor, half-deceased plant and felt a presence. A distinctly trickster-like energy, one that couldn’t ever be trusted but may one day become an ally, if only the correct rules are followed. Fuck me, there were so many rules: don’t give your real name, never say thank you because it implies a debt, and for the love of the gods don’t eat their food.

Yes, I felt the rules tugging as I reached my own energy out to meet the one that I felt. Instinctively, I knew. That there’s a faery, I thought to myself. What the fuck are they doing here?

“Got any milk and honey? I know you know I’m here,” it said, in my mind but outside of it simultaneously. It wasn’t hearing and it wasn’t thoughts. Instead, it sat in the liminal space between, something only I could perceive and only then through a slight disconnect with the solidity of material reality.

Offerings such as this to the fae were common, particularly if you wanted to build a relationship with them. Sure, they were cheeky and always trying to trap you in their weirdly litigious speech, but they could become firm friends who shared knowledge and granted boons if only you put in the time and effort to get to know them.

Instinctively, I nodded. It wouldn’t be the first time I had given an offering to some form of entity—after all, they need sustenance, too. I went inside the house, mixed the honey with the milk on a saucer, and brought it to the balcony where I placed it gently in the pot. The air thrummed with happiness.

A moment of silence passed but I knew they were still there, eager to talk. “So… what brings you to… this plant?” My distaste for the poor, wretched flora before me was palpable in my speech.

“I needed a new home, of course!” the fae replied brightly. “You come highly recommended by those in the Summer Court.” Their voice lost its gleam. “I… needed to move on from them. Why not move on to one who has so proven herself amongst my kin?”

It made sense, to a degree. But I sensed the sprite’s unhappiness when discussing its new circumstances. Something was amiss here.

“Well, welcome to your new home. I’ll try my best to make it as hospitable as possible, but one thing I’m not known for is my gardening talents.” I didn’t want to get the poor being’s hopes up of turning this into a luxury abode. “You may call me Raven.”

It was a cliched name at this point. So many witches called themselves this, particularly those who grew up when I did in the 90s. But the name had stuck, even if it wasn’t mine, and truth be told I quite liked it. With my black hair and eyes almost as dark, I felt it suited me.

“You may call me Saoirse,” was the reply I received. “I have already made myself quite comfortable.”

***

As time went on, Saoirse and I became close. It was now my morning ritual to make us both a cup of Lady Grey—their favourite type of tea, I learned—to enjoy together. We talked about magic and the Otherworlds, spirits both good and bad, and sometimes even our lives. It was here, however, that Saoirse became most reserved. I had not yet earned the privilege of hearing their story.

***

A regular summer’s day. The chrysanthemums were in full bloom now, looking resplendent in the morning sun. I had a feeling Saoirse had something to do with it, seeing as the fae were often known for their plant magic, but if they had they wouldn’t admit it to me.

I brought the tea out as I always did, but this time there was a sense of sadness in the air’s vibrations. I immediately knew something was wrong, and before I could even blink, the realisation dawned on me: it was precisely one year since Saoirse had become my "roomie", as I affectionately called them.

"Here, a nice cup of tea for you," I said, placing the old-fashioned cup and saucer down. I had bought it for them, having seen it in a thrift store. It just seemed elegant, like they were.

No reply came, but I could feel their presence there, as gloomy as before.

"So, I guess this is our roomie anniversary, right?" I tried to nudge a response. Nothing. "Did you... did you want to do anything in particular to commemorate it? I've been working on a spell to help me reconnect with... well, you know who. But I'm not trying to coerce her into getting back with me! I just want to make sure my email is received in good faith, that she—"

"Do you know what the Reaping is, Raven?" Saoirse interjected before I could continue my justifications of, admittedly, mildly twisting the arm of my ex to read my email and message me back. It had been six months since we split and I was still in love with her. Saoirse knew all about it, of course. They had comforted me many times and given me the sort of advice that only such long-living entities could offer. That's why it felt strange for them to cut me off like that. Usually they'd be all ears, hungry for human gossip.

"No, I can't say I have," was all I could reply. I knew a fair bit about fae culture and customs, more than most witches in fact, but this was new to me.

Saoirse sighed and the air grew cold. "The Reaping, as we faeries call it, is something that happens every five hundred years. It commemorates a grand war in eons past between the Seelie and Unseelie. Essentially, 'volunteers' from each court are found and they recreate the war, although the winner is not set in stone. As with all conflict, there are rarely winners or losers.

"The last Reaping to take place was exactly one year ago. I had been offered up as a volunteer after managing to—how would you humans put it—"piss off" an advisor to the Queen."

"But you're here," I said, confused until the words came out. Ah. I thought. It makes sense now.

"I came to you because you are known among us fae for being a kind, conscientious sort. Always carefully obeying the rules of conversation, keeping up with offerings, exchanging like for like. You're well respected, you know. That isn't often the case for humans."

"I am glad to hear it, although truth be told I haven't visited in a while." I hadn't felt the need to, not with a faery living on my balcony.

"Do you... do you think less of me?" There was a vulnerability in my fae friend's voice that I had not heard before.

I took a sip of my Lady Grey. "Of course not. You know, my dad dodged the draft for the Vietnam War. He was too much of a pacifist, too knowledgeable about the horrors being perpetuated out there. I come from a long line of people living on the edge of society.

"We've always picked up waifs and strays. Most of the cats I had growing up were rescued feral kittens. So me and you, our partnership, it kinda makes sense, doesn't it? I'm a known weirdo and you're a fugitive on the run. Either way, both of our societies don't want us."

I paused. It was hard to acknowledge that, but it was true—I'd always been a freak to others, including the ex I was so desperate to get back in touch with. I was also worried about offending Saoirse with my bluntness, but truth be told I didn't know how else to word it.

"At least we found each other I guess?" It was all I could manage.

The air smiled in return.

You find a fairy living in your “garden”: a half-dead pot of chrysanthemums on your 7th floor balcony.

[tipsydipsydo]

Pairing: tall! & sub! Reader x dom! OT7 BTS

Gender of the Reader: male

Word Count: 2.3k  

Rating: 18+

Genre: Smut/PwP

Warnings: Dirty Language + Dirty Talk; Dom-/Sub-Dynamics; accidental overhearing of a phone call, Mentions of Exhibitionism & Voyeurism; Mentions of Sex Toys & Masturbation; slightly mentioned Double Penetration; mentions of Anal play; Praising; Petnames; some Degradation; Daddy-Kink; Teasing; slight Edging; the boys are teasing the poor reader to Death

A/N: Well- that was a quick writing. Instead of studying I decided to write this funny request and to use my procrastination in a better way than scrolling stressed through TikTok. I hope y’all like it!!

Status: unedited bc I am lazy and should study. 

Request: i want to request a drabble/one shot: sub taller male reader and his seven boyfriends in which he confidently talks naughty things with his friend on phone but when he realized his bf are watching, he became crazily shy because he is just a big cute boy, then his bf decided they want to test those ‘words’ he has said, poor boy =))

Requested by: anonymous 

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Thank you.

After too many and super busy weeks full of work, you’ve finally managed to find a free afternoon in your schedule where your best friend and you have enough time for a nice, long telephone call on the couch. You are already over one and a half hour on the phone, exchanging the newest stuff that happened in your life with each other and joking around. Slowly your conversation turns their focus to your more private life and your bestie asks you about your polyamorous relationship with your boyfriends. At first just normal things like, how’s it going in general, how you all manage the relationship with all the different time schedules, how often it comes to fights and how you deal with that etc. Just normal stuff and  the ‘typical’ questions you’re already used to, when people realize that you’re not in a monogamous relationship. 

Your best friend and you grew up together. You met each other in elementary school, went through the curses of puberty as an inseparable team and even survived middle and high school thanks to the other one. Already in your teens, where both of you made your first experiences and got into your first relationships, your best friend had a guess that you’re not as straight as you want him to believe. No, they even assumed that you’re maybe not made for the typical monogamous relationship which the society preach every fucking day. 

Well, turns out that your best friend really knew you better than you did yourself back then but honestly, nowadays you’re thankful for their suggestions and that they gave you the save space you needed to dare to make new experiences in those directions. 

Nevertheless, they were still more than surprised when you introduced him to not only two or three boyfriends, no that you brought seven (!) other men to their birthday party two years ago. At first they were a little worried if you didn’t overload yourself with such a complex relationship dynamic and that it’ll turn out as a serious burden and not an enrichment for your life. Turns out, now it was their turn to make a false assumption about what’s the best for you and theu were more than happy to admit that everything turned out just fine. It truly makes their heart swell to hear the happiness in your voice through the phone everything you mention something about the boys. 

Quickly your phone call turn into an even more private talk and dedicate itself to the really interesting stuff. You’re sharing every detail in your life with another, so why should it stop when it comes to sex talk? You have absolutely no problem and any shame to talk freely with your best friend about your kinks and dirty thoughts. Sometimes you even think that you’re better informed about each other’s preferences better than your actual partner(s) are. 

“I think, I already told you that idea more than once... that I have a thing for exhibitionism and the thought of getting catched doing something ‘forbitten’ or ‘dirty’, right? Uhm... TMI but I don’t give a shit, whenever I am alone at home because they’re busy and we can’t meet for some days... I mastubate with some of the toys they’ve bought for me and imagine that they catch me. You know, when we have sessions with Dom and Sub Dynamics, they’re only temporarily and usually we go back to normal in the moment when the scene is over... that means, when I am alone and horny, I can do whatever I want to. I can jack off or fuck myself as much I desire and they wouldn’t say anything about it. It’s not like, I don’t appreciate my personal freedom when it comes to masturbation or that I want something completely different, no! We both already talked about that too, I don’t like the idea of Total Power Exchange, I prefer to be an independent person as soon as I walk out of the bedroom- okay, not only bedroom, we have sex in other places than the bedroom too- ANYWAY, what I wanted to say with that: ...”, you mutter and take a deep breath into your lungs. 

After holding such a long monologue your mouth dried up terribly and now you need quickly something to drink. You get up from the couch and walk over to the kitchen island to pour some soda into a glass. A satisfied hum leaves your throat after you took some gulps of your favourite sparkling sugar bomb. 

The whole time, where you moved around in the eat-in kitchen of the apartment, you are not that alone anymore as you thought you’d be, especially right in this moment. Namjoon, Hoseok and a boyish smirking Jimin joined you around ten minutes ago, leaning casually against the wall next to the door of the room and listen very interested to the conversation you have with your friend right now. They didn’t mean to overhear your private talk, they just wanted to know what kind of take-out food you’d prefer for tonight. 

Unfortunately your conversation turned out to be very, very interesting for them, so they decided to give you some more time to talk with your best friend about the sexual fantasies you have which they don’t know about... well, until now.

Hoseok texted the other boys in the group chat to join them in the living room as well, they need to hear those very important information too! 

Poor you, completely oblivious and naïve to what’s happening in this moment, not getting any kind of hint that not only your best friend would get those significant informations...

“...-what I actually wanted to say with that: I prefer to be independent in relation to all other non-sexual life-responsibilities. Well, that doesn’t mean we couldn’t increase the Erotic Power Exchange, right? To be very honest, I can’t get the fantasy of them taking my sextoys away and to forbid me to touch myself without their permission out of my head. I love to be their good boy and to get praises, I really do... but there is this thrill to be break the instructed rules, getting caught while doing it and getting punished for it. I want... I want to get called bad, filthy and dirty names, I want to be a disobedient, greedy and insatiable slut for them. I want to get spanked, edged and overstimulated, I want to get fucked into the mattress so bad, up to the point where I can’t get a single clear thought together and my brain turned to mush... I want to get used, ruined and wrecked by their cocks, getting my holes stuffed full with their cum and then plugged up, so nothing can run out anymore- God fuck, I should stop talking like that or I’ll get a serious problem! Well... sorry for so much detailed TMI, you know that this shit always happens when you tell me to stop overthinking and encourage me to spill everything that comes to my mind. Now you got every filthy detail you’ve asked for, you’re welcome.”, you joke sarcastically and facepalm yourself. You can’t believe how incredibly blunt and shameless you just threw your latest sex fantasy in every fucking detail at your poor best friend. 

Usually you’re more than shy to talk about such things, in your understanding the magic for your shameless mouth towards your best friend has to reside in the deep thrust you have in him and simply the knowledge that your relationship is platonic. It’s not like that you couldn’t trust your boyfriends wholeheartedly, god no! You know, that they would never kinkshame you for anything, 

it’s just... after sharing those thoughts it would result something out of it. You don’t want that they  think you’re a weirdo or that they only do specific things because they know it would turn you on. 

The other one just snorts in amusement when you voice this slight helpless apology, they can imagine the significant blush which has settled down on your cheeks. 

“Hey buddy, don’t apologize for that. There is nothing to apologizing for, I am way too curious for my own good as well and I need to make sure that you’re happy in your relationship, especially when it comes to the point if they are able to fulfill your sexual desires. I need to know that, believe me. Okay, there’s one thing... I knew you were submissive, my dude. But I didn’t expect that you’d be such a masochistic hoe and that you’d have such a thing for degradation, Jesus! Nevermind, more important: did you talked with them about that fantasy? Would they be down for this idea and would they like to be more in charge? Please do not tell me that you’re too shy to talk with them about it, not again! I tell you this every goddamn time, communication is key!”, your best friend says to you in a serious tone. 

Here you go again, getting scolded by your friend all over again. He is right, you know that... y’all already talked about ‘how to deal with certain kinks some of them or you have but the others aren’t into and how to not make them feel bad or insecure about it’ several times, you tend to overthink everything you have ever said to them all over again. You are always so flustered when seven pairs of eyes are looking at you, waiting for an answer. You are tall, even taller than Namjoon, but under their curious stares you feel always so small, fiddling with your fingers around like a little schoolboy. You love that about them, putting you into such a submissive place just with their aura and charisma and giving you the feeling as if they overtower you physically too. 

“I can absolutely agree with Y/BF/N, communication is key. Why didn’t you told us those nasty fantasies you have in your cute head up here, right away? Too shy again? Do we really need to call your best friend the next time to get some hints to your secret kinks, Babyboy?”, Taehyung rasps into your earshell and wraps his arms around you. He chuckles slightly as you squeak high-pitched in surprise. 

An equal surprised yelp of your best friend comes out of the speaker of your phone which takes Yoongi out of your hand and excuse you with the apology that ‘they need to have an important talk with you now and that you have to hang up unfortunately’. 

The display of your phone turns dark and Yoongi puts it on the surface of the kitchen island before he flashes you a dirty smile. That you’re mortified that they caught you spilling all those filthy fantasies to your best friend is the understatement of the century. Never and you mean never did you hoped so bad that the floor opens up and swallows you whole, saving you from this embarrassing misery. But Yoongi give you much time to drown in shame, coming up to you and connect your lips to a rough kiss. 

“God, I love it when our so sweet and shy Baby has such nasty and indecent fantasies in his head... why don’t you tell us these ideas in every single filthy detail once again? I think we could turn the information into some very good use, big boy~”, whispers the smaller one with blown-out eyes against your lips.

“...or would you prefer that we call you a needy cumslut, hm? The things I’ve heard give me the assumption that you want to get fucked stupid and pumped full with cum as if you are our personal playtoy?”, growls Jungkook and grabs himself a handful of your right asscheek, kneading it with a firm grip in his big palm. 

“Come on, big boy, admit that you want exactly the things Jungkook just said... I can feel how fucking hard you just got from his words... already so hard and swollen against my palm even though we barely touched you. You’re truly such a pathetic, needy slut... I bet you’d already cum in your pants if we just tease you enough... Am I right?”, chuckles Namjoon in his deep, arousal soaked timbre against your neck, nibbling at the sensitive spot of your Adam’s apple. 

“...what about we change our location to the bedroom and talk about the things you’ve said to Y/BF/N? Maybe we could try some of your newest kinks out? Would you like the thought of us watching you from the couch while you prepare your needy asshole for us? Showing us how you stuff you clenching rim with a girthy dildo? Wearing a cockring so you couldn’t cum without our permission? Prepping yourself all messy, whining for our finger, tongues and dicks in your ass like the greedy slut you are? Yeah, you’d love that thought.”, Seokjin teases you mercilessly, rolling your sensitive balls in his palm, just how you like it.  “Y-Yes, Daddies... I’d love to be a greedy cumslut for you... please turn me into one!”, you wisper. 

@cys-mental-escapades​; @bangtanloverboys​; @btsxmalereaders​

[thefanficmonster]

What's It To You?

Corpse Husband x Reader (Female)

Warnings: Swearing

Genre: Angst, Fluff

Summary: To some people, relationship labels aren’t important. To some they aren’t important only in theory. Well, Y/N finds out she falls in the later category, leading to a falling out with her boyfriend Corpse.

Requested by Anon. You’ll know who you are when you read the fic 😉 Thank you for the ‘angsty argument’ request. I hope I captured what you had in mind and I hope you enjoy the read. Love, Vy 🥰

The time is nearing 7PM and Corpse has barely eaten anything. I always keep track of his meals and time spent in front of a computer screen, making sure he doesn’t spend too much time exhausting his eyes or starving himself. He never notices he’s hungry until he takes a bite of something and his appetite grows in  matter of seconds. The real battle is to get him to take that first bite.

I get up from the couch, walking into the kitchen. I open the fridge, scanning its contents for any ideas that might pop into my head for dinner. When nothing comes to mind, I resort to my last option - asking him. There’s only a slight chance he’ll be of any help. He’ll most likely say he’s not hungry or that he’ll make himself something late. He never does. I’ve gotten used to him being a man-child when it comes to eating. In the eleven months that we’ve been dating, I’ve force fed him more times than he has eaten on his own terms.

I go upstairs, stopping outside the door to his recording room to see if he’s talking to someone so I don’t walk in and interrupt. When no noises come from the inside I knock. 

“Come in.“ 

Upon opening the door, I’m met with Corpse nonchalantly sitting in his desk chair, leaning as back as he can without tipping over. Arms folded behind his head, legs stretched out in front of him. The whole nine yards, suggesting that he not streaming.

“Hey.“ He greets me as he turns his chair a bit in an attempt to face me

“Hey, what’d you like for dinner?“ He opens his mouth to reply the millisecond after I have spoken my question. I already know what that reply will be so I hurry to prevent it, “And no, ‘later’ and ‘I’m not hungry’ aren’t on the menu.“

He sighs, shaking his head as though he’s disappointed that I caught onto his game. The smile that slowly makes its way to his lips, however, suggests that he appreciates my concern. “Grilled cheese sandwiches? I mean, if you feel like it.”

I smile, relieved that the usual convincing portion of our interaction on this specific matter has been avoided. “Ok. Be down in fifteen then.” I give him a nod before heading back out into the hallway.

Before I am able to close the door, I hear someone else’s voice come from behind me. “Hey Corpse, was that on your end?”

Oh shit, he wasn’t muted

“Yeah man, sorry. Accidentally unmuted myself.“ Corpse sounds unbothered by this, but I am a little uneasy now.

Corpse and I have agreed to keep our relationship by a ‘won’t ask, won’t tell’ rule - if someone asks him if he’s in a relationship, he won’t lie and say no, but we haven’t gone public nor do we plan on doing so without someone asking us about it head-on. Well, not us. Him. His friends don’t know me and neither do his fans. I’m not in the same industry. I don’t stream nor film YouTube videos. The most I do for that platform is help Corpse with some editing when he needs to have a rest. So, if anyone were to reveal our relationship, it’d be him.

“Oooh, who was that?“ A girl’s voice asks teasingly. “Corpse, what are you not telling us?“

By this point, I’m out in the hall but I left my ears in the room. I know I’m not in the right here - eavesdropping is most definitely not nice, but I can’t help myself.

I hear him chuckle, “Nah, it’s just my friend Y/N.”

My heart drops so suddenly for a reason beyond my understanding. I feel like a kid feels when it’s told Santa isn’t real - I can’t believe what I heard. 

I hurry to get back downstairs as soon as possible and also as quietly as I can. It’s tough, running with a pit in your stomach and a knot of I’m pretty sure is tears in your throat. When I’m finally in the kitchen, the aforementioned tears are blurring my vision. I try to blink them away but accidentally send one of them trickling down my cheek.

I’m aware this might be an overreaction and if I stopped to think I could probably find ways to justify what Corpse said. But I’m genuinely hurt, and I hate that I am.

I’ve never cared about what others know about me or think of me. Same goes for my relationships. I don’t put labels on things nor on my connection to people. I am surprised and disturbed by how much the label ‘friends’ bothers me. We’ve been dating for almost a year now, you’d think calling me his girlfriend would be second nature. Guess not.

I swallow the hurt and surprise, deciding to keep myself busy with the preparations for the dinner I was planning to make. However, keeping my hands full and giving my eyes a place to look doesn’t stop my thoughts from eating away at me. 

                                                             * * *

Twenty minutes later the sound of a door opening echoes from upstairs, followed by the sound of footsteps going through the hallway and then down the stairs. 

“It smells so good in here.“ He comments, his eyebrows raising when he takes in the freshly made sandwiches on the kitchen island. “You’re the best, Y/N.“

“Hmm, aren’t you lucky you have a friend who knows their way around the kitchen, huh?“ I reply sharply, not even sparing him a glance.

In the twenty minutes I was left alone with my wilding thoughts I declared that I wouldn’t beat around bush when he comes downstairs. That I would address the issue and tell him exactly how I feel about it. What I didn’t plan was being so harsh. I actually barely contain a wince when I realize how sharp of an edge my words had.

I feel ten times more guilty when I see the regret that flashes on his face, “You heard that.” He grips the edges of the table, leaning down and letting out a sigh, “I’m sorry, I panicked.”

The anger in me evaporates, leaving room for the hurt to keep spreading and take over me. I was never really angry with him, I’m just upset by the fact that his immediate reaction wasn’t to refer to me as his girlfriend. 

“Why would you panic? What’s it to you if they know?“ My voice is barely above a whisper now, the tears I’m fighting back are clogging my throat, not allowing me to sound as clearly as I’d like.

“What’s it to you? I thought you didn’t care.“ He argues back, his gaze travelling from the tabletop to my eyes. I see the guilt in all his features and his body language.

“I thought so too.“ I shake my head, “But hearing you call me a ‘friend’...’just a friend’ stings. I don’t even know why, but it does. It feels almost like you are embarrassed of me. If that’s the case you can just tell me, you know?“

In a blink of an eye he’s crouched down in front of me, one hand holding both of mine while the other cups my cheek. “It’s not. It has never been and it will never be the case. You are one amazing person, Y/N. You deserve the world, not to be stuck with me. I’m just...” He trails off, his eyes not able to focus on mine any longer, “I’m scared of how people knowing about us will affect our relationship.”

My blood starts boiling again. I know I need to get away from him before I reach the point of saying something that’ll hurt him, so I untangle my hands from his grasp, pulling away from him. “Weak excuse, Corpse. You know it will change nothing except make me feel more included in your life. I will no longer feel like I’m a house rat no one knows about.” I stand up, unable to look at him, and start heading for the staircase. 

“Y/N, please! ”I stop dead in my tracks when he calls out my name, his footsteps following behind me. “Don’t be...-”

I turn around, cutting him off in the process, “I need to be alone right now.” I tilt my head in the direction of the dining table, “Sit down and eat dinner. We’ll talk...later.”

                                                             * * *

Now that it’s been almost twelve hours with no contact between us I realize that my reaction was justified only to a certain extent. I understand his concerns and I could’ve expressed mine a little more calmly and in a lot less accusatory manner. But what happened happened and all I can do now is go over to him and apologize, establish a proper communication to resolve the issue that I so stupidly blew out of proportion.

My phone died sometime during the night and has been sitting on the charger but still turned off for a while. I go over to it and press-hold the start button. While it’s powering up I start changing my from my pajamas into my regular clothes, noticing a small stain on my shirt in the process. As I’m examining the stain, my phone starts going crazy with notifications, causing me to jump and drop my shirt.

“Fucking hell.” I mumble, disconnecting my phone from the charger and looking at the huge list of notifications on my lock screen. They are all alerts of new followers, likes and tags, non from people I know. Non except one.

@ corpse_husband tagged you in a post 

Wait what?

I tap the notification which leads me to a picture Corpse posted two hours ago. It’s a picture of me taken in the living room without my knowledge. I’m an oversized sweater and yoga pants, my hair in a messy braid and my attention caught by the book in my hands. My glasses have slipped a bit down my nose, suggesting that I’m too concentrated on the contents of the pages in front of me that I haven’t noticed.

We started off as friends but it didn’t take long for her to become my best friend. And then she stole my heart. I know you’ll read this eventually, Y/N. So...hi. Love you. 

PS - the sandwiches were bomb 🖤

I’m more than caught off guard. Like a surprise hug from behind, warmth spreading all throughout my body. 

Without a second of hesitation I put my phone down and run to the bedroom door. However, I don’t make it very far considering I nearly run straight into Corpse’s chest as I exit the room. He catches me before I knock him straight to the ground, thankfully.

“Aren’t you a rocket this morning. Where are you headed?“ He chuckles, holding onto my upper arms.

One look at his smile, a single word out of his mouth and I’m melting. I walk straight into him, wrapping my arms around his torso, hiding my face in his chest. He comfortably rests his chin on the top of my head, not asking any further questions until I finally answer.

“Right here. I was heading for you.“ I whisper before I pull away enough to be able to look him in the eyes. “I wanted to tell you how sorry I am. I was being childish and overdramatic and I’m sorry about all I said. I was really upset.“

“It’s ok, baby. I’m sorry for making you upset in the first place. I understand now how much it means to you.“ He caresses my cheekbone with the back of his hand. “I...um...tried to make things right by...“

I push up on my toes, pressing my lips against his, putting an end to his timid stuttering. “I saw it.” I mumble in the kiss.

“Did you like it?“ 

“I loved it.“

“Did you read the comments?“

My heart skips a beat when I hear that dreaded term. Just the thought of reading through the comments terrifies me. I tell myself that some strangers’ words aren’t gonna have an impact on me, but I know they will. Especially since these ‘strangers’ mean so much to Corpse.

I shake my head. He pulls away, taking my hand and leading me towards the living room. “You have to. You’re gonna love them.”

I reluctantly follow him, plopping down on the couch next to him as he pulls out his phone and scrolls through the comment section of the picture he posted. He was right. All these people have said such things about me and about our relationship. Some verified names are also there, sharing their support much like the fans. 

“See, this is why I was nervous. I’ll have to do duels for your attention now.“ He glances at me, leaning in and kissing my temple as he sometimes does so impulsively.

“You don’t do duels when you are already sitting at the throne. Right next to me.“ I once again capture his lips with mine, tempted to never pull away, but also tempted to keep reading the comments.

Damn, he might be right about the duels.

He takes his phone from me setting it aside as he slowly lifts me and settles me in his lap, never letting our lips detach.

Nevermind. Fuck the duels

@susceptible-but-siriusexual  @simonsbluee  @save-the-sky  @hacker-ghost  @itsminniekat  @bi-andready-tocry  @imtiredaffff  @jazzkaurtheglorious  @hereforbeebo  @fandomgirl17  @chrysanthykios  @maehemscorpyus  @loraleiix  @letsloveimagines  @annshit  @i-cant-choose-a-username-help  @enigmaticmaze

[spencer-reid-in-a-pool]

Room For Dessert

anon requested- Can you do a smut where rossi has a dinner party but also has his Niece staying with him because her apartment is being fumigated. Her and Spencer hit it off and go at it.

anon requested- smut 54: you better be quiet or everyone is going to know what a naughty little slut you are. and 59: such a needy little thing, aren't you? with Spencer

Contains: fingering (female receiving), hand job (male receiving), mention of pregnancy/breeding kink, name calling, slight degradation, unprotected sex, swearing, sexual acts in a public setting

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

I had never met my uncle David's co-workers before. He had always talked about introducing us, but it just never seemed to be the right time. It seems that today though, the world decided it was the right time.

He was having a dinner party tonight and my apartment needed to be fumigated. What luck!

I figured I would be staying with him for a couple days, so I packed my things after work yesterday. Now it was Saturday, the day of the party, and time to head over.

I had to admit I was nervous. A dinner party with people I didn't know? Talk about awkward. But I decided to make the most of it.

Once I was at his house, he took me to a spare room that would be mine for the next few days and showed me where everything was. Not that I would remember since we're in a mansion.

A few hours passed and it was time for people to start arriving. As I was getting my party clothes on, I could hear voices downstairs. Guess I should hurry.

Once I was done with my hair, makeup, and clothes, I made my way slowly down the stairs. The voices got progressively louder as I got closer.

A few people were scattered around the immediate area. A dark-haired woman stood talking to a blonde woman over near the far side of the room. Uncle David was talking with an Asian man and a dark-skinned woman by the entrance to the kitchen. And lastly, a well-built Hispanic man sat talking to a blonde woman in colorful clothing and a tall, slightly unkempt man.

I wasn't sure where to go first so I just kind of stood on the bottom step without saying anything. Then Uncle David noticed me.

"Ah there she is! We've been waiting for you. Come on and mingle while the food is finishing up."

At his words, the room full of people all turned their heads toward me.

Slightly taken aback by all the eyes on me, I gave a small wave and a smile before making my way down to them.

"It's nice to meet you guys! I'm (Y/N). Uncle David has told me about all of you."

The woman wearing bright colors made her way over to me first, a glass of champagne in hand.

"It's so nice to meet you! Your dress is to die for!"

She then enveloped me in a one arm hug. I hugged her back and accidentally made eye contact with the tall guy in the back. He quickly looked away. What was he staring at me for?

"I'm Penelope by the way!"

She pulled away and smiled at me once more before making room for the next person.

Emily, JJ, Luke, Tara, and Matt all introduced themselves. The last guy must be...

"Dr. Spencer Reid," he said as he stuck his hand out to shake.

Oh. Oh wow.

Now that I got a closer look at him, I could see why his nickname was "Pretty Boy." If we hadn't been in front of so many people, I would've had to jump his bones right then.

I shook his hand shyly.

"It's nice to meet you. I've heard a lot about you. Aren't you a little too attractive to be in the FBI? How does anyone get their work done?"

Spencer cleared his throat and glanced around the room to see people start walking to the kitchen. The food must be almost done.

"Well, why don’t you sit next to me at the dinner table? I’ll make sure to tell you all about my...work,” he murmured as he made no attempts to hide his eyes roaming my body.

Did-did he just...?

Before I could think anything coherent, he began walking away. He was probably just messing with me. I’m just being stupid.

Still, my legs felt a bit weak as I made my way into the kitchen. They were all sitting down and the only empty seat was next to Spencer. As I approached, he jumped up and pulled out the chair.

“Here let me.”

He gave me a bashful look, not at all like the look he gave my body moments ago in the living room. What is this guy’s deal?

I gave him a small smile and took a seat. He pushed me towards the table and sat down next to me.

Uncle David did his toast thing to be thankful for everyone being here, and then we started dishing up our food. There was so much to choose from that my plate became full almost immediately.

“So tell me,” I said to the man next to me, “What’s it like to be the BAU’s resident genius?”

Spencer glanced at me as he gathered food onto his plate.

“Well, I wouldn’t say that an IQ score or any amount of knowledge makes someone a genius. Not that both of those aren’t high for me, but I don’t like to quantify the term genius.”

He paused for a moment before continuing.

“But between you and me, it feels pretty good.”

I giggled and he smiled at me. He has a nice smile.

“Hey I made you laugh and it wasn’t at me. Maybe I’m getting somewhere with women.”

I traced the rim of my champagne glass before looking at him. I know I’d like to go somewhere with him...

“I don’t see how women aren’t all over you, Doctor. I mean. Have you looked in a mirror?”

Spencer chuckled and smiled, almost nervously.

“I’d rather look at you.”

My cheeks got hot and I blinked rapidly. Oh no. This is it. It’s happening.

But I hadn’t forgotten that look he gave me before we sat down. I hadn’t forgotten the way he undressed me with his eyes. If he wanted to mess with me then I would mess with him too.

I leaned over slowly so no one would notice and began talking in a low voice in his ear.

“What parts of me would you like to look at, Doctor?”

Spencer choked on his drink when I finished speaking. I leaned away feeling accomplished and with a painful twitch in my chest from trying not to lose my shit at him sputtering like an idiot.

But it would seem that karma is, in fact, a bitch.

“How about I start with those pretty tits of yours?”

It was my turn to choke on my drink this time. This earned me a few glances from the people across from me at the table.

“You two okay over there?” Emily asked us, having no clue what was really happening on our side of the table.

Spencer gave me a fake confused glance and then met Emily’s eyes.

“Of course, why wouldn’t we be?”

She shrugged and seemed to leave it at that, turning back to her conversation with JJ.

“How about...,” Spencer began next to me in a low voice so that no one would hear, “We have a little fun?”

I raised an eyebrow at him, not really sure what he meant by that.

He widened his eyes and looked me up and down in response as if to say, “You know exactly what I mean.”

I tried not to smile as big as I wanted to, so I settled on a sly grin in his direction to let him know I was game.

His body seemed to relax in relief almost, something I wasn’t expecting. Was he genuinely interested in me or was he just messing with me because I happened to be here?

I tried distracting myself from these thoughts and started actually eating, since we were at a dinner party after all.

A few minutes went by of idle conversation, although I wasn’t really listening. I responded in short sentences and nods in between bites of food, but my mind was elsewhere.

It wasn’t too long though, until my mind went straight to my thigh, where a hand could be felt slowly making its way up.

Trying not to make it obvious, I turned towards Spencer with a shocked look on my face. He wasn’t even looking at me, he was looking ahead and having a full conversation with Matt and Luke. How is he multitasking this well?

His hand- his very large and warm hand- made its way even farther up, snaking towards my center with a painfully slow pace.

I knew what he was planning, and I was ready for it. At least, I think I am.

His finger brushed against the edge of my panties and he paused. When I looked over at him, he had his chin casually resting on his other hand and was looking at me sideways. He raised an eyebrow to ask me if it was okay.

In response, I took his hand that was so close to where I wanted it to be, and brought it down so that he could feel the wet spot forming just from thinking about what he was getting ready to do.

I think this shocked him a little, so he cleared his throat and looked ahead, picking up another conversation with Tara.

He made his way back to where he was and began slipping fingers past the hem of my panties. They were warm and soft, but still, I shivered.

I tried my best to continue on as normal while people talked to me, but as soon as I felt the pad of his pointer finger stroking my folds, I choked on my words.

No one seemed to notice, so I continued on like nothing happened.

He was teasing me now, touching around my entrance but never going in it. How irritating.

I’m sure he sensed my frustration, since he chuckled under his breath and immediately shoved a finger inside me.

I inhaled sharply, not expecting the force or suddenness. This seemed to please him; at least I’m assuming he was pleased based on the grin that graced his features.

He continued working while he talked, never stopping the motions of going in and out of me. He even began rubbing my clit with another finger while he fingered me. He must be really good at piano. And guitar, for that matter.

It was starting to get a little warm, and my body began reacting to the way he was relentlessly rubbing my clit in hurried circles.

“Spencer,” I hissed so that no one else could hear.

“Hmmm?”

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“I believe I’m trying to make you cum on my fingers.”

My breath hitched in my throat as I felt my core tighten. I looked around to make sure no one had heard us. The coast seemed to be clear.

“You’re gonna pay for this, asshole,” I choked out.

This seemed to only fuel him. His fingers began relentlessly attacking my swollen bundle of nerves and they did not stop. Not even close. He only got faster and faster, and I have no idea how that was even possible to begin with.

I wanted to smack the smirk that appeared when I tightened around his fingers right off his stupid face.

His eyes roamed my sweaty, slightly red face and he slowly pulled his hand from my panties.

Spencer then turned back to his plate and picked up the last bit of his dinner roll that was left. He placed it in his mouth, along with the tips of his fingers that were just in my panties. He pushed the roll farther in his mouth so that his fingers were halfway in. Then he slowly withdrew them, his lips never leaving those damn fingers.

“Mmm Rossi,” Spencer began, turning away from me and to the man he called, “These rolls are really good. Did you make them yourself? I don’t think I’ve ever tasted anything like it.”

This time I choked on my own saliva. So of course, I had a coughing fit that drew everyone’s attention to me.

“Oh my gosh, (Y/N) are you okay? Take a sip of water!” Penelope told me in honest concern for my well being.

I finished coughing and took a long gulp from my glass. I only wished it was whiskey instead of water right now.

“I’m okay, really,” I said, holding my hands up in front of me, “Just... swallowed my food too fast.”

This seemed to satisfy everyone so they all turned back to each other, Spencer’s comment about the rolls forgotten.

“That’s what you get for calling me those mean names, princess,” Spencer murmured next to me.

I stayed silent in response. Two could play at this game.

Without hesitation, I placed my hand against his crotch. And it was... something. I’m not sure if he was that hard or just- that big. Either way, my heart skipped a beat. But I didn’t let that stop me.

I slipped my hand beneath the waistband of his pants and made contact with what I was looking for. I felt him twitch under my touch, but his face gave nothing away to the others at the table.

So I started working. Tracing the length of what I could reach, and rubbing along his shaft with precision.

He took in a sharp breath as I made my way closer to the tip, and he quickly cut a glance my way.

I paid him no mind as I continued, making sure to eat off my plate like normal so as not to draw suspicion. Looking around, I could see that most people were finishing up their food, so I didn’t really have a lot of time left. I started going faster, putting more pressure onto his dick as I went. 

When I looked up to check the scene, I saw Spencer gripping his fork with white knuckles. He was holding on for dear life. Good. 

It was then that a few people began to excuse themselves from the table to go mingle some more before dessert. Shit. I had to hurry. 

I kept picking up speed, probably too much to be honest. But it worked. Spencer stiffened under my touch and a warm, wet spot was now forming in his pants, coating my fingers. He cleared his throat to try and drown out the noise he wanted so badly to make instead. 

I took a deep breath, satisfied with my work, and slowly removed my hand from his pants. It was just us, Penelope, and my uncle left at the table. They were in the middle of a conversation anyway. Luck was on my side tonight.

Spencer excused himself in a hurry, and I waited a few minutes before doing the same. I had no idea where he went, so I just had to walk around and find him somehow. We had unfinished business. 

A few minutes went by of me searching the halls, hopefully not drawing attention to myself. And then I found him, leaning against a wall and looking out the window in front of him. 

When I approached him, I opened my mouth to speak, but before I could get any words out, he grabbed my wrist roughly and pulled me into a closet. Spencer shut the door quietly behind us, though I could tell that he wanted to slam it. Uh oh.

“What the hell was that?” he hissed through gritted teeth.

“I was just playing along! Isn’t that what we wanted to do from the beginning?”

Spencer ran a hand through his hair. Oh, how I wanted to do the same thing.

“Obviously. I’ve been wanting to fuck you senseless since I laid eyes on you.”

My heart skipped a beat and the pulse suddenly went down into my core instead.

“Well do it then,” I murmured while gripping onto his forearms. There was enough space in this closet for many different positions. I just wanted to be as close to him as possible.

“I don’t know if you know what you’re getting yourself into,” Spencer groaned while palming my ass roughly.

“Mmm, I don’t care. I’m on the pill, by the way. So I wanna feel you. All of you. Although I have a pretty strong feeling you’d get off on putting a baby in me, Doctor,” I whispered into his ear before pressing my chest against his. I felt his breathing stop for a split second.

“Shut up,” he growled. It seems I pushed a button.

“Make me.”

Without a word and without hesitation, Spencer shoved me against the wall behind me and locked his mouth onto mine.

It was better than I could’ve imagined. And I had imagined it a lot over the course of tonight.

His tongue immediately shoved past the barrier of my lips and teeth, finding shelter in my mouth. The groans that came from him could have undone me right there, so I held onto his shoulders for dear life. His hands found his way to my ass, and he pushed me against his erection. His very large, very intimidating erection. And then all too soon, he pulled away, a string of saliva and swollen lips the only evidence of what had just happened.

“Who said you were allowed to tease me, huh? You've been pushing my buttons all night, and now look at you. A writhing mess underneath me. Such a needy little thing, aren't you?"

I shivered as his words reached my ears. So he had noticed I was already falling apart once again.

“God,” he moaned into my neck as he pushed me against his dick.

I couldn’t help myself- I moaned with him. The friction of him against my pulsing core was almost too much to handle.

“You sound so good,” he growled in my ear.

We stopped suddenly when footsteps could be heard nearby. I glanced at Spencer in a panic and started to move away from him. But before I could, he hastily shoved his hand over my mouth.

"Oh no, we're not stopping. Not when it’s getting this good. So you better be quiet or else everyone will know what a naughty little slut you are. Understand?"

I whimpered against his fingers and nodded at him. He gave me a wicked smile in return.

"Good girl. Now take off your panties and wrap your legs around me so I can feel just how tight your cunt really is. I have a feeling my dick will feel a lot better inside you rather than my fingers.”

With shaking hands, I slid my panties off and kicked them away.

Spencer must have enjoyed what I did because he licked his lips eagerly, never breaking his gaze towards me. Before I made my way back over to him, I couldn’t help but notice how hard he already was. This wouldn’t take long. Less of a chance we would get caught, thankfully. 

He pulled down his pants and boxers roughly, quickly stepping out of them like I had done moments ago. He made no motion to remove the clothes on his top half, solidifying the thought that this would be over quickly. How bittersweet. 

Without another word, I practically jumped into his arms, our mouths meeting immediately and moving against the other ferociously. But all of a sudden, he pulled away, and it pissed me off more than it should have. 

When I saw why he did though, I wasn’t angry anymore. 

He had picked up the belt he had been wearing from the floor, and was holding it in front of me with a dangerous look in his eye. 

“I don’t trust you to be quiet. Open,” Spencer said in a gravelly huff. 

I did as he asked without hesitation, and he roughly shoved the leather belt into my mouth, commanding me to bite down on it. 

Oh shit.

Without missing a beat, he picked me up and laid me down on the floor, extremely gently compared to how he had previously put the belt in my mouth. 

“Good thing you’re already so wet,” Spencer purred, looking down at my exposed core. “Otherwise, this might hurt a little. We don’t have a lot of time.”

Unfortunately, it did still hurt. But God, did it hurt so good. 

[accio-moony]

Escape || Remus Lupin x Reader SMUT

Request: no. A/N: I’ve been working on this for months. I am disgusted with myself for taking so long. Not fully edited, so probably lots of mistake. Forgive me. Word Count: ~9k Characters/Pairing: Remus Lupin x Reader, James, Lily, and Harry Potter, Sirius Black, Peter Pettigrew Summary: [NO VOLDEMORT AU, post Hogwarts Marauder’s era]It’s near a full moon, but you and your boyfriend Remus are going to Harry’s fifth (5th) birthday celebration. Remus gets really turned on when he sees you with Harry and tries to control it, but he can’t. WARNINGS: face fucking, breeding kink, rough sex, unprotected sex, oral sex (male and female receiving), vaginal sex, spanking, marking (scratching, hicks, biting), grinding hair pulling, choking, teasing, dom/sub relationship, overstimulation, dirt talk [all in no particular order god I’m disgusting] *not my gifs*

A loud crash sounds from outside your bathroom, making you jump in surprise and almost slip on the slick shower floor. Out of instinct, your arms come up to cover your chest, though the curtain covers you and whoever it was hasn’t made it to the bedroom yet. Quickly, you turn the water off, and you’re left cold as the remaining hot water runs off of your body. You grab the fluffy towel you had set out and wrap it around your frame before picking your wand up from the counter and slowly opening the bathroom door. You sneakily move to the bedroom doorway and peak down the hall. A tall shadowed figure stands in the great room, a duffle bag in one of his hands, a wand in the other.

“Y/n” the familiar voice calls to you when the man sees you. “Hold on. Lumos.” A small orb of light sits at the end of the man’s wand, and you can quickly identify the face of your boyfriend of several years, Remus, from under the blue-glow of the wand’s light.

“Oh, Remus,” you sigh, and your shoulders relax. “You scared me.” You walk down the hall to him and smack his arm playfully.

“Hmm, I missed you, too,” he grumbles and leans down, kissing you.

The kiss is soft and quick, but still holds all the love you’ve both built up over the years. When he pulls his lips away from yours, you whine, not yet having opened your eyes as you revel in the messed feelings of his lips on yours. He had just spent two weeks with one of his best mates, Sirius, but he was now home.

“Rem,” you say as you open your eyes, but he’s no longer standing in front of you. “Remus?” You call and turn back down the hall.

You find him in the bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bed next to his duffle bag which he had put down. His head leans into his hands as his elbows rest on his knees. You move from the hall to stand between his legs, but he doesn’t look up at you. You carefully grab his cheeks in your hands and pull his face up so he’s looking at you, but he keeps his eyes closed with furrowed brows. 

His actions confuse you. He’s usually very affectionate with you, loving any touch you give him. Slightly confused by his lack of reaction, you think of any obvious reason he could be acting this way, and your mind found the answer rather quickly: the full moon is in just two days. You turn your head back to him, not saying a word as you remove one hand from his cheek and trace your index finger down the bridge of his nose. He softens under your touch this time and quickly reaches up to wrap his arms around you, pulling you closer so he can rest his head on your belly.

You giggle as you run your fingers through his hair. “I thought we had planned to meet at James’s, honey?” You question him. 

At the mention of the small celebration that takes place in just over an hour, Remus drops his arms from your waist and leaned back on his elbows with his head lolled back, and of course, you take immediate notice to his change in demeanor.

“We don’t have to go, Rem,” you quickly counter. “We can stay home, just the two of us, in bed if you’d like.”

“No,” he shakes his head. “You want to go. I would want to go if I weren’t so… well, you know. And they’re expecting us.” He looks into your eyes as he stands from the bed, his tall frame making you stumble back a few steps as he becomes unexpectedly close, towering over you several inches. He places his hands on your shoulders, steadying you as he plants a kiss to your cheek, but his lips linger and wander back towards your ear, his breath hot against your skin making your blood boil. “I’ll be fine,” he says lowly, “but you better go finish getting ready before I change my mind.” His hand slides down and then under your arm, wrapping his arm around your waist, pulling you closer until your chest is pressed against his own. “You’re so beautiful, sweetheart.” His lips trail back over your cheek and jaw until they reach your lips. He captures yours with his own in a hungry kiss, the hand not around your waist wrapping into your still wet hair and pulling it backwards so he has better access to your mouth. The tension of the pull makes you let out a whiny moan into the kiss as your skin heats up.

You pull away and look into his eyes. They’re dark with lust and hunger. “Go,” he demands, and you scurry into the bathroom, Remus clapping his hand on your butt as you walk away, closing the door behind you and finishing getting ready. 

Once the door is closed behind you, Remus pushes his hand down on his semi, trying to give it some sort of relief. You don’t know yet, but he had gone to spend some time with Sirius, because they were discussing how Remus would ask you to marry him, and he had picked out the ring. You’re the only person in his life to ever make him feel normal and worthy of love. You had convinced him, after many years, that he is not a monster. He’s just Remus, with a furry-little-problem once a month. It had taken him years to believe you, and sometimes it’s still hard for him to, but you had shown him that his lycanthropy does not define who he is, and that he is, in your words, the best guy you’ve ever met and ever will meet. It wasn’t until the both of you left Hogwarts that he knew you were right. He knew you would always be by his side, no matter what condition, no matter what happens. You stood with him for the seven years of Hogwarts like you had known him all your life. You didn’t bat an eye when he told you about him, and you worked with his fellow marauders to become an animagus for him, so you could be with him for his transformations, not just to take care of him on the ends of it. He knows, and as his friends have pointed out on many occasions, you would never leave him. You love him too much. Remus would have to do something truly terrible for you to leave his side. After having convinced himself for so long that he could never have a real family, or even friends, you finally made him grow comfortable enough to the idea to believe he can, though he hadn’t told you yet. To your knowledge, he was still an insecure boy who thought he could never love. He knew you wouldn’t stop until you knew you had convinced him, and then you’d continue reinforcing the idea from then on. He’s able to imagine you with a grown baby, carrying his child, but he never mentioned it to anyone until this past holiday when he told Sirius. He had always pushed the thought aside, not wanting to get his hopes up, not wanting to pass his lycanthropy to an innocent infant. If you loved him for what he is, and you take care of him, then he knows you would do the same for your child, but the thought of passing the trait still terrifies him, but to a lesser extent. 

He turns to his bag on the bed and pulls the small velvet box out of the hidden pocket inside, going to hide it in one of his drawers, one you never go in — his underwear drawer. He opens the box, admiring the ring for a moment. The ring is small, simple but elegant, and he knows you’ll love it, he knows it reflects your personality and relationship perfectly. It’s simple: besides all the crazy stuff in between, the main picture is just love — the only thing that matters in the relationship. He still has to decide how to ask you. He knows he wants it to be romantic, but he also wants it to be as soon as possible. The romantic part isn’t difficult, it’s the having to wait until they’re not so close to the full moon. He could ask you tonight, before the gathering, but he doesn’t want you to think of it as a rash decision he made because of the full moon. If it was, he would’ve asked you months ago, maybe on a night where you were scolding him for trying to drink away the post-transformation pain. Quite the contrary, really. Usually, during a full moon, he’d get more self-conscious, feel more like you deserve better, but the full moons have begun to prove to him that he will marry you. You’re always there no matter what, and you always will be. He knows that, and he wants to keep it that way.

He hears the bathroom door open, and he quickly shoves the box haphazardly into the drawer.

“What’re you doing?” You ask him suspiciously.

“Uh,” he grabs a random pair of long black socks. “Looking for these,” he excuses, turning to you as he holds up the socks for you to see. It’s then he notices you’re in your favorite matching black lace bra and thong, and he curses his blood for running hot and straight to his groin. 

“Uh-huh,” you nod, still skeptical as you walk closer to him. 

As you reach the closet and start to look for an outfit, he quickly closes the drawer to try to hide the box from you.

He rummages through his clothes, picking out a plain white dress shirt with a dark red cable-knit sweater that contrasts just enough to wear with the pair of jeans he already had on and his favorite sneakers, sporting his signature comfortable-but-intelligent, soft attire and just enough of his old house colors. He puts the clothes on the bed with a subtle tie and pulls his jumper over his head, leaving him bare. In the mirror, you can see his back muscles flex and tense as he pulls the dress shirt up over his shoulders and start to button it. You walk over to him, laying the skirt and top you chose next to his outfit and helping him button up his shirt. 

“Let me help,” you smirk as you grab his shirt, looking up into his amber eyes innocently. You let your fingers trace over his muscles and is scars as you admire it all, never shying away from his flaws. When the shirt is buttoned, you grab the tie from the bed and toss it around his neck, grabbing the other end as it comes around and tugging his neck so he gets to a height where you can stand on your toes and kiss him passionately, biting and pulling on his lower lip as you pull away, releasing it softly as you lick your lips, looking into his pupil-blown eyes. 

As casually as possible, you step back from him and grab your clothes. First your mini skirt, pulling it over your bum and purposely squeezing into it give Remus a show. You grab your semi-casual blouse and pull it on, then tucking the bottom hem into the skirt. 

By this point Remus had his tie done and was pulling the sweater over his head, smoothing it down his chest. You grab your small wedges and wand before walking towards the door. 

“Let’s go, Remmy,” you call to him as you walk into and down the hall, your hips naturally swaying with each step.

Behind you, when he sees your hips move like that, Remus growls under his breath, but quickly subdues it with a cough as he follows you, grabbing his own wand on the way out, failing to pretend he could get the image of your plump ass out of his head. You grab the gift-wrapped box for the party, and the two of you went into the front garden, just by the old, rickety front gate. Remus holds his arm out to you, and you take it, preparing yourself for the sickening feeling of apparation. Your feet are lifted off the ground as you swirl into a spaceless darkness, squeezing through time and space in a way that would be nauseating to anyone who didn’t do it several times a day. 

It had been several hours since you and Remus had arrived at James and Lily’s house. You were in the kitchen with Lily, talking about what life is like, and how it changes once you marry and have children. You want that with Remus, and you had since before the two of you left Hogwarts. In Remus’ eyes, to your knowledge, he could never put that burden on someone for the rest of their lives. He didn’t want to risk passing his lycanthropy on to his children, who did nothing wrong, did nothing to deserve the condition, no matter how often you remind Remus that he didn’t do anything wrong, that he didn’t do anything to deserve the painful monthly transition. You wish you could make him see himself through your eyes, make him see how perfect he is. You wish you could make him see himself through his friends eyes, make him see how James, Sirius, and Peter adore him. You’ve confided in Lily about this before, and every time, she tells you how James tells her the same thing, wishing his friend could see how much he’s truly worth. The conversation dies down when you don’t respond, but just think about your boyfriend and how amazing he is. It upsets you to see his self-esteem so low. 

Your mind shifts back to when you were getting ready, and how Remus touched you, how he kissed you. You feel your skin heat up and your insides churn just thinking about it. You know it’s only a few nights to the full moon, and those nights, Remus gets sexually needy and rough. It’s something you love from him. He’s usually a softer lover, and you admire him for that, but sometimes you need something more stimulating. That need is rare for you and strangely correlates perfectly with his own

You squeeze your thighs together, trying to find some friction, but you are unsatisfied. You leave the kitchens and find Remus in the living room with his friends. He’s sat back in the couch, almost zoned out. You go to walk towards him with a simple innocent smile on your face, but you’re stopped when you feel a small hand grab your own. 

“Aunt Y/n!” You hear Harry call from behind you. You turn to him, giving him a big smile.

“Hi, Harry!” You exclaim. “Happy birthday!” “Thank you,” he says politely and hugs around your legs.

You chuckle and get an idea, a potentially dangerous idea. With your back towards Remus, you bend at your waist to lift Harry in your arms, but, as you hoped, your skirt rides up your hips, exposing just enough of your thong to Remus that you can feel his eyes burning into your back. You conceal your smirk with a big smile as you talk to Harry, “Where’s your mommy, huh?” Your knuckles nip around his nose playfully as you hold him in your arms, balanced on your hip as you walk into the kitchen with him still in your arms. Sweetly, he lays his head against your shoulder, and almost immediately falls asleep. Lily coos at her son when he she’s you with him. 

“I don’t see how Remus isn’t dying to see you like this with his child,” she comments, kissing her sons head. 

“I may bring it up to him again soon,” you comment. “I want him to know I truly want a life with him. But I’ll wait until a week or so after this full moon. I don’t want to aggravate him.”

Meanwhile, back in the living room, Remus looks over at Sirius once you’ve gone out of sight and ear-shot. “Fucking, damn-it,” he swears, unintentionally getting all of his friends attention. He blushes, trying to act like he didn’t just say that in a most aggravated tone.

“What is it?” James asks his friend, his eyebrow raised.

“I, uh —“ he starts, but is cut off.

“Can I tell them?” Sirius tries to, but fails to whisper to Remus. “Please?”

“Tell us what?”

“We’ll there’s no point hiding it now,” Remus sighs, giving Sirius at death glare. “You’ve gone and told them somethings up.”

“Great!” Sirius turns back to James and Peter. “He’s taking the jump.”

After a moment of confused silence, and Remus rolling his eyes, Peter speaks up. “The what?”

“The jump: he’s going to ask her!” Sirius explains, giddily happy. 

“Finally!” James exclaims.

Remus blushes deeply, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. “There’s no point not to. She’s everything to me… and she’s proved time and time again that I’m everything to her. She’s the only person to ever have made me feel normal, worthy of love.”

James and Sirius start high-fiving excitedly. 

“I mean, I already knew at this point that starting a family would be a part of this, but Merlin, seeing her with Harry like that just makes my heart want to explode.” Remus pulls a pillow off the couch and into his lap. “It’s turning me on, you know?..” He says under his breath. “Plus, I think she’s teasing me.”

“I’ve got this!” James says and stands up.

Sirius and Remus both grab his wrists, making him sit back down. 

“Don’t you dare—“ Remus starts, but it’s too late. James sets his plan into motion.

“Harry!” James calls from the living room, giving Remus a wink.

Harry’s head shoots up off your shoulder at the sound of his father calling his name. 

“We’ll see,” you smile to Lily, ending your conversation and turning out of the kitchen with Harry still in your arms. By the time you’ve reached the doorway between the kitchen and the living room, he’s wiggling so much that it’s difficult for you to keep hold of him. Again, you bend at the waist and place his little feet on the ground. Your blouse falling slightly and exposing your cleavage as you had  secretly hoped. You stand up again, and watch Harry run over to his father and jump into his lap. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Remus push a pillow down onto his lap and cross his legs. You smirk to yourself and look at him, his eyes boring you a hungry look, and you decide that you have to use the bathroom, meaning you’d walk right by him. You walk across the living room, tucking a stand of hair behind your ear as you head to the bathroom in the next hall, passing the end of the couch that Remus is seated on. When you get close enough to him, he reaches over the arm of the couch and grabs your waist, the side opposite him. He spins you and pulls you so you’re sitting in his lap, and he slyly removes the pillow, making you land right on his cock. You squeal slightly on your way down, and when you feel his hot breath against your ear for the second time tonight, you can’t help but squirm in his lap, “accidentally” creating friction between the two of you. 

Remus’ hands grab your hips and hold them still, holding you down against him.

“You feel that, babygirl?” He asks in a hushed voice so only you can hear him as he pushes his hips up from the couch, his hard member pressing into you. “You got me all hot and bothered in front of all of our friends. You’re going to have to fix it for me.” He nuzzles his nose into your hair, breathing hot on your neck, and you let out a whiney moan at his words. “I would take you in the bathroom now, but with what I’ll have to do to you, there won’t be enough space in the there.” His lips graze your neck, and he unexpectedly flattens his tongue against your skin, leaving it feeling like it’s boiling. He hums at the taste of your sweat. “And I want to be the only one to hear you screaming my name. You are mine, after all.” He leaves an open mouthed kiss on your shoulder, his tongue grazing the spot at he kisses it. “So, go get your purse. We’re leaving.” His teeth nip at your ear and he pinches your butt under your skirt as he pushes you off of him. 

For a moment, you don’t move, too stunned to do anything, but to your dismay, and Remus’ impatience, his hand flattens against your lower back as he leans forward in his seat, pushing you in the direction of the kitchen. On your way stumbling into the kitchen to find your purse and say goodbye to your friends, you look over your shoulder back at the man you love. He leans closer still to his friends, saying something inaudible to you that makes them all smirk and chuckle. Blushing, you scurry over to your purse. 

“Got her,” Remus smirks from the living room to his friends.

“I honestly didn’t know you had that in you, Moony,” James laughs.

“She does things to me.”

“Where do you think you’re going?” You hear Lily from behind you.

You turn to her, your purse in hand, and you pull her into a goodbye hug. “Remus wants us to go home,” you almost whisper. 

She grabs your shoulders and pulls away from you, holding you in front of her. “Is it what I think it is?”

You smirk and look over her shoulder into the living room.

She pulls you into one more hug. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” she tells you when she pulls away again. “Or anything James would do!”

Once Remus lays his eyes on you again after you’ve stepped back into the living room, he quickly stands, waiting for you as you walk over to him, and he takes your hand, pulling you away without any word to anyone.

“Bye, boys!” You call over your shoulder as your frustrated boyfriend pulls you out the front door. Your feet barely hit the garden when you’re lurching through space again, Remus disapperating from Godric’s Hollow with you on his arm. You feet hit the ground in the front garden of the home you and Remus share, and you’re instantly stumbling as he’s pulling you up the front step and into the house. He slams the door behind himself once you’ve both entered the house, locking it with a swish of his hand, as his other grabs your lower back and pulls you against him as he growls down at you with a matching look of hunger in his darkened irises.

You feel that he’s harder than he was just a moment ago when you were sat in his lap, and you could swear that you had long since soaked through your panties. 

His hand not holding your back grabs your face as he pulls your lips to his in a harsh, passionate kiss. The hand that was on your back sliding down to just under your butt as he lifts you up. Instinctively, your legs wrap around his waist to help him support you, and your skirt bunches up to your waist, your thong pressing against his leather belt. 

He walks forward, pushing your back against the door as his lips move from your lips to your neck, sucking and biting, effectively marking you as his own with the dark bruises he leaves behind.

You whine his name breathlessly at the feeling of his teeth, tongue, and lips all grazing and working at your neck. In hearing your name, Remus growls against your soft skin, biting down on it as he replaces your feet on the ground then pulls away, much to your displeasure. He walks backwards towards the couch, dragging you along with him by your hands. He sits down on the comfortable couch, his hands leaving yours and sliding down your sides and back towards your butt. As his hand rests on the top of your ass, he grabs the zipper of your skirt, pulling it down excruciatingly slow, but once he zipper is over the curve of your plump butt, he quickly employs the new margin of space available and shoves the skirt down your legs, letting it fall to the ground silently. Hastily, Remus’s hands grab at the back of your things, pulling them down and over to the sides of his own, making you straddle his lap. As he reconnects his lips to your own, one hand grabbing at the back of your blouse, the other cradling your face, you moan. You revel in the feeling of his plush lips for the first time this evening, being less caught up in passion where you can’t think, yet your senses are still crowded with longing. They work effortlessly against your mouth, his tongue pushing past your lips and exploring the area same as he would if he had never kissed you before, brushing over your lips, against your teeth, the inside of your cheeks, and the roof of your mouth before finally pressing his tongue down on yours, which had been begging his silently. As you two mix your mouths, you moan at the taste of him, the remainder of the one drink he had intoxicating you as if you were the one who had drank it.

You grind your hips down onto his jean-clad crotch, the denim rubbing perfectly through your soaked thong and against your aching core, a whine escaping your throat and into his mouth. Your hands slide under his sweater, then under his dress shirt, feeling his hard muscles under his warm, tan skin, littered with soft hills from scratches and wounds of the many previous full moons he’s had to endure. 

Remus leans back, detaching his lips from yours for a moment only long enough to remove the red sweater before fervently reattaching himself. His hands hold you still against him, one keeping your hips down on his own, the other holding loosely tangled in your hair. He could leave his hand in your hair for an eternity, sexual or not. He loves playing with it, twirling it between his fingers when you lay your head in his lap on the couch while he reads; he knows you love head and back massages at night and how they put you to sleep in a mere minute. Your hair is soft and silky, easy to run his hands through without getting caught on any knots or tangles. He also know how much you love it when he grabs your hair by it’s roots, tugging enough for tension but not pain, or when he puts it into a make-shift pony tail when you’re going down on him. 

Your soft lips leave the warmth of his mouth, pulling them away and down over his jaw, leaving open-mouthed kisses. Your tongue brushes over his scruffy face with every kiss, tasting the salty sweat that has begun to seep from his pores the more you touch him. Trailing your lips down his neck, sucking soft marks into it, biting on his collar bone or shoulder as you pass it, your hands nimbly work at the buttons on his shirt, shaking from the excitement running through you, the continuous passion you hold for your boyfriend. Your mouth follows the buttons as the come undone down his chest, adjusting your position in his lap and on the couch to keep moving a few inches with each new free button as you kiss, lick, and suck at his supple skin.

When your tongue licks at the top of his faint happy trail, feeling his grip on you tighten, you kiss back up his chest, pushing the shirt to the sides to reveal his tones abs and pecks. Remus isn’t super muscular, he isn’t burly by any means, but he’s toned and has just enough muscles to look strong and soft at the same time. You run your fingers through the short chest hair that lightly strews across his chest as you kiss each of his scars, following them until they stop or disappear behind him. His scars are a story, they show how strong of a man he is, the man you love more than anything. His story has become your story, one you’ve loved since the beginning. 

You reach back up to his neck with your lips, kiss and continue to mark up the length of it as you return your mouth to his. You lean in just enough to feel your lips brush together softly, but you pull back when Remus tries to connect them. You smirk as you place a single, hot kiss to his lips before getting off his lap completely, sitting on your heals, your body supported by your knees on the floor in front of him. You start you lips back at the top of his happy trail again, and he pushes his hips forward, leaning back farther into the couch for both of you to be more comfortable in the coming activity. Your mouth trails down to his waistline as your hands run up and down his thighs slowly. When you reach the line of his jeans against his waist, your hands slide up, slowly, towards his belt, squeezing his painfully hard erection through his clothes as you pass. Once the buckle is free, you pull back completely, sitting back and looking up at him with your innocent doe eyes as you pull the leather from the denim loops. Your hands find the button on his jeans, quickly popping it open and then carefully attaching to the zipper as you pull it down.

You hook your fingers into the waistband of his trousers and pull down, he lifts his butt from the couch cushion enough for you to slide the fabric over his butt. You only pull to to just past his upper thighs, leaning his legs covered but giving you comfortable access to his treasure. Your soft hands rub back up his legs and over the material of his boxer briefs, finding his length and giving it a firm squeeze at the base, skidding your hand back and forth just and inch or so as you kiss at the damp spot over the tip of his cock. You slowly wipe your tongue on the spot, giving him an unsatisfying amount of friction.

His hand in your hair yanks your head back with a delectable amount of force, lifting your mouth off of him and forcing you to look up at his as you moan from the tension. He leans forward in his seat, bending low enough for his lips to be by your ear, his hot breath fading over it as he speaks. “You don’t want to tease me anymore tonight, love,” he informs you. “I had already been planning on you not being able to walk for the rest of the week.” He pauses and licks a stripe up your neck before continuing. “But now you’ve got a whole other punishment coming your way.” His hand leaves your hair for just a moment as he cups your cheek softly, leaning back a bit and pulling himself from his underwear. Once his aching cock is free, his hand on your cheek slides back into your hair, forcing you down so your mouth is next to his radiating member before sitting back into the couch completely.

Obeying, your small hands wrap around his cock, and you lick a long, wet stripe up the thick, pulsing vain on the underside. The feeling of it throbbing against your tongue, and the taste of his pre-cum when you reach his tip is almost enough to make you cum there, without being touched. You moan against him, still teasing him, still driving him mad.

His hair in your hair pulls you up only slightly as his other hand grabs and slacks your jaw, forcing you to take his delicious cock into his mouth. “Stop,” he says sternly as he thrusts up into your mouth. “Teasing,” he thrusts again, making you gag as he hits the back of your throat, unprepared. His hand in your hair loosens and his other leaves your jaw, letting you recompose yourself before further coaxing you. “Come on, Princess,” he hums softly, pushing stray hairs out of your face. “Let me see you take my cock in that pretty little mouth of yours. I know you want to, I know your desperate for it. Take my cock in your mouth, and you’ll get it nice and rough later.”

You whine at his words, quickly wrapping one hand around the base of his cock, spitting over it before lowing your mouth onto him, bobbing your head and hollowing your cheeks as you rejoice in the feeling of his cock filling your mouth. You hum against him, pleased to be providing him with pleasure. 

Remus starts grunting in time with your head and thrust up shallowly to the same rhythm. His hand drops from your hair when he thinks your ready, and they both grab the sides of your face as he fully fucks up into your mouth. Your hands flatten against his thighs, bracing yourself as you take him down your throat.

He’s grunting and groaning and praising your mouth until you feel him twitch in the back of your throat, before he roughly pulls your mouth off of him. He stands up quickly, shoving his pants the rest of the way down and taking his socks and shoes off with them, leaving them there as he pulls you up, kissing you once passionately, both of you moaning into the kiss.

His hand wraps around your wrist and he pulls you farther into your home and to your bedroom. He pushes you down on the edge of the bed before climbing on, straddling your legs with his knees on either side of your thighs as his hands wrap under your arms and pull you up higher on the bed so that your head rests in the pillows.

Remus’s calloused hands slide under the fabric of your top, pushing it up before grabbing the hem and forcing it over your head. He throws the shirt to the floor somewhere on the room, somewhere neither of you cared about right now. His mouth works down your neck, leaving more marks as he crosses over and down your chest, licking at the top of your breasts above your bra before biting harshly in the same spot. You moan out, loving the feeling of his teeth against you. His nibble hands slide under your arched back, making quick work of your bra as he snaps the band and releases the clasp. That is discarded in an equally irrelevant place as your shirt. As soon as your breasts are free, he leans in, sucking one of your nipples into your mouth harshly, letting his teeth graze over it and bit down ever-so slightly as his other hand cups your opposite mound, rolling and pulling that nipple through his fingers making you moan out his name.

His lips and hand switch sides for an equal moment before they continue down the valley of your chest and your soft stomach, leaving more marks still as he makes his way to your panty-line at an agonizingly slow pace. His fingers grip into the flesh on your sides as he sucks and licks his mark onto your tummy. You’re left trying to string word together to make a sentence, but it’s all incoherent as it just comes out as breathless pants. 

You’re able to build your voice back when he just follows your panty-line across your tummy, avoiding the steaming apex of your legs that’s screaming for his attention. “Rem-“ you barely manage, and his lips slow against you as he looks up at you from almost between your legs. “Plea—“ but you can’t finish as you gasp out a breath when you feel his lips switch to your thighs. 

“What was that?” he smirks into your leg?

“Ple—“ you try again, only for him to bite into the soft skin of your thigh.

“I need to hear the full word, babygirl,” he says, pulling away from one thigh and moving to the other.

“Please!” You force out, not letting him cut you off with his actions again.

At that, his mouth leave your thighs as he sits up, leaning over you enough to kiss you passionately, and you wrap your hands into his hair. “Good girl,” he smirks against your lips before pulling back again, positioning his face between your thighs while he sits on his knees, leaning forward. Without a warning, he presses his tongue over the wet fabric covering your mound. Me moans against you, feeling how you’ve soaked through your thong, and he can taste you. “Merlin, baby,” he hums into you, sucking you through your panties before pulling back. “You’re so wet, Y/n,” he teases as his fingers gently wrap under the waist line and begin to pull down your thong. “Who did that to you, hm?” He encourages you, throwing your thong off the bed before laying on his stomach between your legs, roughly gripping your thighs in his hands and pushing them up against your chest, giving him a beautiful view of your soaking cunt. He blows hot air over your sensitive core as he waits for you to answer.

“You, Remus! You made me that wet,” you plead for him. He happily obliges and dives in, licking his tongue up and down through your folds without warning. “Oh, fuck,” you curse out in a whine.

His tongue stills and flicks over your swollen clit several times as he rubs the tips of his fingers against your entrance, getting them ready for you. He stops licking as he begins to push his fingers into you slowly, his lips wrapping around your clit instead and sucking the bud into his mouth. His fingers only pushed in slowly until they reached a halt. He gives you zero adjustment time and starts pounding them in and out of your pussy, creating an obscene sound as the curl and twist within you.

You moan out at the sudden sensation, music to his ears as one hand finds this hair, wrapping into it and pulling. He moans into you at the tension you create and hearing your angelic voice do such sinful things. With your legs still pressed to your chest, you can barely reach the one hand into his hair, so the other reaches under your head, grabbing and pulling at the pillow.

He continues fucking his fingers into you at the fast pace, continuing to suck and lick your clit the same. You quickly become a moaning mess, and you’re almost embarrassed by the pornographic sounds you’re making. Your head turn to the side, and you bite into your arm to suppress the sounds. This doesn’t go unnoticed, and Remus pulls away from your center, his face slick with your arousal. His hand leaves the warmth of your walls, smacking down over your cunt and causing you to involuntarily jerk forward.

“Don’t be quiet,” he demands. “Let me hear you, darling. Let me hear the sounds only I can get from you, yeah?” He cocks an eyebrow at you and your mouth releases your arm, but as though he doesn’t trust you to cover it again, he pulls your hand from the pillow, and interlaces his fingers with yours as he dives back in, eating you like he hasn’t eaten in months.

He returns to your cunt at the same pace, but only picks up the speed from there, his fingers digging not you deeper, rougher as he pushes you towards the rapidly approaching edge. He knows your dangerously close, and he pulls the high from you as he moans into you, sending vibrations through you that tip you over the edge. You moan loudly, legs convulsing at the intense peak rushing through your muscles. He pulls your legs down over his shoulders so you’re more comfortable as he continues to work your cunt, you thinking he’s riding out your high. Only he doesn’t stop. He removes his fingers from your hole, but continues sucking on your clit. The sensitivity from the orgasm that just ripped through you puts you right back on the edge. Your hips start to buck and both your hands lace into his hair, gripping tight. The intensity of only being on the verge of your next orgasm has you crying in pleasure, your hands pushing against him as you try to move his face off of you.

Your hands quickly give up as he holds himself onto you, and when he starts shaking his head back and forth with his tongue pressed against you, your pushed over that second edge, your back contracting as your muscles force you to sit up, using his hair as an anchor. He moans into you as you pull his hair, and he slows down, carefully lapping up your juices before kissing back up your body to your lips. 

He gives you a chaste kiss before he flips you over, pushing your face down into the bed. His hands hook over your hips, grabbing around them and pulling them up so your ass is in the air on perfect display for him. His hands leave your hips once they’re where he wants them, wrapping them around your wrists and pulling them back behind your back before wrapping one of his large hands over them both to keep them there. His other hand reaches between your legs, spreading them apart so he can comfortably stand on his knees behind you. After your legs were in position, he used the hand not restraining your wrists to grip his cock, rubbing it up against your core, getting it slick and ready for you, but still not entering you.

You moan at the feeling of his throbbing length pressing against you, so close, but not close enough. Your moan, having been a subconscious technique to get him to continue, is not a suitable attempt for him. His hand leaves his cock, still pressed against you as he holds his hips against your own, then smacks down on your ass, wordlessly commanding you to beg for him.

“Remus,” you whine, pushing yourself back against him, and his hand comes down on the opposite cheek. Not good enough. “Please!” Another smack. Still not good enough. “Remus, please!” You try combining the two previous pleas, but he spanks you again, and you know he wants to hear you say it. You know he won’t give you what you both crave until he hears you say it. “Please, Remus! Please, fuck me,” you cry out as his hand comes back down on you, only this time for fun, to make sure both of your cheeks are equally reddened. As you’re whining his name again, his hand leaves your ass and grips himself at the base, pushing into you to the hilt in a quick thrust, no warning.

“Good girl,” he groans from above you as you moan out at the feeling of him so perfectly stretching you. He stills only long enough to get out the two words and move your hair over your shoulder, letting him see the side of your face and the top of your back and shoulders. You don’t have much time to adjust before he pulls out, almost completely, and starts thrusting forward into you again at an agonizingly slow pace. His palm runs over your red cheeks, soothing and kneeling the skin under his hand while still holding your arms behind your back.

The perfect friction, the prefect way he fills you up and reaches every crevice within your walls has you softly moaning for him, but you need more. You start to push your hips back into him, meeting his thrusts in his rhythm but trying to get him to speed up all the same. “Rem,” you moan. “Faster. Please.”

His one hand releases your wrists, the other holding your hips against his as he wraps the first around your throat, pulling you up against him until your back is pressed to his chest. “You want me to pound you, huh, baby?” He breaths hot on your ear, his hips thrusting roughly up into you and hitting your g-spot dead center, causing you to cry out his name. “You’re so needy for my cock?” His teeth graze the shell of your ear as he thrusts again, another cry escaping your lips.

“Yes!” You call out to him. “Please, Remus. I need you.”

You say what he wants, but his reaction if the opposite for you. He pulls away from and out of you completely, pushing you back down onto the bed forcefully, and you bounce a little once you hit the bed. He turns you over again, having you face up as he kneels between your legs again, grabbing them from behind your knee and putting them over his shoulders as he realigns himself effortlessly and continues to pound into you.

The pornographic sounds you make further strive the hungry beast inside him, and he reaches down for you, draping his hand back over your throat and squeezing once more. He continues to hit the bullseye in you repeatedly, almost as if he’s trained his whole life just to please you to such an extent. His thrusts are so precise that you barely registered the build up to your rapidly approaching third orgasm.

“Rem,” you draw out his name, warning him, and he understands.

“Do it, baby,” he commands, and you let go of the force pressing violently against your gut.

You scream his name, your voice hoarse and throat sore as you whine and gasp while you come down, Remus working you through it the whole time.

“Good girl,” he praises you, dropping your legs from his shoulders as his hand leaves your neck and slides up.  He cradles your cheek as he leans over you, kissing you passionately as his thrusts slow down. “You’re so beautiful, darling. Just absolutely perfect.”

Remus’ previous aggressive lust, turns into a loving lust, just wanting to be one with you, be a whole instead of two halves. There’s just as much passion as before, it’s just more apparent now without his hunger for you clouding it.

“Remmy,” you whine, too sensitive after three orgasms. You’re still soaking, but you can feel every ridge of his cock as he slides in and out of you. Remus lifts his head from where it was folded into the crook of your neck, looking deep in your eyes. “I can’t. It’s too much.” A tear falls from your eye and runs down your cheek, but he’s quick to catch it, kissing the wet spot it left and then your lips so softly you barely feel it.

“Help me finish, baby. I’m close,” he encourages you to hold on just a few moments more. “You can do it, Princess. You’re being such a good girl for me.”

You nod your head as you look up into his darkened, but soft, eyes. The way his mouth hangs open and his eyebrows furrow together, you can tell he is close. You moan his name as you pull his lips into another love-filled kiss, wrapping your legs tighter around his hips and your arms over his shoulders, pulling him deeper into you. You break from the kiss panting. “Cum in me,” you plea so softly you can barely hear it.

Remus’ hearing is strong enough to pick it up, and his rhythm falters for half a moment. “Really?” He asks, how close he is painfully evident on his face. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. Please.”

His carnal need resurfaces, hitting into you harder, and you cry out every time. “You want me to cum in you, huh?” He growls into your ear, but he’s so close it breaks into a groan. “You want me to fill you with my cum, baby?”

You nod vigorously, not being able to form any words with the intense feeling burning in your core. He captures you lips in a kiss as he stills, buried deep inside your cunt and coating your inner walls with his hot ropes, his hips involuntarily jerking as he does. You’re sensitiveness, his words, and the feeling of him and his cum filling you to the brim push you over the fourth edge, and you crying out as your body convulses under him so much you would’ve folded in on yourself if his body weight wasn’t keeping you flat on the mattress.

He collapses on top of you as both your bodies give their last few tremors, both of you panting and sweaty, hair sticking to your faces. His arm extends towards the side table, looking for his wand. “Fuck,” he mutters, and you hum in question to his exclamation. “Our wands are still in the living room,” he kisses you softly, but with so much love. “You know, with our clothes.”

You giggle against his lips before he pushes himself off of you and goes into the ensuite to grab you a washcloth. Your affectionate urge to always be around him awakens and sends you to the bathroom, but when you stand from the bed, pain shoots down your sore legs and your knees give out. You’re left to gravity to fall to the floor with a small squeal and a soft thud.

The door to the bathroom quickly opens as he looks for the cause of the sudden noise, finding you on the floor in front of him. “What do you think you’re doing?” He chuckles.

“Following you,” you blush and look down at the carpet. You’ve always tried to subside your natural clinginess in fear that it will annoy Remus.

You heel hands wrapping under your arms and you’re hoisted off the floor. “You’re my lost puppy, aren’t you?” He teases, making you giggle. A sound he could listen to on repeat for the rest of his life, a sound he’s never planning on losing. He puts you down so your weak legs hand off the edge of the bed. “Would you wait here just a moment please, love?” He says, adoration filling his voice. He steps back into the bathroom and comes back with two washcloths, a warm on and a cold on. He uses the cold one first, wiping the sweat and left over make up off your face. A moment later you take the rag from him so you can wipe his sweaty forehead, too, but you gasp and whine in surprise as the warm cloth rubs between your legs. “I’m sorry, baby,” he apologizes and kisses you sweetly. You run your hands over his head, flattening his hair down as you kiss him back, never wanting to stop, and he finished cleaning the mess he had made of the two of you. “I’m going to take these and the other clothes to the laundry real quick, love,” he tells you before kissing your head and leaving the room.

You build all of your strength to get up and go to the closet in search of clean underwear for you both, stopping dead in your tracks when a poorly hidden velvet box in his drawer peaks at you from between the socks. You pick is up carefully and open the box, a ring perfect for you sat in the fold. You cup your hand over your mouth to hide any noise you might make, but your heart is in your throat as it bursts with love, and you couldn’t make a sound if you tried.

“Shit,” Remus curses behind you, having come back into the room silently. He rushes over to you and moves to take the box from your hands, but his hands stop, resting over yours as he looks at you staring at the ring, mesmerized. “You weren’t supposed to see that, yet,” he says and laughs softly, nervous of your reaction because your face is so blank, he can’t get a clue. 

“Then… I’ll just pretend I didn’t,” you give him a small smile, but one that shows him your whole heart. You pull your hands back from his, leaving him to hold the box as you slip on your fresh panties and climb back into the bed. He looks to you, surprised you’re not questioning it, but your sat in the center of the bed with your arms held out to him and a goofy pout placed on your lips as your hands grab at the air.

He sighs happily, places the velvet box unhidden in his closet, and pulls on fresh boxers before climbing into your arms. Your fingers slide into his hair and scratch at his scalp as he lays his head on your belly.

After a moment of comfortable silence and his mind not settling, he lifts his head and looks up at you, seeing your eyes are closed. He calls your name softly. You hum, informing him you’re awake. Remus climbs further up the bed, laying on his side facing you to your left. His hand grazes your cheek as he pushes hair out of your face.

“I love you. I have never felt this much of one feeling before I met you. I’m so in love with you that it terrifies me, and I don’t know what to do. But you’ve changed me, you’ve made me a better man. I can’t imagine a future without you as my wife and with our kids running around. I never knew how to bring it up before,” he pauses a moment, trying to find the right words as he asks you the big question on a sudden limb. “I’ve just been to scared. I don’t know why, because you’ve never done anything but love and support me, and I couldn’t ask for better. I was with Sirius to find you the ring, and try to plan a romantic moment to ask you to marry me, I just didn’t want it to be so close to the full moon.”

You take a moment, considering everything he’s said and your chest swells with love and pride. “What about ‘James’?” You ask, being stuck on the one thing he said. When he pulls away from you completely and sits up, you open your eyes, startled. He’s looking at you with all the confusion in the world. “Oh my god!” You gasp. “That came out so wrong. I meant as a name! Merlin, the things you do to me — beyond amazing — exhaust me. I can’t speak correctly.” You let out a breathy laugh as you look for his reaction, a smile growing onto his face.

“You mean, like, a baby name?” He asks you.

You nod at him, smiling, and his shoulders relax as he lays next to you again.

“No, no,” he says after a moment. “I don’t want the product of my love for you to constantly remind me of my idiot best friend.”

“Okay, so ‘Sirius’ is also off the table,” you giggle.

“What about our parents names?” Remus asks as he turn to you, pulling you into him as his little spoon. 

“So the product reminds us of our parents?”

He laughs at your rebuttal, and you smile. “Good point.” He presses his lips to your temple. “I guess we have time to figure it out.” He sighs in contempt as he buries his face in the back of your neck.

“For now,” you agree.

“So that’s a yes?” He picks his head up quickly to ask. “You’ll marry me?”

You turn in his arms, facing him and grabbing both his cheeks in your hands, purposely squishing his face a little. “Of course, you big oaf,” you laugh and kiss the love of your life.

[therewasatale]

Deal?

On Ao3.

Summary:  ReverseAU How Vetinari decided to become a watchman, and how Vimes started to plan out to become the Patrician.

Note: @lurfck art from tumblr really inspired me, go and see their art. its pretty cool. I always wondered that when will I get back to the fandom and Here. I. Am. With an AU that noone asked for, but it keeps me up for nights and makes me write.

Commander Vetinari pulled back the hood made from dark fabric. Water droplets cascaded of the material joining into those on his cape. Reaching up, he took off his helmet and with it under his arm, walked down the corridors of the Patrician Palace. He let his footsteps echo and glanced at one of the paintings. He looked into its eyes for a few seconds, and then walked up a staircase. Arriving at the office, he waited and then knocked slowly and deliberately.

"Come in, Commander."

Inside, Lord Vimes gazed out the window looking over Ankh-Morpork. Drops of rain knocked on the glass, the commander knew it was reinforced multiple times, but their sounds still managed to be heard in the room. As the door closed, the man turned, with a small smile on his face.

"Good evening, Vetinari."

"Sir." Said Vetinari. "You have sent for me."

To Patrician's waved towards his table, upon which a kettle steamed, accompanied by two cups. They took a seat about the same time, and the Commander placed his helmet on a stack of unregarded paper nearby. Vetinari glanced at the uppermost one just under his helmet, then turned his attention towards the Patrician.

"So, are we celebrating with tea?"

"You don't drink anymore, and neither do I. And besides, Sybil always brings a box of tea as a gift when she visits."

The edge of Vetinari's mouth twitched, and turned slightly upward. A rare thing indeed. "How many boxes do you have?"

"More than enough, I already had to dedicate a separate room for them." Vimes glanced at him and added. "But there are always taste testers of course."

The Commander nodded and reached for the kettle. "How many years has it been?"

"As if you don’t know exactly. " Lord Vimes snorted, but he couldn't suppress his smile. They both knew the answer very well.

"We have exciting years behind us, starting with that dragon."

"Both of us almost died."

"You had more close calls than I am, if I am not mistaken," said Vimes after thinking a bit.

"Really? I thought they tried to kill you more."

"Well, they tried, but mostly you got in the way."

"Thanks to you," smiled Vetinari into his cup. "Since, if I recall it correctly, this all was your idea to begin with."

Lord Vimes snorted, but he couldn't really argue with it. It happened years before, when both of them were just kids, and didn't know what kind of future was waiting for them.

Samuel Vimes entered his room and stopped after a few steps. Something was off, he really couldn't put a finger on it, but it made the hairs on his neck stand up. He glanced around, then blinked into the darkness. He opened his mouth to say something but decided against it. Well, maybe it will make him look like a fool a bit.

"You shouldn't be here," said Vimes, and waited.

The shadows moved in one corner and a figure stepped out. He wore clothes colored in various shades of black, only broken by two ice blue eyes.

"It's nice to see you too, Vimes." Havelock Vetinari pulled the black mask and hood down from his head. "Don't light the candle."

"I can't see in the dark." Said Vimes with a small snort.

"Take four steps forward then you can sit down to your table."

"Why are you here?" Vimes walked with outstretched hands and felt the corner of his desk around the fourth step. Finding the chair, he took a seat. He could not see or hear it, but he still managed to feel the movement of his guest. When he spoke, the voice came right next to him.

"Just wanted to have a quiet night." He pulled out a small bottle from the depths of his dress, which landed on the desk with a soft clink.

"What? Are you trying to poison me?"

"If I wanted to kill you, Vimes, I could have done it the moment you stepped in."

There was a silence and then Vimes gave out a nervous sigh.

"You always knew how to put people at ease. What did you say, why are you here?"

"I'm just here to talk."

"Oh."

"Vimes."

"All right, all right. But I don't have a glass."

"It's fine." Out of the corner of his eyes Vetinari watched as the young nobleman glanced in his direction and then towards the bottle. "Wine from Überwald. I recently got it." The cork got out the bottle without a single pop.

"Oh." The silence waited patiently for him to continue. "And how are your studies in the Assassins Guild?"

There was another pause.

"It's...fine. I'm learning a lot." Vetinari sipped his wine and let the pleasant heat of the alcohol spread through him and show on his face. "My father is satisfied, too, if I am not mistaken."

"That's good."

Vimes tasted the alcohol carefully. After a few sips he could feel the slight redness spreading across his face as he shuddered pleasantly. His eyes began to get used to the darkness, and he could just make out the slightly hunched figure sitting next to him.

"When was the last time we met?"

"At your mother's funeral," said Vetinari. "The next day I was sent to the assassin's guild to start my studies."

"Hm."

There was yet another period of silence.

"And how is your dad-"

"Do you have to appear on balls yet? Considering you reached marriable-age."

"What are you talking about?!" Sam scoffed turning red and becoming even more flattered as he heard Vetinari's chuckle. "Very funny. But yes, sadly, I have to. Believe me, I don't enjoy it very much. Especially since Sybil is the only sane person there who I can talk to. The Rust family is the worst."

"How so?"

"I think they're trying to be friendly."

"Don't trust them"

Vimes snorted and rolled his eyes. "Like I would ever."

Vetinari nodded silently. He was trying to swallow his slight nervousness and suppress it just like he did with his other feelings. Ever since he started to study to be an assassin, he hadn't been able to move around in the city as much as he wanted. Without that he hasn’t been able to keep his eye on everything. This was to his father's delight no doubt, he was always focused on keeping up the legacy.

They sipped slowly from the wine, letting time wash over them. Vetinari sometimes glanced towards the window or checked the shadows for anyone hiding in them. He knew he haven't been followed, but he could never be absolutely sure.

"Things could be better."

Vetinari turned his gaze towards Vimes and waited. He knew there was more to it.

"With a different Patrician, I mean. Maybe, if someone would really care about all those crimes, and find a better way. Even this city has rules."

There was a small chuckle.

"What? It could work, I know I'm an idealist, but it could really work. With a different system."

"What I would call you indeed starts with an "id-", Vimes."

The younger man barely held back a scoff, but his face turned became slightly pinker, and not just from the wine.

"The city is changing," said Vetinari.

"But not in a good way."

There was a silence, they could hear the city's dull noises.

"Well, if Lord Winder manages to piss someone off properly, then, when the time is right I'll be able to do something. However, if you ask me, the past will just repeat itself."

His words had a kind of edge that even Vimes noticed.

"I really don't know what to say about that."

"Then don't," said Vetinari.

"But maybe it could be done differently."

"You, really are an idealistic idiot."

Vimes now actually scoffed and drank another glass of wine. Finally, he sighed, and he too stared out the window. "Do you want to be an assassin?"

He didn't get an answer.

"Sorry. I just...you don't seem too happy."

"Then how do I seem to you?"

Vimes shrugged. Again, he really didn't know what to say. He didn't see that as Vetinari looked at him, an idea began to form in the assassin's mind.

"The city could be better." Vetinari surprised even himself when he began talking. Well, no turning back from now.

"What?"

"You just said it. Maybe it needs an idealistic idiot, like you."

"You just had to call me an idiot, don't you? And what do you mean someone like me? I'm not good at with politics and aristocrats."

"But you can learn it." Vetinari's voice had a smiling tone in it. He noted to himself that he hasn’t received an immediate 'no'. The younger man, next to him, seemed to be immersed in his thoughts.

"Well," he said after a while.

"Yes?"

"It wouldn't be easy," Vimes said. "I would have to learn a lot and kiss a lot of butts." Grimacing, he emptied his glass once more. When he spoke again, his voice became more determined. "And I could only be a Patrician if I knew someone was watching my back."

"Oh, well in that case, I can assure you-"

"Within the law. Someone would watch me, within the law."

Vetinari raised an eyebrow, now he was looking straight into Vimes' eyes.

"What are you trying to say?"

"You could be a watchman."

"I beg your pardon?" Scoffed the assassin.

"With your knowledge and skills. You would be an ideal watchman." Repeated Vimes.

"Ideal for who?"

"For me, of course." He realized what he just said. "I-I mean, to be next to me. I would trust you; we grew up together. I know your father, and you knew my mum and dad. So, I could trust you. And this-" he made a vague gesture indicating the whole of the city. "It could be more...good. Better. Maybe it would work, really work. It would be fairer."

Vetinari didn't move, but the look in his eyes and the sound of his voice softened a little. "You idealistic idiot."

"So? It's a deal then? If you become a watchman, I'll be the Patrician." He added after thinking for a second. "Somehow."

They locked gazes for a minute.

"All right, it's a deal." Said Vetinari, and for the first time in a long time, he let himself truly smile.

 Vetinari refilled the cups.

"It's a shame I didn't see your face when you got my letter. And when you found out I kept myself to our agreement."

"Oh, you didn't see my face?" Said Vimes with a barely hidden smile. Despite looking into the commander's eyes, he was unable to read anything from them.

"Of course not, my lord. Since our deal was to watch over you once when you've become the Patrician."

The patrician shook his head, still amused by the memories. "Well, it was surprising. And as you see, I did keep my word." He gestured around the office. "It did take some time, but it worked. But what I'm sorry about is that I didn't see the face of guild teachers when they found out you were joining Night Watch."

"Well, I am pretty sure I almost gave them a heart attack. On the other hand, I did offer them something to keep them busy." Vetinari glanced at him one last time, before he turned his eyes towards to his cup and finished his tea.

"You mean, they immediately put big price on your head but were unable to get rid of you no matter how hard they tried?"

"They've often said I was being a rather ungrateful student." Lord Vimes allowed himself a small chuckle, and so did Vetinari a smile. They really had a history behind both of them. But even that night, he was already aware. He let his blue eyes rest on the face of the ruler, and seen him turning serious.

"I'm sorry." Said Vimes finally, pushing aside his emerging guilt so he could speak.

"Sir?"

"Your father, I didn't think he would..."

"Kick me from the family because I don't follow the tradition of becoming a professional assassin?" He waved it off. "It's not your fault, and you were right back there. I didn't want to be an assassin anyway."

Vimes' cup stopped on his way towards his lips.

"Sir?"

The lord of the city took a small sip. "Nothing. I'm glad that you chose something different. And better."

"So am I, sir." He glanced at the man. "Did I ever tell you that after my father disowned me, Sybil immediately tried to convince her dad that they should adopt me?"

Vimes had to cough when accidentally breathed in tea instead of air. "She did what?!"

 Of course while they talked, the letter was with them, hidden in one of the Patrician's desk. It was stored with outmost care, but it did develop a few creases from handling.

It had the following two words written in it:

'Your turn.

H.V. '

[willowcrowned]

Grey Apprentice AU (Installment #4)

aka Sith!Obi-Wan AU Flavor II 

(Previous parts: x x x)

Qui-Gon paces the length of his and Obi-Wan's small sitting room, first once, then twice, then a third time. He looks up, expecting the usual dry comment from Obi-Wan on jedi masters’ peaceful bodies and minds, but he’s not there. Of course, that’s the problem in the first place: Obi-Wan is gone, off on a ship with a figure that felt like a maelstrom of darkness in the Force, and he’d left with a wink. The man must know something Qui-Gon doesn’t, but what it is, he can’t guess.

He turns, pausing at the entrance to Obi-Wan's room. He normally doesn’t enter without permission; it’s an invasion of Obi-Wan's privacy— privacy to which he is well entitled— but in this case...

Qui-Gon grimaces, opening the door. He won’t snoop, won’t do anything other than have a superficial look. At the very least it might calm him down to have tangible evidence of Obi-Wan's intention to return. When they’d left, he hadn’t taken the black bag he usually keeps with him, a velvet thing smaller than Qui-Gon's palm. Obi-Wan wouldn’t have left it if he thought he’d be gone for more than a week.

The room is just as Obi-Wan had left it, tidy and empty, with a plant on the desk next to a picture of his friends, a spare cloak hung up on the peg next to the door, and a blanket folded perfectly at the foot of his bed. It’s the room of a knight, not of a padawan, Qui-Gon realizes, and he has to push down the surge of pride and guilt that seems to swell up in his chest more and more often these days.

He frowns, for the first time noticing the odd pressure building in his brain. It’s a strange, blunt, thing— the marked absence of something, rather than its presence. He scans the room once more for the offending object, for the first time noticing an odd red glow from the closet. Qui-Gon pauses. He’d said he wouldn’t touch anything, but— The glow grows brighter, and he can hear the Force calling to him from it, not light, not peaceful, but not unkind. Qui-Gon sighs, and opens the closet door.  

The glow is coming from the floor, within the black bag Obi-Wan had left behind. Qui-Gon looks at it, a furrow forming in his brows. It’s not Obi-Wan's habit to leave things on the floor, and the cleaning crews haven’t been in their apartments since they left. When he picks up the bag, intending to return it to its place on the shelf, a white-hot pain sears through his hand, and he drops it. The bag tumbles to the floor, and out of it falls a holocron.

It’s the last thing Qui-Gon notices before the onslaught of darkness hits him, pressing him beneath a tsunami of emotion. The fury slams into him first, not so hot as the zabrak’s had been but far, far, deeper. Qui-Gon falls to his knees without noticing, forced to sustain the mental battering of his shields. He can feel them weakening even as he clutches them tighter, being torn away bit by bit like an old house in a storm.

How is no one noticing this, Qui-Gon wonders. How come no one has come in to see what this endless wave of darkness is— this storm with no light.

The first tear in his shields happens, and he works it shore it up, plugging it with whatever he can think of: random bits of trivia, a poem, a meal he shared with Obi-Wan. Stay, he tells them, give me time. The pieces do not stay, each layer being ripped away until all that’s left was the look on Obi-Wan's face as he realized the sandwich he’d bitten into was filled with candied ants. Then, abruptly, the maelstrom stops, and Qui-Gon is left grasping for the pieces of his shields, the void around them quiet once more.

“Do forgive my intrusion,” a female voice says, dry and unapologetic as Qui-Gon struggles to get control of his breathing on the floor. “You know how it is: better safe than sorry.”

Qui-Gon falls back, resting against the wall as he tries to catch his breath. “What are you?” He says, injecting his tone with as little worry as he can manage. “What are you doing here?” What are you doing in Obi-Wan's room, he wants to add. What have you done to my padawan?

Zannah’s nose scrunches slightly, halfway between amused and disgusted. “Your shields are down, Jedi.”

“I wonder why that is,” he manages.

She shrugs. “I’m not going to apologize.”

Qui-Gon patches up his shields, weaving the skeleton of the old threads of memory into a new place, beside several strong pockets of compulsion. It won’t be enough to stop the woman if she attacks him again, but it might gain him a few seconds of reprieve. It will have to be enough.

“As for your questions,” the woman says once he’s finished, “A Sith, sleeping, Obi-Wan brought me here, and I’ve done nothing to him.”

“Nothing,” Qui-Gon repeats, disbelieving, the aftershocks of her attack still filtering through his mind.

“Yes,” the woman says. “Pleased to meet you. I’m Darth Zannah. I’d tell you to sit down, but, well...” She gestures to him collapsed on the floor.

Qui-Gon shakes his head, trying to disseminate the information. “Does he know you’re here? Does he know what he brought back?” Surely not, he thinks. Surely Obi-Wan wouldn’t have knowingly brought a Sith into the heart of the Jedi temple.

“I should hope so,” Zannah says, “given that I’ve been training him for twelve years.”

“Twelve—” Qui-Gon freezes.

“Yes,” Zannah agrees, “since Bandomeer.”

“Impossible,” Qui-Gon breathes.

“Is it?” Zannah raises an eyebrow in a perfect imitation of Obi-Wan— or, no, all this time Obi-Wan must have been imitating her. Qui-Gon remembers when he picked that little habit up; it had been the months after he’d turned seventeen, just beginning to grow into his too-long limbs, still gawkish and almost awkward. Then, over the course of their mission, his gait had grown smoother, countenance more graceful, and his awkward smiles at Qui-Gon's jokes had turned into an amused raised eyebrow and half-smirk. 

It had felt odd at the time, watching the maladroit child he knew turn into a clever, subtle, adult, but he knows it now as the sign of Obi-Wan growing up, leaving Qui-Gon as a student and returning to him as a friend. He remembers the white stone of the city, remembers the late spring blossoms of the sea-roses, remembers the first time Obi-Wan had turned that quizzical look on him— and feels the taste of the memory, sweet with the blossoms, turn to ash in his mouth.

“How—” Qui-Gon starts, mouth dry. “Why—”

“I offered him knowledge,” Zannah says, not unkindly, “and companionship not to be found in the constraints of Jedi.”

“Why train him?” Qui-Gon asks, clutching at proof that she has not— could not— have trained Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan is kind, and clever, and selfless, and none of the things a Sith should be. He cannot have lied so fully for so many years. He cannot. “Why not train someone else? Someone you wouldn’t have to corrupt first?”

Zannah gives him an incredulous look. “You think I’ve corrupted him? Have you forgotten Ghé’aiit so easily? That was not the behavior of one corrupted.”

Qui-Gon feels ire stir deep in his chest, at her prodding, guiding rhetoric, but the memory springs to him unbidden.

It had begun as a trade dispute. Three families, each the head of a government and of a trade sector. The Jedi had initially been brought in to facilitate negotiations; those had lasted all of two nights, ending with Obi-Wan kidnapped and in chains— a hostage for the third family. Qui-Gon hadn’t known that at the time, of course. He’d only known that Obi-Wan was gone and the place where their bond was had turned to a jagged mess of edges before it disappeared into nothingness.

He’d found Obi-Wan again, oblivious to Qui-Gon's presence, escaped and facing the Third Peer, who was holding a blaster to his sister’s head. It would have been easy, laughably easy, for Obi-Wan to let him shoot her, claim he had gotten there too late to save her, and arrested the Third Peer with little risk to himself. Instead, Obi-Wan had lain down his blaster, and braced himself for the shot.  

(Later, when their bond was back and whole, Qui-Gon had blocked it off again, too overwhelmed by fear and relief not to yell at Obi-Wan. How could he yell at Obi-Wan, when he’d done exactly as a Jedi should do? But how could he not be angry, not be furious, that he had lain down his blaster and braced himself for death as if it were second nature? How can I forgive you, Qui-Gon had thought then, for almost leaving me? How will I be able to let you go when it’s time?)

“He scared me too,” Zannah says softly. “When I heard what he had done, I could barely restrain myself. Foolish, loving, Jedi, and their need to do the right thing.”

“I hope you don’t think,” Qui-Gon says, tired, “that I trust you.”

“No,” Zannah says. “You’re not a stupid man, on the whole. I hope you will trust Obi-Wan, though.”

Qui-Gon sits straight up, reminded of what had caused his agitation in the first place. “Obi-Wan. You sent him after that darksider?”

“Darth Maul,” Zannah agrees. “I wouldn’t fear, he’s not a match for Obi-Wan— merely the servant of the Sith Master.”

“You would send Obi-Wan to do another Sith’s dirty work?” Qui-Gon doesn’t hide the curl of his lip from her, meeting her gaze head-on. “I thought the masters were supposed to discard their apprentices themselves.”

“I do not,” she hisses, eyes flashing, “do that creature’s dirty work.”

“Lady Zannah—” Qui-Gon replies coldly.

“Lord, actually,” Zannah corrects, and all of a sudden the fire has left her eyes. “The title is ‘lord’ regardless of gender. A Sith Lady is a different job entirely.”

“Lord Zannah,” Qui-Gon corrects, making sure she can hear the eye-roll inherent in his tone, “Are you implying that not only are you embroiled in a rivalry with another Sith clan, but that you have, in fact, created your own?”

“We call them houses,” Zannah replies. “Mine is that of Athén. And you are correct, Obi-Wan is a part of it. We are a House of two.”

Fantastic, Qui-Gon thinks bitterly, and his patch-job must not be as good as he thinks it is because he swears he hears Zannah chuckle. He sighs. “Out of curiosity, what is the job of a Sith Lady?”

“A combination of cultural advisor, archivist, and magic user. And occasionally a consort.” Zannah smiles a wickedly sharp smile. “I much prefer being a Lord.”

Yes, Qui-Gon thinks, not caring that she can hear it. You would.

-

 Some notes:

-Yes Zannah did name her house after her dead wife, who is in turn named after Athena, because I am a basic, basic, bitch

-Yes, I did borrow the line about Sith jobs from the Enchanted Forest Chronicles. Patricia C. Wrede I’m so sorry I’m using your work for my nonsense AUs but also those books shaped me as a human, so. Too Bad. They’re a part of my writing now.

- I included a bug-eating joke because apparently I am constantly under the compulsion to talk about people in sw eating bugs. I have no excuses

[novelconcepts]

fic: walking with the lady

Every movie, every book, every story about the horrors of letting in the ghosts has prepared Dani for the constant state of alarm. The panic. The discomfort of the situation.

Not a single goddamn one told her how stupid it would be.

***

The first time Viola Lloyd rears her spectral head outside of a dream, Dani is doing her best to enjoy an incredibly pleasant spring morning. She’s been having strange thoughts--strange echoes of night terrors that have been escalating, images weaving as though shot from the depths of some great ocean--for a few months now. Has been trying her very best to take Jamie’s advice and not worry about it. One day at a time. Stop gazing into every reflective surface in the county and just...live. 

And she’s been doing that, she thinks, with a decent amount of peaceful abandon for a woman carrying an unknown beast in the depths of her psyche. She’s traveled. She’s seen much of America, and more of Jamie. She’s learned she’ll never get any better at tea, that she’s honestly not terrible at pasta, that she can talk the ear off old women who just want to stop and smell the flowers. It’s been a serene six, seven, eight years, if she lays them all end to end, and she’s glad of it. 

But the dreams are coming faster now. With more regularity. Long stretches of night fade into black and white, into memories she can feel with her whole body, but knows aren’t her own. Corsets and sweeping skirts, a sister she never had, a husband. A child. None of this belongs to Dani, so it must be her, mustn’t it? 

It scares her. She talks about it to Jamie when she wakes--sometimes in the morning, sometimes in the middle of the night; whether she’s truly awake or not, Jamie always listens. They always hunker back down, holding tight to one another, Jamie whispering into her hair that you’re still here, you’re still you, it’s all okay, Poppins. It helps, as much as anything’s going to. 

What doesn’t help is sitting here on this park bench, a list of shopping plans open in her lap, and hearing--hearing isn’t even the right word for it, it’s like a ringing voice coming up from the very back of her head--someone say, “And what on earth is that?”

Dani sits straight upright, every line of her body rigid with fear. “What...is what?”

She’s said the words out loud, she realizes when an elderly man with a basket of stale bread turns slowly to look at her. Her mouth twists itself into a rictus grin of apology, and he shuffles off, looking very much like a man prepared for his own murder at the hands of a lunatic schoolteacher. 

“Well,” the voice says, coolly amused. “That was embarrassing for us both.”

What, Dani thinks, the fuck is going on?

“What’s going on,” Viola Lloyd’s deep, accented voice says, “is truly beyond my knowledge. Do you know the last time I had this many thoughts of my own? Must have been...oh, three hundred years, now...”

Why, Dani thinks furiously, are you having them now?

“I certainly couldn't say.” Viola sounds astonished. “The last I recall, I was trying to reclaim my child--”

Flora, Dani interrupts with a rush of anger, was not your child. 

She imagines she can feel Viola’s hand flip to and fro, carelessly. “It’s all apples in the end, isn’t it?”

She’s clenching her fists in her lap, she realizes, as if there’s anything to fight. As if she could ward Viola off from inside her own body. 

“Oh,” Viola says coolly, “I wouldn’t worry just yet. I couldn’t say for sure--it’s all rather new, you must understand--but I don’t think I could do anything to you. Not yet. Look, here, I’ll try...”

Dani’s muscles strain against an invisible force that never comes. Viola chuckles. 

“See? Nothing. The lights are on, my dear, but none but you is really home.”

Then why are you awake? Dani demands. 

“Not a clue, darling. It’s nice, though, isn’t it? You really take it for granted in life.”

Take what for--

“Seeing,” Viola breathes. “I haven’t seen anything properly in centuries. I’d forgotten how bright the world was. How full of...color.”

Is it Dani’s imagination, or does Viola’s tone hold an edge of disgust on that final word?

“So, again, I find myself asking. What on earth do you call that?”

Dani allows instinct to turn her head, somehow sensing the direction Viola wishes for her to look. She finds herself staring at a young child playing at her mother’s feet. 

I--it’s... And it’s here, in this moment, faced with the nearly impossible task of explaining to the 400-year-old ghost woman who shares her body what a Slinky is for that Dani Clayton decides this whole cohabitation thing might have been a mistake. 

***

“Hang on,” Jamie says. “Hang on, she’s awake in there?”

Dani, folded nearly double on their couch with her face in her hands, nods. Her head is pounding. Viola has been, ah, what’s the polite way to put it? Running her mouth. For nearly four hours. 

“She’s got some...opinions,” Dani mumbles into her cupped hands. Jamie stops rubbing light circles into her back, curious. 

“About what?”

“Might be a shorter list, to ask what she doesn’t have an opinion about,” Dani says. At the back of her head, she feels Viola cross her arms. 

“This sounds like you are on the path to impudence, Miss Clayton.”

“But hang on, I thought--” Jamie seems to be choosing her words carefully. “I thought she was just sort of...in there. Tucked away, like the kids said. What do you mean she can see?”

Dani blows out a long breath, wishing dearly for a cigarette. “I don’t know, Jamie, I’m not the authority on carrying Victorian women around in my skull.”

“Bit nearer to it than me, Poppins.” Jamie’s smiling, plainly trying to make her feel better. Dani turns to glower at her. 

“I love you very much. Please don’t test me right now. She hasn’t stopped talking for more than twenty minutes all afternoon.”

Jamie raises her hands in surrender. “Can she...can she see me now?”

“Tell her,” Viola says. “Tell her I can see her, and her mannishly-inappropriate hairstyle.”

“I will not be saying that,” Dani mutters. Jamie raises an eyebrow. 

“Are you having a conversation now? What’s she saying?”

“Please let her know I find her insistence upon men’s trousers silly at best, her blouses are entirely too loose, and I am bewildered by the wealth of ankle she seems to find appropriate in mixed company--”

“She says you have a nice smile,” Dani says. Jamie’s eyebrows raise to her hairline. Viola makes a horrible little noise of revulsion.

“How dare you place words in my mouth!”

“You are absolutely not telling me the truth, are you?” Jamie says in the same moment. Dani groans.

“Aspirin. I am going to need so much aspirin.”

***

It’s not all the time, thankfully; Dani thinks she’d go mad if Viola were truly there at all hours, yammering away about silks and petticoats and the good old days when a person could just drop dead of the plague with no notice. Sometimes, Viola even goes days at a stretch without saying a word, as though she’s sunk back to sleep in whatever little corner of Dani’s mind she calls a bedroom. 

And then, like a thunderstorm, she emerges once more. Usually with something snappy and irritating to share with Dani.

“Are we really wearing that?”

“There is no we, Viola,” Dani grumbles. She’s in the process of trying to choose between a flower-patterned dress and a denim vest, unable to gauge what kind of day it’s going to be when she steps out of the closet and into the chaos. Business has been booming down at The Leafling, which is wonderful, but more than a little overwhelming. And Jamie, god love her, has taken to watching Dani when she thinks Dani won’t notice, always with this worried little crease between her eyes. 

It’s making her crazy, if she’s honest about it. Jamie isn’t the worrier in the relationship, and watching her slip into the role is making Dani feel worse about the whole situation. She needs Jamie to tell her it’s all fine, it’s all perfectly all right, they’re going to make it through this new weirdness together no problem. 

“My dear, we became a we the night you said the magic words,” Viola says, a bit pettily. “Or have you forgotten me already?”

“How,” Dani grits out, “on earth am I supposed to forget you? Feel like I spend every day just...waiting for you to spring up and ask some idiotic question about cars or airplanes or deodorant--”

“For a schoolteacher, you surely lack for patience, Miss Clayton.”

Dani closes her eyes, searching for strength. Her hands grope, landing on dress and vest and yanking them free. “You know what? Both. We’re doing both today.”

“We most certainly are not! Not even a glove to be found? And again with the florals! We’ve been over how tacky the florals are, Miss Clayton. Miss Clayton, are you listening?”

“No,” Dani says decisively, wriggling into the layers and looking around for her chunkiest pair of earrings. 

“You are the scandal of the town, Miss Clayton,” Viola sniffs.

***

“Does she, ah...watch when we do this?”

Dani groans. They’d been having such a nice evening--an old movie fading slowly into wandering hands, Jamie’s mouth making its way down her neck, Jamie’s fingers slipping beneath the hem of her shirt and tickling her ribs. She’d just flipped Jamie onto her back, was just looking to remove the deeply inconvenient articles of cloth between them, when Jamie pressed a palm lightly against her chest. 

“Not trying to be weird about it,” Jamie says, breathless. Her eyes are dark and heavy; though she’s stopped Dani moving closer, one of her legs has wound around Dani’s hip, easing her in. It’s giving Dani the worst kind of mixed message, to say the least. 

“Would you like us to put this sort of thing on hold until I find a way to exorcise the demon from my head, Jamie?”

“I did not say that. I decidedly said nothing of the kind.”

Dani lets her head fall forward, covering Jamie’s face in a fall of blonde. “Sorry. That was snippy. I just...I don’t know the answer. She��s...” She tilts her head, eyes shut, searching. “Quiet. For now.”

Jamie brushes her hair back, cups the side of her face, thumb moving in a slow arc across her cheekbone. “S’all right then. Can’t blame me being curious, can you? I mean, it’s not every day you find a third party sneaks into your bed.”

Dani leans into the soft stroke of her hand, sighing. “I don’t like it, either, you know. She’s so...judgey. I hadn’t realized ghosts could be judgey.”

“What’s she judging?” The hand on her chest slides, gripping a fistful of her shirt, pulling her toward Jamie. Dani sighs again, letting Jamie kiss her with the soft determination of someone apologizing for stopping this train in the first place. 

“Me,” she murmurs against Jamie’s lips. “You.”

“Me?” Jamie sounds affronted. “What’s there to judge about me, I’m a bloody peach.”

Dani laughs, bites her lower lip until Jamie groans. “It’s not anything personal. It’s just...the whole world is so different from what she remembers. There’s TV, jean shorts, women out there having jobs and lives without consent of their husbands...for her, it must be the Wild West.”

“Judges what she doesn’t understand, is that it?” Jamie is doing an admirable job of pretending to still be invested in this conversation, even as her hands are making short work of Dani’s sweatpants. Dani sucks in a breath. 

“I guess. Yeah. Can’t blame her for that, really.”

Jamie mulls this over, fingers tracing hipbone. Her nails bite gently into soft skin. “Does she judge us for this, I wonder?”

“Do you care?”

“Not,” Jamie says, twisting her hand and bringing their mouths together hard, “in the least.”

***

“Put it out the window.”

“I am not putting it out the window, Viola.”

“Down a flight of stairs, then! What in all cosmic reaches of hell is this for, if not throwing it somewhere it can never harm another soul again!”

Dani exhales through her nose, slowly, embracing every meditative memory of dealing with errant children. “I am not,” she says slowly to the empty apartment, “going to throw my television anywhere. And I'd really appreciate it if you’d stop making that suggestion every time I turn it on.”

“You are letting your soul rot from the inside out with this filth!” Viola is all but shrieking. Dani imagines her pacing back and forth, back and forth, her hands wild. “Your moral fiber, Miss Clayton. What of your moral fiber?”

“If MTV rots away one’s moral fiber,” Dani says, as calmly as she knows how, “then I suspect we’re all lost causes, anyway.”

Viola is silent for such a long time, Dani thinks she’s done the trick. She turns her attention back to the laundry she’s been folding to the tune of Janet Jackson. Her head bobs gently in time as the videos shuffle past--Madonna, Michael, Paula, George. Then, with the hour change, newer fare. She’s still getting around to some of these artists, still trying to work out how she feels about them. 

"Did you hear that?” Viola seethes. “What was that about an anaconda? Is this man suggesting we feed a woman to snakes? What barbarism do your people accept in this age?”

Dani folds a pair of Jamie’s socks with such deliberate care, she nearly forgets to breathe while doing it. 

“Moral fiber,” Viola hisses. “Moral fiber is wasted on this age of nudity and...and...hammertime.”

Dani finds herself desperately invested in ironing the wrinkles out of a pair of jeans with her hand until Viola goes quiet again.

***

“You could have such nice hair,” Viola croons. “Such nice hair, if you would only put them away...”

“They’re convenient,” Dani says, scraping her hair back into a pink scrunchie. Viola makes a noise of disgust. 

“They’re abhorrent. Honestly, your time and its...fashions. What do you call this?”

She’s gesturing toward the bathroom counter, to the little basket that holds all the hair supplies. Dani sighs. 

“It’s a headband, Viola. We like headbands. They keep the hair out of our eyes.”

“There are other ways. Fine hats. Lovely veils. Why don’t you own any lovely veils, Dani, do you want the common folk seeing your every decision in your eyes?”

Dani reaches for the hairspray. Behind her, Jamie bustles in with shirt half-buttoned, suspenders swinging around her thighs. Viola makes another catty little noise. 

“Any news?” Jamie asks, reaching around for a hairbrush and kissing Dani’s cheek. 

“She doesn’t like scrunchies,” Dani reports. “And she’s started calling me Dani.”

Jamie frowns. “Good sign or bad?”

“Impossible to guess.”

“Tell her you want some veils,” Viola says sweetly. “And for her to learn the value of a fine skirt.”

Dani, ignoring this, reaches around the back of Jamie’s neck and pulls her into a searing kiss. Jamie drops the hairbrush with a clatter, leaning Dani back against the counter and gripping the small of her back like she’s suddenly forgotten they’re both late for work. 

When they break apart, they’re both flushed, Dani giggling into the underside of Jamie’s jaw, Jamie’s eyes glazed. In the back of her mind, she hears Viola sigh. 

“That is truly childish, you know.”

***

It’s kind of an accidental habit, punishing her inner ghost for bad behavior by channeling her frustrations into sex. She couldn’t explain it if she tried, except to say Viola does tend to shut up when Dani’s properly distracted. Maybe it’s just the way the connection works, thinner when Dani isn’t willing to give it energy. Maybe Viola’s embarrassed. Either way, a year after Viola first speaks, her life with Jamie burns hotter than it ever has. 

It’s best when Viola is trying to run her mouth over Jamie’s fashion sense, she’s noticed. It is, in fact, the only way to shut Viola up about the aforementioned fashion sense. Which Dani intellectually understands; coming up from a world 400 years away, where women dressed in endless layers and a person’s value was often found in the shine of her jewels and the rich fabric of her skirts, slamming face-first into the 1990s must have been a trip. Truly, Viola is lucky Dani didn’t cart her out of that lake earlier. If she thinks scrunchies are bad, she should have seen the heyday of shoulder pads. 

Honestly, though, the worst thing is listening to Viola trill on about how much better Jamie could look if she’d only bow to the whims of femininity. Jamie, whose primary word on fashion has always been “can I dig a hole in this?” is perfect just the way she is. In fact, as the years go on and her jeans grow cuffs, her shorts grow shorter, her tops crop midway up her stomach, Dani thinks the world is finally suiting Jamie instead of the other way around. 

“She’s prancing around for the world to see--”

“It’s ninety-six degrees out,” Dani says in a low voice. She understands these conversations with Viola can be internalized, but she tends to wind up wearing this distant expression every time, and Jamie can spot it a mile off. Best to just mutter aloud in the sanctity of their own home. 

“She’s walking her wares up and down the block,” Viola rages on. “Not a shawl to be seen!”

“Jamie,” Dani calls from the kitchen, “have you ever in your life worn a shawl?”

“That’s, uh, one of those blankets with the fringy bits, yeah?” Jamie calls back. She’s bent over the air conditioning unit, trying to coax life into the old girl. The cropped line of her black t-shirt rides up her back, revealing glistening skin. Dani tips her head to enjoy the view. “I’ll pass on account of any blanket in this heat being like to kill me.”

“Best not to test it,” Dani agrees. Viola heaves the longest-suffering sigh Dani’s ever heard. 

“It doesn’t bother you in the least, your woman out there, where anyone could see her...her bare stomach!”

“One,” Dani says coolly, “she’s my girlfriend, not my woman. Two, I’ve never once tried to dictate her clothing, and I’m not stopping because a dead woman insists. Three, I happen to like it.”

“Like what?” Jamie strolls back to her, pushing sweaty hair off her forehead with a sigh. She stops a few inches away, rocking back and forth on her heels like she wants nothing more than to close the distance despite the mind-numbing heat. 

“Viola is commenting upon your more risqué clothing choices.”

“What? This?” Jamie grasps the exceedingly high-cut hem of her shirt and tugs it gently upward, teasing. “What’s her problem with all this?”

“It’s on display, evidently.”

“As it should be,” Jamie says almost primly. “I’m a fine specimen to behold. Learn to enjoy it, love, it’ll be faster than trying to change the view.”

This last, she says in a slightly louder voice, as though speaking to the shadow behind Dani’s eyes. She’s grinning, and Dani has time to think how strange it is, how quickly they’ve learned to accommodate Viola’s appearances into their conversations--Jamie has taken to leaving beats between her sentences, allowing for Dani to process two people speaking at once--before Jamie is wrapping both arms around her and lifting her off the floor. She squeals in surprise, delight turning to desire as Jamie licks a bead of sweat from her neck. 

“Not again,” Viola sighs. “You’ll wake the whole village.”

“Apartment,” Dani corrects, catching Jamie by the jaw and kissing her hungrily. It’s too hot for this, probably, but she can’t quite remember how to care when Jamie pulls free of her grasp and slides to her knees, taking Dani’s skirt with her. 

“It’s a nightmare, regardless.”

***

Eventually, Viola proves herself capable of learning a thing or two. Namely, that she is welcome to run commentary on anyone in the world except for Jamie. 

Even old ghosts can learn new tricks, apparently, although it takes a number of months, a great deal of sex, and one memorable weekend in which--upon Viola raging over every article in Jamie’s side of the closet for half an hour--Dani simply removed the option of clothing from Viola’s sight altogether. 

“This,” Jamie panted, both of them on the floor with a sheet draped over their tangled limbs, “is working for me in the weirdest way, Poppins.”

“I think she’s really starting to hate me,” Dani said conversationally, even as her fingers slipped between Jamie’s legs yet again. Jamie’s hips rose to meet her, one hand burying itself in her hair. 

“Well, that makes one of us, doesn’t it?”

***

Not commenting on Jamie, naturally, does nothing to stop Viola talking about every other goddamn thing in the world. 

“We’re going to have to have a long talk about not shaming women for their bodies, you know,” Dani tells her one afternoon. Viola has been tearing a young woman to pieces over her short skirt, furious that someone so pristine could soil herself with such impunity. Dani must be getting used to this in the weirdest way possible, because this kind of floral language is starting to feel second-nature. 

“I would never shame anyone,” Viola protests. “I am simply stating fact. Men do not value women as it is, and while we may win their games, we get nowhere at all if we do not play them.”

“This isn’t a game, Viola, it’s her life. Her body. She can do whatever she likes with it.”

“But I want her to succeed,” Viola insists. There’s an almost disconcerting eagerness to the words. She really truly believes what she’s saying. “A woman viewed as nothing more than a strumpet will have an even more difficult time securing a dowry, and then where will she be?”

“In college?” Dani suggests blithely. “Traveling? Living isn’t just for men, Viola, I know you know this. You refused the oath of obedience on your wedding day.”

“Of course it’s not for men’s sake alone, but when the law--”

“The law is different here,” Dani says, almost gently. “Has been for a long time. Or haven’t you noticed how well Jamie and I get along without a man to be found?”

Viola’s silence stretches so long, Dani’s sure she’s either gone back to sleep or is finally choosing this moment to let the ugly banner of homophobia unfurl. She’s been waiting for this moment for years, it seems, waiting for the ghost in her head to mimic her mother on the one and only occasion she attempted to send home a letter. 

“You’re different,” Viola says at last, very softly. Dani blinks. 

“Pardon?”

“You’re different,” Viola repeats. “Jamie is your forever. Does that young girl have her forever, Miss Clayton?”

“Well--I don't know, I don’t suppose it’s my business--”

“Perhaps she will find it in one like our Jamie,” Viola says impatiently. “But perhaps she will find instead the stones of men who have not, over four centuries, really changed all that much. Is it so wrong of me, to have a mother’s care for that?”

Dani doesn’t know how to answer. Doesn’t have the first idea, when faced with a Viola who is not simply catty for cattiness’ sake, but genuine. She opens and closes her mouth a few times, unable to find argument. 

“We just. We just don’t pick on girls for what they do with their bodies, all right? It’s...it’s cruel, and it isn’t necessary.”

Viola sighs. “Fine. But we still ought to discuss the pattern choices. Those polka dots are not flattering in the least.”

It’s only later, watching Jamie chop carrots for dinner, that Dani realizes Viola had said our. Our Jamie. 

“Oh sweet Christ,” she mumbles.

***

The change is slow. Subtle. If not for the fact of carrying this woman in her head, Dani’s not sure she even would have noticed. 

“She what?” Jamie looks up from the plant she’s tending, fingernails grimed with soil, wedding ring carefully strung upon a thick chain around her neck until she can clean up again. “She...sorry, what?”

“I can’t be sure,” Dani muses. “It sounds...crazy. But I think she’s starting to like you.”

“Well, sure,” Jamie laughs. “I’m a deeply likable human being. But this is the Lady, yeah? Same one who dragged Peter fucking Quint to his death? Same one who thinks I show too much skin?”

“I’m...not convinced she thinks that anymore.” It’s really hard to say for sure. On the one hand, it’s possible Viola has shut up about Jamie’s shorn sleeves and shorts because every time she mentioned either, Dani made it her personal life’s mission to make sure Jamie never wore anything else around the house. On the other...

“I think she looked at your butt the other day.”

Jamie raises her eyes slowly, brow furrowing. “Can she do that? Turn your eyes to something you weren’t already looking at?”

“No,” Dani says, a bit stiffly, all too aware of stepping into the trap. Jamie grins. 

“Thought not.”

“But it was different,” Dani presses on through flushing cheeks. “I mean--even if I was already looking, she was--I mean--she--”

She doesn’t know how to explain it. How the rumble in her chest, already so familiar at the sight of Jamie puttering around their home, had seemed to expand until it encompassed all of her. How it was like someone had turned the heat in the room to its breaking point. 

“I can just tell, okay?” she says, aggrieved. “She looked at your butt, and she liked it.”

Jamie makes a thoughtful face, brushing dirt off her hands with slow, deliberate motions. “So...what you’re saying is...your personal ghostie has a crush on your wife?”

Dani presses her face against the counter, letting the cool metal relieve her blush. “Shit. Yeah. I think she might.”

“This is,” Jamie says triumphantly, pressing up against Dani from behind and kissing the back of her neck, “the funniest thing that has ever happened, by a country goddamn mile.”

***

A series of events, cascading in short order, that Dani almost actually feels bad about. If one could feel guilty about putting strain on one’s personal-pan Casper. 

The Britney Spears video, for one. Viola still does not like music videos--or music, frankly, unless it involves a ridiculous number of flutes and orchestral swells--but she’s grown to tolerate them. Mostly. 

That is, until Britney sways onscreen in a plaid skirt and schoolgirl pigtails. 

“Fuck,” Dani gasps, hand coming down hard against her own breastbone. It’s like someone grabbed the dial on her blood pressure and cranked it all the way up. That someone, she suspects, being the dead woman who has been more and more present of late. 

“I--I cannot--I simply am not capable of understanding--” Viola sounds like she’s short-circuiting. “I know we are not meant to comment, but what on earth is she doing?!”

“Dancing,” Dani says sharply, trying to coax her breathing back down. Is this what a stroke feels like? Is her fucking ghost roommate giving her an actual stroke? “Viola, you’ve seen dancing.”

“She is so young! She is a child! Who is protecting this person from the world?” Viola is furious. Viola is exploding. Dani sort of wonders if her chest is going to explode, too. 

“She’s...a pop star. This is what they get paid lots and lots of money to do.” It’s a bad answer, she knows. These videos make her a little uncomfortable too, when she thinks on them too long. But Viola? Viola’s rage is a towering beast of a thing. For a minute, lungs scraping at the air, Dani is genuinely afraid this is the point where the switch flips. Where she finds herself staring at the room from the back of her own head. 

“Someone,” Viola says in a low, terrible voice, “must protect these children.”

It takes almost an hour to calm her down. Dani doesn’t turn MTV back on for a while after that. 

***

“The. The moon?” The opposite end of the emotional spectrum this time. If Viola had been nearly apoplectic over Britney’s choreography, she now sounds faint.

“You should have floated that a bit more softly,” Dani tells Jamie, who looks confused. 

“Float what, all I did was mention NASA--”

“The moon,” Viola repeats. “We have seen. The moon.”

“She’s having trouble with the moon landing,” Dani says. Jamie waves her hands helplessly.

“Poppins, I have trouble understanding the geography of Texas, we all have problems.”

“We have,” Viola breathes, “stepped foot. Upon. The moon.”

Dani pours herself another large glass of wine.

***

“How’s this, then?” Jamie gives a very small, somewhat self-conscious twirl. “Too much? Too little? Too, ah, revealing, as the ghost contingent might say?”

Dani, leaning against the bedroom wall, can’t quite find the words. Viola, too, is conspicuously silent. 

“It’s bad,” Jamie says, nodding fervently. “Yeah, y’know, I think I knew it when I picked it up. Better on the sales rack, as they say. I can just...if you wouldn’t mind popping the zip real quick...”

“Yes, Dani,” Viola says quietly. “Pop the zip.”

“You don’t even know what that means,” Dani hisses. Jamie raises an eyebrow.

“What’s that?”

“It’s not bad,” Dani says quickly, ignoring the little harrumph Viola utters. “It’s very not bad. Opposite of bad, really.”

Relief floods Jamie’s face. The dress is low cut in a way very little of her clean-up clothes are, with a slit running clear up the leg. Patterned in burgundy petals, the black velvet is stark against her pale skin. 

“I won’t get run out of the convention, then? Only they said there’s a bit about drinks and networking, and it was just shy of black-tie. I could do that instead. Get a black tie. Think I’d look nice in a black tie.”

“The dress,” Viola says in a low, conspiratorial voice. “Tell her it is a nice dress.”

“It’s a nice dress,” Dani repeats with comic dazedness. “Best dress I’ve ever seen, maybe.”

“And now,” Viola says soothingly, “you go to her. Walk confidently now, shoulders back, chin up--”

“Are you...wing-man-ing me toward my own wife?” 

“Seduction requires confidence, Dani.”

“What’s she saying?” Jamie’s face has gone a curious mix of apprehensive and amused. Dani swallows. 

“Seduction requires confidence, evidently.” 

A slow grin spreads across Jamie’s face. Dani raises a hand, finger extended. 

“Don’t. Don’t make that smug face.”

“What’s smug about it?” She’s moving across the room, arms already reaching. “This is my very natural expression, I’ll have you know. The most normal expression in the world for a woman whose wife is being told to undress her by the ancient rage-ghost sharing her body.”

“Our lives,” Dani says helplessly, already pressing herself flush against Jamie, “are different than other people’s lives.”

“Yes,” Jamie agrees in a low voice, sliding the sweater over Dani’s head. “Can’t find it in me to complain, though, can you?”

***

It’s weird, almost. Weirder, that it’s almost not. That the beast in the jungle, the creature Dani spent nearly a decade dreading, has pounced at last and...mostly, she just seems to want to see Dani happy. 

Jamie finds it hilarious, in that pretend-callous way Jamie has of smoothing over genuine concern with soft laughter. She doesn’t like Dani sharing her mental space with someone at all hours, Viola popping up like a wack-a-mole game on high. But, if Dani must share the space with anyone, at least--

“It’s someone who thinks I'm gorgeous.”

“You are gorgeous,” Dani replies, a bit exasperated. “Gorgeous, silly, perfect person. But my inner ghost has a crush on you, that isn’t strange for you?”

“Poppins, my life has been strange since a doe-eyed American strolled into it and told me she still saw her dead fiancé when we kissed.” Jamie reclines on the bed in a sleep shirt and underwear, hands playing lightly with the pillowcase beneath her head. “Strange is my bread and butter these days, and if I had to sacrifice you to have it any other way, we both know how it would go.”

Dani makes a mulish sound under her breath. Jamie cups a hand to her ear. 

“Say again?”

“It’s weird,” she repeats, arms crossed over her chest. “She’s weird. I always thought she’d do something bad--walk me off a roof, or strangle someone to death, or try to rob a convenience store. But mostly she just wants to protect young girls from an uncaring world and look at your butt in the shower.”

“That is...very specific,” Jamie says lightly. Dani shakes her head. 

“It’s so bizarre. The longer this goes on, the more she sees of the world, it’s like...like she’s getting more real. More Viola, less Lady.”

Jamie sits up, hand sliding to rest high on Dani’s thigh as if to shield her from harm. “But not more solid, right? Not taking up space you already rent?”

Dani shakes her head. “That’s the thing. She doesn't feel like she’s taking over. And it feels...like she should.”

“You want her to?” 

“No, no, of course not.” Dani raises Jamie’s knuckles to her lips, raining soft kisses up and down her hand until the tension goes out of her brow. “I just don’t understand what’s happening. This isn’t...what I expected.”

Jamie exhales, shifting her weight until she’s sitting in Dani’s lap. She takes a Dani’s face between her hands, kisses her long and slow until Dani eases back against the headboard. 

“This is good, Poppins. You’re a good influence. You were on those kids, and on me, and now on this Lady of yours. Maybe that’s all a ghost needs, deep down.”

Dani leans into her, lets the rhythm of kiss and gentle bite and hands slipping beneath her clothes carry her away for a while. Still, no Viola, and she’s grateful. She doesn’t like to think how that would feel, Viola popping up while Jamie’s curling her fingers deep, groaning soft against her shoulder. There is a time and a place for hauntings, and time with Jamie is something else entirely. 

She’s pretty sure Viola even respects that. Which is, like everything else, incredibly strange. 

***

Viola attends their second wedding. Their real wedding. It’s bizarre on a level Dani isn’t prepared to deal with, feeling her surface as the plans become reality. Jamie’s got flowers, naturally, and Owen’s catering, and Henry has the kids--who are kids no longer, but fully-formed people with lives of their own--running errands on the day. And Dani...

Dani is looking at herself in a wedding dress for the second time in her life, only this time, she can breathe. 

“You are radiant,” Viola says. Dani closes her eyes for a moment, steels herself. 

“Nothing else to say? No notes?”

“You chose wisely,” Viola says. Dani sighs. 

“I figured lace was classic, and someone told me I had nice shoulders once, so--”

“The dress is beautiful,” Viola says. “But I was not talking about your grooming for the day.”

Dani gives a shaky laugh. “I love her, you know. I really do.”

“I can tell.” A beat of silence. Then: “I did not understand at first. Her. Or you. I suppose I will never understand completely. But...I understand the depths of what you feel. It is a part of me, too, I think. That devotion, sinking into all the spaces where I had forgotten.”

“You’re in love with Jamie, too?” Dani asks, not really wanting the answer. Viola laughs. 

“Yes. And no. You and I are intertwined, Miss Clayton. What you feel, I feel, to a degree. More importantly, I have seen your life with her. The life you build with the reckless joy of two people doomed one day to die.”

“Thanks,” Dani says, a bit sharply. She senses Viola putting her hands up, a terribly-modern gesture of surrender. 

“You understand what I mean. It takes courage, to love this completely. To do so while carrying a burden neither of us can truly comprehend is...something else altogether. There is a strength there I could not have understood on my most willful of days.”

“You turned Death away at your own doorstep,” Dani points out, smiling. Viola is pleased. 

“I did, didn’t I? And I could never regret it, even now. But you. You are doing something so much more incredible. Loving, even knowing what ending love must craft.”

“This is a bit dark for my wedding day,” Dani points out. Viola nods. 

“You are radiant. And you are fortunate. And I wish you both all the happiness in the world.”

It is the strangest wedding toast she’s ever heard, and something within Dani’s heart has never been more at peace.

***

“How’s our Lady doing tonight?” Jamie asks as Dani slips into bed beside her. She tips her head, thinking on it. Viola, as she usually is once Dani crosses the bedroom threshold, is nowhere to be found. 

“Good, I think. Calm.”

“And my wife?” Jamie looks at her, eyes serious. “You’ve been quieter lately. Fighting her less?”

“She’s been fighting me less,” Dani says. “She...likes it here, I think. Likes us. You know, I thought after this much time, she’d get bored or restless or...go back to her old ways, but...”

“But I’m just too gorgeous,” Jamie teases. Dani slings a leg across her body, holds tight to her with hands that never feel as though they can hold on hard enough. 

“I think sometimes...sometimes it’s just about remembering. What it’s like to be a person. What it’s like to be in love.”

“Mm,” Jamie agrees, fingertips drawing dizzying spirals on the bare back of Dani’s shoulder. “Well done, you. You’ve tamed your beast.”

Dani sighs, content. “I think it was a joint effort.”

“Yes,” Jamie agrees, kissing the top of her head. “Because I am, famously, too gorgeous to deny.”

[ga-yuu]

~Kurama~Main Story Chapter 17~

Kurama just wants a reason to make out with her!

Chapter 16

*

*

*

-------Part 1-------

Kurama: “Yoshitsune will be the one to deal with you. It’s stupid, I’m not even interested in your life or death. Don’t ever stand in my line of sight again. Also.......”

(!!)

As if remembering, Kurama grabbed my hand and pulled me up.

Kurama: “This woman belongs to me. If you have a problem with that, you can tell me who owns her."

------The rest of the day went by in a blur.

Shortly afterward, Benkei and his men arrived and captured the men...

(Now, Kurama and I are the only ones....)

After a brief explanation of the situation, Benkei told Kurama to send me to my room and then left.

Yoshino: "Thank you, Kurama....for saving me. I don't know what I would have done if Kurama hadn't come along by chance."

Kurama: "It wasn't by chance."

Yoshino: "Eh?"

Kurama: "I cast a spell on your door, that would let me know when you're out."

Then Kurama told me what happened with him and Yoshitsune-sama after they left my room.

-------FLASHBACK-------

While Benkei was interrogating the main suspect in the assassination plot, Yoshitsune-sama and Kurama are discussing something else.

Yoshitsune: "We'll finish the interrogation tonight. Until then, Yoshino will be under guard. At this time of night, Yoshino will probably just go to sleep...."

Kurama: "That won't be necessary. I had already cast a spell on the door to her room. If anyone comes in or goes out, I'll know right away."

Yoshitsune: "............When did you do that?"

Kurama: "I don't trust human guards to protect my belongings."

Yoshitsune: "----All right. Now that she also has that whistleblower, I'll leave you in charge of Yoshino."

------FLASHBACK ENDS------

Yoshino: "Oh..."

I was surprised to find that I had received so much care without my knowledge.

Kurama: "It was only after you had boldly walked down the corridor that it was discovered that there were more than one assassin, and I had no choice but to chase you."

(I didn't knew Kurama was doing so much for me.)

Yoshino: "Then I shall have to thank you more and more. Thank you, Kurama for making me realize how naïve I was. And the things you said to those men."

Kurama: "It's not like I did it for you."

Kurama gives me a cold glance.

Kurama: "I wanted to make it very clear that I don't like that kind of humans."

Even though I've been told this a lot, it still hurts me.

(I felt like we were at least a little closer together, and I thought Kurama was trying to understand humans.)

(But there's still a deep rift between Kurama and me.)

Yoshino: "Is it because....they're weak?"

Kurama: "For they are not only weak but also stupid and ugly creatures. Humans easily forget their true desires and impose their distorted desires on others. I saw enough of them when I was with Ibuki."

(Shuten Doji, Ibuki!)

The name came up unexpectedly, and a memory of the battlefield flashed through his mind.

-------FLASHBACK-------

Ibuki: "Have you forgotten how well I looked after you?”

Kurama: “…..I forgot.”

Ibuki: “Why are you so cold to me, Kurama? You were so much cuter when you were a kid. Do you remember that one time, when you lost to me in a match, I had you call me ‘Ibuki oni-sama’ all day?”

------FLASHBACK ENDS------

(Kurama was so angry at that time that I could hardly ask him about Ibuki.)

Yoshino: "........Can I ask you a question about Ibuki?"

Kurama: ".................No."

------Part 2-------

Kurama: ".................No, or is what I'd have said, but I've made a roundabout promise to tell you more about me. I'll teach you about me as much as you like."

(Thank goodness. He kept his promise again.)

I chose my words carefully before I asked the question.

Yoshino: "What was your relationship with Ibuki as a child?"

Kurama: "That man picked me up on a whim and taught me how to fight."

Yoshino: "You were raised.....like a family?"

Kurama: "There was no love in our relationship. You must have seen Ibuki, too."

(Indeed, the way Ibuki looked at Kurama was that of a beast toying with its prey.)

Yoshino: "Is that why you left Ibuki? If he taught Kurama how to fight, he must be pretty strong...."

(Shouldn't Ibuki's strength be attractive to Kurama?)

Kurama: "..................."

After a heavy silence, Kurama opened his mouth in an annoyed tone.

Kurama: "Ibuki likes to torment others-----especially humans. It's a demon's instinct, he says. Most of the people he inspired have lost their core and have fallen into greed."

(....I wonder what Ibuki would do to make a human become like that....)

Kurama: "I left him because I was sick and tired of seeing him so shallow. That's all."

Yoshino: "..........I see."

(Kurama's integrity prevented him from accepting humans and Ibuki's true nature.)

(It's enough to make him leave the strong Ibuki.)

No matter who he is with, Kurama will never lose himself.

(....What do you call that feeling?)

If I had to name it, it would probably be 'longing.'

(If Kurama hadn't been the enemy,...I wouldn't have had to think about it.)

(At least I want to be a worthy enemy of Kurama.)

Kurama: "You see, I'm willing to accept stupid humans to some extend. But there is no room for your stupidity."

Yoshino: "Still, you made me realize my mistake. I didn't realize myself I was this stupid, hehe."

Kurama's gaze suddenly softened slightly as I smiled at him.

Kurama: "----Stubborn woman."

Even the slightest hint of dismay in his voice made my heart flutter with joy.

Yoshino: "It's true. If it hadn't been for Kurama, I would have been sorry for the people of the Shogunate."

Kurama: ".....the Shogunate, again?"

(Eh?)

A dark shadow of lashes fell over Kurama's eyes, which should have been softened.

Yoshino: "Kurama? Wha----"

(Mmm....mmm...)

Before I could finish my question, he covered my mouth with his hand as if he was annoyed.

Kurama: "What you need is not gratitude, but remorse."

-------Part 3-------

Kurama: "What you need is not gratitude, but remorse."

His voice is unbearably sweet....

Kurama: "How do you explain the fact that you were my toy that was about to be destroyed?"

Yoshino: "...Mmm...."

My shoulders bounced as he traced the edge of my ear with the tip of his tongue.

Yoshino: "Ku..rama....what..."

Kurama: "How can you afford to say anything else?"

Yoshino: "Nnn.....Ahh....."

After being tickled by the breath, the tip of his tongue touches again, and my whole ear becomes sensitive at once.

I tried to escape but was easily pinned against the wall.

(First, I have to answer him.)

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

1. I didn't think it would be that important....

2. I wasn't thinking straight.(+4/+4)

3. I'll be careful from now on...

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

Yoshino: "-----I wasn't thinking straight. I was naive."

Kurama: "I know, and I'll punish you so that you'll never forget my words."

Yoshino: "No....ah...."

A biting kiss on my neck makes my heart skip a beat.

Yoshino: "What are you thinking....in a place like this.......?"

I glared at Kurama bitterly, but.....

Kurama: "You're the only one screaming here or do you want me to shut that mouth of yours?"

Yoshino: ".......Nn......."

I shook my head desperately to indicate 'No.'

Kurama: "Then, endure it all the way."

My bewildered face wavers in the red eyes that have a fierce glint of fascination.

Kurama: "....your wrists are red. Did one of those men grab you here?"

Yoshino: "....Ah....."

Kurama took my hand and gently pressed his lips against it.

Kurama: "I'll remind you again and again. I'm the only one in the world who has the right to touch you and destroy you."

His lips and tongue traced the soft skin on the inside of my arm.

Yoshino: "Kura...ma....this....embarrassing...."

Kurama: "Then close your eyes."

(Even if I did that....)

I know there is nothing I can do about it, but my body obeys Kurama's words.

Kurama: "You're more obedient than ever. You have my praise."

Yoshino: "...........Nn..."

With a satisfied laugh, something warm falls on top of my forehead.

(Again...)

I open my eyes to the touch of a gentle kiss, just like the one he gave in my room and also in the garden....

Kurama: "I told you to close your eyes. Do you want to be punished that much?"

Yoshino: "No...."

(.....Why can't I take my eyes off Kurama when I'm being treated so badly?)

Kurama: "Yoshino."

A quiet whisper was dropped within the touching distance.

Kurama: "If you admit out loud that you're my toy, I'll stop."

-------Part 4-------

Kurama: "If you admit out loud that you're my toy, I'll stop."

Yoshino: "Eh...."

Kurama: "Forget about the war, forget all your relations with others and just beg me to love you and play with you."

Yoshino: "I won't say that."

Kurama: "I'm sure you will."

He should be punishing me like usual, but Kurama's lips twisted in a somewhat unhappy way.

Kurama: "Your pitying insistence on discipline will not allow you to fall into my hands, forgetting those of the Shogunate."

(Why do you make such a face when you're in the habit of playing with me and seeing through my heart....?)

Suddenly my body is released from the hold it had been in.

Yoshino: "Ah....."

I lost my strength and sank onto the floor.

Kurama crouched down in front of me and looked at me.

Kurama: "But you know what, Yoshino. Whether you want to be or not, you're a good toy for me."

Yoshino: "I....won't....."

(----I HATE toys!!)

I grabbed his hand with an impulse.

Kurama: "!!!"

Yoichi: "Oiii, Kurama? Are you in there?"

As if to break the stifling air, a relaxed voice came from outside the room.

(That must be Yoichi-san!?)

Kurama: ".....What?"

An annoyed Kurama calls out, and sliding door opens.

Yoichi: "Oh, Yoshino. You're still here?"

(But...what was I about to say to Kurama earlier?)

Yoichi: "Are you alright? I know it must have been hard for you..."

Yoshino: "....A-Actually I'm fine!! I can go back to my room BY MYSELF!!!"

I stood up instantly trying to pretend nothing happened.

Kurama: "Hey!"

Yoshino: "YOU TOO Kurama!!"

Yoichi: ".........................."

..........................

After Yoshino runs out of the room.....

Kurama: "What's wrong with her? I've never seen her make that face...."

Yoichi: "Hehh....hahaha..... I don't think any medicine or hot springs will cure that sickness."

Kurama: ".........! Sickness?"

Kurama, who had been looking suspicious, grabbed Yoichi's shoulder vigorously.

Yoichi: "Woah woah woah!! Don't surprise me like that."

Kurama: ".......nn........"

..................

(My face is still hot....)

I was walking in the hallway quickly so that I could avoid anyone and get to my room as soon as possible.....

Yoshino: "Hm? Who is following me?"

Kurama: "Wait."

---------Part 5--------

Yoshino: "Kurama!?"

(Why is he following me?)

I was confused, but Kurama came up to me with great speed and pulled me by my waist.

Yoshino: "Wait, wha----!?"

Kurama: "Come with me."

Yoshino: "Where to?"

Kurama: "Your room is close by, let's go there."

.......................

(Now what's going to happen to me?)

I entered my room thinking that.

Then I was cornered against the wall.

Yoshino: "Kurama, can I ask you what you're doing.....?"

Kurama: "----Are you sick?"

Yoshino: "Huh?"

Kurama sat in front of me, his red eyes flickered, fully determined as to not let me escape.

Kurama: "I knew something about you was strange, but you're a pharmacist right? So don't you know how to cure it?"

Yoshino: "Wait. Who told you I was sick?"

Kurama: "Yoichi did. He said your sickness can't be cured by any medicines or hot springs. I tried to get him to tell me, but he said if I wanted to know the name of the disease, I have to ask you."

Yoshino: "......"

(Wait, maybe....)

The nape of my neck feels hot.

(No way! It couldn't be....)

I desperately told myself that it wouldn't be 'that', over and over again.

-------Maybe it started right when I said I wanted to know more about Kurama.

(He is a scary demon, but when he's in front of something he loves, he's pure.....)

(He hated humans, but respects those he acknowledges, and he has a bond with his Rebel friends, even if Kurama himself is not aware of it.)

(He always keeps his promises and is disciplined in a strange way, and as a result he has helped me many times.)

(Noble and strong....I thought this was just an admiration for my enemy Kurama.)

But on the other hand, I've always felt uncomfortable with my feelings.

Kurama: "So? Do you have a fever?"

Yoshino: "......Don't touch me."

Kurama: "!!"

Kurama's eyes widened in surprise as I bounced away from his hand.

(If you touch me now, I'm really going to burst with emotion.)

(Without knowing what it is, and without being prepared for anything.)

Kurama: "Then, tell me what's wrong with you. If you're in so much pain that you don't want to be touched, explain it to me in words."

There was an unprecedented urgency in Kurama's eyes, which made my heart ache helplessly.

Yoshino: "Ku....Kurama will never understand!"

Kurama: "What?"

(Even if we weren't enemy, if this is love, it can't be fruitful.)

Yoshino: "Because, you're a demon!"

Kurama: "....!"

(Ah......)

By the time I thought I'd lost it, it was too late.

(I didn't mean to say that...)

Kurama's face was clouded and then he opens his mouth.

Yoshino: "Sorry----"

Kurama(glares): "-----So you've understood me really well."

He slammed his one hand against the wall behind me, blocking my escape.

He then looked down at me as to make me forget everything else.....

Kurama: "Then a demon like me should not hold back from eating your body and soul, right?"

Chapter 18

[paper-n-ashes]

sparks and embers - chapter 5

Characters: Poe Dameron x Original Female Character, Kylo Ren x Original Female Character

Story Tags: Explicit (18+), Canon Compliant/Divergent (Set after TLJ), First Person POV, Love Triangle, Slow Burn, Enemies to Lovers, Porn with Plot, Hurt/Comfort, Kylo Ren hates Poe Dameron

Chapter 5 - Bubble

Words: 5.8k

Chapter Tags/Warnings: Tiny mentions of illness, mention of parental death, gratuitous use of the 'there was only one bed?' trope

Read on AO3 or Start from the beginning

~

I scurried away as lightly as my feet could take me, heart thumping as I made it to the other side of my quarter’s door. Holding my breath, I listened as Poe shuffled down the hallway, waiting for him to knock on the wooden shield I was hiding behind, exposing his knowledge of what I’d done. But it never came, instead hearing his hobbling steps enter the ‘fresher, water hissing out of the tap.

Thank the stars, maybe I’m safe.

I hurried to shut off any remaining light sources, climbing into my bed to bury my face under the sheets. Holding myself in frozen silence, the rushing water stopped, and muffled uneven footsteps paced back down the hallway.

Eventually, the realisation of what had happened started to settle into my brain. What I’d heard him do. What I’d done. What he’d said.

He was thinking of me.

A blush prickled my cheeks, the heat in my lower abdomen dulled but still noticeable. I tried desperately not to think of what could have happened if we’d kissed earlier, if I hadn’t pulled away so sharply. It nagged at me, this sudden desire damning me for not giving in to the urges ignited from Poe’s presence. I would have known what his skin felt like connected to mine, I would have known the smell of his sweat, I would have known what his lips tasted-

Stop doing this to yourself. It will only hurt more.

My eyes squeezed shut, obeying what the voice told me. I began to make a list of everything I had to carry out when the next day broke, the patients that had standing appointments, the treatment notes I had still yet to finish.

Being in my own bed for the first time in days made it easier for me to drift off into a quiet slumber.

*

When my chronometer buzzed at 0700 I groggily opened my eyes to the new morning, wishing I’d had more than 4 and a half hours’ worth of sleep. I nuzzled my face into the pillow for a few moments, hoping for nothing more than to extend my peaceful resting.

But my first consultation was set to take place within the hour, and I still had to make time to do the vitals check on Poe that had to be… rescheduled. A pang of embarrassment and heat spread quickly through my chest at the memories, rustling it down into the back of my consciousness. I needed to start focusing on my work again.

No more distractions.

Pulling myself up slowly from the bed, my eyes glanced outside the window to the still rising sun, rays of light now pouring in past the clear glass and hitting me with a subtle warmth as my legs moved over the side of the mattress. I allowed myself to bask in it for a minute or two, hoping it would somehow invigorate my enthusiasm for the day ahead.

No such luck.

Making my way into the ensuite fresher, I frowned as my reflection came into view. I looked exhausted. Copper hair was beginning to unravel out of the low plait I spent most days wearing, errant strands stuck to the skin on my forehead. A rosiness had settled into my cheeks, starkly contrasted to the rest of my face, another indication of the minimal sleep I’d had.

My eyes were slightly droopy, hazel irises only half visible. Sluggishly, I took the elastic holding together the weaves of my plait and shook the hair free, fingers combing through to soften out the knots created from tossing in the night.

Slipping off my clothes, I stepped into the shower, pressing the start button to an instant rush of molten water, basking in the sensation of the pressured stream massaging my aching muscles. I hadn’t realised how sore I was from the long trek I’d completed for Poe, but it was all too noticeable now when my body pulsed in delight from the searing heat flowing into my skin.

After freshening up to my normal state of being and donning my usual work attire - a light button up blouse and deep navy slacks, I worked to reform my hair into a loose plait that sat over my shoulder, twisting the strands smoothly down my chest.

It took me a few minutes of hesitation before I could push myself to walk out of my quarters. I was nervous. Not only for the way Poe and I parted, but also for how I’d caught him hours later. How was I supposed to not blush after hearing the way he moaned my name? How was I not supposed to refrain from thinking about the way it had made me come instantly?

He’s your patient. Just treat him like anybody else.

That’s the thought that ricocheted through my mind as I paced down the hallway, steady breaths preparing me for the rush of bashfulness I knew I wouldn’t be able to avoid. Rounding the corner, I saw the hospital drapes had been closed to shield Poe’s bed from view, moving closer to hear the relaxed sounds of his breathing muffled through them.

Damn, he was still sleeping.

I had been hoping he would already be awake, simply to avoid the awkward disturbance of restful sleep. I hated it, hated shaking patients into consciousness just to prod them with medical equipment. I could always tell they despised me for it. But there was no other option. I had put this off for long enough.

My fingers slipped through the drapes’ opening and slowly forced them apart, thinking Poe’s eyes would immediately open at the rattling of metal rings against the rail. But as my stare scanned his body, then his face, he was still snoozing soundly. And it was anything but elegant.

He laid on his back, diagonal across the length of the mattress, the uninjured leg poking out from the sheets and foot completely free from the support of the bed. His casted arm was resting on his stomach, hand reached under the night shirt, exposing his lower abdominal muscles and the flickers of dark body hair trailing down from his navel. The other, bandaged arm was flung backwards over his pillow, face pressed into the cloth covered bicep, mouth hanging open, chest slowly rising and falling in his deep slumber. I wanted to giggle, but settled for a quick smirk before moving to the bedside.

Placing a hand on his shoulder, I shook him gently. “Poe?”

He rustled only slightly, mouth closing and forming into what I could only conceive as a smile.

“Poe?” I called to him again, the pressure on his shoulder harder this time. “It’s time to wake up.”

“Alex?” he breathed sweetly, eyelids still not unlocked, my chest tightening at the way he said my name. I barely had time to process it when his eyes suddenly flitted open, pupils widening at seeing my face not far from his. He recoiled almost instantly, neck sprouting upwards from the pillow in surprise, quickly jerking around to survey his surroundings.

“I’m sorry to wake you,” I said tenderly as he rushed himself back into a normal lying position. “It’s just… I need to take your vitals and check how those burns are healing.”

He shook his head rapidly in an attempt to rid himself of the morning haze. “Sure,” he coughed, voice gravelly. “Go for it.”

I pulled the leads from their hooks on the wall and positioned them on him, both of us pitted in silence. He wouldn’t look at me as I waited for the results to appear, instead staring straight at his feet, struggling to hold down the irritability peeking though in his expression.

“You’re not much of a morning person, are you?” I observed, failing to stifle a laugh.

He simply shook his head, still not letting his eyes deviate. “I usually am. This morning… Not so much.”

“Did you not sleep very well?” I began to enter his stable vitals onto my datapad, writing a few notes detailing his recovery so far.

His jaw tightened. “I didn’t get to sleep until pretty late.”

“Oh,” I breathed, urgently trying to abate the rush of blood to both my cheeks and in between my legs. “Were you in pain? Hungry? I’m sorry I didn’t come and check on you.”

I wasn’t about to tell him that I’d tried and failed. I didn’t want to embarrass the both of us by reciting how I managed to catch him in such a… vulnerable position.

“You’re sorry?” he puzzled, eyes finally reaching mine as I sheepishly looked up from my datapad.

“Well… um… yeah. What happened last night-”

“Stop,” Poe interrupted, his expression finally softening. “Stop apologising. I’m the one who should be asking for forgiveness.”

“But I-”

“Alex.” Poe stopped me as I started to unravel the edge of his bandage. “I shouldn’t have been so… forward. You were right. It was inappropriate. You’re... my doctor, and I shouldn’t have put you in such an uncomfortable position.” There was a tinge of shame flickering in his bronzed irises, his jaw taut. I could sense there was still more waiting on his tongue. But I didn’t want to pursue it further than that. I didn’t want to get caught in the black hole of wondering why he’d felt so strongly in that moment to kiss me.

“Let’s just both be sorry and forget it ever happened,” I smiled.

He reciprocated my soft grin. “Sounds great.”

Neither of us were going to forget about it.

*

“Thanks so much Miss Jago!”

I waved my midday patients off from the front entrance, the burnt, crumbling ruins of Poe’s X-wing still disturbing my view of the Raxus countryside now brightly illuminated in the heat of the noontime sun.

“See you in a month!” I called as the small children, twin siblings, scurried to catch up with their parents who had already begun their several hour journey home. As much as their monthly visits warmed me, I hated they had to make it so often. It was unfortunately necessary to treat the musculoskeletal disease they had been born with - one that slowly ate away at their muscles. They were mere infants when their parents had brought them to my door, tiny little bodies wasting away for an undiscernible reason. Thankfully with a diagnosis, regular check-ups, injections and medication, I’d helped them grow into normal little kids.

This was the impact I wanted on the world.

I’d left Poe to his own devices after finalising my assessment of his injuries. His X-rays indicated adequate signs of healing, most of his wounds mere red lines, and the severe burn on his left arm had healed extensively, so much so that I hadn’t needed to replace the bandage over his skin.

It was still obvious he’d sustained damage, but the scarring that’s taken place of the seared flesh looked like it had been healing for a long time. I knew in my bones that it wasn’t the bacta that did all that work, and hoped yet again Poe wouldn’t somehow come to that realisation.

“Huh, I thought you said there was third degree burns under there,” he had questioned, still seeming impressed.

“There was,” I answered shortly. “Bacta and time does the trick.”

He hadn’t inquired beyond that, once again accepting bacta as a wondrous miracle cure. Which it was, but not to this extent.

I stepped back into the clinic room and returned to my computer, typing a few last notes into the twins’ file.

“They were cute,” Poe chirped across the room, sitting at the portable desk I’d provided for him to continue working on BB-8 while I was with patients.

“I’ve been seeing them since they were babies,” I said flatly, still concerned with my inputting.

“I can tell,” he added. “They actually seem excited about coming to the doctor. Didn’t even cry when you gave them the needles. They must like you.”

I hoped he was too far away to see the manifestation of a stroked ego display on my face. Hitting enter on the last of my records, I stood out of the chair to make my way to Poe’s makeshift workstation. “How’s the repairs coming along on your little friend?”

“Slow,” he huffed. “Especially with my arm still in this cast.” He looked up at me then, asking a silent question.

“No,” I stated sharply. “The cast isn’t coming off until tomorrow.”

He made a playful attempt at a frown and returned his concentration to the complicated weave of wire and metal in front of him. Humans, and most aliens, seemed a lot less complicated to fix than this.

“The crash really messed him up bad huh?” I noted, kind of too obviously.

“Yeah, but his circuits seem to be a little more fried than I would have expected. He’s got big impact dents, a decent amount of smoke and fire damage, but that doesn’t really explain a lot of the wiring damage I’m seeing in here.” Poe pointed to the domed inside of BB’s head, a maze of tiny circuit boards connected to an absolute mess of melted copper wires.

I didn’t have a very educated mind concerning robotics, but still made my guess anyway. “Electrical sparks maybe?”

“Hm,” Poe hummed. “It seems that way. Although hardly anything that would have been caused by fire or ejection into a concrete wall.” He was deep in thought again, attempting to precisely pull apart the wires with fine pliers. But he was right, the cast did impinge on the proper use of his hand.

“How about a break?” I chimed, truly believing he needed it.

He raised an eyebrow. “What kind of break?”

“A break from this, using your brain and uh… hands.” I tried to smile cheerfully but it felt a little more like pity. “We could go for a walk, get your rehabilitation started.”

Poe’s eyes sparkled at my suggestion. “Oh thank the maker, I thought you were never letting me out of here.”

I rolled my eyes. “I’ll take that as a yes then?”

“Absolutely!”

*

It took an infuriatingly long time to convince Poe to use any type of walking aid, outright refusing the z-frame, snubbing the bilateral crutches, only begrudgingly accepting to use the walking cane he was leaning on now as he finally got a chance to inspect the remnants of his near-fatal crash landing.

“I made it out of that,” he said faintly, and I couldn’t decipher whether it was a question.

“Just,” I reminded him.

He turned to look at me, eyes widened, glowing with disbelief. “Have I said thank you enough yet?”

“You’re getting there,” I chuckled. “You’re just lucky you crashed on my doorstep. Who knows what would have happened otherwise…”

I knew. He’d be dead.

“Lucky is right,” he mused, the shimmer in his eyes not having faded yet.

“Come on, let’s get you walking.”

I turned in the direction of the north village’s path, stepping in relaxed strides as to not tempt Poe into further straining himself. He followed my instruction, limping beside, albeit much less unsteady than he’d been without the cane.

We were quiet as I allowed him to focus on the task of walking, not wishing to distract him from learning how to safely put one foot in front of the other again. Soon he had settled into a steady rhythm, and I glanced sideways to see Poe’s face finally survey his surroundings.

Luscious green fields rolled out in every direction in front of us, large plots of land lined with wheat grass and varying vegetation, all separated by short, rustic wooden fences. Trees dotted the path we took, tall and flourishing from years of undisturbed growth. I could hear the canaries whose nests littered their branches start to chitter at the sound of our footsteps, many high-pitched chirps fluttering from under the cover of shrubbery.

“It’s beautiful here,” Poe marvelled, his face almost as bright as the sun that shone over us. “I can see why you picked this place.”

I smiled warmly. “I did a small amount of research.”

Hours and hours.

“Evidently. Although, a thought did come to me…”

“Hm?”

Poe was quiet for a few beats as we strolled slowly along the gravel path, then asked, “Why didn’t you bring anyone with you? Why do this all alone? Don’t you miss your family?”

Kriff. Pulling out all the difficult questions.

“Well… I suppose I’ve always worked best alone. Even through my training I found it would take me less time to come to the correct answer or work through a procedure if I didn’t have anyone interrupting me.” I stopped with a realisation of how the words spilled out my mouth. “Uh… did that sound too conceited?”

Poe chuckled. “A little. But I understand. Some people are just wired that way.”

I laughed with him in response, hoping he would forget the rest of his queries.

“Alright, I can understand the lack of co-workers. But what about family? Raxus is an incredibly far place to travel from Coruscant. I can’t imagine you simply cut all ties and left one day to live in the Outer Rim, alone.”

Yet that was the cold reality, the truth lingering through every day I spent on this planet.

“Are you okay?”

Poe had noticed the shift in my mood, the subtle pain in my expression.

I nodded with a smile that didn’t dissolve into the rest of my face. “They understood. They just wanted me to be happy.” I swallowed slowly, focusing all my concentration on keeping the tears from forming at my eyes.

I need to get off this subject fast.

“What about your parents, don’t you miss them while flying to every corner of the galaxy for the Resistance?”

Poe stopped suddenly, myself following suit, and he smirked a little. “I do. My father is on Yavin 4, lending a hand to the civilian defence of the colony I grew up in. And my mother…” His eyes softened as he reminisced, the smile never fading from his lips. “She passed when I was 8, so I’ve... missed her for a long time. And I’m sure she misses me from wherever she is now.”

Our eyes met, a swirl of profound soothing energy radiating between us under the midday sun. He didn’t know it, but the shared feeling of loss in the family we would never be able to see again was a comfort to me, to know someone else sensed the weight of grief on their shoulders too.

We were still for a few moments, both ruminating within our own minds, until our footsteps simultaneously crackled on the ground again. As we walked, I could almost feel a tangible stripping of the hardened layers I’d built over years to frame my consciousness, never daring to let anyone get too close to the core, the truth.

The way Poe spoke without hesitation of consequences, the way he so willingly trusted me, the lightness that it made me feel, I couldn’t help but want to mirror his energy. I wanted to let him in.

You’ll regret it.

You know what? I don’t care.

*

At first we talked of our childhoods, recounting the differences between the sprawling, artificial cityscape of Coruscant and the vast jungles and rainforests that encompassed Yavin 4. Poe spoke of climbing Massassi trees with his father, attempting to learn how to track Woolamanders by scent alone, and his first hazy memories of sitting on his mother’s lap, playing with the controls of an X-wing.

My memories were more rudimentary by far, as I recalled my schooling in classes of hundreds, learning how to transverse the maze-like Level 4860 without becoming lost, and the rare trips to the higher levels that I journeyed with my parents just to see the sky.

As we made our way back towards the clinic, we regaled each other of the differing sides of war, him attempting to avoid the injuries of battle while I took pride in mending them. It was effortless the way we conversed, a lack of discussion never opening up to an awkward void of silence. I couldn’t remember the last time I felt so weightless, the heavy shackles of my long-kept secret feeling looser around my soul.

A twinge of disappointment tugged at me once we’d reached the clinic building again, wanting to remain in this floating bubble of contentment for so much longer. But there were still patients to see.

Poe was visibly drained from our long hike, a small tremor of exhaustion and pain beginning to tremble through his body as he eventually hobbled back into his hospital bed. I was able to renew his analgesia drip before a knock at the door indicated my 1400 appointment had arrived, albeit a little early.

To my surprise, and relief, it was a small crew of east village tradesmen, tools in hand, having carted along the scrap parts that would hopefully put my comm-tower back in working order. A familiar, gruff looking man with kind eyes, salt and pepper hair and a short beard framing his jaw, reached out to greet me.

“Alexys!”

“Vixur,” I beamed back, embracing him in a curt hug. “Thank you so much for coming. I hope the trek wasn’t too tiring.”

“Nothing we haven’t done before.”

The 3 others with him nodded in agreement. I recognised their faces but couldn’t find their names hidden away in my brain. They were all considerably younger, so I assumed they hadn’t needed my care so much over the last couple of years.

“These are a few my trade students, to help me. So… where’s this broken comm-tower?”

My eyes moved to look behind them. “Uh... under the wreckage. Just over there.”

They all craned their necks around in unison, Vixur’s face falling into look of unease. “This might take a little longer than expected Miss Jago.”

I gritted my teeth into an apologetic smile. “I know. But anything you can do to get it working would be unimaginably helpful. The comm-tower allows me to order supplies and do my research. I’ll be useless without it after too long.”

“Guess we better get to work then,” Vixur remarked, giving me a warm smile before ushering his crew towards the metal debris.

My chest thumped with appreciation for the older gentleman I’d known since I’d arrived on Raxus, one of the few who volunteered their time to assist in building my clinic. It was one of the things that cemented my belief I’d made the right choice to settle on this planet, just to help people like him.

As the four men began to carefully take apart the burnt metal frame of the X-wing, I returned inside to find Poe already back behind the workstation with BB-8’s insides splayed across the metal.

“I thought you were resting,” I scolded.

He didn’t look up, attempting exactly what he’d been struggling with before leaving the clinic. “I was bored. I’d rather be sore and busy.”

I chuckled under my breath, my rear almost reaching my desk chair before another knock resonated into the room.

*

An infected foot wound, an angry rash, a burning pain during urination. Just a few of the patients whose appointments brought little in the way of fascination for my afternoon.

Poe continued his work silently behind the hospital curtain to provide at least some privacy for my examinations. I felt the aura behind the screen grow intense with repulsion as I discussed the less than glamourous issues with my patients, burying the need to smile at the thought of Poe’s sickened face. Being in this line of work for so long allowed me a resistance to the kind of aversion most people felt being faced with nauseating and embarrassing conditions of the human body.

I had just waved farewell to my last patient of the day, when Poe’s voice suddenly piped from behind me. “How do you do this every day? I thought I was going to be sick hearing that woman talk about her foot,” he winced.

I turned to him and raised an eyebrow. “You’ve been in battle, but can’t handle a little pus?”

“Blood and ugh… pus… are two completely different things.”

“Hm… Poe Dameron, pilot extraordinaire, Commander of the Resistance fleet, battle hardened military man, is afraid of a little pus?”

He took my mocking with good humour, conceding. “Don’t tell anyone okay? Wouldn’t want my enemies knowing my one weakness.”

“Somehow I don’t think I’ll be making contact to help out the First Order anytime soon.”

“I would hope so,” he stated lightly, “We don’t need someone like you patching up all the holes we put in their soldiers.”

I knew logically he meant it as a joke, but it still minced at my insides, a flush of irritation coursing through me, and he could tell when my face fell.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, remorseful. “When you’ve been involved in war for so long it’s easy to become a little… indifferent about the other side’s casualties.”

Indifferent? More like ignorant.

How stone hearted did one have to be to consider the deaths of millions at the hands of fleets and armies just par for the course? To deem the deaths of those who just happened to be on the opposing side not even worth a second thought?

I worked my whole life to keep people’s hearts beating, and people like him could so easily stop them, seemingly without guilt. He made my work, past and present, feel absolutely pointless.

People would keep dying as collateral, and those who sentenced them to that fate didn’t even care.

All the positive emotions that had bubbled up for Poe during our walk today suddenly popped, disappearing into the air in an instant, leaving little behind.

I looked to Poe with narrowed eyes, my tone icy. “Good thing there’s people like me who actually value life instead of readily wanting to take it.” I marched from his hunched frame towards the hallway, too tired from the day to spend more time arguing about war again.

“Alex! Wait a second! I didn’t mean it like that!” he echoed from behind me, his voice ricocheting off the walls as I stormed away.

Slamming the door of my quarters, it was difficult to deny the tears of frustration threatening to break from my eyes. I feared his stubbornness wouldn’t allow any reprieve, and it appeared I was correct when I heard his disjointed footsteps becoming louder. Gritting my teeth, I felt the burning sensation of bile simmering in my stomach. His knock was faint, and not accompanied by his voice asking for me.

I strode back to the door and swung it open. “What?!”

Poe’s eyes grew wide at my snapping question, not appearing as hostile as I’d imagined. “The tradesman is at the door asking for you,” he muttered sheepishly. I was rattled for a moment at his lack of antagonism, before pacing back to the front entrance as he slunk onto the hallway wall, letting me pass by without challenge.

Vixur was there to greet me just inside the door, a sly smirk curling his lips. “Who was that Alexys?”

“He’s a patient, the one who survived the crash that wrecked my comm-tower,” I grumbled, in no mood for Vixur’s assumptions.

“Right. Sure.” His smile didn’t fade quickly enough for my liking. “Anyway, we’ve managed to clear most of the wreckage, and start our rebuild. But I’m afraid it’s still not even close to being finished.”

“I can’t say I wasn’t expecting that. Sorry it’s such a big job.”

“It’s perfectly alright, I had a feeling you wouldn’t have made a trip to the village unless it was important. We’ll set up camp out here for the night and hopefully have it running tomorrow.”

The thought of these men shivering in the frosty Raxus night, for what was really Poe’s benefit, made me feel heavy with quiet fury.

“No Vixur!” I protested. “You and your students don’t need to spend the night out in the cold! I’ve got four hospital beds in here, and they’re at least somewhat comfier than the ground. And so much warmer.”

“I thought you said you had a patient?” Vixur’s eyes drifted behind me, and I turned to see Poe leaning against the hallway door.

“Oh, he doesn’t require my treatment anymore. I’ll find a place for him. There’s plenty of floor space in this clinic.”

Vixur seemed to successfully gauge my mood, unease twisting his expression. “It wouldn’t feel right taking away a bed from the man who survived that crash.”

“It’s fine, really. He hasn’t proven to be half as selfless as you and your men have been today. It’s honestly the least I could do for you.”

I could sense why Vixur was wary. I had never acted like this before, vindictive and petty. But Poe’s hideously callous mindset had wrestled out a restrained wrath that was bubbling to the surface.

“Well… okay then. I’ll round up my boys and bring them inside. Much appreciated Alex.”

I swivelled on my heels to Poe’s downcast expression, knowing he’d listened to the conversation. “You can move BB-8 and your things into my office,” I said flatly, before beginning to strip the sheets off the bed he had called his for the past couple of days.

He didn’t say anything, mouth clamped shut as he followed my orders and collected as much of BB as possible into his arms.

It took him a couple of trips, and I faintly twinged with contrition as he limped back and forth from my study. But it was quickly buried in the heap of bitterness weighing heavy in my chest.

*

After renewing the sheets of the bed and helping the men settle into the clinic for the night, I showed them where to help themselves to my food stocks and offered them use of the ‘fresher. They were hideously thankful, and it made me contemplate what kind of sleeping arrangements they had in their village to be so appreciative of the lumpy hospital grade mattress I was providing them. It only soured my mood even more.

Yet another thing that war bestows.

It was mildly surprising that Poe didn’t pounce on an opportunity to debate with me in a way to clarify his stance, wondering how long he would let me have the last word. He had skulked away into the study to continue his repair on BB-8, his solemn aura a far contrast to the spiky air that hung in the air around me.

I fell into my usual nightly routine of reading, bathing, and dinner, begrudgingly making Poe a meal and placing it in front of him without muttering a word. He let out a soft ‘thank you’ as I left back to my quarters, and the same pang of guilt tried to rise up again, this time a lot harder to submerge.

It didn’t sit well in my body, this cold resentment that continued to churn through my blood. It felt foreign and unknown to my usual state of being. I knew it was because I hadn’t had to face a person like this, who deemed war and death necessary companions, in such a long time. I found myself impatient for Poe to leave, to return to an existence being surrounded only by those who had been too traumatised by war to ever consider it an acceptable burden in life.

It was starting to get late in the evening, my weariness from the day becoming increasingly powerful as I lounged on my sofa, waiting for Poe to get out the ‘fresher so I could instruct him he was to use my bed for sleep tonight. The doctor side of my brain had eventually won despite my irritation, pressing that he was still a man who had painful injuries and needed a comfortable place to rest them.

The ‘fresher suddenly opened, Poe rushing past my door back into the office before I had a chance to stop him.

“Poe?”

He slinked his head around the corner first, seemingly startled I had called for him, before shifting his body slowly into the entryway.

“Yeah?” His voice was gentle, albeit slightly hollow.

“You’ll be sleeping in my bed tonight,” I asserted, tone firm and professional.

Poe cocked his head to the side. “With you?”

“No,” I sighed, exasperated, thinking that fact would have been obvious. “I’ll be on the couch.” I patted the pillow and blanket I had beside me.

“Right, of course,” he mumbled. “I thought you had banished me to the floor.”

I took in a slow breath, trying to be more cordial than I felt. “It wouldn’t be good for your recovery.”

“You don’t have to. I could take the couch.”

I shook my head. “It wasn’t a question.”

“Right,” he conceded, quicker than I expected. “Are you going to sleep now?”

“Yeah,” I yawned. “As your doctor, I would suggest you do the same.”

His face seemed bruised at my coldness, and I felt a lump form in my throat as guilt tried incessantly to escape into my expression. But I was too tired to care anymore, and sleep would mean I was closer to being free of his mood-altering presence.

I pulled the pillow over to the opposite side of the sofa and fluffed out the blanket so I could slip myself under it, facing away from Poe still self-consciously standing at the door. I heard him eventually tread over to my bed and climb in, the faint rustling of fabric filling the air until there was silence between us, yet again.

*

I tried my best to sleep. But I was restless, mostly from the discomfort of my sleeping place, the couch providing little in the way of relaxation for my tired body. There was also an incessant torrent of thoughts nagging at me, unable to stop turning over the conflicting emotions I had towards Poe.

In such a short time I felt so close to him, so connected, both care and desire climbing higher with our time together. Now that already fragile bond was frayed at the edges, threatening to snap in two.

In reality I barely knew him, spending only a handful of days in each other’s lives, yet somehow within that meek time frame I’d felt more attached to this man than anyone I’d encountered in my lifetime.

But his differing morals couldn’t be denied, and they wounded my soul, made me feel useless in this already overwhelming universe. What hope did this galaxy have when even the self-proclaimed heroes of the war don’t see themselves as murderers too? Did they think because their ideals were more noble that it allowed them to freely kill without care?

It didn’t seem to matter what side someone found themselves fighting for. Each had different causes, different reasons behind their crusade, but they produced the same outcome. A whole lot of death.

I heard Poe sit up all of a sudden. “Alex?”

“Hm?” I answered groggily.

“Can we talk?”

~

Next Chapter

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[bonjour-rainycity]

Double Heart | Chapter Two ~ Cosima

|previous part|

Pairing: Haldir x OFC

Rating: PG

Word count: 3048

Warnings: None

**Read on Ao3 under the user “bonjour-rainycity” if you prefer!**

A/n Surprise! I wrote another chapter so I decided to go ahead and make another post. The reasoning behind this is I want to stay one month ahead and only one month ahead. That will give me a helpful buffer for when life happens but I don’t want to stockpile any more chapters than necessary. You know? So...here’s chapter two!

It’s nearing nightfall by the time we finally stop. My bones are stiff, my butt is sore, and my back hurts from all the tension I kept there out of fear that I would otherwise fall and be trampled under the horse’s quick-moving hooves.

Baranor slides down, reaching his arms up to me. I place my hands on his shoulders and allow him to help me off the horse. I stumble the moment my feet hit the ground.

Orophin—who I’ve yet to actually talk to—offers me a sympathetic smile. “Have you not ridden in a while? Take a short walk and stretch a little. It will help you feel less sore in the morning.”

I nod my thanks, tentatively releasing my hands from Baranor’s arms and turning away from the horses.

“Do not go far.” I jump. Haldir’s voice floats from the tree line just in front of us. I hadn’t seen him dismount, let alone climb into the branches. “We are not in guarded territory.”

With that ominous warning, I decide it’s best to stay close to the others. We’re near enough to the riverbank, so I hobble to the edge of the water and back again. Once movement comes a little easier, I extend my path to the tree line.

A voice to my left interrupts the silence. “Do you remember anything else?”

I yelp, placing a hand over my racing heart.

Rumil grins, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. He hands me a canteen. “Sorry. I forget how terrible human senses are.”

I raise an eyebrow but bring the canteen to my lips, grateful for the drink. “And, what, elves are so much better?”

Mentally, I admonish myself for playing along. There’s no such thing as elves. Either they’re messing with me, or I really am having a wildly vivid dream.

Rumil nods, shrugging his shoulders in a way that suggests the answer is obvious. “Well, yes. We live longer, have better sight, hearing, reflexes. We do not tire as quickly as humans do, and we have a respect for our kin that the race of man cannot hope to imitate. I do not mean to offend.” He smiles, carrying a note of apology in his voice. “It’s only the truth.”

I shrug, unbothered by his comment. Because if elves exist in this world I dreamed up, why shouldn’t they be better than humans? It’s just as likely that I’ve imagined a race that’s worse than humans, and I only haven’t met them yet. “If you say so. But to answer your question, no, I don’t remember anything else. How long was I passed out?”

From his place by the now-grazing horses, Baranor answers. “Not long once we arrived, but I do not know how long you laid there before.”

“Yes, and you are quite lucky we arrived, especially with Baranor in tow.” Rumil winks, gripping my elbow and turning me back towards the part of the ground where I assume we will sleep tonight.

I give Baranor a questioning look.

He smiles awkwardly, a bit self-conscious. “I am quite skilled as a healer. I used the power in my spirit to call to your own. You were very nearly dead when we happened upon you.”

I file that information away. Power in my spirit…Probably something I’d read in a book once that my brain has brought up now. And these men I’m with—elves, I guess, according to the dream—must be people I know from…from…

But the fledgling thought dies away, leaving me with no more answers than before. I try to push back my disappointment, my logical side kicking in to soothe me. It’s okay. Soon the doctors will fix you, or you’ll wake up from this dream, and everything will be fine. You just have to wait. No point in getting freaked out.

Rumil, Baranor, and I settle on the high part of the riverbank. Orophin sits too, once he’s done refilling the canteens. I glance at the trees. I haven’t seen Haldir since we stopped riding. “Is he not going to join us?”

Orophin and Baranor exchange looks, but Rumil just snorts. “Likely not. As he said, we are neither in the territory guarded by the wardens of Lothlórien nor the patrols of Elrond. Someone has to watch for threats. More often than, not, Haldir insists on the job for himself. He doesn’t trust us to keep good enough watch.”

“That’s not it and you know it,” Orophin hisses, and I flinch at the anger in his voice, even though it wasn’t directed at me. I have no idea how Rumil keeps his face blank. The two stare each other down until Orophin speaks again, still through gritted teeth. “Go and collect the rations for dinner.”

Rumil rolls his eyes, but does as his brother says.

Baranor clears his throat, and I’m grateful when he changes the subject. He inclines his head towards me. “I see you are dressed for travel. Perhaps you were part of a company and got separated?”

Mildly perplexed, I look down at my body. Huh. He’s right. Something I had yet to take notice of is the clothes I wear — sturdy dark leggings, a deep green tunic, a red cloak, and thick leather boots. I haven’t the slightest idea how I conjured up these clothes, but Baranor is right — they’re perfect for this type of outdoor traveling.

Rumil returns and places a bundle of leaves in each of our hands. Inside seems to be bread and slices of some sort of fruit. Hesitantly, I take a bite. It’s surprisingly good.

“So how long until we reach this friend of yours?”

“Elrond,” Orophin informs, looking down the path we intend to continue on tomorrow. “Probably about thirteen more days, unless we hit bad weather. The mountains will take the longest, and traveling with a human will slow us down.” He realizes his words, eyes growing wide. “I don’t mean to be rude—”

“No, no, I get it.” I wave him off, picking at the bread in my hands. These elves sure have a bad view of me. “Humans suck.”

“At least it’s still spring,” Rumil supplies, trying to lighten the mood. “That will make our path through the Misty Mountains easier.”

“Right you are,” Baranor agrees, sipping from his canteen. “I detest crossing them in the snow.”

The three elves slip into easy conversation, exchanging stories of the worst travel conditions each has suffered, trying to one-up each other. While they talk, I place my bread back in its leaves and on the ground, no longer hungry. The stories they tell are quite detailed, and there’s this nagging feeling in the back of my mind that I wouldn’t be able to make all this up…the landscape, the language, a whole new species with differing characteristics, vast knowledge of this world’s travel ways, four fully-thought-out ‘characters’, for lack of a better word….Dread and fear mingle with exhaustion and I slump, wanting nothing more than to curl up in a ball and go to sleep for a very long time. Perhaps when I wake, all will be well.

The murmurs from those around me sound muffled. A hand wraps grips one of my shoulders, holding me upright, and Baranor’s voice comes from beside my ear. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I shake my head, feeling the weight of their eyes on me. “I’m just exhausted.”

He makes a noise of agreement. “Of course you are, I’m sorry I didn’t realize it sooner.”

I try and wave off his apology, but it seems like too much effort to raise my arm over such a little thing. From the corner of my eye, I see Rumil stand and visit the horses. He returns carrying a rolled up mat and a folded blanket. He unfurls both, setting them on the ground between our gathering spot and the tree line. He beckons for me to join him and, with great effort, I stand without help, going to meet him as requested.

“Here. Sorry it’s not much. If we had known we’d be traveling with a lady, we would have brought much cushier sleeping provisions.”

I roll my tired eyes, realizing that he’s mocking me. “Goodnight, Rumil.”

He grins, sauntering off to rejoin his companions. “Goodnight, Cosima.”

I all but collapse on the mat, pulling the surprisingly warm blanket over my shoulders. Before I’m aware what’s happening, I’ve plunged into sleep.

{***}

Baranor woke me with the sun, and I’m very grateful to be leaning against him rather than directing the horse. I feel much too groggy to properly steer such a beast, especially given the fact that I have no idea how. Even though he must have stayed up most of the night, Haldir doesn’t look the slightest bit tired, and, on behalf of the bags underneath my eyes, I am thoroughly annoyed. He hasn’t said a word to me aside from the few sentences yesterday. I understand it a bit more now, though. He seems to be the leader of this group, and has either been charged with its security, or taken the task upon himself. Despite there not being another soul in sight, he rides at the front of our group—straight backed, stiff, his head on a near-constant swivel. Orophin tends to stay near one of Haldir’s shoulders—guarding his back and providing a sort of second watch, I presume. Rumil alternates between riding in-step with the horse Baranor and I occupy and cantering along behind us.

If riding was difficult yesterday, it is doubly so this morning.

Every bounce jolts though my bones, and I seem always on the verge of being tossed to the side, never quite able to fall into the rhythm the other four find so easily.  

Rumil pulls up beside us, seeming to showcase his perfect form. “Having trouble?”

I grit my teeth, but that only makes them clash together as the horse’s feet collide with the ground. “No.”

He snorts. “Toes up, heels down. Grip the horse with your legs, don’t put all that tension in your back. And if Baranor were human, you’d have strangled him by now. Loosen up.”

Baranor huffs out a laugh and takes an exaggerated breath when I relax my hold around him. “Finally, I can breathe!”

“So dramatic,” I mumble, rolling my eyes for Rumil’s benefit.

“What was that,” Baranor questions, though I know if he has as good hearing as he claims to have, he surely heard my comment.

“I said you’re a really great rider,” I shout.

The three of us dissolve into laughter, and I lose myself in this. For a moment, I forget that I am dreaming, that this is a strange world I made up in my head. I forget that I haven’t the slightest idea what comes next. Instead, I start to forge the first tentative bonds of friendship.

{***}

I am glad when we stop for the evening, and run through some stretches to try and help with the muscle aches. Rumil’s pointers certainly helped though, and I have hopes that perhaps this discomfort is only temporary. We still follow the river, and once again make camp in the space on the high, grassy bank. Bathing was an experience, but it was mercifully quick. The water was much too cold for my liking, so I washed as hastily as I could and then redressed, joining the others on the bank. I lean over to wring the water from my hair, the saturation making it seem nearly black. It’s getting quite long—almost too long, and I hope wherever we’re going has someone willing to cut it. Rumil watches me curiously as I take a spare cloth and scrunch my hair—bringing out its natural waves—but says nothing, only continues giving me an odd look. I guess with the stick-straight hair of he and his brothers, this would look unusual. Just as I am about to tease him for his staring, Haldir comes in to sight, looking quite severe.

“We have lost the cover of the trees. We will take watch in pairs, rotating halfway through the night. Orophin, Baranor—you take the first shift.”

They dutifully follow Haldir’s order, and I watch their faces as they pass. They show no signs of tiredness—no bags under their eyes, no yawning, in fact, not even a hair is out of place—but if it were me, I would be absolutely exhausted with all this staying up. And, though it is technically their turn to rest, Rumil and Haldir are still on their feet, occupying themselves with tending to the horses. I feel awful, peacefully sitting on my bedroll, messing with my hair and eating dinner, knowing I’ll get a full night’s sleep when none of them will have that luxury.

I return my food to the sack loaned to me and push myself to my feet, tentatively approaching Rumil and his brother. Rumil smiles in greeting. Haldir merely glances up and then back to his horse’s hoof he’s bending over to attend. Though I fight to keep my eyes open as it is, it’s not right for me to leave them to do all the work. So, I try to project energy I do not feel, and pose my question. “Do you want me to take a watch shift tonight?”

Haldir stiffens. Rumil raises his eyebrows and vibrates slightly—he’s holding back laughter! I give them my best unimpressed look.

Rumil tries to hide his amusement but can’t do away with his wide grin. “We appreciate the offer, really. But having a human stand watch when we have elves at our disposal? It would be the same to not set a watch at all.”

I huff, crossing my arms, trying to ignore the heat I feel in my cheeks. All this talk of how incapable humans are is getting a little old. “Well, there must be something I can do to help. I shouldn’t go straight to bed if the rest of you are still working.”

Rumil’s expression softens. He purses his lips, seeming to search for either a task for me or a way to turn me away.

“Do you know how to mend clothing?”

I’m momentarily caught off guard. Haldir hasn’t looked up from clearing his horse’s hooves, but it was definitely him who spoke.

Unbidden, the action of holding a ripped piece of cloth and using a needle and threat to bind it comes to mind. I must know how. So I answer in the affirmative. “Yeah, I think so.”

Haldir nods, straightening only to exchange one hoof for the other, never making eye contact with either me or his brother. “Good. There’s a blue tunic in my largest bag that needs mending, and one of Rumil’s too—that one’s red. Work with the light. Stop when you can’t see anymore and finish in the morning.”

I blink and feel my head tilt to the side. That’s the most he’s ever said to me. But it’s not even that he spoke, it’s how. Every syllable is crisp, curt, and succinct—a command in every sense of the word. I long-ago realized that Haldir is in charge of this little group, though now I wonder if he supervises in a larger capacity back in his home. I get the feeling he’s quite used to talking to people like this, and being obeyed.

But I did ask for something to do, so I don’t comment on his tone, only say my goodbyes and retrieve the shirts he’s described. They’re exactly where he said they would be and wrapped around a small sewing kit. I take the supplies and return to my bedroll, working through the sunset. When it grows too dark to see, I put the project away. Rumil and Haldir join me, bringing dinner with them. They set out their mats in a sort of triangle, and I realize somewhat belatedly that this allows each of us to watch the other’s back. It seems second-nature to them, to be cautions and on their guard, even during dinnertime and sleep.

I try to distract myself from that disconcerting thought. “Why are we going to meet this friend of yours anyway?”

Rumil’s gaze turns to his brother standing watch, a fond look in his eye. “There is an elleth there that Orophin is courting. Their time apart has been too long for his liking, so he is paying her a visit. It is dangerous to travel these lands alone, so Haldir and I took leave to accompany him.”

Courting. Elleth. Where am I finding all these words? I keep talking in an effort to distract myself. “That’s really sweet. Does Baranor usually go with you all, since he’s a healer?”

“Usually,” Rumil confirms. “He has extensive experience in the halls of healing, as well as healing on the battlefield, so he is an excellent addition to any company. Also Elrond—the friend we are taking you to—is an acclaimed healer himself, so he and Baranor enjoy conversing with each other.”

Haldir stretches his arms up, then reclines on his mat. “Better get some sleep, all of us. Rumil—we’re up in four hours.”

I take his advice, laying down on my own bedroll. Exhausted though I am, sleep evades me.

My mind runs a million miles an hour, piecing together bits of information from this world, trying to remember things from my home. And, all the while, thought takes root, sowing seeds of fear in my mind.

Because while I know this world isn’t real, and thus no harm can come to me here…Rumil said these lands are dangerous, and the increased watches only support my theory that we are under some kind of threat. I have no weapon with which to defend myself, let alone any skill, and while I know logically that I could throw myself off a cliff and still be fine….

What if that’s not the case?

I groan, rolling onto my back.

This is ridiculous. This place is made up. I’m trapped inside my own head, so I have no reason to be scared. Go to sleep.

And, when the moon is much higher in the sky, the exhaustion wins.

A/n Thanks for reading! You know how likes, comments, and reblogs make me smile. Let me know if you would like a tag! And if you’re having trouble being tagged (for some reason Tumblr isn’t letting me tag all of you?) try subscribing to the story on Ao3! That will update you when I post there. 

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[rosemaidenvixen]

In the Fullness of Time

Chapter 4: Years Past

Ao3

Content warning: Classist language, Violation of bodily autonomy without knowledge or consent

Merlin swore as the carriage went over yet another bump.

“A thousand pardons Lord Merlin sir!” Galahad called from outside “Road’s a bit rough out this ways,”

Rough, that was a gentle way to put it. Was this an actual road or were they driving over a legion of troll remains? This was no way for a Master Wizard to travel, but where he was going his preferred forms of magical transportation would not be...well received “How much longer Galahad?”

Without warning the carriage jerked to a stop, Merlin letting out a whole string of curses as he was nearly thrown from his seat.

“We’ve arrived! Mind your boots, ground’s a touch muddy,”

“...Thank you for the warning,” Merlin grumbled, getting to his feet and opening the carriage door.

If anything Galahad had understated the conditions. The road, if one applied the term quite loosely, was nothing more than a coarse dirt track that went from the larger, more maintained road to their destination. Thoroughly churned by countless wagons and boots until it was a quagmire of mud and rubish, reaching ankle deep in places.

Merlin let out a sigh, resigned himself to the inevitable filth, and stepped down, grimacing as his boots sank into the muck. The small company of knights around him dismounted with a clatter of metal and leather. Galahad himself hopped off the front of the carriage and jogged up to face Merlin “What are your orders sir?”

“That won’t be necessary,” Merlin said while gracefully stepping around the knight “You and your men may stand down, I shall deal with this myself,”

Moving with surprising speed, Galahad ran forward and once again blocked his path “With all due respect, I cannot do that, the king’s orders are that all unregistered magic users be investigated by a company of trained knights, no exceptions,”

Merlin barely suppressed a grumble, it was rather impressive how Arthur managed to be both brilliant and a fool “Very well then, set up a perimeter around this…” he glanced warily at the buildings ahead of them “village...don’t want any surprises coming in or getting out,”

“Right on then,” Galahad turned towards the knights “You heard the man, spread out and surround the village! No surprises in or out,”

The knights all rushed to obey, Galahad joining them, as Merlin walked up the road straight into the thicket of buildings. He could have easily handled this by himself, no need for busybodies gumming up the works. But Arthur insisted on the knights’ presence to...what was it? Reassure the masses…

Merlin spared a glance at the people of the hamlet as he passed through. 

Men and women in clothes just as patchy and ragged as the buildings around them lined either side of his path. As soon as they noticed his presence they parted like all of the sea, ducking inside buildings and hurrying down alley ways. Some peeked at him out of cracked windows and doors while speaking to each other in hushed whispers. A precious few stood their ground, glaring openly at Merlin as he passed by, nearly drawing a laugh out of the Wizard. 

Ignorant rabble the lot of them. 

Fools who spent their lives with noses buried so deep in the dirt they couldn’t be bothered to look up at the stars.

There had been a time in his youth that he longed to teach people like these. To use his powers to help those that lacked the tools to help themselves. To bring enlightenment to those that clung stubbornly to the dark.

Had he ever really been that young?

Merlin shook his head to dispel the daydreams. 

More likely than not this so-called sorcerer was someone that happened to swear right as a pitcher of milk was falling to the floor. Soon enough Merlin could clear this all up and be on his way. As it was all he wanted was to get back to Camelot and have his boots cleaned to a polish. 

A space opened up in front of him as he reached the heart of the village, Merlin paused and glanced around. Most decent sized settlements surrounding Camelot had a central building of sorts, usually used for storage and official gatherings. Even smaller communities had squares that served much of the same purpose.

This town, if it was large enough to truly be considered that, had neither of those things. The only sort of central feature present was a modest stone well, which a large crowd was gathered around.

“--which is why we need to burn him!” a woman’s voice screeched “We cannot tolerate this evil blight in our midst!”

“And anger the demons who made him? Are you mad!? No, we have to sink him in the bog, give him back to his own,” 

“I’m not touching him! You know what Fae do to those who mess with them and theirs, best to wait for the king’s men to come, let them deal with--”

“We’re wasting time! Just give me a barrel and a cartful of peat and I’ll do the job myself!”

Merlin cleared his throat softly, just loud enough to make the gathered crowd turn in his direction. Upon sighting him nearly every one of them gasped and staggered back in alarm. Only three held their ground, two men and a woman, the one who so fiercely advocated for burning if he remembered right.

He allowed his face to mold into the placating smile he so often used when discussing magic with those who hadn’t the slightest idea how it worked “Good morrow to you folk, I am Merlin Ambrosius, here on behalf of the king. Now I understand you’ve been having trouble with a sorcerer?”

One of the men, the one in charge if his slightly cleaner coat and trousers were anything to go by, stepped forward and stammered out a response “Y-- yes, we have him locked up for now, but there’s no telling what kind of curses he’s brewing,”

Even with all of Merlin’s considerable patience, he was barely able to keep from rolling his eyes. These simpletons wouldn’t know a curse if he conjured one up right in front of them.

Well time to go clear this up and let the village goat herd or whoever it was out of wherever they’d penned him up “I promise you have nothing to fear, a squadron of the king’s best knights are here with me and they will allow no harm to befall you. Now take me to this sorcerer of yours and I will deal with him myself,”

The crowd visibly relaxed at his words; or more precisely, upon learning of the knights’ presence, the village headman slowly nodding at him “Follow me then,”

Merlin allowed himself to be lead to the far side of the village, with the rest of the group trailing behind. No doubt curious about his powers as much as they feared and despised them. The headman stopped at the edge of the buildings, pointing into the trees beyond “He’s in there,”

A cave barred with a wooden door was built into a hill a short distance away from the village proper. A space no doubt ordinarily used for storage now converted to a makeshift prison cell.

The headman twisted his cap in his hands “So...how long will it take you to--”

“That will be enough,” Merlin waved him off “I’ll take care of everything from here on out,”

The headman swallowed hard but still stepped aside to let Merlin pass, striding towards the cave. None of the villagers followed him, of course not that he expected any of them to.

Reaching the cave door, he opened it a crack and poked his head in. It was too dark to see the contents of the cave, the light of the open door doing little to penetrate the gloom.

“Hello?” Merlin called into the dark cave “Anyone in here?”

No reply from within the cave was forthcoming. Merlin remained standing in the doorframe in silence for a few moments. 

His patience was rewarded when a soft sniffle broke through the silence.

Merlin blinked in surprise. Well that was...unexpected.

He opened the door all the way, banishing some, but not all of the shadows. Allowing for his eyes to adjust just enough to see a small figure huddled in the far corner of the cave.

A child, dark haired, a boy by the looks of it, sat curled up on the floor of the cave. And by the look of how dirty and disheveled he was, he had been in here for some time. Clear tracks ran down his cheeks from where tears had cut through the dust. The child wasn’t crying at the moment, though whether that was due to exhaustion or dehydration remained to be seen.

Merlin strode over, slowly as not to startle him, and got down on one knee a few feet in front of the boy “Hello there,”

The child said nothing but followed him with his eyes, clearly trying to gauge how much of a threat the Wizard was.

Merlin gave his best, non-threatening, smile “Let’s lighten things up a bit, shall we?” he held out his palm, and with the barest breath of effort a green witchlight flared to life there before floating up to the cave ceiling, filling the small space with emerald light. 

A parlor trick by his standards, but it served as a good example to those not versed in the subtleties of Wizardry.

The child lifted his head to stare at the witchlight as it ascended to the roof of the cave, mouth open and eyes large with wonder.

“Now tell me young one…”

Aware he was being addressed, the child tore his gaze away from the ceiling to stare back at the Wizard, wariness coming off of him in palatable waves.

“Can you do anything like that?”

Merlin expected the child to shake his head, or at the most mumble a soft no. So it came as no small shock when the child raised his own tiny palm and stared at it with furrowed intensity.

His astonishment was even greater when cerulean sparks flared to life in the boy’s hand.

They flickered for a few seconds before going out, the boy letting out a small puff of exhaustion as they did.

This was no charlatan or victim of coincidence, this boy had actual power. And for someone of his age to even attempt to mimic a spell after only seeing it performed in front of him once…

This boy had potential.

And Merlin would be damned if he let such potential waste away in a dank cave.

Merlin got down on both knees “What is your name young one?”

“Hi-- Hisirdoux,”

“Well then Hisirdoux, what do you say we go outside and discuss things further?”

“I...I can’t…”

“Of course you can, others may not like what you can do but if I say you can leave no one will stop you,”

“But…” Hisirdoux raised one of his arms ever so slightly, a soft clink of metal accompanying the action.

A sound no louder than a cricket’s chirp, deafening to Merlin’s ears.

“Boy, show me your hands,”

Hisirdoux complied, stretching both arms out in front of him, allowing Merlin to see crude iron shackles wrapped around his wrists, sloppily fastened to heavy chains bolted into the cave wall.

Merlin had been millenia old even before Camelot was founded. He’d watched empires rise and crumble. And he’d seen every manner of cruelty that humans could inflict on each other. By now there was no atrocity that was capable of shocking him.

This however, gave him pause.

“Hold still Hisirdoux, let me get those off you,”

Merlin moved closer, raising a hand over Hisirdoux’s wrists, gently probing into the shackles with his magic. 

Elemental iron was the antithesis to magic and could impede it in any form, from raw ore to rusty nails, but it’s true power of binding lay in its shaping. Molding the earth and bending it your will, ingenuity triumphing over the unknown. And a clever and experienced Wizard such as himself could see through the patterns of iron’s construction and unravel it.

It was not difficult, these shackles were especially crude. Hastily hammered together from materials never intended to bind. Probably why Hisirdoux was still able to manifest some power. So it only took a minute, then a flick of his fingers and the shackles fell to the ground.

However the damage had been done.

Hisirdoux whimpered, gently poking at one of the angry red burn marks with a wince. 

Merlin laid both hands over the boy’s wrists.

“Sana et integro,”

Bands of green light bloomed to life and wrapped around the burn marks, slowly fading as they sank into the skin, taking some of the bright redness with it. It wouldn’t heal Hisirdoux completely, but it should end his pain for now.

However he would carry the scars with him for the rest of his life.

Had his neighbors known how badly the iron would injure him, a young child fresh into his magic, or had they merely been concerned with sealing his power away at any cost?

The real question was if any of them bloody cared.

“Better?”

Hisirdoux nodded with a sniffle.

“Good,” Merlin reached over and gently cupped his chin, the boy flinching at the contact, tilting his head up to look him in the eye “Hisirdoux, what I can do and what you can do is called magic, the ability to channel the arcane energies of the universe to bend them to your will,”

Hisirdoux said nothing, merely stared up at him with wide, but not frightened, eyes.

“You are capable of so much more than you know, and if you become my apprentice, I can teach you how to wield your powers to their fullest potential,”

“B...but I don’t want to be an apprentice, I want to stay here with mother and father,”

Merlin held back a sigh of disappointment. Hisirdoux might not have realized it yet, but he had no home here, not anymore. No matter, that truth would make itself known soon enough, the only thing to do was get it over with as quickly as possible. no reason for Merlin to prolong the inevitable.

“Very well then,” Merlin stood and extended his hand “I will take you to them,”

Even though he was far from being moved by such things, sentimentality being something he’d abandoned centuries ago, seeing the flash of hope on Hisirdoux’s face and knowing how unfounded it was hardly felt pleasant.

Hisirdoux reached up, tiny fingers grasping his own, and pulled himself to his feet. Following along as Merlin stepped out of the cave, wincing as they stepped into the bright sunlight.

How many days has his parents sat back and allowed him to be locked away in the dark?

Merlin wasn’t overly fond of the sensation of the tiny, grubby fingers grasping his own, but it was the best way to keep Hisirdoux from running off. If their talk of burning earlier hadn’t convinced him, seeing Hisirdoux’s condition in the cave cinched it. 

The boy was not safe here.

And sure enough, as they approached the village, Hisirdoux brightened, and started to pull away “Mother! Father!”

Merlin kept his grip on Hisirdoux’s hand firm, not letting go as they stepped up to the gathered villagers, despite the boy’s attempts to pull away. Steeling his expression when he saw the mother and father Hisirdoux was looking at.

Hopefully Hisirdoux never had to learn that his mother wanted to burn him alive.

The tell-tale clatter of plate armor came up from beside him, and Merlin turned to see Galahad rapidly approaching. 

“How goes it finding the unregistered sorcerer, any luck?”

Merlin paused and greeted the knight with a nod, ignoring Hisirdoux’s attempts to break free and run to his parents “As a matter of fact I have, he right here,”

“Where? All I see is some waifish…..” Galahad trailed off, eyes going wide from behind his bushy brows.

Good to see Merlin wasn’t the only one appalled at how these villagers had treated their ‘sorcerer’. 

And speaking of a crowd was starting to form around them, drawn by Merlin’s appearance and Hisirdoux’s shouts. 

Merlin straightened to his full height and squared his shoulders.

Time to reset the wound as quickly as possible.

“False alarm everyone,” he gestured towards the squirming Hisirdoux with one hand while looking around at the gathered villagers “This boy does have magic, but he is of no threat to you, you can all go back to your ordinary lives,”

Hisirdoux strained as he continued to try and escape Merlin’s grip and run to his parents “Mother! Mother! I can come home now!”

The mother in question stepped up close and glowered down at him, expression hard enough that it caused Hisirdoux’s brightness to dim “That’s not my boy, not any longer, that child is tainted by darkness, he has no place in my house or in this village,”

No one else around them spoke up, either in agreement or objection, although based on the looks on their faces they hardly disagreed.

Hisirdoux froze, expression beginning to crumple “But moth--”

“Don’t you dare!” the woman shrieked, the sheer venom dripping from her voice enough to cause Hisirdoux, some of the villagers around her, and even Galahad to recoil “Don’t you dare address me as your mother! You’re a curse, a demon, you dare to call yourself our child, deceiving us and hiding your true nature so you can bring ruin to us all--”

“Beloved enough,” the man next to her put an arm around her waist and gently pulled her back “I know this is a trying time for you, but you must not lose yourself in such wrathful displays,”

He put both hands on her shoulders and looked her in the eye “Our child may be tainted by Fae magics, but all is not lost, soon the evil will be gone. And there will be more children between us,”

She sighed, slumping in his grip “You are right, soon our village will be godly once more, and we will have more children to replace the one we lost,”

Hisirdoux had gone completely still, staring up at his parents with an utterly horrified, heartbroken expression. 

His father turned back towards Merlin “My wife speaks true, that’s no son of mine, either you take care of him or we’ll do it ourselves,”

An unfortunate but not unexpected response “Very well then,” he gave a gentle tug on the fingers still clasped in his “Hisirdoux?”

The boy looked up at him, eyes brimming. 

“My offer still stands, do you wish to become my apprentice?”

He gave a terse nod, tiny faced pinched in the effort to hold back tears.

“Then let us go and--”

“Hang on,” Hisirdoux’s father cut in “You can’t just carry my son off,”

Merlin raised an eyebrow “I thought you said he was no son of yours?”

The man flushed but held his ground “I sired him, raised him, and fed him. Can’t just let anyone go carrying him off with nothing to show for it,”

The sheer audacity of this man stopped Merlin in his tracks “How are you to demand such a thing when you’ve made it quite clear you’re not interested in taking him back?”

A triumphant glint entered the man’s eyes “You seem fairly interested in him, wouldn’t want to leave him and have something happen now would you?”

Merlin’s expression darkened, disgust he’d thought himself long past feeling slowly trickling into his chest. He’d seen poor reactions to people discovering their child was touched by magic many times before, this was far from the first time Merlin had witnessed parents proclaim their child dead while they stood living before their eyes. But never in all his centuries had he witnessed any cling so greedily to the corpse “You presume much if you think you can command me to--”

“It’s not as though you can just carry him off,” the the man said, unnervingly calm “The king wouldn’t be happy to hear of his Master Wizard carrying off children from their parents. So you can either pay my price or I’ll find someone who will,” 

Around him the other villagers, his wife included, were murmuring in agreement. Mentions of prices or even other options should Merlin prove unwilling to pay floating up in hushed bits of conversation.

Hisirdoux glanced back and forth between the two men. As young as he was he couldn’t possibly understand the intricacies of the situation surrounding him. But he clearly understood something, some base instinct informing him of the peril he was in, that he stood at the crossroads of danger and safety. His tiny fingers gripping Merlin’s hand with all the feeble strength he could muster. 

The disgust filling him deepened into a rage the likes of which he hadn’t felt in decades. Merlin had to make an effort not to shatter Hisirdoux’s fingers in his grip. From off to the side he could see Galahad watching the entire exchange with his jaw hanging open.

These people, who owned little more than the clothes on their backs, had been blessed with a child with immense magical potential, who possessed the power to potentially build their hamlet up to a kingdom in its own right, and this was how they treated him? They didn’t even afford him the dignity that they would a rat or a wolf, to them Hisirdoux was merely property. Blighted property that they had no desire to keep, but every right to sell to the highest bidder.

These fools had done what in a single afternoon what beings far greater than them had spent years trying and failing to accomplish.

They had made Merlin angry.

He let out a sigh and hung his head “Very well, name your price,”

The man grinned victoriously “Eighty pounds and not a pence less,”

“Fine,” Merlin said coldly.

The man blinked, clearly expecting some haggling involved.

“Galahad,” 

The knight jerked towards him, startled out of his stupefied state.

“Write up a contract stating that these two,” he inclined his head towards the couple in front of him “Are to receive eighty pounds in exchange for signing over their son to be a ward of the crown,”

Galahad nodded slowly, pulling open his bag of parchment and official seals “I’ll get right on that,” he glanced down at Hisirdoux, tears now openly rolling down his small face “How about you two go ahead and wait in the carriage, I won’t be but a minute,”

Merlin nodded, turning and tugging Hisirdoux after him as he headed away from the village and back towards the awaiting carriage.

He waited until Galahad and the crowd of villagers were far out of earshot before starting the chant. Hisirdoux could no doubt hear him, but he would neither remember the words or understand their significance.

Merlin preferred not to use blood magic, both due to the impracticality and the immense risk, but today he would make an exception.

Hisirdoux’s parents, with a complete lack of understanding of magic and how it functions, had declared their child tainted and cut him out of their hearts and community. Deciding to either sell him to offset their so-called loss or kill him and be done with it.

Well if that was the way they treated their firstborn child, Merlin would ensure that there would be no more children after Hisirdoux, for either of them.

From now until their dying days Hisirdoux’s parents would never again bear children, neither with each other nor any other partner.

The words felt cold and slimy falling from his lips, the magic they invoked soft and subtle. Slowly creeping into the bodies of Hisirdoux’s mother and father, altering them just enough to accomplish his goal.

Of course the blood magic curse would only affect those two, the rest of the village, the ones who had been complicit at best and gleeful participants at worst, would not share its effects.

But they would see Hisirdoux’s parents, see what the curse did to them without ever knowing the cause for certain. And they would wonder, and they would be afraid. 

He completed his curse just as the carriage and the rest of the knights came into view, falling silent as he stepped up to them, from far behind he could feel the last traces of magic settle into place and the curse take hold.

Merlin helped Hisirdoux climb the steps into the carriage, from behind him he heard Galahad come up and call to the rest of the knights.

“Alright we’re burning daylight, let’s get a move on!”

A quick glance to the west revealed just how right Galahad was, the sun was now far lower in the sky and they needed to hurry if they wanted to make it to safety before the darkness came and brought trolls with it. Moving swiftly, he stepped into the carriage and shut the door behind him, lifting Hisirdoux up onto the seat and sitting himself beside him just as the carriage pulled to a start.

Hisirdoux remained silent the whole while, had been ever since he’d heard what his parents truly thought of him, eyes locked on the small window, watching the village that had been his home slowly fade into the distance. 

“Hisirdoux,” Merlin spoke softly “I know you must be dealing with quite a lot right now, but you need to understand that there is nothing inherently wrong with your abilities. They are a tool like a sword or a hammer that can be used for good or for ill. They are not evil or corrupt they simply are,” 

The boy refused to look directly at him, eyes bright and lip trembling.

“How your village reacted to your abilities isn’t a reflection of your faults, but of theirs,”

Hisirdoux didn’t react aside from a sniffle, small shoulders starting to shake.

Years from now Hisirdoux would look back on this day as nothing more than a faded scar, a memory of a wound long since healed. But the future was far away, and today the wound was still fresh and raw. Merlin had said and done all he could for now; some wounds could only be healed with time. 

Settling back in his seat, Merlin turned to glance out his own window, prepared to spend the rest of the trip in silence.

Without warning something abruptly pressed into his side.

Startled, Merlin glanced sharply down, only to see Hisirdoux clinging to his torso, openly sobbing against him.

The sight was so baffling that Merlin didn’t know how to react. 

What on earth did this boy think he was doing? Merlin was a Master Wizard, not some nursemaid Hisirdoux could cling to whenever he wished. Merlin’s duty as his master was to instruct him in the ways of magic and that was it, he’d hire a nanny for everything else. If Hisirdoux was going to be his apprentice the boy needed to bloody well learn the difference between the two straight away.

He raised a hand to push Hisirdoux away, but paused just before it could touch him. Keeping it poised in the air for a few seconds, Hisirdoux’s weak sobs echoing in the small carriage, before dropping it with a sigh. Lowing his hand to softly pat Hisirdoux’s back instead.

Perhaps some indulgence was in order, the boy had just been cast out of his home and family. Granted it didn’t look like either of those had been worth very much, but still they were all that he had ever known.

This couldn’t be a regular occurrence, as soon as they got to Camelot Merlin would arrange for a proper nanny to handle caring for Hisirdoux. As master and apprentice, Merlin was responsible for Hisirdoux’s education and nothing else. But just for today, he would make an exception.

As their journey went on, the carriage rocking along as it carried them down the rugged road, Hisirdoux’s sobs gradually softened into sniffles, Merlin rubbing his back all the while, eventually he quieted altogether, though still remaining curled up against Merlin’s side.

“Hisirdoux?” Merlin said quietly.

No response.

He glanced down, glimpsing shut eyes and a slack face, a soft snore escaping him.

For a moment Merlin just stared incredulously. 

The child had fallen asleep on him, of all the impertinent-- good lord what if he started drooling on him?

Merlin briefly considered trying to move him, before settling back in resignation. If he tried to move the boy chances are he would wake up, and after being locked away for days with hardly any food or water and his wrists wrapped in iron...Hisirdoux needed a good rest.

And while Merlin wasn’t smitten with the idea of being drooled on, at least while he was sleeping Hisirdoux would be quiet and out of the way.

Tilting forward as much as he could without disturbing the sleeping child, Merlin peeked out his window, and again out the opposite one. Seeing no knights riding near enough to see inside, he swiftly snapped his fingers. A blanket on the opposite seat becoming sheathed in green light, leaping over and tucking itself securely around Hisirdoux’s sleeping form, the light around it vanishing just as quickly as it appeared

Satisfied that the deed had gone unwitnessed, Merlin leaned back and gave Hisirdoux one more soft pat on the back as the carriage continued on down the road.

[basicjetsetter]

Part II

♡ Pairing: Peter Parker x Black!FemaleReader

▹ Warnings: Language, Mentions of Death, Depression, Triggering Content, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt

▹ Words: 3k

▹ A/N: ATTENTION! This is an emotionally heavy part. Please DO NOT READ if you know you will be affected. For those struggling with depression, I see you, I care for you, and I love you. You’re not alone and you are undeniably worthy of love.

-Five Years and Twenty Nine Days Later-

You don’t want to get up.

Your phone’s alarm clock is rounding on its tenth circuit, if your counting is correct… and there’s a good chance you blanked out for fifteen minutes while watching a strip of sunlight lethargically inch down your blanket to the foot of the bed, so your number may be off by six or seven.

It’s not that you’re tired or anything, or maybe you are and that’s beside the point. It’s just that your bed is far too comfortable for your own good and you know today is Saturday, the busiest day at Hal’s Diner, and it just so happens you’re scheduled for an 8 a.m. to 2 p.m. brunch rush. If you had a choice, you’d stay in bed.

But you don’t. And you’re running twenty minutes late… for the fourth time in two weeks.

I’ve got you.

Shut the fuck up.

You wearily snarl, snatching your pillow out from under your head and slamming it against your face, uselessly stuffing it over your ears as if that would somehow miraculously block out the words. 

Usually, the voice stayed quiet. After three years of the repeated promise drifting around your brain like a lost ship at sea, you had finally figured out how to anchor it to the deepest, darkest, most unchartered recess of your mind. Every now and then, though, they’d find a way to rattle the chains, just to remind you of their eternal presence, but it never lasted long. You didn’t acknowledge them anymore. They no longer fooled you.

But, twenty-nine days ago, something reinvigorated the voice, giving them a renewed sense of purpose and a reason to break free.

Twenty-nine days ago, on the exact anniversary of their disappearance, everyone came back. 

Out of the blue, in the middle of the day, all of the people Earth mourned for five years reappeared to a very, very stunned world. Celebration rocked the streets of New York and all over the globe. Lovers lost returned. Mothers. Fathers. Sisters. Brothers. Babies. Friends. They all came back. And the voice in your head broke free of its chains, rampantly bouncing around your mind as if they were on pure steroids, ready to charge forward and find the one your Destined Words belonged to. 

Everything reverted back to normal.

Except, besides your newly released Destined Words, nothing changed for you.

You weren’t there when… when your best friend rematerialized in your previous apartment. You moved to a smaller, modestly priced place six blocks away. It was great for what little money you had, and your landlords, a lovely couple that always leaves you a present outside your door for Christmas and birthdays, were generous enough to accommodate for your lack of funds.

You just couldn’t keep your parents’ apartment. Not when you knew they weren’t coming back. 

No one ever speaks about the casualties of the ones lost that day, the ones who perished from the effects of the blip. For a long time, you just couldn’t cope with the fact that a swerving hit from a rogue truck whose driver turned to dust was all it took to take your parents away. But you had to move on.

Ever since that day five years ago, you’ve been on your own.

You’re sure your friend tried looking for you by now, continually calling up a retired cellphone number, searching through deleted social media accounts, maybe even asking your old high school for your whereabouts to no avail. Even though you’re not far from home, she’d never find you. 

You don’t want to be found. You like being alone.

With a great, gusty sigh, you roll out of bed, grab some clothes and undergarments, then pad to the bathroom, ignoring the chiming circuit of your alarm clock. It can wait. You go through the motions: washing up, putting your hair in its regular bun, brushing your teeth, and staring at your unaged face in the spotted mirror.

It’s not vanity, though it’s common knowledge that your features will be impervious to aging for a long while. You literally haven’t aged a single day since the blip.

It was an intriguing phenomenon after the first two years. Everyone your age who had heard their Destined Words but had yet to meet their Soulmate just stopped aging, and when the younger generation hit the age of eighteen, they stopped aging as well. For some, like you, the effect was felt rather than seen. Ever since the string inside you snapped, you knew that cosmic time would stand still until you connected with your other soul. You’re not holding your breath for that anytime soon.

As you step out of the steam-filled bathroom, your alarm blares out its last chime before switching to the Vmm Vmm Vmm of an incoming call.

You pick up on the sixth ring. “Good morning, Hal.”

“This is the fourth—”

“The fourth time. I know, I know. I’m on my way.”

Hal grunts into the receiver, “Don’t get smart with me, little lady. Just because you’re my best server doesn’t mean I won’t fire you.”

That’s precisely what that means, and he knows you know it. You blow out a sigh, “I’m seriously almost out the door. Like two steps.”

“Uh-huh,” he says, a hint of a grin in his quizzical noise. “Well, hightail it, would’ya? The joint’s packed already and I need all hands on deck, so scoot.”

“Scooting,” you confirm, snagging your bag off of your sofa and grabbing your keys. “Who’s with me today?” Please don’t say Wendy. Please don’t say Wendy.

“Chris and Wendy.”

You groan as you shut the door behind you. “Come on, Hal. She’s dead weight in the morning. I might as well be working with a zombie in an apron.”

Hal grumps, “At least the zombie gets here on time.”

“Have you had coffee yet? You’re not you when you’re decaffeinated.” It’s true. Even with your truancy, Hal wouldn’t hold it over your head more than twice. He’s usually as chipper as a dog in a dog park at this time, bustling and joking up a storm.

He takes a loud sip, then says, “We’re slammed, is all, and I’m missing my best hand.” Two disgruntled heys ring in the background and Hal immediately issues apologies. “Just get here, will ya?”

Before you can remind him again that you are on your way, he disconnects the call.

You’re wondering if it’s too late to go back to bed.

The little, infamous family diner is only seven blocks south of your apartment building, a nice walk when the weather’s good and a pain in the ass when it’s not. You used to enjoy the quiet mornings and the stillness that came with it, but ever since things went back to normal, you can’t survive the walk without a pair of headphones jammed in your ears and your music’s volume turned all the way up. Everyone’s just so… loud.

Thankfully, today, the walk is a straight shot and you’re in the doors within fifteen minutes.

It’s like stepping into a den full of ravenous animals. Worse, it’s like stepping into a den full of ravenous animals and being stuck with the task of serving them.

“Look who’s finally decided to show up,” Wendy chides, stifling a yawn as she shuffles to a table and places down three menus. She’s twenty-two years old and likes setting your teeth on edge.

You deadpan, “Did the cat drag you in from the front door or the back?”

“Knock it off, you two,” warns Chris, walking by with two arms balancing four plates of the Sunrise Breakfast Special. He looks at you, then jerks his chin back to the kitchen. “Boss is about to blow his top.”

Nodding, you make your way to the back, giving a small wave to some regulars. Out of breath and sweat running down his reddened neck, Hal is moving like a man caught in a whirlwind, flipping eggs and pancakes and sausages and hash browns and bacon while checking orders and filling plates. As soon as he hears the kitchen door close and sees you, he visibly sags in relief.

“Don’t bother clocking in. Just put your apron on and get out there.”

You nod. Set down your things. Put on your apron. Arrange a plastic smile.

Go through the motions.

It’s all the same thing every single day. Wake up, work, school, sleep. Repeat. Unlike the other constants, school is something you’re temporarily trying out. It wasn’t your original plan, the whole four years to a bachelor’s degree, then some more years for a master’s. You gave that up long ago. Right now, you’re just taking a free weekend art class at a community college. Oddly enough, it’s something you’re beginning to look forward to on Saturdays and Sundays.

Work, while you’re great at what you do, is never a highlight. 

Hal was right. The diner is slammed, and you’re swept up in the current of rude, demanding customers, snide remarks from Wendy, cheerful shrugs from Chris, and barking orders from Hal for six whole hours. You work through your two fifteen-minute breaks. No one reminds you. You slip on spilled hash browns. No one helps you. You bring back a plate three times to satisfy a customer who kept finding fault with their eggs. No one thanks you.

Everything is back to normal.

I’ve got you.

“Fuck off,” you snap, slapping a hand to your mouth when you see the elderly woman you’re serving knit her brows in revulsion. “Oh, no, ma’am. I’m-I’m sorry, I was—”

She stands and marches out of the diner before you could explain, snatching her ten-dollar tip off the table.

“… talking to myself,” you finish under your breath.

She’s the last of the brunch rush, leaving only the regular afternoon crowd and a few stragglers. The clock near the cash register reads 2:13 p.m.

You brush off the disappointment of a lost tip and head to the kitchen to grab your things and leave, Chris and Wendy following you. Hal’s two other workers, the ones here till closing, cover the floor well. Not like they had much to do.

Hal is whistling a jaunty tune when you walk in, stopping to salute you, Chris, and Wendy with an exhausted grin. “Nice work out there, you guys. See you tomorrow.”

Wendy is out the door the instant she clocks out.

Chris catches your arm as you grab your bag from your small locker. “Hey, um, I sort of heard your little outburst, and I was wondering if you were okay.”

You nod, gently shrugging his hand off. “Yeah, it’s just a tip. I made enough.”

“No, not that,” he shakes his head, clearing his throat and pushing a hand through his choppy beach-blond hair. He ineptly bends his head down a little, getting close enough for a private conversation you do not want to have. “It’s just… you’ve done that before and I just want to make sure everything’s alright with you.”

You can’t put the plastic smile back on, he’s seen it too many times to know it’s not real, so you half-heartedly grin. “I’m fine. Thanks for asking.”

“Yeah, anytime. Hey, so, me and a couple friends are hanging out tonight. There’s gonna be a music festival in Cunningham Park. Wanna hang?”

Chris tries this every week. At first, you thought it was his bashful attempt at asking you out, but he’s a happily taken man with a big heart and a lot of friends. Every customer he meets, boom, they’re friends and soon loyal customers of Hal’s. It’s a gift. You just wish he caught your not-so-subtle hints of evasion.

Tonight, though, you had the perfect excuse. “Can’t. I got class.”

He tilts his head in confusion. “On a Saturday night?”

“Yeah. It’s a free course. Get it where I can take it, you know,” you awkwardly laugh, hoping Chris wasn’t offended as you take a couple of steps back towards the exit.

His smile doesn’t falter. “Maybe next time, then.”

Not likely. “Sure, yeah. See you later.”

You duck out before he says goodbye, dashing out the front door and speed-walking home.

I’ve got you.

I’ve got you.

I’ve got you.

You stop dead in the middle of a sidewalk.

Where did that come from? It’s never said it three times in a row before. Does… does that mean something?

Your breath quickens at the thought, and you spin around, scanning the vacant street. You’re the only one occupying the sidewalk, you and a curious squirrel sniffing at the crisp air. There’s not a person in sight. When you’re certain you’re in the clear, pivoting a glance around one more time for good measure, you pick up the pace, practically running the rest of the way home.

Once you’re in your apartment and the door shuts, you desperately whisper to your mind, “Don’t say it anymore. I don’t want them, okay? I don’t want a Soulmate.”

Nothing.

“I know you hear me,” you bite out aloud, forcefully shoving back the urge to yell. “Stop saying the words.”

Still nothing.

Silence rings hollow in your mind like the voice is waiting for your temper to cool down. Like it knew it upset you and felt chastened enough to back off and take a time out in a corner.

You stand immobile in the middle of your cramped sitting area. Tense. Waiting. Waiting longer than you care to admit. The urge to fight deserts you as quick as it comes, but you’re still standing there with your fists balled up, feeling more and more defeated as the minutes drain away.

The voice isn’t going to leave you alone. You know that. It’s here to serve one purpose, and the only thing holding it up is you. You’re meant to meet whoever those words belong to… but then what? They magically fix you? They love you back to normal? Five years ago, you may have believed they can do that. But, the problem is, you’ve gone through enough life-altering events in the last five years to last you a lifetime, and this one person, this person destined to pair with your soul, won’t be your wave-of-a-wand solution.

You just want it to stop.

I’ve got you.

A lone tear slides down your cheek as you trek to your bed and climb in fully clothed.

For a long time, you simply stare up at the ceiling as the tears leak out the corners of your eyes. You make no noise, and your chest doesn’t jerk up and down with sobs. The tears gather, and then they fall. Gather and fall. Gather and fall until there are no tears left. You continue staring at the ceiling.

You think back to the days when those godforsaken words and the future they foretold brought you happiness. What a wonderful promise, pairing with someone who will always be there for you in some capacity and will instantly love you. You can’t recall any Soulmate story not working out. Maybe they just never speak about it. Why mar the fantasy?

The sun dipped below the horizon a while ago, and now the moon shines bright in the night sky. You missed your art class.

Your body is as stiff as a board when you sit up. There’s a tight pounding in your forehead, either from crying or lack of food, but you aren’t bothered enough to deal with it. Instead, you move to the only window in your room and pull back the curtains to gaze at the stars. Not many are out yet, but they glitter like gems around the moon, and the night sky nears a lovely shade of midnight blue.

The sight is so pretty; you find yourself grabbing a couple of paint bottles, brushes, and a small canvass, then heading out of your apartment, walking up six flights of stairs to reach the roof.

It’s quiet when you get up there, save for the noise of zooming cars below. The first time you came up on the roof, just out of curiosity, you loved how solitary it felt, loved the view overlooking the building-strewn skyline and the overall height of the complex. It became a nice place to visit when you wanted to be by yourself.

You walk over to the edge of the building, sitting your supplies down on the ledge, then look up at the sky for the best angle to capture the moon and the stars.

The sky is vast. So endless. So open. So free. You stop scoping out for the perfect angle and just admire the shining moon when your eyes land on it. It’s waning, only a sliver of its surface visible as it prepares to transition into a New Moon. Then you gaze at the stars as they dimly twinkle back at you… like they can see right through you.

Like they can see your sadness.

You step closer to the ledge, each step laden with the weight of smothered grief. You lost everyone. Your parents. Manda. She’d never recognize the person you’ve become.

You step onto the ledge, not looking down but up, trying to memorize the image.

You lost your Soulmate. That broken string in your chest never felt the same, even after everyone came back. Maybe you were too far gone for any connection.

You turn around. You’d thought you’d feel numb, but acceptance fills you. It’s okay to let go.

You lower your eyes, slowly lean back, and let gravity take over.

Air sails past your ears in a rush as you fall, and you can’t really focus on anything except your erratic heartbeat. You don’t struggle as your body wants. You just fall and wait.

And then, in a sudden flash of red and blue, you’re propelling sideways and swinging upwards, a strong arm pressing you against a hard chest.

“I’ve got you.”

As soon as he said the words, you knew who they belonged to, as if you knew this entire time. Even with the mask covering his face, you knew. But it still doesn’t stop you from incredulously saying, “Peter?”

His masked face snaps to yours. A small part of you tries to pin his surprise on you correctly guessing his identity, but something bigger assures you the reason for his alarm is a match to your own.

He knows you’re his Soulmate.

...

Part III

[rosesgonerogue]

How to be a Dad 101

Chapter 2 - Villain Attack

Jasonette July Day 3

Masterlist

Marinette had thought that her years of being Rena Rogue would have improved Alya’s need for documenting dangerous situations, or at the very least her impulse control. As much as she loved her best friend, she was beginning to sincerely regret being cajoled into going to Gotham, of all places. A part of her couldn’t help but speculate whether of not Alya had been hoping that they’d end up in Crime Alley.

Jason was an unexpected bonus to their trip, though. None of them were quite sure what to think of the native Gothamite, but he did make an excellent tour guide. He was attentive, and surprisingly knowledgeable about the city’s history. Although he initially came off as angry and intimidating, he was also witty and attentive, especially to Marinette.

Okay, he was also hot. Like, absurdly hot. While Adrien was attractive, Jason was… Marinette didn’t know what words she could possibly use to describe just how broad his shoulders were, or how defined those muscles seemed. At one point he hugged her into his (very firm) chest so an inattentive biker didn’t hit her while they were crossing the street. She was grateful that he took the time to cuss them out, or he would have seen her face as red as her Ladybug suit. At another point when he took off his jacket and she saw his arms, she nearly choked on her spit.

She was dangerously close to relapsing into the Marinette of her teenage years, and that was the singularly worst outcome she could picture. Something about Jason made her feel… safe, protected.

The first day of their acquaintance with Jason was blessedly uneventful. Marinette was a little sad to bid him goodbye for good, but when he dropped them off at their hotel, he asked, “So what time should I be here tomorrow?”

A blush crept up Marinette’s face. “You don’t have to do that, really. We don’t want to bore you–“

He met her eyes, his own piercing. He was evaluating her, and based on his smirk, he liked what he saw. “I’ll be here at ten.” Jason raised a massive, strong hand to brush an errant strand of hair out of her eyes. “Gotham would eat you up, and we can’t have that.”

When he stepped away, Marinette almost collapsed on the spot. She knew her face was flaming red, but she managed to stammer, “W-Well, we’re going to have breakfast at the bakery just down the block at seven, but we’ll definitely be back by ten.”

“I guess that’s safe enough,” Jason said with that same smirk. “But no more wandering around Gotham, you got it?”

“S-Sure.”

Even though he had just vacated her personal space just a second ago, he leaned in close enough that his breath tickled her ear. “Sleep well, sweetcheeks.”

He left them standing in the hotel lobby, Marinette completely frozen. Before the boys could do or say anything, Alya grabbed her hand in an iron grip and hauled her up two flights of stairs to the room the two of them were sharing.

“What was that?” Alya demanded, closing the door with a bang.

Still dazed, Marinette collapsed onto the bed. “What was that?”

“Do you suddenly have a thing for bad boys now? I just… and how did we bump into him? He’s like the buffest man on the planet.”

“He called me sweetcheeks. Is that a good thing?” Marinette mumbled.

“Marinette, focus,” Alya said, shaking her best friend. “I’m worried.”

Finally Marinette made eye contact. “But he’s safe. He protected us.”

Emerging from her purse, Tikki settled on Alya’s head. “Marinette, I don’t think that’s what Alya is talking about.”

Sitting up, infinitely more level-headed than moments earlier, Marinette smiled softly, eyes holding a depth of sadness that should have been unfair for a twenty-year-old. “I know that nothing will happen between the two of us, we fly back to Paris in five days. But I just… I just want to be a normal girl for a week. I was fine with coming to Gotham because it meant I had a week to just be Marinette, not Ladybug, not MDC. For once I just want to let myself get caught up in my emotions – and if I end up hurt, that’s fine, because it means I’m allowed to feel again.”

Tikki and Alya shared glances with each other before Tikki spoke. “I guess I can understand that. But are you sure you can handle whatever happens, Marinette?”

“I’m a big girl, Tikki.”

“Besides, did you see those biceps? That alone almost makes up for anything he might do,” Alya said, fanning herself.

********

When morning rolled around, Marinette was the only one awake. Even Tikki was worn out from staying up entirely too late giggling about Jason and embarrassing Marinette with Alya’s help. Used to helping in the bakery every morning since she’d graduated, the lack of sleep was nothing to Marinette when she rolled out of bed and tied her hair up as per usual.

She was a little nervous about walking around Gotham alone, but Jason had dubbed this a safe part of town, and it was just at the end of the block. Her phone and her wallet were safely secured to her person, so she couldn’t be pick-pocketed either. Besides, even if something did happen, she had been Ladybug for years. Even without being transformed, Marinette had developed a number of self-defense skills on her own. It would be fine.

Getting to the bakery was no problem because, as previously stated, it was only a block away. The streets were fairly empty, and the weather was pleasant. She’d heard that Gotham was almost always storming, but she had yet to see any of that.

The bread was still warm in the bakery. Marinette was mostly curious about the differences between French and American bakeries, and she knew her parents were expecting a full report of any special items.

It didn’t seem like there was anything too different about the bakery except the various vigilante inspired pastries, and Marinette refused to bring that up – she didn’t need to see Ladybug bread everywhere she went. They actually had a far smaller selection than she was used to, but she’d heard that that was to be expected in America.

She ordered a bit of everything, and after deliberating a bit, she ordered a few extra Red Hood donuts. They were vaguely gun-shaped and filled with raspberry jelly. It seemed like the sort of thing that Jason would find amusing, and if not, there were plenty of other things for him to choose from and Adrien and Nino wouldn’t complain.

Piled high with pastries and breads, Marinette left the bakery humming to herself. Bags swung f rom her arms as she skipped a few feet until she froze, an ominous feeling creeping up her spine.

Crouching in a nearby alley, Marinette looked out at the street for a sign of what had her on edge like this. Sure enough, only seconds later a roar shook the streets, and a villain she recognized as Killer Croc barrelled his way through, jaws snapping.

Marinette’s eyes widened when she noticed he was clearly heading straight for the alley she’d ducked into. Too late she noticed the open manhole cover just a few feet behind her. The telltale sound of vigilantes pursuing the mutant were enough to spur her into action.

Unwilling to put down the food, Marinette kicked the manhole cover back in place – it would slow Croc down for a few seconds. He was still about fifty meters away, causing mass panic on the street. Desperately hoping that the wheels were unlocked – and surprisingly gratified, Marinette body checked the nearby dumpster, shoving it right on top of the manhole. Without her Ladybug suit, this was the most she could safely do. Bolting to the nearest building’s fire escape, Marinette hauled herself up the ladder as quickly as she could without smashing the bags of food.

Killer Croc wasn’t far behind her, and when he saw the covered manhole, he bellowed. Marinette started moving more haphazardly as she clambered up, desperate to reach safety. It was only a metal ladder within a foot of most windows, and it was only anchored by a handful of bolts every few feet of the ladder.

Her hand slipped when Killer Croc roared beneath her, catching sight of her handiwork. A neatly wrapped pastry fell out of one of the violently swinging bags, bopping the reptile on the head.

“This was you!” he growled. “If the Bats are going to catch me then I may as well take you with me.”

Scaled hands grasped one of the bottom rungs. Marinette did all she could to haul herself up the ladder faster, but it was a thirteen-story building – making it to the top was sounding less likely by the minute. She would have leapt into one of the nearby windows if she weren’t convinced that it would end in a paranoid Gothamite taking her out before Killer Croc could do the job.

Metal groaned as the reptilian man wrenched the bolts out of the very brick they’d been anchored in. The ladder shook, and Marinette screamed as the section she clung to was ripped from the wall, leaving her stuck between a structurally questionable ladder, and a very pissed off crocodile.

“Going so soon? Our playdate was just getting fun.”

Marinette could have sobbed when she saw Nightwing enter the alleyway, flanked by Red Robin and Red Hood. In a deep voice, Red Hood said, “You two take down Croc, I’ve got the girl.”

The other two looked surprised, but conceded easily enough. While Killer Croc was distracted by the vigilantes, Marinette moved even faster up the ladder – she only had three flights to go before she was at the roof, but the ladder was shaking like it would fall at any second, and she really didn’t want to find out what that would do to her and the pastries.

She vaguely registered that Red Hood was demanding someone’s something hook, but Marinette’s sheer panic was lessening her grasp on the English language by the second. With his loudest growl yet, Killer Croc wrenched the ladder free of the building. Marinette screamed, her stomach clenching with dread as she released the ladder, trying to curl her body in a way that she hopefully wouldn’t break anything upon impact.

Something whistled through the air, and before Marinette could hit the ground she collided with something – a man, who wrapped an arm around her. She hadn’t realized she’d closed her eyes, but Marinette opened them to find herself face-to-face with the abomination that was Red Hood’s mask, but for the moment she could forgive the fashion crime.

He kicked off of the brick wall, giving them some distance from the ladder before it fell with a glorious clang. Marinette’s heart finally started beating, hammering in her chest as the vigilante slowly lowered them down to the ground.

When she finally forced herself to look, the other two had Killer Croc pinned and trussed up like a pig. Nightwing waved, smiling brighter than Marinette thought was allowed from someone who lived in Gotham. “The manhole cover and the dumpster? Brilliant move, we never would have caught him if he’d been able to get into the sewers. You made some risky moves, but I can tell they were calculated. Nicely done!”

Safely on the ground, Red Hood was examining her for any injuries. Clearly irked, he growled, “Since when are we encouraging civilians to jump into the middle of this sh-“

“Hood, she would have been involved one way or another just because of where she was standing,” Nightwing interrupted. “She saw us coming, and she just did a few things to slow him down while doing her best to keep herself safe. What’s up with you? Normally you’d be high-fiving a civilian for something like that.”

“Whatever,” Red Hood mumbled. “I’m escorting her to make sure she gets to wherever she’s going safely. Make sure the lizard doesn’t get away.”

Taglist:

@jasonette-july-2k20 @ira-sairain @myazael @pawsitivelymiraculous @nik-nak-3

Note:

I got a couple questions about this being a Mominette fic - it is, just not yet. This one is going to be a lot different from I didn’t so much fall in love - It kicked me in the face and I am stoked to see how you guys like it! If you want to be tagged in future chapters, just leave a comment, and once again, blow up Jasonette July! I’m super excited to see what everyone else has to say and write! 

[hypnoticwinter]

Down the Rabbit Hole part 35

Just looking at Makado makes me realize how incredibly tired I am. “Makado,” I say, trying to put a little bit of that weariness into my voice, “please, I just want to get Elena out of here.”

“I don’t give a fuck,” Makado tells me. “Take your helmet off.”

“Makado,” I start, but she raises the gun and coaxes a threatening-sounding click out of it.

“Jesus Christ,” I mutter, and reach up and pop the helmet open. 

“Now take it off slowly and drop it.”

The helmet thuds to the floor with a dull clunk. I keep my hands open, bent at the elbows, roughly shoulder-height. I guess it’s a testament to how often this has happened to me lately that I’m not particularly panicked or flustered, even though she has a gun on me. I look into her eyes; they’re about as kind as a brick wall, a far cry from the Makado I knew - well, that I thought I knew. I don’t think she’ll shoot me but I don’t want to push her. 

“Makado,” I try again, speaking softly, “I know that you’re upset, but -“

“Upset?” she laughs. “That is a big understatement, Roan.”

“As if you have any right to be upset at me,” I snort. Makado’s eyes flash but I press onwards anyway. “You’re the one who was trying to literally fucking frame me for all the illegal shit you were doing -“

“You got Peter killed,” she says. My mind goes blank for a moment before I nearly laugh. I choke it back down; if I started laughing, either out of terror or nerves or just pure exasperation, I know I’d never stop, and I know Makado would probably shoot me.

“Makado,” I say, stammering a little bit, “I didn’t - there was nothing I could have -“

“Then how come you lived and he died, huh?” she says. I think I hear a crack in her icy demeanor and I look at her - really look at her. She glances away after a moment or two, and when her gaze swings back and hits mine whatever I thought I might have seen, whatever small vulnerability, has already faded away. “How come you lived?” she asks. 

The barrel of the gun trembles gently.

“Mak,” I start. I want terribly to be angry at her but something about the way she’s acting is just making me sad instead.

“Don’t call me that!” she yells. She slips her finger inside the gun’s trigger guard and I feel my breath catch. Maybe she really will shoot me; if she’s mad enough, if she thinks that somehow I caused Pete to get…to get leeched, or whatever the hell…

“Peter was the only one who ever called me that,” she murmurs. I know I’ve called her ‘Mak’ before and she never made a fuss about it but I guess this is special circumstances.

“Pete is - was - a fully trained ranger with dozens of expeditions under his belt, he might have - “ Makado licks her lips and tries again - “he might have gone a little downhill after 2007 but he was still sharp. He would have gotten out of there no problem. But he dies and you live?”

“Was that the plan?” I ask. If I can keep her talking maybe I’ll be able to pull something, but deep down I doubt it. “You send me down there hoping I’d die in an accident or something?”

“Of course not,” she says. “But if I had to choose between you and Peter…”

“That’s cold,” I tell her. She starts to say something, but I continue before she can. “But I get it. You loved him, huh?”

“Of course I loved him,” she says, sounding mildly scandalized. “You wouldn’t understand, I’m sure.”

“Why, because I - ? Oh, whatever,” I grunt. “Whatever, Makado. Just shoot me and get it over with.”

“I don’t want to shoot you.”

“Right, of course,” I snarl, putting as much venom into my words as I can. “You want to hand me over to the feds so I can suffer for your sins, right? That’s the endgame here, right?”

She has the good graces to flinch, at least. “I don’t -“ she starts, but I shake my head.

“Whatever,” I tell her. “What happened to Elena?”

Makado looks round, her eyes resting briefly on the wreckage of the autodoctor unit. “I don’t know,” she says. “When I got down here it was like this, and Elena was gone. I was going to -“

“Kidnap her so you’d have some leverage?”

“Bitch, will you stop fucking assuming the goddam worst of me? I was planning on tracking her down and getting her out of here.”

“I don’t believe you,” I tell her, my voice flat. “How did you even know she was here?”

“Because I heard the two of you sopping all over each other on the radio,” she tells me, her voice hard-edged with disdain. “Soon as I heard she was here in DUSA, I split off from my team and rushed up here. Guess I was too late.”

“Goddam it,” I mutter. My cheeks are burning a little from the knowledge that we’d been overhead; I guess I could have assumed, but it still had felt like it had been something private, something special we had shared. Maybe I wouldn’t have broken down quite so hard if I’d known Makado had been listening in. “It must have been the Leechman,” I mutter, glaring at the gaping hunk of metal torn away from DUSA’s hull. My eyes are stinging and I wipe them hurriedly, not thinking, and when I take my hands down Makado is glaring at me very seriously over the sights of the pistol, and I realize that the quick motion nearly made her shoot me. My stomach does a backflip and I stammer out the beginning of an apology before she mutters a curse and takes a length of rope from her suit pocket.

“Hands together,” she orders me, and with a sigh I slap my wrists together and hold them out to her. She comes to me with the rope and hesitates for a moment; I know it’s because she’s only just realizing that she will have to put the gun away to tie me up. 

“I’ll hold that for you,” I offer, and in spite of herself she laughs.

“Turn around,” she says. “Hands behind your back.”

My heart is thumping heavily in my chest as I do. I am trying very hard not to imagine the Leechman bursting into here like a demon straight out of a horror movie and swallowing Elena up into its swollen leechy body. I can feel my hands trembling as Makado takes my wrists and lashes them tightly together. The rough synthetic fiber cuts into my wrists and I grunt. Makado steps away from me and I flex my hands experimentally but it’s no use, she’s tied me tightly enough that I’d never be able to free myself unless I had a knife. She’s already taken mine from the sheath on my belt and tossed it casually to the dusty, oily floor.

Elena’s dead. I can’t stop the thought from echoing around my skull, increasing in severity with each impact. She’s dead, she’s gone, I was too late. If I had just been a little quicker, if I hadn’t stopped to sleep, if I hadn’t…

“Hey, what are you - oh, Jesus Christ,” Makado grumbles. I sniff and look away from her. I try to keep it down but a quiet sob bubbles out of my throat.

“Goddam it,” I mumble. I can’t even wipe my eyes. My shoulders are shaking with the weight of it, with the weight of knowing that -

Makado sighs behind me. “You didn’t kill her,” she says. “If she’s even dead. We don’t know.”

I let out a terribly mirthless laugh. “You didn’t kill him,” Makado continues, begrudgingly. “I know you didn’t, it’s not like you put a gun to his head and shot him. I just…”

“Don’t want him to be gone,” I suggest, and out of the corner of my eye, through a veil of tears, I can see her nod.

I feel as though I might rip in two the next time someone touches me, but in spite of everything I do want to reach out and touch her, brush my thumb along the knobby edge of her wrist, feel her warmth near to me. Maybe it’s pathetic and stupid, maybe I should be spitting and cursing and swearing revenge but I can’t bring myself to. I want to just curl into a little ball and cry. 

Makado is rustling around behind me, and then I hear the click and crackle of a radio. “Peterson, Rodriguez,” she says, enunciating clearly. “Status check, over.”

A moment passes and then the response comes burbling up through the airwaves. “Peterson, checking in. I’ve got Rodriguez here with me but he’s carrying the crystal so he couldn’t call himself. Everything’s good down here. ETA 20 minutes to DUSA. Over.”

“Thanks. You were able to disable the specimen? Over.”

“Hard to say. It backed off but Emmanuel is hurt pretty bad. One of those leeches, it got into her suit and chewed the hell out of her leg. We’ve got her on a stretcher and we’re bringing her back but I don’t know if she’ll make it. Is the autodoc functional? Over.”

“Negative,” Makado says. Her voice is tight and fraying. “Negative, it’s smashed. It looks like the Leechman got here before we did. Over.”

“Shit. Well, Emmanuel is fucked, then. Do we have support from topside? Over.”

I hear Makado mutter a quiet curse below her breath. “Give me a second,” she says. “Out.”

I sniff hard and duck my head down into my shoulder, try and wipe my eyes against the rubber of the ranger suit. Makado is tapping at the pad in the arm of her ranger suit; she’s put the gun away at this point, tucking it into her holster at her hip. I could make a run for it, I reflect. Instead I fold my legs beneath me and sink into a huddle on the floor a little like a gazelle bedding down for the night. Makado glances over at me and then back at her screen. “Who’s Emmanuel?” I ask. My voice creaks partway through it, and when I clear my throat it comes back thick and congested.

“None of your business,” she tells me, a little absently. “You’d better stop crying,” she adds. 

“Fuck you,” I tell her, but I can’t put much heart into it. “Fuck you for trying to walk all over everything and try to do it your way. You walked all over me, you walked all over the team, you walked all over Peter -“

Makado looms over me, ruddy bolts of fury sparkling behind her eyes. “You have no idea, you have no idea -“ she starts, but I roll my eyes at her.

“Do you have any idea how many people are dead because of you?”

That catches her, and I get a vicious little thrill out of seeing how it impacts, how she absorbs it, how her eyes grow even wearier. She starts to say something but I start listing off names.

“The Sergeant. Peter. Slate. Erica and Marcus. Klaus. Crookshank. Euler. Ellis. Emmanuel, whoever that is. And El - Elena,” I say. I have to swallow hard to get that last name out but I manage it. “They’re all your fault, Makado. If you hadn’t gone off the deep end because of this stupid fucking crystal none of this would ever have happened. Does it really matter? Does it really matter this much? Is it worth it? Tell me. Please. Do you even know?”

“They knew the risks,” Makado tries to say, but she isn’t meeting my gaze. “You wouldn’t understand,” she says, a little bit of strength returning to her voice. “You don’t know what it’s like to -“

“To have an obsession take over your life?” I finish, and she blows a breath out.

“I’m the only one trying!” she yells. “I’m the only one fucking trying to stop all of this! That crystal is the only thing that we have that we know can shut down the Pit if it wakes up again. Getting it back should be our top priority -“

“And the last time one of those crystals was used,” I point out, “it infected - I’m sorry, how many people? - with a fucking personality-destroying disease that spreads when you feel emotions and forces you to crawl into the Pit to die.”

“We know better now,” she says, hands on her hips. “We know what we did wrong. If we don’t shatter the crystals -“

“How do you even know? Aren’t you just guessing?”

“You have no right to tell me how to do my job,” she tells me. I can see her knuckles whiten with rage. “I’m doing what needs to be done. If the Pit woke up and became fully ambulatory, it’d be the end of the world as we know it. If you think that isn’t something worth stopping by any means necessary, then you’re either stupid or insane. Maybe both. If I -“

“Okay, Makado. Whatever,” I tell her. I feel as though if I shut my eyes I’d be able to fall asleep in about a minute. My heart hurts. 

Makado glares at me and for a moment, just a moment, I think she might be about to draw her leg back and slam the hard edge of her boot into my gut, but instead she spins on her heel and walks away, fishing the radio out of its holster on her belt and talking quietly into it.

I think for a while about struggling to my feet and just walking out. I don’t think Makado would shoot me, I really don’t. I think she wouldn’t have the heart for it. Maybe she’d just let me go.

Elena’s dead. You haven’t seen the body, a little voice whispers in the back of my mind, but I don’t need to see the body. If the Leechman got her, I’m not sure I want to see the body. I would want my memory of her to remain clean. I want to remember her in the tent smiling down at me, I want to remember her hands on my body, the way her lips felt when she kissed me, the way my heart felt when she kissed me. 

I spend the next twenty minutes or so agonizing myself before the clunk and hiss of heavy machinery, burbles glutinously up from outside the rent in DUSA’s hull. With a little difficulty I manage to sit up and look outwards, and I see three orange figures in ranger suits marching up out of one of the vents leading to this organelle. Two of them are carrying a fourth on a stretcher, and the third…

My mouth drops open. The third is incredibly bulky, far more so than a normal person in a suit, and as they come closer and step into range of DUSA’s flickering floodlights, I realize that they are wearing something like a white enameled arthropod over their arms and legs, a squat mechanical spider perched on their back like a backpack. Its limbs extend along the ranger’s arms and fill out into armored gauntlets encompassing their hands.

And in their hands, hefted with an assurance and strength borne, I imagine, solely from their armor’s assistance, is the crystal, green and spiky and menacing, with an ugly luminosity flaring somewhere deep inside of it. I think again that I can see something moving within its murky depths.

Makado rushes out to meet them, leaving me forgotten, and again I consider getting up and just walking away. I think I’ve missed my chance, though; if it was just Makado, she might let me go. With everyone else here, all of these other rangers, there’s no way I’d be able to get away with it. And who knows if she’d have any compunctions about letting someone else shoot me.

Makado, to her credit, only paused briefly to tell the ranger with the crystal where to set it down before rushing to the ranger on the stretcher. Even from a distance I can tell that she’s hurt badly; her orange suit is splattered with blood and there is an enormous hole in her side. I think I can see teeth marks. One of the rangers shows something to Makado; it looks a little like a very thick, dark length of rope, and I realize with a horrible twist in my gut that it’s a dead leech. It looks to be about three or four feet long; it’s head has been torn off and it trails a thick, foul-smelling ichor behind it in a long oozing trail. 

The huddled conversation over the wounded ranger continues a while longer before the group breaks apart. The ranger with the exoskeleton carries the crystal into DUSA, moving with almost exaggerated care through the hole in the wall. He looks down at me as he passes, craning his neck around the crystal to make sure he isn’t going to bump into me. “You alright?” he asks. He has a thick Texan accent that makes me smile in spite of myself.

“Yeah,” I tell him. “Do you think you could untie me?”

He pauses. “You’re tied up?” 

“Yes,” I say, rolling halfway over and waggling my fingers at him. “See?”

“Why are you tied up?”

“It’s a long story.”

“You’re Dzilenski, aren’t you?”

“I, uh. No.”

“No? What’s your name, then? I haven’t seen you around before.”

The weight of the crystal doesn’t seem to be troubling him at all. He cocks his head at me.

“Merriweather,” I tell him. “I’m new.”

He waggles a finger at me; the servos of the exoskeleton make little whining noises as he does. “Nice try,” he tells me, but I can tell from the shape of his voice that he’s grinning. I shake my head a little and give him a halfhearted smile.

“Can’t blame a girl for trying,” I suggest, and he laughs as he stomps off towards the stairwell, the crystal glowing malevolently in his arms. 

A few moments later someone is taking me roughly beneath my armpits and hauling me to my feet. I stagger a little but keep my balance. I look over and see Makado glaring at me from a few inches away, but it seems as though her temper has died a little; there isn’t quite as much venom in her gaze as before. Without uttering a word to me she marches me out of DUSA and towards one of the rangers, standing on a small, bulgy lump of flesh with their hands on their hips. I feel a spike of fear in my stomach. “What are you going to do with me?” I ask her.

I can see Makado’s lip curl out of the corner of my eye. “I’m not going to kill you,” she tells me. “Peterson there is just going to take you up to the surface and give you back to the feds, that’s all. Then this whole stupid thing can be over and done with.”

“So that’s it, huh?” I ask, breaking out of her grasp and turning to face her. “You’re just going to throw me to the wolves? You really think that you can get away with this?”

“Roan,” she groans. “Do you think I want to fuck you over? Do you think I want to do this?”

“Well, from the way you’re acting -“

“This thing is bigger than you or me,” she says. “And I’m - I’m sorry,” she tells me. To my immense surprise I actually believe her. “I’m sorry, and I don’t want to ruin your life like I know I’m going to, but I - I have to do this. I’m sorry.”

Before I can say anything Peterson takes me firmly by the arm. Makado swallows hard and nods to him. “Take her up. There should be a contingent of FBI agents somewhere up there, I know it’s a mess but they should still be hanging around, probably yelling at Admin. Let them know she’s Roan Dzilenski, they’ll take it from there.”

“Right,” he says. “Come on, then.”

I stare back at Makado all the way over to the vent leading up to the passage out of here; she refuses to meet my gaze.

“I’m sorry about all this,” Peterson mentions, adjusting his grip on me to push a hanging fold of flesh out of the way.

“If you’re so sorry, let me go,” I tell him. He has a quiet, apologetic tone.

“I’m not that sorry,” he explains, and I can’t help but roll my eyes. “Look on the bright side,” he suggests. “You’ll be out of here soon. I’m sure that will be a relief.”

“Yeah,” I snap, “I’m sure that -“

Something falls onto my shoulder and I let out a shriek. It rolls off and slaps onto the ground with a wet, meaty thump and slithers away.

“Are you okay?” Peterson is asking. “What was that?”

I look up, knowing what I’ll see, but the Leechman actually comes at us from the side, the leeches boiling out of the fleshy wall with a noise like a million hungry mouths gnashing and chewing and slurping simultaneously, leaving the wall pockmarked and collapsing. Peterson blurts out a surprised curse and lets me go, his hands darting to his holster, but the Leechman is faster. It reaches out with a massive, dripping, writhing paw and fixes it around his head, lifting him bodily off the ground. Rodriguez screams and I hear commotion from behind, in the main organ housing DUSA, but his screams quickly become muffled and gurgly and thick. His hands and legs are shuddering and jolting like he were being electrocuted, and then my stupid, shell-shocked nerves finally, finally kick into motion and I stagger backwards. My foot catches on something and I fall; the ground comes slamming upwards to meet me and the breath whooshes out of my lungs just as the Leechman drops Peterson. The helmet of his suit is bent and crushed and although he lands on his feet, his body sways gently back and forth like a wind were catching it. The Leechman stomps past me and I cringe away from it, but it ignores me entirely. Its footsteps resound through the meaty floor and rattle my teeth in my jaws.

I am so scared I think I might throw up. Every fiber in my body is screaming at me to get up and run away, but I can’t force myself to move. “Hey,” I whisper, as the Leechman ducks its broad, wormy head and pushes into the organ. “Hey, uh, Peterson, are you okay?”

Rodriguez turns and looks at me and I scream. His face has been eaten away to nothing and his jaw is hanging from a few stringy tendons on the left-hand side of his skull. He shambles towards me and I scream again, and I hear my screams echoed from back behind me in DUSA’s chamber. It’s only a few moments later that the gunfire begins.

I kick my feet and try and push myself away from Rodriguez’s corpse. As I watch a leech crawls out of his mouth and plunges its snub-nosed head into the wreckage of his eye. The body lurches closer to me and into the light and I get a better look at him; my stomach nearly turns. I scream again and try to kick at him but he just catches my leg and drags me closer. The bone of his skull and the scraps of meat and flesh on his face are stained a dark, inky black with a dripping, noxious ichor. Without any preamble the body straddles me and shoves its fingers into my mouth. I choke and cough and try to kick and bite but it’s simply too strong. My eyes are filling with tears but I can still see the body’s cavernous mouth yawning and yawning and the body of an enormous leech slowly struggling up Rodriguez’s pitted, masticated throat. Though it has no eyes or face I imagine it leering at me, and though I redouble my efforts to get away, my throat convulsing in anticipatory terror, I can do absolutely nothing to stop what is about to happen to me. At the very last my courage fails me and I just squeeze my eyes shut and wait for the leech to barrel down my throat, wait with an anticipatory cringe to feel its needle-sharp teeth dig into my insides.

Instead I feel more than hear a horrific, bone-shuddering crunch from just ahead of me, and when I snap my eyes open it takes me a moment to comprehend what I’m seeing. Jutting from Rodriguez’s chest amid a thorny cluster of broken ribs is a bulky mechanical hand absolutely slick with gore and ichor. With a harsh mechanical whine it makes a fist and withdraws from the grapefruit-sized hole it made in Rodriguez’s chest and then seizes the body and flings it off of me. The body lands against the side wall of the vent with a wet crunch and then flops to the floor and lays still. 

“Joker,” I breathe. The robot’s blocky, flat-panelled head is staring down at me with what I imagine to be a rather odd expression. It’s pitted and stained and rusted and every couple of seconds sparks burst from its torn left arm socket. Its armored torso is battered and dented and it moves with difficulty, but it still leans down over me and with incredible gentleness tucks its blood-drenched hand beneath me and brings me lightly to my feet. A moment later it has untied my hands and I can feel the blood rushing back into them with a clustering ache of pins and needles.

I can scarcely breathe I am so relieved but I still manage to reach up and put my hand on the machine’s metallic chest. “Jesus Christ,” I tell it. “I am so fucking happy to see you.”

But before I get any more out, a tall, blonde-haired blur slams into me and wraps me up in long, strong arms and lifts me off of my feet and nuzzles her face against mine. “Oh god,” Elena says, and before she can say any more my greedy, bruised lips find hers and for a moment, just a moment, amid the gunfire and the screams, I feel completely okay.

* * *

When we finally break apart and Elena sets me down on my wobbly, weak-kneed legs, I reach up and take her face in my hands. I still can’t quite believe that she’s here, that she’s alive, that she’s okay. My heart is beating so quickly that I almost feel nauseous and I don’t trust myself to speak. Elena’s eyes are wide and slatey; they flicker over me, dancing like roulette balls, just as she runs her hands over my arms, my legs, my sides and back. “Are you okay?” she asks. Her voice is shaky. I try to speak a few times but I can’t get any words out so instead I just nod. Elena leans in and kisses me again, briefly this time, and then, with her lips brushing my ear she murmurs, “I was so scared, Roan, I was so scared that I had lost you, I thought -“

“It’s okay,” I tell her. There’s another scream from DUSA and we both jump. I grab onto her desperately as she starts to pull away. “Listen, are you alright? The gunshot -“

“I’m okay,” she tells me. “I promise I’m okay. Jesus Christ I thought I lost you. Let’s get out of here.”

Next to her, Joker shifts on his damaged heels and creaks forward further down the vent, towards DUSA. Elena curses. “Hey, wait. Stop. We have to go.”

Joker ignores her. “Elena,” I ask, “what the hell happened? Why is Joker -“

“Whatever the Leechman did to him down in the barrows jarred something loose or damaged him somehow, he’s operating completely autonomously.”

I stare at Elena. “You’re not controlling him?”

“No,” she says. “He - I think he heard our conversation on the radio, that’s how he knew to come to DUSA to get me. It’s a good thing he did or Makado would have gotten me. He burst right in through the wall, it was fucking terrifying.”

“Joker did that? I thought it was the Leechman, I thought you were dead -“

“No, no, it was Joker! Oh, god, baby you must have been so scared -“

“I’m just glad you’re okay. Where did he take you?”

Joker looks back at us, then returns his gaze to the scene inside the organ ahead. The screams have largely died down now, but I can hear Makado shouting something, and a high-pitched electric whine that sets my teeth on edge.

Elena shakes her head. “He must have been monitoring Makado’s transmissions, I think he has to have a radio receiver in there somewhere. He grabbed me and brought me down to a little organelle maybe a mile away and we just sort of hunkered down there for a while.”

“Did he hurt you? If he -“

“No, no, he didn’t, it’s okay, I’m okay. Joker!” she yells. “We have to go!”

Joker ignores her. There is a curious sense of animation about its pose and its motions, quick and precise and birdlike. As I watch, its fingers flex tightly enough to dig deeply into the fleshy wall it rests against. Again its head swivels and glances back at us and I think I can feel its nonexistent gaze resting on me. “Elena, if you’re not controlling it, then who is?”

“I don’t know,” she says, glancing over at me. “I think nobody.”

“But how could it -“

“Roan, listen, forget about that for a moment.” Her lips are tugging upwards in an irrepressible smile and I can’t help but mirror her. I want to hold her and kiss her and - “there was something I needed to tell you, something I needed to tell you face to face,” she says. My stomach swoops upwards in a surge of delight and I reach out, take her hand in mine. 

“Yes?” I ask, trying to sound innocent and oblivious.

“Roan, I -“ she starts, but before she can get more than a few words out, there is a whipcrack of thunder in DUSA’s chamber, and Joker bolts forward like a sprinter off the starting line, and we both scramble into action and chase after him.

DUSA’s wet, fleshy cavern is in utter disarray. Dead leeches are littered everywhere and there are massive stains of ichor and blood splattered all across the cavern, as though someone upended buckets of paint and flung them. A crushed, distended corpse in a black-stained suit has been driven so deeply into the flesh of the floor that it has nearly been snapped in two. Of the Leechman there is no sign, but as we watch, Makado and three other rangers come storming out of the other vent and take up defensive positions around it, hunkering down and training their weapons on DUSA’s hull. Makado is carrying a long grey brick of a rifle, bulky and supremely un-ergodynamic, with what looks like a lens in place of a barrel. I wonder about it for a moment before a sickly green glow floats into view and the Leechman emerges from DUSA, ducking its titanic head, with the crystal beneath one of its arms, held as casually as one might carry a basketball. It pauses there for a moment, peering out at the four small figures opposing it. 

Makado looks scared; her face has paled to a sickly white and I can see the rifle shuddering in her trembling hands.

I can’t see where Joker’s gone; I catch Elena’s eye and frown, but she nods upwards a little, and I see the robot just above us, clinging to the ceiling like a monkey. It seems content to wait for someone to make the first move.

Behind the Leechman an orange-suited figure takes a juddering, unsteady step into the light, and I can see the limp exoskeleton clinging to its limbs like a length of sodden rope. Another figure follows, and then another, and even in the dim half-light, lit by strobes and flashlights and headlamps, I can see their bodies bulging and throbbing with the gallons and gallons of leeches seething beneath their skin.

My stomach betrays me and I bend double and vomit, trying furiously to wipe the image from my mind, but I can still see the man’s distended belly glistening beneath the orange ranger suit, pregnant with its load of parasitic cargo, and the thought sends a wave of furious revulsion scurrying up my limbs, coaxing rank, cold sweat out of my pores.

The Leechman takes a deliberate step forward and Makado pulls the trigger on her rifle. A  coruscating lance of blinding white light jolts from the barrel with the same deafening whip-crack we’d heard before and spears the Leechman through the core of its body, blowing a meter-wide hole open clean through it and filling the air with the smell of burning leeches. The Leechman staggers back a step or two and reaches out to steady itself, dropping the crystal; it clunks to the floor with a strangely musical tinkle and I can see a few of the spikes shatter and fall to pieces.

Makado rises to her feet, a little color returning to her cheeks, and fires again. This bolt catches the Leechman through the head and forces it down to its knees. It puts one massive hand forward to catch itself and Makado burns it off. She advances on the Leechman, firing again and again until the thing is just a pile of writhing, dying leeches, slowly burrowing into the ground and the walls and the ceiling, trying to escape. The bodies of the parasitized rangers shudder and twitch but they hesitate, standing still as though bereft of any governing intelligence.

Finally Makado pulls the trigger and the gun hisses a loud, screeching complaint and vents an enormous gasp of steam from recessed ports in its side; through them I can see the gun’s innards glowing white-hot, and Makado tosses it aside after glaring down at it in disgust. She draws her pistol from her holster and trains it one-handed on one of the rangers, squeezing one eye shut and glaring down the sights.

I open my mouth to suggest to Elena that it might be time to leave, but before I can get a word out the Leechman charges past us, out of the mouth of our vent, forcing a shriek from my mouth, and bowls into Makado headlong, sending her flying. She slams into the wall on the far side of the organ so hard that I can see a Mak-shaped bruise forming in the Pit’s flesh when she flops to the floor, limp and helpless, either stunned or unconscious or dead. 

The rangers open up on the Leechman but if the laser wasn’t enough to kill it, bullets clearly aren’t going to be enough either. The three parasitized rangers surge forwards as well, wading into the fray, but the Leechman is doing the heavy lifting. I cringe back against Elena as I watch it pick up a hapless, screaming ranger and pull him in half, a spray of gore and guts flooding from the man’s cleft torso and legs. I clutch at Elena, trying desperately to get my legs beneath me, and she pulls me up and steadies me.

“We have to go,” she says. I can hear a note of hysteria in her voice. I take a shaky step backwards into the vent and feel a leech writhe and squirm beneath my cleats. Another one leaps at me and thuds into my back. I can feel its jaws working to pierce the thick latex of the ranger suit, and I hop frantically, trying to reach backwards and dislodge it. Elena brushes it off of me and crushes it beneath her boot just as the Leechman vomits a tidal wave of blunt, wriggling bodies into the pried-open chest of another ranger, struggling weakly in the creature’s squirming grip.

More leeches patter against us, driving us unwillingly out of the vent as we crawl and duck and dodge, trying to avoid them. A nerveless, exoskeletoned paw swipes at me clumsily and I scream and throw myself out of the way. From my vantage point on the ground I see Elena shove the infested ranger back and unload the entire magazine of her pistol into his gut, but the body staggers towards us still. I can see Elena’s teeth bared, a mad glint in her eyes, and I know that she is about to charge the thing and I know that it will kill her, but I haven’t enough breath to tell her not to.

Deeper in the chamber, the Leechman plucks the head off of a ranger’s pinioned, struggling body as easily as separating an apple from a tree and fling the chunk away like a bloody comet. It slaps wetly to the ground only a few feet away from me and I roll back from it, nearly mad with terror. I can see the Leechman slowly turning towards us and I am so afraid I think I might die just from fear alone.

“El - El - El - “ I try, again and again, but I can’t breathe, I can’t speak, I can’t think -

Joker drops from the ceiling directly onto the parasitized ranger, landing with a sickening crunch and a whine of servos. Its head snaps upwards and regards the Leechman with a calculating stare, and the Leechman, impossibly, stops. It seems to cock its head at Joker, and then it takes a step forward, heavy and inevitable and menacing, but before it can go any further Joker launches itself at it with a scream of straining metal and whining pistons. I struggle to my knees and brush the leeches off of Elena, checking her suit for holes or punctures.

Joker is losing. The Leechman has torn its other arm off and tossed it aside, and now it’s yanking at Joker’s leg. Joker is lurching spasmodically back and forth, trying to get free, but the Leechman has too strong a grip on it. The leeches are flowing over the robot’s metal form and in a few more moments it looks as though it’ll be enveloped entirely. I can see Joker’s head turn with what seems like a titanic effort and peer back at us, and then it disappears beneath the surface of the Leechman.

I tug Elena to her feet and take a few faltering steps back towards the vent before there is a colossal wave of sound and light and heat from behind that bowls me over and knocks me face-down in the sopping, bloodstained flesh. Elena falls over me with a scream and for a while all we can do is cling to each other and pray that whatever the hell happened is over quickly.

A moment passes, then another. I roll over and, with more than a little trepidation, sit up. 

It looks as though a bomb has gone off. There is a bloody, charred crater in the floor, and all that remains of Joker are a few metal fragments, embedded like shrapnel in the floor and walls and ceiling. The parasitized rangers have all been cut down, most of them separated into small pieces of flesh, both leech, and human, smeared across DUSA and the organelle like daubs of lumpy paint.

Of the Leechman there is no sign, and when I glance over at it, I realize that the crystal is gone as well.

After another few minutes of utter stillness, Elena and I look at each other. “Are you okay?” she asks, and I glance down at myself.

“Somehow,” I say, “I think I am. Are you?”

She pats at herself cautiously, peers down at her legs, wiggles her foot. “I think so. Did Joker - ?”

I point to the crater. “He must have exploded. Either there was some kind of self-destruct or whatever engine or motor it used was damaged, or…”

“Jesus,” Elena breathes, getting shakily to her feet. She offers me a hand and helps me up and for a little while all we can do is survey the carnage. I feel as though I want to cry and laugh and throw up all at the same time. 

I squeeze Elena’s hand. “What were you going to tell me?” I ask.

“Is now really the time?” she smiles, and I bite my lip to keep myself from grinning back at her.

“At this rate, if you don’t say it now you’re never going to.”

“Roan,” she says, putting a hand on my cheek, “I -“

There is a groan from across the cavern and we both snap around. Over there, on the far side of the wall, Makado is starting to sit up. She looks shaky and shell-shocked and terrified. She sees us and tries to get to her feet, but her leg buckles beneath her and she falls back to the ground. Elena’s eyes narrow and she lets me go, starting towards Makado, her hands curling into fists. I have a knot in my stomach.

“Elena, wait,” I call after her. She spins and stares at me and then shakes her head.

“Don’t look,” she tells me, and for a moment, just a moment, I think of going after her and stopping her from - from doing whatever she’s about to do.

But instead the coward in me wins out and I avert my gaze, squeezing my eyes shut, my insides tensing in anticipation of a gunshot. I hear Makado cry out weakly, and I shudder.

There is a loud, satisfying smack, as of fist on jaw, and then a flopping sound. I look up and see Elena wringing her hand, cursing beneath her breath, before she flips an insensate Makado onto her stomach and, folding the woman’s hands behind her, begins to lash her wrists together with a length of paracord. She looks up and sees me staring, registers the expression on my face and gives me a laugh.

“You thought I was going to kill her?” she asks, and I blow a breath out and try to calm myself before I answer.

“I didn’t know what you were going to do,” I say, truthfully.

“I’m not a killer,” Elena tells me, hefting Makado’s slim frame onto her shoulders in a fireman’s carry. “Jesus Christ,” she adds, adjusting her load a little. “This little shit is heavy.”

I kick at a piece of wreckage, a folded metal panel, bent from the force of the blast, and then reach down and with difficulty pull Joker’s battered torso out of the crater. Elena sets Makado down none too gently and comes over and squats beside me.

There’s something that looks a little like a car battery, jammed into a slot in the torso. I tug at it, using my foot to hold the hunk of metal steady, and it breaks free with a hiss like a seal being broken. “What is that?” Elena asks. I shake my head.

“BCPU - Property of Anodyne Berlin,” I read. “Mind Impulse Unit - B. Walken.”

“Walken?” Elena asks, incredulous. 

“No,” I say, “this can’t - no, that’s ridiculous.”

“What is?”

“Burt Walken was Erica’s husband,” I tell her. “B. Walken, Burt Walken. She told me he died from the psychic illness from 2007, that Anodyne had never returned his body.”

The top of the box is translucent plastic, but it’s too dark to see inside. Elena reaches down and grabs her flashlight and shines it onto the box, and we both squint at it. When I comprehend what I’m seeing I nearly drop it - for there inside the box, soaking in a briny, gelatinous fluid, festooned with wires and covered in metal electrodes and circuits, are the ridges and folds of a clearly human brain.

* * *

“What were you going to tell me?” I ask Elena again once she gets off the radio. She’s spent the last fifteen minutes begging and cajoling and cursing someone on the surface to try and get them to send someone down to get us and finally, finally gotten a begrudging affirmative. I can slowly feel my spirits rising, and Elena even gives me a secret little smile as she comes to sit next to me, sinking down against the wall of the vent with a groan of relief. I lean my head on her shoulder and she kisses me gently on the forehead. A wash of warmth floods down my arms and legs and I have to restrain myself from seizing her and clutching her to me.

“You sure I shouldn’t just leave it a mystery at this point?” she asks, and I elbow her lightly in the ribs.

“Tell me,” I insist.

Elena leans back and takes my chin gently in her hand, inclining my face upwards to her. I can see her studying me, see her pupils dilate as they flick from my eyes to my cheeks to my nose to my lips. “I love you,” she says, and my heart jumps in my chest as though struck by lightning. I can feel myself grinning madly, and then our lips brush and then fit together as though they were made to do so.

And then, when our breath has finally grown short enough to force us to break apart, we slowly rise, Elena’s hand in mine, scarcely daring to tear our eyes from each other, and begin to gather our things for the long journey up.

Continue with the Epilogue

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