#even though she KNOWS she’s not allowed to step foot out the door without the ok

[ghostie123]

Seeing if she could get away with running away while I ran to the car real quick

[say-al0e]

Hold Tight

Rating: M | This is smut! No one under 18. Minors, DNI!

Summary: Aemond has long sought comfort in the arms of the madame at his lowest. Now, he has what he's so long craved; a loving wife who is happy to indulge him. Warnings: Pregnant!Reader, lactation kink, PinV, mention of Luke's death and the war, mentions of the madame, Aemond's a little soft. If you notice anything else, let me know and I'll tag it! Pairing: Aemond x pregnant, wife!Reader Word Count: 7.6k HotD Taglist | HotD Masterlist

Aemond Targaryen knew the secrets of the Red Keep better than most.

As a child, he spent his days studying history and philosophy, learning the language of his ancestors or practicing with his blade, preparing himself for the future he knew awaited him. He kept to himself, tired easily of his brother’s torment and Helaena’s bugs - her riddles - and spent much of his idle time wandering the Keep.

Aegon was bold, slipping out of the gates with a command for the guard on watch to allow him and little regard for who knew. He used his power as the King’s eldest son, as the heir to the throne in the eyes of most, and came and went as he pleased. Helaena never left the Keep without supervision - never wanted to leave at all, really. And Aemond, as always, fell somewhere in between.

Many nights, when he found himself searching for sleep that refused to come, Aemond roamed the labyrinthine passages Maegor the Cruel left behind. He learned most of them, slipping in and out of the Keep as he pleased, and found the ones that he could someday use to his advantage.

Most apartments in the Keep contained an alternate entrance - or exit, if need be - that few knew existed. The royal apartments, he found, were most likely to contain them; Aegon’s, Helaena’s, his mother’s, his, yours.

Though, their existence was a secret he had yet to reveal to anyone, including you.

For as long as he could remember, Aemond made use of the passages. It was not often that he visited the city - he’d never been fond of it, never cared for the revelry in the same way Aegon did - nor did he spend much time by the water. The Keep was his home and where he felt safest. But he slipped from his room to the field where Vhagar resided from time to time, or to the Kingswood, just for a moment of peace.

However, after his thirteenth name day - and Aegon’s insistent ‘instruction’ - Aemond found himself returning to the city more than he ever had.

The unmarked door, one he’d grown to need and hate in equal measure, was his destination. It called to him, a siren song in the dead of night, on his darkest days and it seemed as if each day had grown darker than the last. The incident with Lucerys, the bitter sting of his mother’s wrath, the whispers beginning to fill the ears of all who might hear; every bit his fault, and every bit beckoning him closer to that door.

Aemond lingered there for a few long moments, moments he dared not count, as a war raged in his mind. Seconds could have passed, even hours, as he hid in the depths of the shadows. Many and more moons had passed since he last stepped foot into the city, since he last visited this place, but the song drew him closer.

There was comfort to be found inside, one he once craved so desperately, but he now knew better.

Love, affection, eluded him for so long that he saw this place - the woman inside, the gold he paid her - as his only option, the only chance to feel what others took for granted. A gentle hand, a soft word, a kind smile; he wanted little else and knew she would give it to him. 

Inside those walls, the world ceased to exist. There would be no mention of his nephew, his brother, his wife. The woman inside would not ask, would not mention the whispers he knew she’d already heard, and would only listen to whatever he decided to share. There would be no strategy, no attempt to comfort him with words he knew she didn’t mean. Instead, she would hear him confess his gravest sins before attempting to comfort him with the warmth of her mouth around his cock, the pads of her fingers tracing the tense muscle of his shoulder when he curled into her after.

Spending the night there, in her arms - no matter how tempting - would only add to the oppressive weight already crushing his chest. It was a truth he’d come to learn now that he knew real love, true affection, a reality he’d faced.

Despite himself, the tricks his mind played, the comfort he found there had never been real. With his body curled into hers, her fingers carding through his hair and his breath shuddering as he finally allowed himself to feel, he willed it to be a true comfort. He once considered this place, her, the pinnacle of vulnerability, of safety, of comfort.

Now, he knew there was none to be found there.

There was nothing she could say, nothing she could give him, that would provide any comfort at all. The siren song had ended, faded into the din of the city surrounding him, and Aemond could hear a new call. This song was sweeter, gentler, had blown in on a strong wind and erased all other noise the moment he fell in love with you.

Though the marriage was one of convenience at first, an arrangement made by your father and Aemond’s grandsire - his hand for the full strength of your house, when the time came - it had grown into something more.

For much of his life, Aemond refused to entertain the idea that any marriage he found himself in would be one filled with love. Marriage was bound to duty, something done for the good of your house - the good of the realm, in his case - and love meant little. Most lords disliked their wives, took other women to bed at any given chance, and the wives often rejoiced as they were no longer forced to share a bed.

The most he’d ever hoped for was a wife he could tolerate.

Aemond shared little of his mother’s faith, even less of her devotion to prayer and piety, but he often found himself thanking the gods for bringing you to him.

Hidden in the Red Keep, very likely in his own bed as you’d taken to spending more nights with him than alone, he imagined you asleep beneath the soft linen. Very clearly, he could see the white of your nightgown - a beautiful, soft material he found himself clutching between calloused fingers as oft as you would allow, drifting to sleep with the feeling of it soothing his warm skin - as your head rested on his pillow in a desperate bid to surround yourself with his scent.

That image - the picture of you he now saw so clearly, stamped in place of the door he’d been staring at without really seeing - was enough to break the invisible bond that kept him cemented in place. 

Without sparing the door another glance, Aemond turned and began his retreat to the Keep.

Each step through the city was quicker than the last, eager to return to the quiet of home - the solace that awaited him in his chambers. Aemond knew the route by heart now, could find his way back with his remaining eye closed, and breathed a sigh of relief as he wound through the hidden passages that lead back to his comfort.

The moment the door settled in place, clicked shut with a soft gust of cool air, Aemond crossed the expanse of the room carefully. His footsteps were light, a barely there sound in the quiet of the room, and he was glad for his caution as he perched on the arm of a chair. His gaze fell to the bed he’d grown so used to sleeping alone in and he felt the ghost of a smile tug at the corners of his mouth at the sight of another body making itself at home, directly in the middle of the mattress.

Just as he’d expected, you rested there comfortably. The white of your nightgown stood in stark contrast to the deep green of his sheets, a bright spot in the otherwise dim tapestry of his room - his life. 

Aemond sat there for a few long moments, time beginning to slow as he drank in the sight of you. The Keep was quiet, save for the odd shuffle of guards or servants, and he could hear the soft sound of your breathing as you shifted. 

Though you rested near the center of his bed, your head on his pillow and your hand outstretched - reaching for him, despite his absence - your brows furrowed with a discomfort he’d never seen. Beneath the soft bedding, he could see the curve of your body, resting on your side, and the shift of your hand as it lifted to cradle your stomach. The motion set him on edge, drew a sharp breath from him, and earned a fluttering of your lashes as some semblance of wakefulness returned to you.

“Aemond?” you questioned, voice still so soft despite the sleep clinging to you. 

“Mm.” He hummed, voice equally soft in the dim light of the room - the lone candle you’d left burning, a beacon for him to find his way in the dark. There was little doubt where your thoughts had begun to drift, the questions you wanted to ask; where he’d gone, how he felt, what came next? But he could not yet describe his feelings in words.

Before you could so much as part your lips, he sighed. “I went to see about Vhagar.” The lie slipped from his lips easily, believable enough, and his eye fluttered shut in a sort of relief - or, perhaps, shame, guilt - when you made a sympathetic noise. “I did not mean to wake you.”

As he stood, fingers beginning to work at the buttons of his doublet, you hummed. “’Twas not you,” you informed him, a sigh of your own escaping as you sat up against the headboard. “Your babe is restless and will not allow me to find comfort.” Aemond watched for a moment, keen eye following every move you made, as your hand returned to your growing belly. 

The babe you carried was now very visible, obvious to all who spared you a glance, and the sight was one that enraptured him and terrified him in equal measure. Aemond was a proud man, one who was eager to carry on the Targaryen line, but his family was not one of love. There was no comfort, no happiness, to be found in the Keep - none to be found in the arms of his mother, certainly not his father - and he often feared the same fate awaited his own children. But the soft smile that curved the plush of your lips each time you rested your hand on the swell of your belly and the delighted laughter you breathed each time one of Helaena’s babes brought you into their playtime served as another light, shining in the dark; a spot of hope that, perhaps, his children may know a love he never had.

Aemond’s eye finally lifted to yours, met your concerned glance with an even one of his own after a beat of silence that stretched on almost too long, before he shook his head. “My babe? I seem to recall that we both had a hand in his creation,” he reminded you, a ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he removed his breeches and stood in nothing but his small clothes.

“Mm, perhaps,” you hummed, though the glimmer in your eyes told him you remembered very well. “But her nocturnal nature is solely your own. At this hour, she is yours and yours alone,” you teased, smiling softly as he padded across the stone floor to make his way to bed.

“Still insistent our first babe will be a girl?”

“A mother knows,” you hummed, watching as he slipped into bed beside you. His violet eye raked over your form, still so easily visible in the dim light of the room, and you bit back a sigh as you reached for him. “Come here.”

With little coaxing, Aemond shifted closer to you. The shift of his body was easy, almost as natural as breathing now, and you hummed in encouragement as you pushed away the bedding to allow his head to settle on your plush thighs. His favored position was resting with his head on your chest, face tipped to the crook of your neck, but the swell of your belly and the sensitivity in your breasts left you both with little choice but to find an alternative.

The beat of his heart began to slow when your hand fell from your belly to his hair, fingers softly carding through the silver strands - now free of the tie he kept in it and the lace of his eyepatch. “What happened, my love?”

Silence settled thick over the room and he knew that you weren’t asking where he’d gone. Though you worried, his disappearance was of little concern to you in that moment. The truth would out eventually, he would admit his shame sooner rather than late - as he so often seemed to with you - but this question afforded him a bit more time.

This question was the one he dreaded, the one that truly meant; what happened that night with Lucerys?

“I sincerely regret that business with Luke,” he admitted, voice a whisper in the still of the room. “I… I was angry, but I only meant to scare him. I did not mean to end his life. But Vhagar, my temper; I lost control.” The confession, whispered to you in the only place he’d ever known true safety, felt like a weight off his chest. It left behind a crater, a chasm that he knew would be difficult to fill, but sharing the secret with you made it easier for him to draw his breath. It escaped as a soft sigh, a puff of air blown across your thighs - now exposed, fabric of your nightgown pushed out of the way to allow his own hand to fall to the plush of your thigh. “Aegon is shortsighted. He wishes to throw feasts, to celebrate bloodshed. Mother is angry because she knows what must come next. Peace is no longer an option.”

Aemond’s confession lingered in the air for a long moment. It reverberated in his ears, rang like the bells that tolled on the day of his father’s death, but you calmed the noise with a quiet sigh.

“I don’t believe peace was ever an option,” you confessed, carefully brushing silver strands away from his sapphire eye. “This war started long ago, before you or Aegon or Rhaenyra were even a thought. It will be convenient, for some, to blame you and Vhagar, but this began before you took the sky together. And someday, there will be none who remember what started it or why it was fought. History will only remember the bloodshed that we must now bear the brunt of.”

No response came to him, lost in the thoughts that swept through his mind like a raging storm, but he knew you didn’t expect one. The words were meant to be a balm, soothing the soul he bared only for you, and he took them as such as he allowed his eye to fall closed.

There was something to be said of routine, then, as you followed the familiar dance that started months ago. 

Silence lingered for a beat, long enough for his breathing to even and your own to grow deeper - always so shallow now, he noticed, almost labored as your stomach grew ever rounder - before you spoke again.

“I spent the day with the twins,” you informed him, fingers still softly working through the strands of his hair. “Helaena wanted to take Dreamfyre out so I sat with them and we watched her fly. I think Jaehaerys will love being a dragonrider, like Helaena, but it seems Jaehaera has no interest.”

“And Maelor?” 

Aemond’s question was reflexive, asked without thought, but you took a moment to consider it. “Too young to tell,” you decided, allowing your hand to drift to his cheek and brush the sharp line of his jaw. “He has no reaction to the stink of dragon, unlike his sister, but he may, later on. Aegon wishes to take him flying on Sunfyre but Helaena has forbidden it.” Another moment of quiet, then, before you hummed once more. “Has an egg been chosen for our babe’s cradle? Or do you wish our daughter to be like her father and claim a fearsome old beast?”

The reminder of the babe you swelled with drew a shuddering breath from him as Aemond struggled to keep the grasp he held on your thigh light. “Our son will have an egg,” he promised, “but they do not always hatch. He might try for one of the unclaimed dragons on Dragonstone. Vermithor is nearly as fearsome as Vhagar, nearly as old.”

‘If we can pry Dragonstone from Rhaenyra’s hands,’ went unsaid, though you both allowed the thought to cross your minds.

That thought did not linger, however, as you allowed your hand to drift from his cheek to his shoulder. Soft fingers caressed his skin, warm and strong, and Aemond relaxed into your touch. “How can I help you, my love? I mislike seeing you this way.”

More often than not these days, Aemond found himself here. Many and more nights had been spent curled into the curve of your body, his head resting against your skin as you stroked his hair and spoke softly to him, but they seemed to grow more frequent. Aemond knew that you were observant, that you’d realized he seemed to need your embrace more and more with each passing day, but even he could not articulate why.

Perhaps the weight of his inheritance had finally caught up to him. Or, perhaps it was the knowledge of all he’d done in preparation for his brother’s reign. He even considered it was the possibility that he found himself desiring his brother’s crown, the one Aegon had no desire for.

In truth, he knew that it was you.

The moment you joined hands, the moment you became his wife, Aemond began to feel the walls he’d spent so long building crumble around him. You chipped away at the slowly, almost imperceptibly, but they toppled all the same.

With every moment spent together, with every word of affection you shared or every soft brush of your fingertips across his skin, Aemond felt his world shifting.

Everything he’d ever considered important remained, still mired in the golden glory of his inheritance, only you now loomed over it all. All with the babe you now carried, his babe, alongside you.

“You are with child,” he whispered, shifting to lie on his back and glance up at you.

“I hadn’t noticed,” you returned, drily. When he fixed you with a look, violet eye unamused, you sighed. “I am with child,” you agreed, free hand falling to your belly as you stroked his hair once more. “Our child. That is what we wanted, is it not?”

“It is.” That was always the plan; get married, have children, carry on the Targaryen legacy. Only, the plan had never included losing his eye and spilling the first blood that began a war - killing a child, a nephew.

Aemond could not bring himself to say those words aloud, however, as your fingers carefully carded through his hair, he knew that you understood. There was a fear you both shared, one that had grown heavier since the incident with Lucerys, but he dared not speak it and neither did you. Losing a babe was something that frightened you both - him, nearly as much as losing you in the process - but he willed himself to push that concern to the back of his mind.

Instead, he searched desperately for a thought more pleasant.

Initially, when your betrothal was announced and preparations began for the wedding, he heard murmurs of those who pitied you. It was a shame, they all said, that such a pretty maiden - known for her kindness, her beauty, her wit - would be married to someone like him. He was, after all, noted for his sullen silence and impassive expression.

Everyone wondered how you might fare, locked away in the Keep as your husband-to-be rarely ventured outside its walls, just as Aemond wondered how he might tolerate a highborn lady who doubtlessly believed the whispers.

Those whispers had proven false - just as you’d proven that you never believed any of them.

Love, a curious thing he never hoped to find, bloomed between the two of you. It was not instant, as he learned you had hoped, but slow and cautious. Trust took time, vulnerability even more, but they came, eventually. And with them came a relationship that seemed to stun the whole of the realm into silence.

The pair of you were evenly matched: both highborn, well-educated and eager to continue learning; both fond of the quiet, though you had a natural charm and ability to pretend to enjoy banal chatter that he did not possess; both desperate for a love, a comfort, that you never found at home. There were many similarities, and more differences, but the love that bloomed brought you both a happiness you never knew possible.

And now, as you grew round with the evidence of your love, he discovered another feeling he never thought possible.

Aemond always found you beautiful - he agreed with the whispers of court, that you were much too beautiful to be chained to him for the rest of your life - and he spent the first few weeks of your courtship attempting to ignore his baser urges. There would be time enough for him to indulge in you, for him to see you as no other had ever seen you, but a desperate need for you began to take root then and had yet to release him from its iron grasp.

With every day that passed, Aemond wanted you even more.

Aegon often spoke of the joys of sex, the great pleasure he found in the Streets of Silk, and Aemond never quite believed him. The little experience he had - courtesy of his brother’s goading and gold coin - proved Aegon a liar. However, when Aemond found himself settled between your thighs, he finally believed his brother.

Now, there was little that settled him - anchored him to the moment and cleared his mind of all the noise - quite like losing himself in the throes of pleasure with you.

Since you began to swell with his child, your belly growing round and your tits beginning to spill from your gowns, Aemond found himself even more drawn to you - a feat he hadn’t believed possible. There was something so alluring about the sight of you, wandering the Keep dressed in the color of his house and bearing the most obvious sign that you were his, that it had begun growing maddening.

Luckily, you seemed to be just as desperate for him as he was for you.

The maesters assured you both that there was no harm to be done in satiating your urges and, though he was hesitant in the beginning, soon trusted they spoke nothing but the truth. Now, as he found himself eager for comfort - soft words, loving touches - he allowed himself to seek it in your embrace.

“Are you tired, ābrazyrys?” His question was soft, spoken into the silence that settled easily around you, and met with your hum.

“No.” It was a lie, he knew - could tell by the way your lashes fluttered and your fingers slowly brushed at his skin, the way your lips parted with badly concealed yawns - but you would not be swayed from allowing him whatever he wanted. “I’m here, my love,” you assured him, thumb caressing his cheek. “Take what you need.”

Aemond knew that your body was beginning to grow weary - he’d heard your whispered complaints to Helaena; how your back ached constantly, how your body felt heavier with every step, how even your softest gowns felt too rough on your sensitive skin - and nearly refused you as he had no desire to cause you pain. But the warmth of arousal had already entered his blood, burned beneath his skin, and the shift of your thighs beneath his head indicated that you felt it, too.

Rather than backing away, Aemond moved to sit up and crowded closer to you.

“Gevie,” he whispered, violet eye raking over your face as he lifted his hand to cup your cheek. “Issa gevie ābrazyrys.” Aemond pressed his mouth to yours, then, and you swore you felt his lips curve into a soft smile as you leaned into him.

Aemond had softened some, over the course of your marriage. Though he remained himself, steadfast and strong in who he had become, the edges grew a little more polished. His touch was gentler, his words softer, his kiss less rushed, and you appreciated the effort he’d taken as he tipped his head to deepen the kiss. His hand descended, brushed the soft material of your nightgown as his tongue traced the seam of your lips, and you released a contented sigh.

The large expanse of his hand fell to your ribcage, just beneath the swell of your breast, and though you knew it was coming, you still gasped as his thumb brushed a sensitive nipple.

“I’m alright,” you assured him, the moment he broke the kiss - before he could ask. Your hand lifted to his cheek, thumb brushing his warm skin as you offered him a smile. “Sensitive, is all. The maesters told me it’s normal,” you explained, watching as his gaze fell to your breasts. “They… they also said stimulation may help,” you continued, fingers returning to his hair as his violet eye returned to meet yours.

“Stimulation?”

Aemond knew he hadn’t been subtle in the attention he paid your swelling breasts, in the way his gaze fell to them every time he found you bare between his sheets, but his skin burned with an embarrassed warmth and an overwhelming lust as he realized what you were offering.

“Mm,” you hummed, not bothering to hide your actions as you lifted the skirt of your nightgown higher up your thighs. “I tried, with my fingers, the way they instructed to no avail. Perhaps you have another idea, my love?”

For a brief moment, Aemond felt his head begin to swim. His thoughts muddled, each one making less sense than the last, but they all seemed to lead in the same direction. It was a desire he’d never dared speak aloud, one he barely allowed himself to consider, but the rounder you grew with his seed - the heavier your breasts grew - the harder it became for him to forget. 

Most nights, Aemond spent his time wrapped in your embrace. He enjoyed exploring your skin, mapping the soft expanse of your body with his hands and mouth, and had committed it all to memory. His words sometimes failed him, never quite capturing just how much you meant to him - just how deeply he loved you - but his touch never did. With a flick of his tongue or a brush of his fingers, with a snap of his hips or a soft press of his hand, he continued to find new ways to express himself. And when he’d gotten his fill of you, of hearing you cry his name and watching your body writhe with an exquisite pleasure only he could provide, he filled you with his seed before sometimes settling at your breast.

While he once feared you might find the act strange, that it might repulse you, you were eager to take him as he was. Any act that offered him comfort was one you allowed and the few times he curled into you, flushed body pressed to yours and mouth pressed to your breast, he felt nothing but your love.

As he swallowed, hesitant, you offered him a smile. “You will not harm me or the babe, my love,” you assured him, fingers caressing his jaw as they began to drift lower. “If anything, you will be helping me.” When he frowned, uncertain - disbelieving - you hummed. “Feel,” you instructed, reaching to guide the hand on your rib cage to your breast. It was engorged, heavy and warm in his palm, and you sighed as his thumb mindlessly brushed the nipple once more. “When the babe is born, she will have a nursemaid and I will be left with swollen, leaking tits.”

Aemond acted without thought in that moment and allowed himself to take what you offered so freely. His hands lifted to the straps of your thin nightgown and brushed them off your shoulders, giving him an opportunity to free you from the confines of the fabric.

Pregnancy had changed your body, in a way that terrified him at first - something so delicate now rested within you, a life he helped create - but now drove him to the brink of madness.

A searing warmth, all encompassing and hotter than any dragon fire, enveloped him. And a single glance at your face proved that you did, too. You felt the heat of him, the warmth of his palms - of his heavy gaze, his lithe body - and feared you were only moments from begging him to act when he took mercy on you. The gift you offered, the act you so willingly encouraged him to indulge in, was one he would never refuse.

His touch had never been exceedingly gentle, nor was it particularly hesitant. Aemond was a man assured, confident. There were moments he could be tender, even teasing, but none compared to the moment at hand.

The press of his hands to your sides, just beneath your rib cage, was soft. It was a featherlight pressure, one you feared you might not have felt were it not for the overwhelming sensitivity of your skin, and you sighed contentedly as your hand returned to the silver strands of his hair.

Slowly, and with a caution you’d never before seen in your husband, Aemond’s hands lifted. 

Aemond was almost tentative, careful, in the way he touched you. His violet eye remained fixed on your face - watching, waiting for any hint of discomfort - and you offered him an encouraging smile as you leaned into his touch. “I am not fragile,” you reminded him, a small grin forming at the words he’d once used to declare his surprise at your steadfastness, your unwavering strength. “I will not break.”

A moment passed, in which you watched your husband gather himself, before his hands lifted to your breasts. He seemed to marvel at the weight of them, the warmth of your skin - usually so cool in the depths of his chambers - and hummed.

As he leaned in, gaze finally dipping to your breasts, you expected him to press his mouth to your skin - bury his face in the crook of your neck, press his lips to your collarbone and work his way down - but you were surprised when he tipped his head to catch your lips in a searing kiss. Though he never left you wanting, never left you doubting his desire for you, this kiss stole your breath.

The kiss was unlike any other; fierce, passionate. It fanned the flames of desire already burning within you and turned it into an uncontrollable blaze. As eager as you always felt for his touch, the fierceness of his kiss left desperate tears pricking at the backs of your eyes.

Calloused hands - toughened by years of swordplay and dragon riding - began to explore in earnest.

Every press of his palm, every swipe of his fingers drew soft noises from your lips, cries that Aemond swallowed eagerly. He relished in them, in the noises only he managed to draw from you, and you felt the evidence of his pleasure press into your thigh.

For a moment, you wondered if he might refuse your offer. However, the thought disappeared with a swipe of his thumb over the sensitive skin of your nipple.

Aemond allowed you to break the kiss, lips parting in a sharp gasp, and wasted little time in pressing his mouth to the curve of your jaw. There seemed to be little hurry in his actions, the way he nipped and kissed the soft skin of your throat, but you could feel the tension in his corded muscles as he crowded into you. He seemed to be nearly vibrating with desire, a tremble that made you lightheaded - an awe that you could produce such a reaction in such a man - and you struggled to catch your breath as he began to descend.

There was a brief worry - a split second thought that never fully formed - that he might avoid your eye in the way he had the very first time, when there was no babe and no real reason to suckle at your breast. However, it was quickly driven away as your husband’s violet eye lifted to meet yours.

Soft kisses were pressed to your skin, across the tops of your breasts and between them - violet eye fluttering as he paused only to marvel at the newfound heat emanating from your skin.

“The maesters told me I would remain warm until the babe is here. They jest it is because I carry the blood of the dragon,” you informed him, hand falling to the back of his head to cradle him close. “I’m not sure I mind. But, tell me, husband; what do you think?”

Though your husband had always been a man of few words, he seemed lost in his own thoughts. The words you spoke meant little to him, it seemed, as he found himself capable of only a simple reply. “I shall keep you warm and full,” he promised.

Already, he could see you swollen with his seed - with the blood of the dragon - again and again. He would see you round with his babe as many times as you would allow and you could see the promise in his eye as he glanced up at you. “Perhaps it is good there will be a nursemaid, then,” you hummed, unable to bite back your grin as Aemond’s mouth pressed just beneath your breast. “So you may spend as much time at my breast as you’d like.”

In the moment, the present mattered little. All that had come to pass ceased to exist and all that might come felt good, sweet. In reality, the future seemed bleak, but in the moment, there was a future. And all either of you wanted was to pretend.

Without sparing another moment, Aemond’s lips wrapped around the sensitive nipple.

The warmth of his mouth, the swirl of his tongue, was cautious at first - desperate to keep from hurting you, to keep from causing any pain - and you hummed contentedly as his eye fluttered shut. Your fingers carded through his hair, touch as delicate as his own, as your free hand fell to his chest.

Aemond’s heart thrummed beneath your fingertips, the beat of it as erratic as you’d ever felt it, and you felt your own beat in time with his. 

No part of you ever imagined you would find yourself here - in bed with your dragon rider, the fierce swordsman and Targaryen prince, suckling at your breast - but there was no dismay in it. The pair of you were two halves of a whole: him, desperate to be wanted, needed, loved; you, desperate to love, to want, to need. There was a balance, an equal give and take, that saw you both offering the other what they desired freely. You understood one another in a way no one ever had and you were grateful for that understanding as Aemond attempted to crowd closer.

“My sweet love,” you whispered, fingers brushing the silver strands from his cheek. “This is what we both needed,” you assured him, voice a quiet lilt in the dim of his chambers. “Feels so much better.”

A pleased hum - proud, soothed by your praise - escaped your husband as his free hand returned to your thigh. His fingers pressed into the plush skin, anchoring himself to you, and you sighed at the touch. His hand was so close to where you wanted him and you asked without sparing it a second thought.

“Aemond,” you whispered, hand reaching for his - fingers clasping around his wrist and dragging it higher. “Touch me, please. Need you.”

Calloused fingers slipped between your thighs, lips curving into a smile at how readily you parted for him. His touch paused only for a moment, as did the gentle pull of his lips at your breast, as he seemed to realize the state you were in.

Slick pooled between your thighs and Aemond readily gave you what you wanted. His fingers swiped through your arousal, gathering your slick, before his thumb found the all-too sensitive bundle of nerves. 

The wet slip of his fingers was self-assured, an action he’d taken a thousand times before, and it seemed as if he knew your own body better than you did. Heat pooled in the pit of your stomach, filled your veins and blazed up your spine, as he rolled the numb beneath his thumb for a moment before abandoning it to press his fingers to your slick opening.

“You enjoy this,” he accused, finally allowing his violet eye to open as he released your nipple and urged you to turn so he could reach the other. “As much as I do,” he continued, smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“I do,” you promised, sigh escaping your lips as you felt his long fingers press into you - curling, parting, manipulating in the way only he knew. “I have never turned you away,” you reminded him, words ending in a breathless moan. “If you are as depraved as you imagine yourself, then consider me your equal.”

Aemond seemed pleased by your assertion, proud to have found a wife who not only indulged him, but understood him. And you were pleased, as he returned his mouth to your aching breast, that he trusted you enough to allow you this glimpse. 

The press of his mouth to your breast was growing ever eager, desperate for whatever you could give him - and, as it turned out, was not much yet, though you knew he would patiently await the day it would be more. It was soothing, almost, in a way that eased the ache you’d begun growing weary of, and you parted your lips to thank him for it the moment his thumb pressed to your aching clit.

A keening moan escaped, a noise that might’ve brought an embarrassed heat to your skin in the beginning of your marriage, but such noises were familiar now and your husband reveled in them.

Some small part of you wondered if he meant to have you both finish this way, him with his mouth pressed to your breast and you with his fingers curling into your heat. Only, he gave you little time to wonder as he lifted his head to glance at you fully.

“I know your body aches,” he hummed, press of his fingers slowing - thumb stilling on your clit, earning a displeased whine. “Do you think you can take my cock, my love? I have no desire to cause you discomfort.”

“You will,” you huffed, fingers tangling in his hair and tugging - just slightly, “if you do not fuck me.”

Aemond laughed, then, a sound you imagined few others had ever heard, before pulling away from you. You whined at the loss of his touch, the emptiness that filled you and the cool that suddenly chilled you, before your attention was stolen. His lips wrapped around his fingers, capturing the taste of you on his tongue, and you swallowed hard to keep from lunging at him as he settled against the headboard himself.

“Come here,” he beckons, hand already reaching for you hip and hauling you onto his lap. “So fucking perfect.”

Before the babe, before your stomach began to swell, this was a rarity. Aemond preferred you beneath him, pressed into his mattress as he left you seeing stars, but he’d admitted he could see the beauty of the position you now found yourselves in.

As expected, the moment you settled atop him, his gaze returned to your breasts. “One may think you’d never seen tits before,” you teased, not bothering to hide your grin as Aemond rolled his eye. “I jest, my love,” you hummed, reaching out for him - encouraging him to return his mouth to your breast. “It helped,” you assured him. “They no longer ache as they did when I woke. Thank you.”

Aemond lifted a hand to the back of your neck, then, and pressed his lips to yours in a kiss. The kiss was more familiar, something you’d grown to expect - grown to love - and you felt yourself melting into it as he crowded you closer.

The swell of your belly made it difficult to press your body as close to his as you would’ve liked, as close as he would’ve liked - in the privacy of his chambers, beneath the sheets of his bed, Aemond liked you a close as he could have you - but it was enough. His hands explored your warm skin, slick beneath his fingers and no longer aching in the way you’d complained earlier, and you relaxed into his touch as his hand slipped between your spread thighs once more.

Though you expected his fingers to return to your center, Aemond’s hand fell to his cock. You breathed something akin to a sigh of relief as you felt the tip glide through your slick folds, catching on your aching clit and drawing another keening moan that he eagerly swallowed.

The head of his cock nudged your slick opening, nestled there as you rested on your knees, before he lifted his hand to your hip and pulled you down.

A familiar stretch, a familiar warmth, captured the whole of your attention as you sank down onto Aemond’s cock.

Every pulse of him, every twitch of his cock - every ridge, every vein - was heightened by your sensitivity and your eyes nearly rolled back as you sank onto him fully. He filled you wonderfully, perfectly, and reveled in you saying so. Only, he barely allowed you a moment at all to speak before his mouth returned to your breasts.

Each sensation was overwhelming in its own right, every touch more consuming than the last, but the combination of it all had you seeing stars.

The warmth of Aemond’s body pressed to yours, the way his muscles clenched as he rocked his hips up to meet yours, the insistent press of his hand - fingers dimpling your skin as he held you tight - was all magnified by the warmth of his lips pressed to your breast. Even as his hips snapped, pressing his cock in deeper, the press of his mouth remained soft.

Aemond was careful to keep from hurting you, despite his desire to devour you - clear in the lust darkening his violet eye - and you lifted a grateful and to his cheek.

“Feels so good,” you breathed, gaze meeting his. “You make me feel so good, my love.”

The praise he craved, the words he desperately needed to hear but would never ask for, earned you a sharp snap of his hips - driving him deeper, pressing you closer - and you gasped as his teeth carefully nipped at your sensitive nipple. He’d already taken what little your body had produced, would need to wait a little longer for more, but that did nothing to stop him from continuing to suckle at the soft skin as his thumb fell to your clit.

As he so often tried, your husband pressed you on to your pleasure first. His fingers, his mouth, his cock; all working together in an eager attempt to earn your blissful cries. That sharp violet eye watched your face, watched your lips part and your lashes flutter, and you could see the pride in his gaze as you began to quiver in his grasp.

When your release washed over you, heavy and so desperately needed, Aemond allowed himself to let go. He chased his own high for a moment, sinking into the pleasure of you - of your slick cunt, of your swollen breasts.

With a muffled noise, Aemond spilled into you - his spend filling you with a warmth you swore you would never tire of. It was accompanied by a soft gasp, a quiet noise that you wouldn’t have heard over your own heartbeat had you not been paying him such close attention, and you reached for his cheek with a soft smile.

Aemond easily lifted his head, his mouth meeting yours, and gave you the kiss you wanted. It was an assurance for you both, a gesture meant to calm - to serve as a reminder that you were bound, one - and ended with his forehead pressed to yours.

“All of this,” you whispered, the pair of you still struggling to catch your breath, “will end and we will carry on. And when our duty is done, we will be free to live our lives as we wish. You did not start this war, but you will finish it.”

“I will,” he promised, violet eye glimmering with an unscheduled tear as his hand fell to your swollen belly.

It was a promise he couldn’t make in good faith, nor one he could reasonably be expected to keep, but it was enough for the moment. The idea that this is what awaited him - this life, you - made him desperate. He wanted nothing more than to carry on, than to spend the rest of his life right here, and he would do anything in his power to make it happen.

And, if he could not spend the rest of his life here, he would perish in the pursuit.

____________________________________________________

Author's Note: Aemond just. Captivates me. How am I supposed to survive two years without more content?

Taglist: @anaya-rhys, @holypeacecrown, @marvelously-flawed, @travelingmypassion, @letsgotothehop, @reynacrawford, @liannafae, @ffsg0jo

[dreaming-medium]

No Contact

Pairing: Bang Chan x Reader

Word Count: 7.6k

Tags: ANGST with a happy ending, amnesia, memory loss, grief, pining, yearning, hurt/comfort

Summary: It was one of the worst car accidents the city has seen. You weren't supposed to be in that car, but you were. When you lose your memories from the incident, Chan is ordered to stay away for your recovery's sake; but it takes a larger toll on him than anyone could have imagined. Until one day, he just can't take it anymore.

A/N: inspired by this post. Angst ahoy <3 I had too much fun writing this. Maybe I like writing emotions. Enjoy <3

—————————————————————

No contact. That’s what Chan was told was best for you. That’s what was going to help your healing process. 

No contact whatsoever. No texts, no calls, no little surprise visits. No fucking contact. None. 

He was told it would just hurt you if he talked to you— that he would just make it worse. That you would only become more confused and upset. It would be absolutely detrimental for him to see you.

Hell, it might even make you worse. 

It’s killing Chan slowly. Every single day feels like torture for him. The days get exponentially worse. He feels like a hollow shell of his former self, like the wind goes through him when he steps foot outside. It feels like his shoulders are permanently sagged forward. 

But the worst part is that you don’t even know it. You don’t know how he’s collapsing inwards like a dying star. 

It was one of the worst car accidents the city has seen in years. A friend was driving you home that night; Chan had begged to be the one to pick you up, but no, you said it was fine, the friend was heading that way anyway. Why make the unnecessary trip?

You told him he needed sleep. Always putting his needs before your own. You always did. 

He should’ve put up more of a fuss. He should’ve put his foot down. He should’ve already been outside the house in his car with the passenger seat warmer on by the time you left that stupid party. 

He should’ve gotten out of the car and opened the door for you and had a cold bottle of water waiting in the cup holder. He should’ve kissed you on the cheek and asked you all about your time. He should have been there.

But he wasn’t. 

A drunk driver slammed into the passenger side of your friend’s car at a speed that you shouldn’t have even survived.

Miracles do happen, though. But what a price to pay for a miracle. 

For as long as he lives, Chan will never forget the sheer panic and terror he felt when the call came in from your mother. You were already at the hospital undergoing emergency surgery.

He was the last to know. 

After all, he wasn’t your emergency contact. He’s only your boyfriend.

Was. Was your boyfriend. Was? Is that the right word? He isn’t. But he is. There was no breakup. 

Is that what he’s going through right now? A breakup? 

You’re not on a break. But what is this? What is this loss? This severance is so horrible. 

It’s fucked up. It’s a fucked up, amnesia induced breakup. 

Memory loss is a funny thing. Doctors scratch their heads and shrug their shoulders without any answers. The brain is a tricky thing. 

Chan did what he was allowed to in that hospital. He sat in that stark white room under those harsh LED lights and he waited until you were awake. He even waited much longer after that because only two visitors were permitted inside your room at a time— and he wasn’t about to force his way in and kick one of your parents out. 

He let your sister go in first. He even let your cousin go in before him. But when it was finally his turn… 

He never got to see you. 

“The last five years?” Chan asked with a tight throat. Did he even have any more tears left to cry? How is there any liquid left in his body?

“She says doesn’t remember anything, Chan.” Your mother’s voice was just as hollow as his. “She was asking about her freshman roommate.”

A doctor stood in between him and your mom. “It’s best if we don’t throw everything at her at once. Amnesia victims rarely never get their memories back, but we’ve found that it needs to happen organically. Seeing her will overwhelm her and that could stunt the healing process.”

Chan’s mouth opened and closed several times but no words came out at all. His heart may have stopped. 

Does that mean…?

No…

“He can’t see her at all?” Your mother asked quietly. “Not even to visit? He doesn’t have to mention he’s her boyfriend, he can just say that he’s a friend, or a coworker, or—“

The doctor cut her off. “No contact. Not until we’re a bit through recovery and she’s starting to get her memories back.”

Chan was suddenly in a chair. 

When did he sit down? The Doctor’s hands were on his shoulders and he was looking down at him with a sympathetic stare.  

“It’s not forever, son.”

Chan was only able to nod. His mouth was so dry, the back of his neck felt clammy. His head was spinning.

Books often speak of moments as ‘Earth-shattering’. Of moments so catastrophic that the planet stops spinning on its axis and time stands still.

He gets it now. 

The doctor spoke a few more words to your mother before walking away. She looked down at Chan sadly. 

Your mother sat on the chair next to him and wrapped him up in a hug. His world was falling apart around him. You were slipping through his fingers. He couldn’t even see you.

Hot tears poured down his face while he sat there with his head in his hands. Why does it feel like he’s losing you? Why is this the only way? Why are these the cards that are being dealt?

Why didn’t he pick you up from that fucking party?

“She loves you, Chan… she’ll come to her senses, I promise, I promise.”

It’s been two months, one week, two days and eight hours since he’s talked to you. That long since he’s known peace. Since he’s known any sort of comfort. 

You’re the last thing he thinks about before he closes his eyes at night and the first thing he thinks about in the morning. No matter how many times he wakes up and feels the cold bed next to him, it never dulls the ache in his chest.

It’s not a healthy mindset, he knows. And it’s not that you were codependent on one another, that’s not it at all. You were just… ripped away from him. 

Food has no taste. The sky isn’t as blue as it used to be. Clouds don’t make fun shapes like they did with you by his side. The stars are still in the sky, he thinks, he hasn’t had the guts to look at them. 

God, you love the stars so much. You always talked about how pretty they are— how absolutely breath-taking you think the universe is. Chan would simply listen, he would always listen. All he ever wanted to do was listen.

How is he supposed to look at anything the same way? How is any day supposed to be normal when half of his life is suddenly missing. What’s the point of making music if you’re not there to listen to it?

5:00 PM is the hardest hour to get through. You don’t open the door to his apartment when you get off work. You don’t tell him about the things that happened during your shift. 

He can’t leave little snacks out on the counter for you to eat when you get home like he used to. 

Mice would get to it before you did. 

His lonely apartment is slowly losing your smell. He could spray your perfume, sure, you keep a bottle at his place, but it’s not the same. You somehow made the scent sweeter by letting it linger on your skin. 

All of your old toiletries are still there where you left them. Your spare toothbrush has been bone dry and untouched since 9:28 AM that morning. Your shampoo bottles are still half full and waiting for you on your shower shelf.

It had rained a few days before your accident. You had started a puzzle on his dining room table that day– you told him it was the perfect rainy day activity. It was a picture of different comic book covers. It’s now collecting dust. Unmoved and unsolved. 

Just like him.

It was a battle and a half to throw away your leftovers from two nights before your car accident. He felt like he was throwing away your normal life, your tiny domestic traces. 

He didn’t want to cleanse you from his life, but you were washing away. Your ghost was eroding with time. 

Your spare car keys are still hanging on the key ring. Your rain coat is on the third hook draped right over your work bag. Even your phone charger is still plugged into the wall on your side of the bed.

Did you know you forgot to put your favorite gold earrings on that night? You left them on the nightstand. They’re still there, don’t worry. Right next to the glass of water you drank half of. 

Do you even remember them…? He got them for you for your first Christmas together. 

There are so many signs of a life interrupted integrated so deeply into his. 

You’re a clock whose hands stopped suddenly at 1:24 AM. 

This sort of haunting is unbearable. You’re not a phantom in his life, though. You’re something so unattainable that he had once but it was taken away with empty promises of return. 

It’s like you’re a shiny diamond hidden away beneath lasers and traps like in those stupid, cheesy spy movies you love so much. 

Do you know what he would give to watch one of those with you in his arms right now? 

Chan feels like he’s banging on the glass of a one sided window, screaming for you to remember him. Meanwhile you’re on the other side only staring into a mirror, trying to pick up the pieces from before. 

Your mom sends him updates on your condition all the time. He knows that you started working at the local library about three weeks ago. 

You had worked there in college before graduating and getting your last job. It was one of your favorite jobs you ever had. That library was so special to you. 

To him too. 

It’s the library where he first met you. 

The same library Chan finds himself in front of now. 

He shouldn’t go in. He can’t go in. He absolutely should not go inside. 

Bang Chan you should not and cannot go inside this library. Under no circumstances should you step foot inside this building where your other half is working. 

Absolutely not. 

The door emits a soft ding when he opens it. Electronic. Quiet. Peaceful. 

There’s a certain type of silence that sits in a library. It’s closer, thicker— warmer. It’s an expected silence. They’re supposed to be quiet. 

Chan can hear his sneakers take every step on the carpeted floor. There’s no one sitting behind the front desk; that’s where you usually were. 

His eyes look all around, but there’s no sign of you anywhere. A few people toddle around the shelves. 

There’s more soft beeping coming from the self checkout. That’s new. They didn’t have that when you worked here years ago. You probably hate it. 

On the day he met you, you were wearing a pair of dark green pants and a black long sleeve shirt. Your hair was clipped behind your head and pieces were falling over your face. 

Chan was only in the library to look for the bathroom. He was on his way to lunch with a friend, but he just had to stop somewhere. The library was the closest option. 

When he had heard the sound of books falling, he investigated and found you in the center of the carnage, the glasses on your nose sat crookedly and you rubbed your head. 

Your eyes met. He was a goner. 

How disgustingly poetic that he finds himself here now. Where he really shouldn’t be. He was quite literally prescribed a restraining order against you. 

Chan meanders around with his hands in his pockets, the silence getting louder and louder the further he gets inside.

Maybe you’re not working today? 

No one is anywhere to be seen. He’s checking down all the aisles but he doesn’t see you anywhere. 

Maybe it’s for the best that you’re not here. He’s not supposed to see you anyway. He’s breaking the doctor’s rules by doing this anyway. 

He needs to leave. He needs to get out of here. 

His feet stop in front of the very aisle where he saw you for the first time. 

Empty. 

You-less. 

If he thinks hard enough, Chan can picture you in front of him, laughing quietly with the most adorable, embarrassed blush on your cheeks. 

What a moment. 

Is it possible to spend eternity in that moment? Obviously internal clocks can be rewound, paused, flipped every which way; can he go back to that day? Can he go back to the day where every single poem suddenly made sense?

He would take any day, really, any day that had you in it. Birthdays, holidays, late night dates, Hell, he’d even take a day where he only saw you when you dropped off a drink for him in his studio. 

Anything, he would take anything just to see your smile bloom on your face while he watches.

“Can I help you find something?”

His breath catches in his throat, it feels like he’s physically punched in the chest. That voice. That beautiful, melodic voice. He hasn’t heard it in person in months, only in videos he had on his phone. 

Slowly, Chan turns to face the source of his favorite pitch. 

His throat immediately tightens. 

There you are. You. Beautiful you. 

Standing right there. Looking at him like a complete fucking stranger. 

“I…” his voice is hoarse. Chan can feel the tears in his eyes begin to form. He didn’t think this through, did he?

You’re staring at him expectantly, waiting for him to say anything. You’re waiting, come on, Chan. Speak up. Say something. 

Looking up at the shelf, you look back down at him with a smile. “A history guy, hm?”

No.

“Yeah.”

You giggle. “I always had a thing for History.”

He knows. 

“Really?”

“Mhmm.” You respond with a grin. 

Specifically Ancient Rome. He knows. 

You continue. “Specifically Ancient Rome.”

Chan nods and clears his throat. His palms feel so sweaty. His chest is almost panting. Every single cell in his body just wants to lunge forward and wrap you in a hug. 

He wants to bury his face in your neck and sob while you hold him. He wants to tell you that he missed you so much. He wants to tell you how your pillow is losing the scent of your shampoo. He wants to tell you that he’s been DVR-ing your favorite show so that you can watch it later. He wants to tell you about his day. He wants to kiss you until you’re breathless. He wants you to hear the new song he’s been working on.

But—

“If you need anything, let me know.”

You start to walk away.

Chan feels his heart physically break. It’s happening again. He’s on the other side of that one way mirror. It’s happening again! No, no please. 

His eyes widen, the words get caught in his throat. Fuck, Y/N, please!

“W-Wait!” he says quickly. 

You turn around with a curious look. 

“The Odyssey,” he blurts. “Where uh… where can I find it?”

Your eyes light up. “Oh, I love The Odyssey.”

He knows. You collect different translations of it. 

“I collect different translations of that book, here I’ll show you where it is.”

With a little hop in your step you lead him towards all the classics. 

He watches you like you’re an oasis in the desert— maybe it’s because you are. You’re what he’s been crawling towards for two months. 

You lead him all the way to the shelf where the Odyssey lives. Your nimble fingers reach forward and grab one of the copies. 

Green nail polish. You still paint your nails green. You picked that habit up a year after he met you. 

The memories have to be there, Y/N, they have to be. Chan bought you that first bottle of green nail polish as a joke on Saint Patrick’s Day. 

Y/N, please. 

“This translation is my favorite,” you whisper and hand him the book. 

Chan smiles sadly and takes the book from you, unable to meet your eyes. He knows if he gazes into those gorgeous eyes that he’ll lose it. He’ll fall to his knees and cry. 

“Thank you,” he whispers back. 

You stand there for a moment, he can feel your eyes on his face. He always has been able to tell when you were looking at him, it’s a little, secret superpower. 

From foot to foot, your weight shifts. 

You only do that when you’re confused. Why are you confused? Y/N, are you confused?

“I’m sorry…” you start, sounding so unsure. “You remind me of someone…”

It feels like a defibrillator was hooked up to his chest. Chan’s eyes widen and he finally looks up at you. 

You’re looking at him so carefully. He can see the gears turning in your head. Your tongue pokes out of your lips and wets them. 

Y/N, please. 

“I just… I can’t figure out who. Do I… do I know you? I was—” You stop yourself. 

Fuck. Fuck! What was he supposed to say? Fuck! 

Chan wants to scream. He wants to grab you by the shoulders and cry that he’s your soulmate, that he’s the person that knows you better than anyone else in this world. 

Yes, you do, you do know him. And he knows you. He knows how you take your coffee, what movies make you cry, what color jell-o is your favorite. 

He knows that you never wear matching socks and you always lift your feet when driving over railroad tracks. 

He knows that when you were 6 you ran into the corner of a cabinet and that’s how you got that scar next to your eyebrow. 

Chan knows that your entire life you wanted to be an author but you’re so scared of failure that you decided not to chase after it. 

He knows everything. 

“I just have one of those faces, I guess.” It comes out of his mouth so strained. 

You stare back at him so carefully. Do you see right through him?

“Maybe,” you say slowly. You don’t believe him. He knows that tone. You absolutely do not believe a word he’s saying. “Are you sure?”

Chan swallows, he grips the book in his hand tighter. The lump in his throat almost doesn’t go down, more tears prick at his eyes. 

“I would never forget a face like yours,” he chokes out. 

Your eyes widen and you blush, looking to the side with a smile. You always were a sucker for cheesy compliments. 

After thinking for a second, you reach into your pocket and take out a little slip of paper. 

“Here,” you say after scribbling something down. Holding it out, Chan sees it’s your phone number. He has it memorized. “If you ever need more books to read… or find… call me.”

Chan takes the paper with a racing heart. He gives you a smile, his dimples showing. “I think I will,” he whispers to you. 

Another few moments pass of you just staring at him before you nod and giggle nervously. “Well, I gotta get back to work, so..”

Chan nods and moves to the side. You walk past him. 

Your perfume curls around him like a blanket and he craves that sweet serenity he finds when he holds you close and breathes you in. 

Three steps after you pass him, you turn around. “Oh, I didn’t catch your name.”.

“Chan,” he answers softly. 

“Chan,” you repeat. It goes right through him. 

Your voice. Your sweet, beautiful, melodic voice. Finally, he heard you say his name again.

“I’m Y/N,” you whisper to him with a friendly smile. 

“Nice to meet you, Y/N.” Chan has to physically force the word ‘meet’ out of his mouth. 

“You too, Chan.”

And with that, you were gone, retreating back into your fortress of papyrus. 

—————————————————————

A bad idea was going into the library that day. 

An even worse idea was texting you the day after to ask how your day is going. 

And then an absolutely fucking idiotic move was asking if you wanted to go to dinner with him. 

And the worst part? You said yes. 

So, now here Chan was, standing in front of the mirror in his bedroom getting ready for what you thought was a first date, but to him was just a dinner date. 

How is he supposed to do this? He’s not, that’s how. 

Chan fiddles with his bracelet right before his phone rings. 

His heart drops when he sees the caller ID, your mother. 

“Ah, fuck…” he whispers before grabbing his phone. Of course you were going to tell your mom, you tell your mom everything. 

“Hello?” he asks warily into the phone. 

“Hi, Chan,” she says slowly, she sounds nervous, why does she sound nervous. 

“How are you? Is everything okay?”

“It’s Y/N…” Her voice lowers. Chan’s heart drops. “Before you panic, she’s okay! It’s um.. she’s getting ready right now… for a date…”

Chan isn’t moving. Yes, he knows you are. He knows it. But words won’t form in his mouth. 

“Channie.. I’m starting to wonder if that doctor isn’t right.. I can’t stand the thought of her finding someone else when you’re waiting for her… I tried to talk her out of it but she just seems so floaty and happy. God, I feel sick to my stomach.”

His jaw clenches. Now or never. 

“It’s with me,” he blurts. 

Your mom goes silent. Then a huge sigh comes out of her mouth. 

“I wish I could say I’m angry,” a little laugh follows it. “I think I’m only angry that you didn’t say something.”

He tells her everything, down to the way he pretended not to know you. 

“Well, you’re going to have to tell her eventually.” Your mom sounds unsure, herself. 

“Or maybe she’ll remember me.”

“What if she doesn’t?”

Chan sits down on the edge of his bed. His eyes are staring at the wall, unfocused. 

She’s right. What if you don’t? 

“Then, I’ll just … do it all again.”

Silence greets him on the other side of the line. Another tiny laugh comes from your mom. “I always knew you two were perfect together. Just like two magnets, you always come towards one another.”

—————————————————————

“I’ve never eaten here before,” you say with a chipper smile on your face from across the table. 

Yes, you have. 

“Really?” Chan asks, taking a sip of his water. 

“I pass it all the time and always wondered how the food was.”

He looks back down at the old menu. 

This restaurant was more than special to him. It’s where he took you on your first date. It’s an old fashioned burger joint with the greasiest, most delicious French fries in town. 

The first time you guys came here, you talked and talked until the place closed. And even after that, you drove around and talked until it was late. 

“I’ve been here a few times, it’s really good. The milkshakes are some of the best I’ve ever had.” Chan’s sweaty hands fiddle with the menu. 

He’s more nervous now than on the first date. 

“What’s the best one?” you ask with a smile. 

A small laugh comes out of his nose. “The peanut butter one.”

It was your favorite. 

“Yeah but then you can’t have any,” you say so nonchalantly, looking down at the menu. 

His eyebrows knit together. “What?”

“‘Cause of your allergy.”

He stops. 

You stop. 

He has a peanut allergy. Chan has a peanut allergy. 

His lips purse like he’s going to say something but you beat him to the punch. 

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out. “I… I don’t know why I thought that.” Your hands grip the menu a little tighter. “Maybe I’m thinking of someone else?”

Chan shakes his head. “No, no, it’s okay. I… I do have a peanut allergy. Maybe I said something before?”

You stare at him for a long second before looking back down at the menu once more. “Yeah… um. Maybe.”

He definitely did not say something. 

Dinner continues on. Chan listens to you talk and pretends he’s never heard your stories before and he tells you ones he knows he’s said before. 

The entire time, you were beaming at him, just like you used to before the accident. Your face never loses its constant happy glow. He’s not sure that the muscles in your face know how to frown.  

You’re the last two people in the restaurant. The staff doesn’t seem to mind. Maybe they recognize you both. Maybe. 

A lull dips into your conversation. Both of you know you should leave. Neither wants to. Especially the broken man sitting across from you. 

Chan takes the last sip of his drink. The bill has been paid for about an hour at this point. You’re looking down at your lap with a pink flush on your cheeks. 

You bite your lip and look up at Chan carefully. 

“Are you… are you sure I don’t know you, Chan?”

He stares at you. Did you know that you always bite your lip like that when you’re confused? 

“I just… I really feel like I know you. There’s just…” you pause, trying to find your words. He knows you want to tell him about the accident. He knows you want to say it but you don’t want to weird him out. 

What the fuck is he supposed to do? What is he supposed to tell you? 

“Something happened to me a little while ago, my brain’s been… fuzzy since then,” you explain shyly. “I know you said you don’t know me but I just… I can’t help feel like that’s not true.”

Chan’s jaw clenches, his knee bounces anxiously underneath the table. His head turns to the side in his typical nervous tick. 

Your mother’s words echo in his mind, his tongue suddenly feels like it’s swelling to the size of his mouth— making him unable to speak. Should he tell you? Is it now or never?

“I don’t mean to make it weird, Chan.”

He licks his lips and opens his mouth. 

Your phone rings. 

A sigh of relief comes from deep within Chan’s chest. 

Reluctantly, you pick up the phone and hold it to your ear. “Hello? …. No, I didn’t know…. Yeah, of course…. Sure… Yeah, see you tomorrow.”

Just as quickly as you answered the phone, you hang up. 

“Sorry,” you mumble. “Someone called out of work for tomorrow, they need me to come in.”

“Do you need to get going?” Chan asks, looking down at the time. It’s well past 10 o’clock. 

A sad smile crosses your face. “I mean… probably.” The time on your watch flashes back at you. He can tell you don’t want to go home yet. 

“Come on, Y/N, I’ll walk you home.”

Chan’s already standing up from the table, picking his jacket up off the back of his chair. You watch his movements and slowly get up, your movements screaming reluctance. 

—————————————————————

It’s three dates later when the two of you are walking down the street towards your house. It’s only a few blocks from here, but you both decide to take a tiny detour through the local park. 

“I have to say I’m a little excited to meet your friends,” you giggle. “I hope that’s not weird.”

You already have. 

“It’s not weird at all. I’m sure they’d like you.” Chan nudges your arm with his elbow, his hands staying in his pocket. 

“Changbin sounds like a blast.”

He was your favorite before.

“The two of you…” Chan thinks over his words carefully. “The two of you would definitely cause some mischief.”

And you have. 

A tiny lull of comfortable silence falls over the conversation. 

Both of you meander towards the swings. A cold wind blows through the air but neither of you react to it. 

With a tiny giggle, you sit down on one of the swings and hold onto the chains on the side. 

You are just so… you. You’re just your authentic self. Amnesia or not, you haven’t changed a bit. It’s so charming.

“I can’t remember the last time I went on the swings.” You start to move your body back and forth, not too much but enough to get the tiny thrill the toy brings. 

Chan walks up and stands next to you, his hand coming out and grabbing at the chain of the swing next to yours. 

The brightest smile stretches over your face. 

God, it really doesn’t take a lot to make you smile, does it? He guesses that means it doesn’t take a lot for him either since he smiles when you do.

He can’t help it.

He watches you move back and forth, the cold breeze kicking up a bit more and blowing dead leaves across the sidewalk. 

“What’s wrong, Chan? Allergic to swings?” you tease. 

He rolls his eyes with a smirk. “No, I just far more enjoy watching you have fun.”

Your cheeks flush. If he didn’t know you, maybe he would’ve chocked it up to the cold. But he knows the difference between your blush and the elements now. 

“You’re a smooth talker, Bang Chan.”

“It comes easy with you, Y/N L/N.”

Another laugh from you. 

“Shameless flirt.”

He puts his hand on his chest in mock hurt. “Ouch! I just speak the truth, that’s all. Not my fault I like seeing you blush.”

Every word that comes out of his mouth feels so natural. If he really thinks about it, he’s in a weirdly unique situation. Not many couples get to start over, to feel those butterflies again. But here he is, his palms starting to get sweaty as he imagines kissing you. 

Would you call it a first kiss? Maybe. 

It has been four dates. It wouldn’t be.. inappropriate to kiss you, would it? The two of you kissed on your third date a few years ago. 

He wants to kiss you so bad. 

Should he? Shouldn’t he? God, why is this so hard?

Chan reaches out and grabs the chain of your swing, pulling it to a very gentle stop. 

“Uh oh, fun police,” you tease and look up at him with a grin. 

Looking down at you, Chan allows his eyes to look over every detail of your face that he already had memorized. You haven’t changed at all except the new scar on the side of your forehead from the accident. 

It’s the same eyes, same nose, same chin that he fell in love with so long ago. 

The same asymmetrical eyes that you’re so self conscious of but he loves. Your hair is wind blown and splayed every which way. It adds a childish charm to your features. 

Very carefully, Chan moves his free hand down to cup your cheek. His warm palm soothes your ice cold face. He hears your breath catch in your throat at his touch. 

His thumb swipes over your cheek, fingertips run down the soft lines of your jawline. Eventually his thumb ends up under your chin which he tilts up. 

Your eyes sparkle. They somehow capture the light of the lamps around the playground. But they’ve always done that. 

You’re always so enchanting.

Is this a good idea? 

Is kissing you the best option? 

But does he even have the strength to stop himself now?

Almost three months without feeling your lips on his has been torture, and here he is, with you in his hands and there’s still this nagging feeling that he should stop. 

One look into your eyes quells that anxiety. 

Your eyes keep flickering down to his own lips, the shaky breath you let out is hot against his fingers. Everything feels warmer compared to the air outside. 

He can’t take it anymore. 

Chan leans down and presses his lips to yours. They’re warm and slightly chapped.

But, my god, he’s never felt anything this heavenly before. It’s like his entire body unwinds. Like a fire was lit inside his stomach. 

He moves his hand to the back of your head and keeps your lips pressed against his. Your head tilts to the side slightly. It’s just like he remembers. 

It’s just the first kiss, he can’t let himself get carried away. He can’t. 

He can’t let his fingers wind through your hair. He can’t melt into your touch on his cheek. He can’t let himself drown in your lips. 

But he is. 

He’s letting you consume his very soul in one kiss. 

How can something feel so healing yet hurt so badly at the same time? It’s like you’re ripping open a wound and bandaging it at the same time. 

No matter how hard he tries, he can’t bring his lips away from yours. Your hand slides down to caress his jawline with those soft, manicured fingers. 

Your lips open and close over his like mirror images. The feeling shoots straight down into Chan’s gut. It’s like the first time for him all over again. 

Those butterflies are going insane in his stomach. Your scent kicks up in the wind and he can’t help but take a large breath through his nose. 

God, he can’t stop himself. It feels too good. 

His hand moves from the back of your hair to cup your cheek and bring you closer. 

He immediately stops. 

Why is your face wet?

Chan pulls away from the kiss and looks down at you with concern written all over his expression. 

You’re crying. Why … why are you crying?

Your eyes open and you look at him confused. 

“Chan?” you whisper. You’re confused too. What?

“Why are you crying, Y/N?” he asks with a thick voice.

Your eyes widen and your own hand comes up to swipe at your cheeks. Sure enough, you’re met with tears. 

“I… I don’t know,” you say so quietly. “I-I’m not sure.”

Chan starts backing away, your eyes snap to focus on his. Your hand shoots up to grab at his to keep him there. You’re still so confused. 

Emotions are flying through your eyes. It almost looks like someone is clicking a light switch on and off in the back of your mind. A lightbulb is flickering in your soul like a dying neon sign in an old shop window. 

Every muscle in your face is twitching.

What’s happening?

“Channie—“ your own voice cuts off by a sob. 

Chan’s heart jumpstarts. You haven’t called him that… not in two months… that’s what you and your mother called him before the accident. 

Are you…? Are you remembering? What’s happening?

Please. 

Slowly, your hand falls from his. 

Chan stays there, unmoving like a statue. What’s happening inside your mind right now? It looks like you’re reaching and reaching for something that you can’t quite put your finger on. 

He's watching you struggle. It’s like when you can’t remember a word. It’s right there. It’s on the tip of your tongue.

You gulp, your eyes leave his and you look down at your lap. The dirt crunches under your feet as you shuffle your shoes around.

Chan swipes his thumb over your cheek, brushing away the tears. He’s biting back his own. 

“It’s okay—“ “I’m sorry—“ are both said at the exact same time. 

He knew it was coming. He knows you. But you don’t know him. Not anymore. 

But you do.

“It wasn’t the kiss. I—“ 

“It’s okay, Y/N.”

You know him. 

“Chan, I really loved the kiss.”

Chan. Not Channie. 

He brushes his thumb over your lips. “It’s okay,” he repeats gently. “You don’t have to explain.”

His other hand comes up and tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. Your eyes slide shut at the sensation. 

Your bottom lip quivers and you pull it into your mouth and bite it. With a tight swallow, your throat bobs. 

“It happens sometimes,” you whisper. “It’s from the accident I had.”

Chan continues to soothingly rub your skin with his thumb. Slowly, he kneels down to be in front of you rather than leaning over. 

The dirt is cold on his knee. It seeps through the fabric of his pants. He couldn’t care less. 

“You don’t have to talk about it,” he whispers back to you. 

You shake your head gently, your hands folding in your lap. “No, no. I… I want to tell you. I need to tell you. It’s been happening more and more whenever I’m around you. It’s like every touch, every word you say bounces around my brain and makes me feel the worst case of deja vu.

“Every time I’m with you I feel like I’m trying to recall a dream I had last night but I just can’t remember what it was.”

You’re rambling. You only ramble when you’re overwhelmed and scared. 

“Chan, every time I’m with you it feels like some part of me is screaming to be let out.”

Your eyes open and you stare right through him. Chan feels his heart squeeze and almost stop completely. Despite your best efforts, the tears keep coming. 

“I was in a car accident a few months ago. I had such a severe concussion that I lost the last five years of my memory.” 

How is your voice so even?

Chan’s jaw clenches. Fuck fuck fuck. 

He knows. Yes, Y/N. He knows. Fuck, does he know! If anyone fucking knows, it’s him. 

“I—“ he starts but you cut him off. 

“Please,” you choke out and take a deep breath. “And since then I’ve been getting bits and pieces of my memory back. Sometimes they’re in large chunks, other times they just … come back.

“When I try to think about my life before the accident. There’s this… person there. Someone important. Someone so, so important that it physically hurts me to think about how I don’t know who it is. They’re a constant. And I love that they’re a constant.”

Your hand comes up to clutch at your jacket right over your chest. 

More tears come out of your eyes. The whites get more pink the more they flow. 

“But I know them. I do! I know them like I know the back of my hand. I-I know they love music. I know they take milk and sugar in their morning coffee. I know they don’t get enough sleep at night.”

Louder and louder your voice gets as you grow sadder and sadder. The sobs between thoughts wrack your chest. 

Him. You’re talking about him. 

Chan’s hands hold your face gently. His thumbs can’t keep up with how much you’re crying. 

Nothing has ever hurt this bad. 

You know him. You just don’t know it’s him. 

Nevertheless, you continue. “I remember that they have the most obnoxious phone alarm in the morning. I remember the passcode to their phone is 032518. I know that they have this one black sweatshirt that I love to steal even though it’s their favorite.”

Chan’s own eyes begin watering, he can’t stop it. You know him. You know him. You’ve remembered him this whole time and you didn’t even know it. 

You reach up and grab one of his hands and place it on your heart. Underneath your jacket, he can feel your heartbeat thudding violently against your chest. 

That same heartbeat he’s been dying to listen to while you play with his hair and tell him about your day. The heartbeat he would give anything to hear as he falls asleep. His throat gets tighter and tighter. 

“I’ve been surrounded by bits and pieces of a ghost and no one wants to help me. No one will tell me anything, and I’m so confused, Chan. I can tell that there’s something that everyone is avoiding telling me.”

A gust of wind picks up through the playground. It nips at his cheeks. It’s now he realizes how many tears are falling. 

A sob tears from his throat. 

You grip his hand tighter. 

“Tell me It’s you, Chan.” You’re begging. You’re actually begging while keeping his hand pressed against your heartbeat. 

“Tell me that you’re the person that I see in my dreams. Tell me you’re the one that loves when I draw hearts on the bathroom mirror after I shower. Please tell me that you’re the one that loves the smell of lemon cookies but can’t stand the taste.”

Oh, god, Y/N.

“Tell me that you’re the one that wanted to pick me up from the party that night but I said no.”

He breaks. 

He breaks right down in front of you. Every single ounce of self control leaves his body and he grabs you out of the swing, yanking you towards his body and holding you against his chest. The emotions that were being kept at bay come out like a raging storm. 

He falls backwards into the dirt, you come crashing into him. Your arms wrap around him at the same time he wraps around you. 

Chan buries his face in your neck, one hand on the back of your head and the other firmly around your waist. 

Wails leave his mouth as he holds you to him. They’re deep and come from the very depths of his soul. The wound that’s been open for months is bleeding.  

Every lonely night. Every dinner where he cooked for two instead of one by accident. Every long day he came back to an empty apartment. It’s all coming out. 

You’re crying just as hard as he is, both of your hands gripping the back of his hoodie like a lifeline. 

Your body in his arms is like a piece of a puzzle. Like he’s the dusty one sitting on his dining room table and you finally came in and finished it. 

Weeks and weeks of grief come crashing down on him. He can’t lie anymore. Not to you. Never to you. 

“It is me,” he cries into your neck, his hand running over the back of your head, feeling your hair slip through his fingers. It’s just like he remembers. “It’s all me, Y/N, It’s me.”

Your cries get louder, your body starts shaking in his arms. 

“I’ve missed you, Y/N,” he cries harder. “Fuck, I’ve missed you so much. I missed my girl. Oh my god, I’ve missed you.”

Chan can’t pull you close enough, he can’t get you close enough to his body. You shift around and press yourself into him. 

“I’m so sorry, Y/N. I’m so sorry I didn’t pick you up that night. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you. I’m so sorry you got hurt.” 

Every ounce of grief is surfacing and clawing its way out of his throat. 

“I’m sorry I had to lie to you these last two weeks. I’m so sorry, Y/N. I was so broken without you. I broke the doctor’s orders. I needed to see you, Y/N.”

Despite how hard he has you gripped against him, you manage to pull away slightly. You sit up in his lap and look down at his red, tear soaked face. His eyes are puffy and his chest is sputtering with sobs. 

Both of your hands cup his cheeks and swipe away the tears the same way he did for you only a small bit ago. There’s a sad smile on your face. 

“Please don’t apologize, Channie, it’s okay. I forgive you.”

Channie. You called him Channie.

He cries harder and buries his face into your chest. Your arms immediately come around him and keep him there, fingers threading into his hair. 

You’re still crying. Both of you are. 

“I know you were just doing what you were told to,” you whisper into his hair. He can hear your voice reverberate in your chest. 

All he can do is cry. 

Months of build up led to this moment. Endless days of going through the motions just for the next to be as dull and tedious led to him falling into you in the middle of a playground at night. 

The only thing you do after that is hold him. You press kisses to the top of his head and whisper that you forgive him over and over. 

Each one adds a stitch to the wound, shutting it.

You’re finally in his arms. You’re finally back where you belong. 

“I missed you,” he says again, his cries dying down. He doesn't know what else to say. There's so much he wants to tell you, but everything dies on the tip of his tongue.

“I missed you too, Channie. My heart missed you so much.”

He sniffles and looks up at you. You pull your sweatshirt sleeve up and wipe away his stray tears gently. 

“Every day it just felt like something was missing. It was you. You were missing.”

Chan can’t find any words to say. He just stares at you. 

"I don't care how long it takes to remember, or even if I never do. I need you by my side for it, Chan."

His eyes sparkle at you for a moment but he leans up and captures your lips with his once more. It feels even better than the previous one.

The two of you relish in the contact, holding each other close and clinging to the closeness of it all.

It's taking everything within Chan not to start crying again. He's worried than any moment now, he'll wake up and this will all be some cruel dream.

But when you pull away from his lips, and he opens his eyes-- you're still there. You're still in his arms and smiling at him like you always did.

The burn is soothed.

“If you think about it,” you start with a tiny smile. “We’re lucky— in a way.”

His entire face screws up, even more confused. “Lucky?”

“How many people get to say they fell in love with the same person twice?”

Chan blinks twice before it feels like his entire body thaws. 

You and your glass half full attitude. He’ll never fucking get enough of it. 

His arms wrap around you again, bringing you down into his chest. You let out a breathy giggle 

“You’re never leaving my sight,” he breathes out. “Never again, baby, never.”

“I don’t ever want to, Channie. I never will.”

[dcxdpdabbles]

So Danny is just a bunch of good that takes a humanoid shape, and we've seen him stretch and warp himself. What is sometimes he just leaves bits of himself behind. He has restoration so he can heal himself and others so when he realizes he left a foot behind he just grows a new one.

Batman: We've found more of the meta, 3 left feet all genetically identical, either were dealing with a cloning operation or someone using a regenerative meta as an organ farm. The most recent finds washed up between Gotham and metropolis.

Meanwhile Danny: I've gotta visit Dani more Madrid was beautiful can't wait to show Jazz the photos, tried to land and eats it, Damn it I though I fixed this!

Danny loves his new power- he likes to call it "Play-Boo" as a pun on playdough because it allows him to shift and change his body as he sees fit.

It was hard to mentally change his appearance as his core was tied to his idea of himself. Still, he can make his hair longer at will, shift to a younger or older version of himself, and even slightly change his coloration, though that takes a bit more concentration.

Danny is sadly unable to shape-shift into someone else. He thinks being able to regenerate is an okay trade-off. Especially when Danny accidentally leaves bits of himself behind with his new warping technique.

It's not the kind of warping he would like- seeing as he could only go a few yards from his original spot- but he hopes with time and practice, he will be able to fling himself from one side of the country to the other, much like opening portals.

But unlike the portals, he won't have to step into the ghost zone as a layaway.

One day, he'll be able to think, "Star City!" and bam will be there without having to destabilize his whole body or lose limbs. Or some internal organs. Like his left kidney.

Which was currently somewhere in Gotham as his warping has developed to the point that he can send himself to the area within eyesight, and he had traveled to metropolis in this method instead of flying to try to perfect it.

"Shoot," He grumbles, falling into a booth across from Dani. She had asked that he visit the big city with her, do a few sights, and then the two would fly downstate to check out some national parks.

"Lost something again?" She asks, sipping the soda she had ordered while waiting for him. Dani had been in the city for about three days and had fallen in love with the diner they were eating at.

She insisted they meet up there just so Danny could try some of their roast beef sandwiches. The favorite food of the two siblings.

"My left Kidney." He sighs, patting his side. Thank goodness his Play-Boo allowed him to not feel pain. He hated to have to feel every time he lost one of his body parts. "I need to eat my troubles away until a new one grows back."

"I'm not paying for your meal."

"But Dani! I'm down a kidney!"

She snorts. "It'll grow back by the time we leave, and you know it. But fine, you big baby, I'll pay for lunch. You have to cover the diner."

Satisfied, he lets her call over a waitress who quickly takes their orders and vanishes to the back, where the cook will likely make "the best damn roast beef" for him. He leans back, asking Dani about her travels.

She eagerly starts talking about the local art she has taken pictures of. At one point, her travels had turned into photo albums, documenting everything she saw and experienced.

She made some money this way, selling some of her photos, but mostly, Dani preferred to keep them for herself or the family.

As she talked about the light reflecting on some large News building- the daily planet- and the great lengths she had to go to get close enough to capture the sunlight, the door to the dinner chimed.

Two men in suits ushered in, one wearing a dark blue that seemed far cheaper than the deep black of his companion. Danny instinctively turned towards the sound, but he quickly looked away as the two men found a seat in a booth furthest away from him.

"I met this guy, Jimmy, who promised to have my photos submitted for a junior photographer contest. It's to help promote tourism, so it's based on the "Metropolis' beauty," but first place is five hundred!" Dani eagerly tells him, her eyes sparkling.

"I know you'll win. You'll make a name for yourself in no time as the best photographer of our era." Danny smiles at his little sister. He lowers his voice "Maybe with that money you win we won't have to sell my organs for a while."

She laughs, adding to the joke like it's second nature, "But you're so fun to harvest! Side's it's not like Vlad will allow you to walk away from the operation. He already has two more kidney orders from Gotham waiting for you."

Danny grimces. "I just lost one this morning. Why does he overbook me so much."

"I can do it if you-"

"Not on your life. I can regerate. You can only cry."

Dani kicks him hard in the shin. She waves her coffee spoon at him like a wizard banishing a wand. "Are you calling me a crybaby?"

"Well, I'm not calling you a cry-lady." He laughs as she scoffs. She opens her mouth to say something when her eyes lock with something over his shoulder. Her face closes down at once, hardening into someone who has traveled through the roughest parts of cities and towns.

Danny used to be worried that her instance of traveling alone at such a young age would ruin her childlike wonder and innocence, but he knew it would be worse to keep her at home.

Even with Vlad finally getting the much-needed help, the fact that Dani has existed for two years now didn't mean she was comfortable with being tied down.

Twisting around, he doesn't see anything out of the ordinary. The two men are casually eating their meals by the far window- too far for them to hear, the waitress is sitting behind the counter flipping through a magazine, and the chef can be seen through a little window making something at his gril.

What had alarmed Dani so much?

"We have to go," She hisses in ghost speech, eyes never leaving the man in the blue suit. Was it him? He seems to unthreatening with his big bulky glasses and easy smile. "I don't know why, but I don't like that guy's vibe."

Well, he won't argue with her about her gut feelings. Those were never important to ignore. "Let's take the rest of this to go."

She raises her hand, calling over the waitress, flipping open her wallet to leave enough to cover their bill and leave a generous tip. Danny quickly gathers their food in take-home boxes, keeping his body in front of Dani to block the men's view of her.

He's grateful that he had pulled on his hood, as his ears had gotten cold from the warping. With the fact he never turned around once since they walked in and his trusty hood, his face has been kept hidden from the men.

A small victory.

Hopefully, he won't see them again after this.

"Come on." He tells Dani, as she quickly gathers her stuff. "Vlad is going to have my arms and legs if we late meet him. I don't want to be just a torso again."

"I mean, it's your fault for trying to run away." She sighs. "You know how he gets. At least you didn't have to entertain his guests."

"Yeah laying in a dark room hoping to regrow my limbs is much better than letting those freaks touch me." Danny agrees thinking back to the big gala Vlad had invited them to.

To show goodwill and try to move past their hostility, the Fentons' children- Jazz, Dan, Danny, and Dani- had all agreed to go with him, under the condition that they be on their best behavior.

Danny had been running late due to a ghost attack and had chosen to use his wrapping far past the agreed limitation his parents, and Vlad had set for him.

He got to Vlad's castle but none of his limbs had followed him. Mom had been so outraged by his reckless behavior he's been grounded staying in one of the guest rooms without tv to "think about what could have happened!"

Dad and Vlad had merely nodded to their wife's punishment for their child. (And he was still getting used to the idea of Vlad being married to his parents.)

Jazz, Dan, and Dani were left to the gala, where Jazz had intellectual conversations with college professors Vlad was funding or where Dan was talking up some pretty men and women with a drink in hand, Dani as the youngest was left to affluent old ladies pinching her cheeks and giving her backhand compliments on being a "lady."

The Dannies hated being touched by strangers, and those higher-class old ladies had no concept of personal space.

"Don't worry, I'm almost too old soon." Dani chirps, holding the door open for him. "Soon Vlad will have to find other kids to flaunt in front of rich people."

"That would be the day." The two exit the dinner, switching the conversation to the idea of dessert- deciding to search on their phones a local frozen yogurt place.

Neither notice the two men- one whose fork has crumbled in his grip and another who is clicking away on his phone with a look of outer disgust on his face

"Bruce?"

"I'm already messaging Babs. She's following them with the city cameras as we speak. Don't worry, Clark, this "Vlad" isn't going to get away with it."

[lundenloves]

BABY’S FIRST WORDS

〔 a fluff piece brought to you by yours truly. domesticity at its finest, featuring the rarity of simon joking and we even observe a rare laugh from him. not without his usual cluelessness and blunt nature though. king! 〕

˗ˏˋ i honestly love him just existing as a dad. learn as you go type stuff, his daughter latching onto him when he wanted it least must’ve done him good. our emotionally stunted husband — someone give this man a hug and tell him he’s alr.

⇀ 1k | no warnings

dad!simon masterlist | masterlist | request info | taglist

Of course. Of course it had happened the only ten minutes of the day you had left her — barely managing one foot in the shower before Simon had opened the door with your daughter in his hands. Not arms, but hands. “She spoke.” He provided lamely, holding her out to you as if she contained a transferable illness. 

You grabbed a towel, wrapping it around your dry body before taking her from him, the smile she made was adoring. “She what.” Brows pung upward, your brief frown at his interruption loosening into a warmth while peppering kisses all across her cheeks. “She—“ 

“She said my name.” 

“She said Simon?” You retorted and he scoffed, taking a step backward to the door, forearm leant on the threshold. “Dad?” She reached for your hair, small fingers pulling on it with a smile when you had begun bouncing her from side to side. 

Simon shifted. “Bit like,” His words were lost for a baby laugh, one that echoed against the bathroom walls. Your hand was against your mouth in milliseconds, finding obvious tears welling in your eyes. 

“What the fuck.” You mouthed, smoothing the hair on her head and Simon raised his brows in acknowledgment of your reaction, the faintest of smiles tugging at the side of his lip. “Sorry, what did she say?” You let a breathy laugh go, one that emphasised your emotionality. 

His eyes switched between you and his daughter, leaning his full weight against the door now. “Da.”

You tilted your head at him. “Doesn’t that make you feel whole?” The baby in your arms began flailing her arms in your hold, reaching for her father as if on cue. 

Simon shrugged, pushing off from the door to close the distance between you and allowing her to poke at his tattoo. “Didn’t think much of it.” He admitted, his eyes landing on yours that had narrowed ever so slightly with an understanding nod. 

“Nothing?”

“Nothing.” He bit at the skin on his top lip, acutely aware of the flaring of your nostrils. A list of potential worries flurrying your mind, ones you would all deem as irrational though Simon probably wouldn’t. It was valid to worry about his reactions. 

His immediate reaction to your daughters first laugh was, “Oh, shit.” The noise being between a baby coo and giggle combined into something that would’ve burst your chest yet only poked at his. He held her outward, stretched forearms while her small feet kicked in the air. 

Then came her first word, one of demand, a strong “Da!” One Simon had told himself meant dad, though it was more likely a protesting noise to be put down. Whatever the noise meant, he granted her outstretched hands, placing her back down onto his knee and bouncing it up and down gently. 

By no means did Simon Riley know what to do with a baby, he was still learning, very slowly — but surely. “What was that?” He mumbled at her, his eyes boring into hers as if she were an adult who could understand his demanding stare. “Tell dad, eh? Say it again.”

To clarify the noise wasn’t made in anger. 

Instead, she grabbed at his shoulder, bunching up the material of his shirt loosely. “Or that.” He muttered, diverting his attention along with her own to Blue Planet that had been on pause for ten minutes since you had left. 

He tapped his fingers in quick succession of the one before, the sofa armrest now becoming a point of interest for the baby who had watched his hand move. Though, right before she could hike off his thigh, he had then decided to take her through to you. You know, just to let you know your daughter had just spoken her first word (noise) alongside a laugh. 

“Did she say anything else?” You asked, pushing a stray strand of hair that had fallen to his forehead only for it to drop back down. 

“Yeah.” He said bluntly, taking her from your hold and looking down to her. “Quantum physics,” 

A pause for your sigh. “Explained it all.” 

You nudged his shoulder, turning to check the shower temperature. “Go put her down. She’s due a sleep.” Your back was to the man, though his expression was easily imagined. “No, I can’t do it.”

Oftentimes, Simon zoned out when doing anything with the baby. It was something he took through future years too, future kids and all ages, arguments at breakfast? Zoned out. Walking with him? Not there. Even talking to him? Meh. 

He put the baby down in a trance, standing over the cot silently praying to gods he didn’t believe in that she would continue her peace. That no cries would break and his headache would remain in its rest, taking slow steps backward when she had shut her eyes. 

“Can't believe she spoke to you.” You had said later that night, leant against a barstool watching Simon cut up an onion in that one way you just couldn’t master. “And not me, that is.” 

“I have a charm.” He pointed the knife on its end, spinning it on the cutting board before eyeing you. “Obviously.”

“A silent-threatening-mediocre type of charm.”

He shrugged, sliding the annoyingly perfect dicing into a pan. “First laugh too.” It was a mumble designed to entice a reaction, and that it did, your arm barging against his after hearing your baby cry on cue. 

“I’ll get something from her yet.” You picked up washing from the bottom stair, beginning up the stairs to go and pacify. 

“Only got the rest of your life!” He shouted for you to hear, gaining an earnest roll of your eyes. 

“I prefer you when you’re quiet.” You spoke aloud, just enough to gain a laugh from him, one you imagined he had let go without permission while aggressively preparing another onion. 

simon ‘ghost’ riley taglist: @vamppxncess @crowbird @tallrock35 @fluffmonster @islanderr @blueoorchid @lea3773 @coldflapjack @rayhawk05 @han11dh @liishook @melovetitties @fallonx @rvjaa @fuckmelifesucks @bhayatsara @takeomisbitch @local-spidey @konigsblog @penutjuice @babychoi03 @sheluvzeren @sparklingtragedy @maviee @wiserebelpartypie @daddylorianisastateofmind @bhayatsara @mistydeyes @writingmysanity @johfaam0 @idkbbyx3 @gressseyy @fwibblefwobble @shibble @maladaptivedaydreamingbum @airghostlyfox @hotgirlsshareaccounts @simpxinnie @dilfdotgov @cliosunshine @bloobewy @lazybutsmexy @maki-z @yyiikes @tieflingteatime @cosmoscoffeee @lilvampirina @cinnabeanz @bubbyblob @spencerreidisbae123

unedited as usual. gonna go over my dad!simon masterlist this week. reblogs and comments are hugely appreciated!

[ageofevermore]

TASTE THAT YOUR LIPS ALLOW

SUMMARY — after a morning of insatiable teasing, wanda and natasha take turns completely undoing you

WARNINGS — smut minors dni, soft dom natasha, soft dom wanda, teasing, lingerie, hickies, fingering, nipple play, choking, edging, oral (r and wanda receiving), begging, thigh grinding, face riding, nipple sucking, orgasms

Wanda has a knack for messing with the thermostat when you and Natasha leave, even if it’s just for a few hours. Your comfortable apartment might as well be decorated in icicles if she had her way, the wooden floorboards so chilly that your entire body tenses when the first bare foot is laid upon them after returning home from the shops. You groan Wanda’s name into the otherwise quiet space (save for the buzz of the air conditioner that’s working overtime to accommodate her request), pulling your arms tightly to your middle, practically drowning in her oversized hoodie that engulfs a third of your body. You shimmy out of your denim shorts, letting them pool around your ankles before taking a step forward, attempting, and failing, at adapting to the frigid shock that’s traveling up your body at lightning speed with every step toward the door.

Wanda snickers, knowing exactly what she’s being scolded for without any additional context. Natasha grumbles beneath her breath, coming out of the closet with a new set of comfy clothes on her body. Your girlfriend looks entirely domestic in her pajama bottoms and t-shirt, but the sharpness of her jaw and darkness of her eye reminds you of who she really is, and what she’s capable of. It’s not often that Natasha carries this energy home with her, but she’s been set in a mood for the last few days that has your muscles aching and thighs squeezing together, though she’s yet to relieve that second issue. She’s been teasing you for hours today, your outting to the shops no exception, seeing as she dragged you to each and every lingerie boutique with a sinister smirk on her lips and gave you a healthy description of the ways she’d fuck you into hell in every single skimpy set she suggested.

The thermostat is across the apartment in Natasha’s office, and you’d think that would mean the temperature of your space would remain consistent, considering Natasha craves consistency, but whenever she has the chance, Wanda’s grimey fingers sneak around the dial and twist it down to the low sixties. You have a suspicion she does it so that you and Natasha cuddle into her warm energy, the scarlet vibrations beneath her skin an incentive to cuddle close, but you can’t be entirely sure. Mostly because every time you’ve suggested that reason to her she denies it with a vicious scowl.

Where Wanda is in the apartment, you’re not entirely sure. She wasn’t in the kitchen when you came back from the shops and shouted your greetings with arms full of bags, and she’s not in your bedroom or Natasha’s office, but she’s close enough that her muffled laughter was audible from the bedroom, meaning she’s most likely waiting to catch you in the act of tampering with her air conditioning. On high alert, you hurriedly shuffle into Natasha’s office, letting the cream walls surround you and all of her possessions dance in your viewpoint as you make a b-line for the thermostat. Your fingers barely brush against the ridges of the knob before you feel hands snake around your waist and pull you backward. Your back rests against her chest, the material of her t-shirt rubbing against the material of her hoodie that you’ve stolen without permission. A shiver runs up your spine, and whether it's from the cold or sheer anticipation, you’re not entirely sure.

Her hot breath tickles the back of your neck, furthering the sensation of too hot and too cold that's quickly spreading across your body and down the very center of your bones. If bone marrow could evaporate from internal heat, you’re entirely sure that inside of your body would be dryer than a dessert right now. You lean back into her, finally becoming lax in her grip rather than tense from shock and adrenaline. One hand stays around your middle, while the other runs down your body until it reaches the bare skin of your thigh. Her fingers are warm, and the faint pulse of electricity beneath her skin is noticeable as she drags her fingers upward, now snaking beneath the fabric of her hoodie and scoping out your pantie situation without shame. Wanda is always warm, no thanks to the magic that she harbors in her soul, but it's become a comfort even on hot summer days when she can’t get her hands off of you for longer than a few minutes.

Your breath hitches when she meets the lace of your panties that are already sodden from arousal no thanks to Natasha’s morning of teasing. For a moment, your girlfriend loses her composure and the fingers around your middle squeeze into your skin in shock for how moist the center between your legs already is, but that weakness quickly disintegrates into a dominating stance that weakens your knees.

“I see Nat’s had some fun with you already.” She mouths the words dramatically against the side of your neck, teeth catching against your skin every few syllables. Hot saliva dampens your skin, and the stroke of her tongue against the shell of your ear has your joints quivering for something more. You whimper a response that’s hardly audible, torn between grabbing onto her or leaning forward to hold the wall. Your body feels like jelly, no longer frigid from the low temperature of the apartment.

You’ve almost forgotten about the fingers between your legs in favor of focusing entirely on the hot tongue on your neck, but you’re quickly reminded of their presence when she resumes her adventure of breaking you down. Her fingers explore the lace with careful thought, her mouth sucking a deep purple bruise into your sensitive skin simultaneously. The stimulation you're receiving has your brain absolutely malfunctioning, and you almost don’t recognize her fingers pulling your panties to the side until it’s too late, and a finger is prodding your entrance and pushing deep into your velvety walls. The squelch of your juices is an embarrassing sound that echoes around the office, one that makes your eyes pinch shut in dread, but has Wanda entirely intoxicated. Her eyes are a deep shade of green, pupils blown out so wide her entire eye is almost black with lust. Her own thighs shake with need, but she’s so absorbed with you and your body and your reactions that it doesn’t register in her mind that she’s dripping down her legs.

The hand around your midsection wanders beneath the hoodie, pulling it up and exposing the skin of your torso as it makes its way higher. The lace covering your chest matches the lace of your panties in feel, and it's a softness and intricacy that Wanda hasn’t felt before. Her fingers are still hammering into you, but an added sensation of fingers pulling at your nipples sends your nerves into a state of pure white hot sensitivity that all you can hear is a high pitched ringing.

“Liking that new set I bought her?” Natasha leans against the doorframe, arms crossed over her chest as she watches Wanda unravel you with ease, no thanks to her hours of relentless teasing. You’re like putty in the older woman's hands, melting into her chest with breathless whimpers and whines every time she strokes just right or not enough. Natasha’s resting easily, amused and turned on by the show she’s walked into, although she’d been counting down how long it would take Wanda to devour you whole once she realized you’d gone out in her hoodie. She always was the possessive one out of you three.

“Liking the show?” Wanda rebuttals, moving the lace away from your chest in favor of plucking purposefully at your nipples. The hand between your legs quickens its pace, though even with the brutal speed she’s jackhammering you with, there's a gentleness to her touch that amplifies the feelings she’s provoking. Natasha snorts, though there is little amusement in the sound, pushing off the wall and stepping closer to the pair of you. She wraps a hand around Wanda’s throat, squeezing in just the right way with just the right amount of pressure that has your girlfriend struggling to keep her eyes open, entirely dismantling the dominating stance she previously held.

Natasha smirks, leaning in close to Wanda’s face, reminding the redhead who’s really in charge. “Hands off. I’m gonna be the one to finish her off, and it’s definitely not going to be in my office.” Wanda huffs, retracting her fingers from your center, eyes pinched shut at the desperate whine you pitch at the loss of sensation.

“No! No please.” You’re desperate, arching your hips into the gentle hand that’s fixing the lace over your puffy lips, strings of arousal connecting your skin to the soft white lace that’s entirely ruined by now. Your gaze is hazy and unfocused, entirely lost in the trenches of pleasure that have abruptly stopped before you were ready.

Natasha shushes you, cupping your face in her freezing hands and lowering her lips to yours. Her kiss is sweet and slow, but your tongue is filled with urgency as it battles her for dominance, even though you’re aware that you’re not going to win. Natasha bites down on your bottom lip before she pulls away from the kiss, dropping her hands from your cheeks and giving you an even glance.

“Both of you in the bedroom. Now.” She demands, waiting for you to scramble out of the office and into the bedroom before she reaches toward the thermostat, and turns the dial back toward the low seventies, completely intent on buying a lock that keeps Wanda’s troublesome fingers away.

When she returns to your shared bedroom, she notices that the little clothes you had on have been scattered across the floor in messy piles, and that despite her warning, Wanda is between your legs, devouring your pussy with a feverish desire that almost distracts her from the plan she had. The redheads tongue laps at your sensitive folds, and the sound of suction being broken as Wanda pulls away from your clit in favor of lapping at your gushing entrance provokes goosebumps to rise on Natasha’s spine. The older redhead clears her throat, unhappy with the predicament she’s found the both of you in, although she has a feeling you’re not the one who initiated this encounter. The sound of suction being broken for the second time seems to remind Wanda of the orders she’s been given, and when she pulls away from your dripping center sheepishly to smile at Natasha with slick coated lips, a blush rises on her cheeks.

“I’ll get to you later.” Natasha rolls her eyes at Wanda, though there is a fondness in the way her lips quiver into a grin that she tries to hide for the sake of keeping up appearances. Not bothering to undress herself, Natasha kneels on the edge of the bed, bearing her weight on the mattress that sinks in tune with her. She hovers above your trembling body, drinking in the sight of you so pathetically desperate and aching for relief, knowing that she’s partially to blame without even touching you. “What about you, hm?” One evil finger snakes between your legs, ghosting over your swollen clit with a gentle pass before it disappears entirely. “Have you had enough teasing today, malysh?”

“Nat.” You whine in response, knowing that she knows the answer, and reaching for her t-shirt to pull her flush against your chest, desperate to close the gap between you. You whine when the fabric brushes against your sensitive nipples, no thanks to Wanda’s pinching and twisting earlier. “Please. Natty, please!”

Wanda’s a panting mess behind you, and with the jerky motions of the mattress, you have an inkling her hand in down her pants and she’s relieving the ache between her legs without interruption, unlike you. Your hips scramble to find a rhythm in grinding against Natasha’s leg, desperate whines falling around your lips as you get into a good pace that knocks your clit just right with every other pass. Cold hands settle on your hips after a few seconds, pinning you in place with gentle urgency.

“Stay with me.” Natasha whispers endearingly, mouth hovering just above yours now, her breath hot against your skin. She wasn’t so attentive all those hours ago at the shops, but you’re grateful for her change in heart that will hopefully lead to you getting that orgasm you’ve been chasing for days. “Mouth or fingers, which do you want?”

“M-Mouth. Your mouth, please. Please.” You beg, dropping your hands into her hair when she moves down toward your hot center, picking up where Wanda left off. The first pass of her tongue through your sticky folds is gentle, testing the waters, before she dives in completely, vulgar sounds escaping your lips as she goes to work in cleaning you out, pushing her tongue into your entrance as far as it’ll reach before extracting it and making a pass over your sensitive clit. Her fingers tug at your nipples, flicking over the sensitive nubs that have handled so much abuse already.

“M-More. Please.” Your broken request is met with efficiency, Natasha shuffling farther down your body and abandoning your nipples so that one hand can hold your hips in place, while the other plunges two fingers into your dripping entrance that was previously stretched out by Wanda. Your nipples aren’t left to recover for long however, as Wanda crawls overtop of you, sopping pussy in eyeshot as her hot mouth engulfs your over sensitive nubs with an urgency you’ve only met a few other times.

Natasha’s fingers are curling into your velvety walls, hitting that perfect spot inside of you that makes your nerves feel like there are a few thousand fireworks exploding inside of them. Straining your neck, you attach your mouth to Wanda’s cunt, moaning at the slight tang of her arousal on your tongue. Her hips twitch at the sudden sensation, entirely sensitive from her own stimulation just seconds ago, but within seconds she’s searching for more from you, beginning to grind into your mouth with a passion, chasing her own high as Natasha brings you closer to your own.

Natasha can feel you getting close around her fingers, so she doubles down on her pace, and blows a cold stream directly onto your clit, giving you permission to finally fall over the edge. As she coaxes you through your orgasm, Wanda falls apart as well, hips spluttering to find friction as she rides your tongue until she's satisfied, the both of you collapsing into a pile of weak limbs that provokes an infectious giggle from Natasha’s chest.

Crawling up into the center of the bed and settling into your typical cuddling position where you’re in the middle and Natasha’s are around both of you, she makes sure to drum her fingers against Wanda’s belly before speaking, “Wands, the next time you touch that thermostat, it won't end as nicely for you.”

[lemonlover1110]

𝐌𝐲 𝐁𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐝

Toji Fushiguro

[Chapter 14] Feelings of Betrayal

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Pairing: Toji Fushiguro x f!Reader

*It's a shorter chapter but for a reason🥹❤️ Baby is coming up so i made a little form for baby names since I don't have one picked out. If y'all want to submit any names that you really like

*also please send any asks to @tojilover1110 <3

Discord +18 - Twitter - Ko-Fi

Toji’s tapping his foot, growing impatient as he waits for Shiu to show up. He called Shiu, and the man agreed to meet up to talk about everything that’s going on. Toji is convinced that you’re lying to him, not because he thinks Shiu is above that but because you’d say anything to get back at him. 

When Toji first confronted Shiu about the issue, Shiu sounded completely lost. He doesn’t know why he didn’t think of it immediately, you were clearly lying. But he doesn’t want to outright accuse you of lying without getting confirmation from Shiu first. 

There’s a knock on the front door, and Toji nearly runs to get it. He hasn’t been waiting for too long, but for him it feels like an eternity. His thoughts have just been consuming him… The thought of you and Shiu being together fills him with an unprecedented rage. 

“Hey…” Shiu awkwardly greets Toji the moment the door opens, and it answers all of Toji’s questions. Shiu did something with you. He sounds as guilty as charged. It’s not something that Toji usually picks up on, but there’s just something off that gives everything away. Toji stands in the middle of the doorway, making it impossible for Shiu to get through. “So… Are you going to let me in?”

“Did you sleep with her?” Toji won’t let Shiu inside so easily. He fears he’ll have a reaction that will lead to severe consequences, so he’d rather have Shiu outside, somewhere where he can easily slam the door shut.

“What are you talking about?” Shiu’s clearly guilty, even though he tries to play it off. It makes Toji want to strangle the man right there and then, but he has questions that only Shiu can answer.

“You know what I’m talking about.” Toji tries to keep himself calm because he knows he won’t solve anything if he just starts beating the shit out of Shiu. Shiu stays silent, biting his tongue. He came with the idea that he’d be honest with Toji, but he feels different standing right in front of him. 

“We didn’t– But we…” Shiu takes a deep breath, taking a step back to put more distance between him and Toji. “She gave me a handjob but that’s as far as we got.”

Toji’s vision slowly turns red, and he takes deep breaths to calm himself down. His hands go to his pockets as a precaution. Maybe a few months back he would’ve had Shiu pinned down and beaten some sense into him, but Toji remembers one thing over and over again: He’s going to be a father again soon. He’s not going to get into any trouble, even when the matter comes to you.

“Of course.” Toji scoffs. Toji has to look at the ground because the mere sight of Shiu is enough to get him to lose control. “You just couldn’t wait, you had to dig your claws in. Is waiting a year too hard? Or at the very least until my daughter is born.”

“The daughter you don’t want.” Shiu can’t help but point out, because he doubts that he really cares about that detail– Toji is just hurt and willing to use anything to paint Shiu as a bad guy.

“I want my daughter, don’t you fucking dare.” Toji is shaking from the anger that consumes him. He tries to take another deep breath to calm himself down. “Don’t you fucking dare going anywhere near her again, I’ll fucking kill you.”

“She’s allowed to do whatever she wants. You two aren’t together because you were a bad husband to her. You always were.” Shiu says, and Toji’s teeth dig into his bottom lip so harshly he could bleed. “She’s allowed to move on with whoever she wants.”

“Not you, dammit! You’re supposed to be my best friend!” Toji yells, slapping his hand on the door, which makes Shiu take a step back. Shiu puffs out a breath, thinking of what to say next. 

Shiu is one of Toji’s closest friends. He does owe Toji loyalty– But really, who else is there to blame other than Toji? Shiu won’t allow himself to suffer simply because Toji got to you first. Maybe if you had done something to Toji, he wouldn’t allow himself to get close but you didn’t.

“I’m sorry, Toji.” Shiu sighs. “I’m not going to pass up on the opportunity of a great woman just for you. Just because you couldn’t appreciate her doesn’t mean I shouldn’t get a chance.”

“Curse you, Kong. I’ll kill you.” It could be an empty threat, but Shiu will not take his chances with Toji. Not when Toji goes back into his apartment, leaving the door wide open. Shiu isn’t a coward, but he values his life enough to know when to walk away.

When Toji walks back, Shiu is gone, which ends up being the best decision for the both of them.

Toji tosses and turns in his bed at night, too much on his mind which makes it impossible to sleep. This doesn’t happen to Toji, he barely looks at his pillow and he’s asleep. But not tonight. Tonight he keeps thinking about you and Shiu, wondering how this is possible.

You’re allowed to move on (even though he doesn’t want you to) but not with Shiu. And Shiu shouldn’t be doing this in the first place. He doesn’t know what hurts worse, the betrayal from Shiu or the fact that you chose his best friend of all people. He guesses Shiu’s betrayal stings the most since he did nothing to the man to make this happen. 

This is what Toji practically asked for, so he can’t complain. Maybe he should’ve been better, and wiser after everything; perhaps he would’ve had a better fate. 

Toji can’t do much. You’ve made your decision and he can’t force you to change your mind, as much as he wants you to. It fucking hurts that it’s Shiu, but at least Shiu will make a great step-dad. 

Yeah… His priorities have changed. He still longs for you to be by his side on the cold bed, but it isn’t his main focus. The daughter he didn’t want is what he cares about the most now.

Maybe a low blow is all he needed for him to reconsider what he should prioritize. 

Toji sighs, sitting up in bed before turning on his lamp. He won’t be able to sleep no matter how much he tries, he might as well continue working on the baby blanket. Her arrival is just in a few months. 

But he’s gone through this before, she’ll be here in no time.

[igotanidea]

One step closer: Jason Todd x reader

Summary: Jason being terrified of the storm and reader helping him.

***

At first the sky was crystal clear blue and without a single cloud.

The weather, however has a unique ability to change in a blink of an eye – maybe that’s why people believe nature is a woman, with its specific humors and whims.

The droplets of rain started hitting the pavement when Y/N was walking home from work. Deprived of the umbrella, as usual. And even thought she liked a little bit of precipitation it was one thing to enjoy the musky scent of ozone and ground, and the other to be drenched. Therefore, taking cue of the other people, rushing to find even a makeshift shelter, upon realizing that the rest of the evening was going to be filled with October like weather, she took off running. In her best hope to get home before all hell break loose.

As the raindrops started to intensify, she swiftly swiveled on the puddles, miraculously avoiding slipping and stepping into the treacherously shallow waters, only to discover it was ankle depth.

Getting home in time to save her porous hair from frizzling into a mess on her hair, but not soon enough to miss the lighting and thunder echoing through the space.

“Oh no…” she muttered to herself, opening the door to the tenement, where she was sharing a an apartment with Jason.

Jason. Precisely.

She climbed the stair jumping two steps at a time, all to reach their place faster, knowing well enough what she was going to find there.

“Jace?” she called his name, kicking off her shoes and hanging the wetted coat on the hanger. “Jace, are you here?”

“In here…” weak, shaky voice came from the living room.

“Oh, baby…”

Jason was crouched on the couch, away from the window, almost paralyzed by the flashes of light and sounds outside. It was nothing new to her. After all, her poor boy was scared of the storm, not that she could blame him.

When they started dating, hanging around in the city and having fun, the first time the storm came in during their time out, he just stopped in the middle of the street with wide eyes, unable to move a single muscle. Scaring the shit out of her making the girl believe he was going through a stroke or something. Using whatever strength she could gather, Y/N grabbed the arm of the mountain of stiffened muscles Jason turned into and dragged him into the nearest roofed place.

In between ragged breaths and trembles, Jason tried to explain himself and prevent the damage of her thinking he was crazy or something. And even though all she was doing was holding his hand, soothing him with her voice, trying to ground him and not demand any words, he managed to stutter that the storm was reminding him of the time Joker was hitting him with a crowbar.

Lighting was like a flashes in his eyes, recollection of blood and pain.

Thunder was like a sound of a vicious laugh, echoing in his ears, a remnant of incoming ending.

And that broke her heart.

Since then, there was not a time she allowed Jason to be alone during the storm. Reaching him in any way possible. When at work – text or call. When at home – cuddles and kisses. When out – immediate retreat and doing anything possible to help him focus on her rather than surrounding.

So now, her course of action was almost innate.

Closing the windows, which he was unable of, due to immediate panic attack. Drawing the curtains. Sitting on the couch next to him. Opening her welcoming arms and surrounding him with her warmth.

“It’s okay Jason…” she whispered pulling his head to her chest. “It’s okay. Just listen to my heartbeat, baby.”

“I’m so scared, Y/N.” he almost sobbed, like a 15 year old he was when Joker was mutilating him. “I don’t want to –“

“Shhh. Shhh, my love.” Her fingers danced in his hair, touch as soft as possible to not startle, but help him. A single wrong move, too intense or in the wrong place could be catastrophic, considering he was one foot in the past “I’m not letting anything happen to you.” A gentle soft kiss placed on his forehead was supposed to serve as an assurance of her love, presence and protective shield “I got you, Jason. I got you…”

“He’s coming after me!” as another thunder tore the sound of humming rain he snuggled closer to her chest “He’s coming!”

This was worse than anything she has experienced before and she was forced to think and act quickly and with new methods, to avoid him spiraling out of control and rooting in the tragic memories.

Pulling him closer, Y/N started to hum some melody. Quietly as first, but then letting it grow a little louder and more intense, leaning towards him to make sure it was the only sound reaching his ears.

“I have died every day waiting for you, darling, don't be afraid, I have loved you for a thousand years, I'll love you for a thousand more…..”

His hands tightened on her waist, almost bruising but she didn’t care.

“One step closer, one step closer….”

Slowly, her voice started to replace the bad memories.

One step closer – to her.

One step closer – to the present and not the past.

One step closer – to breaking from the nightmare.

“Y/N….” he whispered, allowing himself to relax under her caresses.

“Yeah, I’m here.”

“Thank you.” He nuzzled into her chest, loosing the grip but not letting go. Never letting go.

“I’m here…” she only responded, with a tiny smile, as if that was the entire explanation needed. And it was.

“Stay.” He whispered, not opening his eyes, not changing the position, not moving even in the slightest to avoid breaking the fragile peace.

“I’m here.” She said for the third time.

She was there. And the weight of her dedication, devotion and touch the made the door to the past close. Like a book that still describe your life, but stays on the shelf, being nothing but a memory. Painful, gory and traumatizing, but still – just a memory, making place for the new story.

And maybe it was time to commence it.

She was there.

[boxofbonesfic]

Title: Tonality [2]

Pairing: Prince!Geralt x Princess!Reader

previous chapter

Summary: “The white wolf wants you. He’ll have no other.” As you grieve the loss of your father, your mother marries the king. Whilst you struggle to acclimate to your new life, you begin to suspect the interest your new brother has in you is less than familial.

Warnings: 18+ Only, Dark Fantasy, Darkfic, Step-cest, Medieval/GoT inspired AU, (Future)Smut, Dubcon/Noncon, Manipulation, Gaslighting, Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Behavior, MINORS DNI!!

A/N: oop, another addition to the story. i hope it both answers some questions and then raises more, lol. as always, mind the warnings, and please enjoy! 😊🥰

By the time someone comes to fetch you to break fast, you are already awake. Helped into your cumbersome new gown by your lady’s maids, you pace in front of the cold fireplace. You pray the prince avoids the meal entirely, you’ve no wish to face him after—

 Your face heats, and you press your hands to your warm cheeks. You don’t want to think of it, but you can’t help it, your mind conjuring images of the prince staring at you with flushed cheeks and dark eyes, his lips curved in that  cruel smile—

 Better to avoid him altogether. 

 A soft, almost nervous knock comes upon the door of your chambers, and upon opening it, you discover Kassandra on the other side. She sinks into a deep curtsy, bowing her head. 

 “Good morning, Your Grace.” Awkwardly, you incline your head in return. “Her Majesty requested I fetch you to break the fast.” She chips happily at you, and you wonder if her good mood is true, or if she has created it for your benefit. 

 “Lady Kassandra,” you say, edging out of your room and closing the door behind you. “I trust you are well this morning.” 

 “Oh yes, Your Grace.” She threads her fingers together as a blush reddens her pale cheeks. “I did dance quite late into the evening.” 

 “I’ve no doubt you must have secured many a betrothal,” you say, and she giggles, covering her smile with the palm of her hand. “You did look quite lovely.” For a moment, you are not princess and lady in waiting—it is almost as though you are friends. Friends. Here in Rivia, you are surrounded by more people than ever before, and yet you find yourself lonelier than ever.

 “You are too kind, my lady.” Kassandra seems to find her way easily through the castle’s labyrinthine halls, and it makes you wonder how long she has been here. “Twas you that bewitched the court—if you don’t mind my saying so, Highness.” Her words almost make you stumble, your foot catching against stone.

 Your cheeks smart with heat, and your brows knit together in disbelief. “I—It was my mother who married the king.” You do not take yourself for a great beauty, not like your mother, but frustratingly, Kassandra shakes her head. 

 “Her Majesty was a sight to behold,” she agrees. “But I expect, had you not retired early, Your Grace might have received another offer of betrothal.” Kassandra casts a sly look in your direction. “Or two.”  You look away, embarrassedly recalling Lord Olthar’s proposal, his skinny, red-faced son peeking out at you from behind his fathers robes. The thought of allowing him any closer than that turns your stomach, and you shake your head. 

 “One was quite enough.” You’ve no wish to be married, especially not to Lord Olthar’s spawn. “I should hope to remain in Rivia longer than a week before a match is written in stone,” you say dryly. You’re due a betrothal, that much you know—your eighteenth summer had come and gone without one, and just when your mother’s nattering had reached its peak, the fevers had come for your father. And then, a betrothal was the last thing on anyone’s minds. 

 ”I am glad the king did not accept Lord Olthar’s proposal,” Kassandra admits with a small, secretive laugh. She leans in conspiratorially. “They say his son is rather… over fond of horses.” Her words illicit a gasp from you, your hand flying up to cover your mouth.

 You laugh too. “I dare not imagine the wedding.”

 “Fit for a queen.” 

 “The Queen of Horses, perhaps,” you retort, and the two of you dissolve into a fit of quiet giggles.

 “I imagine His Majesty will have much higher standers for your betrothal, princess.” She smiles at you reassuringly. “I do not think Lord Olthar will try again.” You nod in return, grateful for her good humor.

 “Hopefully I shall not have to think on mine own for quite some time.” Your thoughts are preoccupied enough these days without adding ones of a husband to the array. 

 “Not inspired by the ceremony?” The low, dark voice makes you turn. Lead forms hot and fast in your stomach at the sight of Prince Geralt. Even during the day, the prince strikes an intimidating figure, wide shoulders and barely tamed silver-white hair. Today, it is partially pulled back behind his ears, loose strands framing his chiseled jaw. Kassandra goes red as she curtsies, blushing deep crimson from the roots of her pale hair to the collar of her dress. 

 More out of habit than respect, you bend your knees as well, inclining your head. His appearance is sobering, the jovial mood instantly darkening. 

 “Good morning, Your Majesty.” It is all the politeness you can manage. His face looms still in your mind’s eye, his hair falling across his dark eyes as he drove into her, his hand curled in the hair at the nape of her neck—

 You suppress a shiver. 

 “Apologies, Your Grace!” Kassandra rushes to appease him, striking a chord of frustrated irritation within you. “We simply—”

 The prince waves a dismissive hand. “It is only be expected, I suppose.” He says silkily. “I know few women who do not await their wedding day with thoughts of bliss.” When his molten amber eyes rest on you, you shiver. His voice takes on an amused lilt. 

“Perhaps things are different in Redania, little sister?” You do not like the way the word drips from his tongue, as if another were in its place, one you don’t know, but that makes the the flesh at the back of your neck prickle just the same. His familiarity irks you as well—Prince Geralt speaks as if he knows you, as if he has spoken more than five words to you, not counting the ones uttered while he had been… otherwise engaged. 

 You swallow against the tightness in your throat. “Perhaps,” you say. The words are clipped, as if you have bitten off their edges. You know you shouldn’t, but you can’t help it, the barb slipping from your tongue before you can pluck it. “In Redania, one must wait until after the wedding to consummate the marriage. Does that policy hold true here as well?” 

 Prince Geralt does not give you the satisfaction of a reaction, his features schooled into cool impassivity.

 “I believe so, princess.” There is a dry sort of amusement coloring his words, as if to tell you the blow you’d tried to inflict was meager at best. “It appears we are not so different after all.” 

 You grind your teeth. 

 The prince falls into step beside you, setting the pace. To your frustration it is a leisurely one; walking with his arms clasped behind his back as he drags the conversation out. You wonder irately if he is doing this on purpose—you had walked with Kassandra to the hall the previous morning, and it had only taken half the time, you’re sure of it. 

 ”It was a great honor to attend such holy proceedings.” Kassandra’s voice seems to make the prince’s lip curl, and he cuts his eyes at her, sparing her only the barest of glances from the corner of his eye. You know, though, that the words are meant for you. 

 “Yes, truly.” The prince hums. “And how wonderful our Queen should be fortunate enough to experience them twice.” 

 Outrage bubbles up in your chest at the insult of his implication, and it takes all of your strength not to respond in kind. You glance at Kassandra, her passive expression evidence that the prince’s sly remark has either been absorbed without question or gone unnoticed entirely. For a moment you imagine his smile goes smug and self-satisfied as your own lips press together into a thin line. Your mind races as you try to formulate a response—this is not a game you are used to playing, one of guileful words wrapped in loose pleasantries, and you feel woefully unprepared for your part in it. 

 “Fortunate indeed,” you reply, forcing yourself to keep your tone light and airy. By now, the great hall is in sight, servants bustling through the busy corridor as you approach the hall. “A wisely made match, would you not agree, Majesty?” A gaggle of nobles surround the king and queen, their heads swiveling at the sound of your voice. The satisfaction you feel as Geralt’s lips curl into a scowl is a new feeling, one you are not sure you like. —he cannot  continue the game, not now, not without open insult. You can tell he does not enjoy being called to heel, least of all by you. 

 A chorus of good morning’s and your grace’s assail you like raindrops until you are practically dripping with them. You are familiar with only a select few of the faces surrounding the king and your mother, but not many. You recognize Lord Strom, Kassandra’s father, who shares the same sallow features as his daughter. He is flanked by a woman with a pinched, irritated looking expression; you had been introduced just before the wedding ceremony had begun, but you cannot recall her name now, only her relation to the king. A great-aunt—you think.  

 As you enter the hall, you note that it is already clean, all evidence of last night’s festivities gone, save for your mother, standing before you. Small tables have been set out for the visiting nobility lucky enough to be granted this brief audience with the king. The large table on the dais is already heavy laden with food, servants flanking the table on either side of the king’s chair as they wait for orders. Breakfast at home had been a family affair, gathered around the table in the hall. This, like every other event you have witnessed since arriving, is public spectacle. 

 Your mother preens at the attention. She flits from person to person, accepting their congratulations with regal grace. Once upon a time, behind the dusty pages of books she wished you would not read, you and father had called her the Pretty Peacock, the way she bustled about the manor and clucked her orders at the matron and her staff. Here, though, it seemed less amusing, and more… purposeful. 

 Though your mother seems to move amongst these people with ease, you struggle to follow her example, weaving serpentine through the crowd of courtiers, which parts like butter to a hot knife in her wake. Her gown is of a similar color scheme as yours, pale yellow with silver and gold embroidery embellishing her hem and sleeves. The crown of delicate silver and black leaves rests atop her head, the black jewel at its center sparkling. She turns to you with a smile, embracing you warmly. 

 “Trust my daughter to appear as her name is mentioned.” Your mother’s delicate, feminine laugh makes you want to curl in on yourself as the eyes of her fawning lady’s maids fall to you. “Did you enjoy yourself?” Though you cannot see him, you can feel the prince’s eye upon you with almost physical sensation. The hair at the back of your neck pricks up.

 Why does he watch me? You chance a look over your shoulder, and your back stiffens. There are people between you still, a safe barrier, but there is no mistaking it—the prince’s eyes are locked on you, and he makes no effort to hide it. You turn quickly back to your mother as he produces a slim knife from somewhere, and spears an apple from the table with it. The crunch as his teeth break the skin rings uncomfortably in your ears. 

 “T’was fine,” you answer her quickly, hoping your small, curt smile is enough to convince her. “I danced, some.” It is a lie, but one she either does not recognize or one she cares little about. One set of eyes is appeased, and falls from you. The others bore hot holes in the back of your dress. The king approaches, and you note the affectionate pass of his hand over your mother’s arm. You curtsy low, again, more out of instinct than conscious thought. 

 “Come now daughter, we are family now, are we not?” He laughs. “Rise.” His expression is warm, but you feel the word roll inside your skull like a loose marble, or a pebble in your shoe. It is unfamilitar and uncomfortable coming from his lips, but you bear it as best you can. 

 “Y-yes. Family.” The king walks with his hands folded behind his back, a habit you cannot help but note that he shares with his son. You have dreaded this, the game of getting to know one another over the cold corpse of the man who had raised you. It stings, as you knew it would. It feels insane to you, to behave as if all the years of your life prior to this were but a footnote, and this the true story. Perhaps it is you who are insane, the only madwoman adrift in a sea of sensibility.

 “Your mother tells me you’ve a great love of books,” he continues, unaware of the rolling turmoil that rocks your stomach. He casts a long glance sideways at you and at first, you cannot tell if there is reprisal or approval in his words. Then, he offers another smile, this one warm, genuine. “I trust you’ve found the archives enjoyable.”

 Your mother’s laughter cuts through the moment like a knife. “Oh, don’t encourage her, my love,” she says. “We shall surely lose her in yellow old pages.” The gallery of painted faces behind her titters with amusement, and at the same time, you feel your cheeks begin to smart. Perhaps it is the syrupy sweet my love tacked to the end of her sentence that makes your eyes burn with hot, frustrated tears, or her casual disparagement, you are torn for choice. You shake your head, forcing another smile as you blink them back. Perhaps you are simply being oversensitive, seeing what is not there. 

 “Thank you, Majesty.” You fold your hands together as you follow the king and queen up to the dais, and move to take your seat. “I shall have to bring Kassandra along with me. Perhaps if I am buried in parchment, she may yet dig me out again.” 

 You are relieved when the conversation shifts from you, allowing you to stare sullenly at the spread before you in peace. It is startlingly familiar, your mother’s need to ensure that every eye is upon her at all times, and you find that you are perhaps glad for it. It is exhausting to play at happiness and not feel it, and every second you do not have to keep up the pretense is one you are grateful for. Even if it comes at the expense of a little of your pride. 

 That gratefulness dissipates like smoke in the wind as Prince Geralt seats himself next to you. However intimidatingly large he had felt as you and Kassandra had made your way through the halls, he feels doubly so now. Though he has his own chair and place at the table, it feels as though it is too small to contain him, and he spills over into your seat anyway. His thigh is pressed tightly against your own through your gown, and no amount of subtle shifting on your part seems to remove him. You grimace, and the servant who is pouring water into your goblet gasps, and bows her head quickly. 

 “Apologies, Your Grace, I have offended you!” Her distress begins to turn heads, and you hurriedly attempt to placate her, shaking your head with a weak smile.

 “No, no, it’s nothing—”

 “Yes, princess,” the word drips from your stepbrother’s lips like black honey. “Whatever is the matter?” 

 You glare at him. He is pushing you, trying to force you into a confrontation for no reason you can discern—other than his own blasted amusement. You are tempted to give him what he wants, your own accusations waiting eagerly at the tip of your tongue. And you have your pick of poisons to dispense; his foul behavior the night before, his insult to the queen—

 But as you look down the table, you see few allies. King Vesemir looks at you with an apathetic sort of curiosity. And your mother… her doll-like expression appears concerned, but you can read it for what it truly is. The way her eyes narrow, her mouth tightened just so at the corners—

 She is angry. 

 You can hear her without her speaking, and your mind conjures her reprisal  perfectly, even without her input. 

 You are making a scene. You know that is what she would tell you. Be silent. Be seen, not heard.

 “Nothing.” You wish you could slap Prince Geralt, slap the concerned facade right off of his wretched face. “Nothing at all.” 

—

 The grass beneath you is brittle, and you can feel it crumbling into dusty nothing as it crunches beneath the soles of your bare feet. The low-cut hedges have grown out crooked and gnarled from neglect, their roots erupting thirstily from the baked earth to choke the narrow pathway. The garden is different now than it was when you had left, but you know it still—home. The manor looms gloomily above the garden, sticking out of the barren hillside like a jagged tooth, glaring angrily down at the cracked flowerbeds and baked earth. 

 Everything is dead here. 

 The icy wind that whips at your cotton shift, tangling it about your legs is dead, carrying with it the sound of grinding bones and last breaths. From the parched fissures in the dead, hungry dirt, you can hear whispers, and you press your cold, shaking hands to your ears to block them out. You do not know the reason, but nevertheless the knowledge remains in your bones as if you were born with it—

 I mustn’t listen. I mustn’t hear the dead.

 You press your palms against the sides of your head until it aches, dragging your feet through the dead, overgrown grass as you make your way through the garden. You want to leave, to turn around and leave this place, this terrible mirror, but your body will not obey. Instead, your unwilling legs carry you further and further into the spiral of dry, overgrown hedges and cracked pavement. The ghostly voices continue to rise in pitch until they are screaming, tortured cries leaking up from below as you approach the center of the garden. 

 It, like everything else here, is wrong, gleaming as if polished in the dim light of the dead sun. It is white like bone, and black, sluggish muck leaks from the trumpet of the nymph carved there. The sly, mysterious smile carved on her marble lips has been replaced by a grimace of abject terror, and when you follow her stone gaze, your eyes widen with the same emotion. Your hands leave your ears then, covering your mouth to try and dampen the horrified gasp that leaves your lips. 

 Your father stands before you. 

 He is still a distance away, walking slowly toward you through the garden. His eyes are blacked out, but not completely, black wriggling over the whites like a child’s scribble, black thread weaved through the skin of his lips, suturing them shut. 

 He is horrible. 

 He begins to open his mouth, and it yawns wide, the threads snapping—

 You sit up, a hand clutching at your chest. You stare around the room, panting as your mind attempts to place you in your still unfamiliar surroundings. Your heart is still races from the dream, your hands clammy and trembling. The taste of dry earth coats your tongue, and your throat feels cold and parched, as if you had walked the cold gardens truly, and not only in your dreams.

You can still see it, the rotting black threads holding your father’s withered lips shut, the black writhing ink scribbles across his eyes—

 “No.” You mutter the word softly as you press the heels of your palms to your closed eyes, pushing hard until colored spots dance in your vision. You do not want to think of your father that way, his body moldering in the earth, rotting away like he had never been in the first place. It had felt so real, the cool distant glare of the white sun, the arid earth beneath your feet—

 “A nightmare.” You say it aloud to no-one. “Nothing more.” 

 The morning sun paints a bright stripe across the blankets through the curtains of the four poster bed, and you tug them further open, squinting. Everything in your chambers is as it was the night before, though the fire in the hearth has gone down to cinders, and a copper tub has been set before it. You step out and into your slippers, noting the steam that still rises from the water. They must have brought it in as you slept, though you had not heard them do so. 

 I slept… unusually deeply. 

 You disrobe, stepping into the water with a grateful sigh. You sink in until you are mostly submerged, your nose hovering above the surface as you stare pensively at the window, studying the gray, muddled shape of the buildings beyond it. You do not want to think of the dream, or your father, but both seem intent at crowding at the forefront of your mind. 

 You know your father would tell you not to ignore it. Dreams mean things, he would say. What did it tell you? But there is no meaning you can discern from your nightmare, other than that you miss your father, and you wish he were still here, with you. 

 After you finish in the bath, you dress yourself. Instead of the multi-layered gown set out for you by your lady’s maids, you rummage through the wardrobe for one of the loose, flowy dresses more typical of your warm countryside home. You find one at the back, and as you slip into it, you feel more settled, more yourself. The creamy, peach colored fabric has one long, bell sleeve, and drapes modestly across your chest, exposing the top of one shoulder. It is less cumbersome than the heavy, three piece set they chose, and when they enter to help you, you can see the surprise written on their faces. 

 To their credit, they say nothing, simply helping braid and pin your hair, before setting the small silver circlet you wear at your mother’s insistence upon your brow. 

 It is long past time to break fast, but nevertheless, your request for a scone with butter and sweet cream is met without fuss down in the kitchens. As you eat, Kassandra marvels at your dress. 

 “I quite like it, Majesty,” she says, clapping her hands encouragingly as she circles you. “No corset? I do wonder if my father might permit me to have one made in its likeness,” she moans rather piteously. “Though I doubt he shall be pleased by my asking, it is quite bold, if you do not mind my saying so, Highness.” You look down at yourself, and then raise an eyebrow. 

 “Why should he find your request offensive? I mean no insult, but I do believe our dress more…modest than those of fashion here in Rivia.” Even Kassandra’s low cut gown exposes the tops of her breasts, the bodice molding to her body,pushing them out and up before rising back up to play at covering her shoulders. She laughs behind a hand at your ire.

 “I suppose it is all a matter of personal opinion, my lady. I do find Redanian fashion quite lovely, if this dress should be a fair representation.”

 “ ‘Tis.” You reply, finishing your biscuit. From your place by the windows, just outside the kitchen, you can see down into the gardens. Though the sight of them is sullied by the memory of your stepbrother’s wanton behavior, the glint of colored glass catches your eye. “What is that?” You ask, pointing at the colored shafts of light as they seemingly beam upward from the ground, the source blocked by lush greenery.

 “The roof of the chapel,” Kassandra says. “It is made of stained glass.” At your confused look, she continues. “The chapel is beneath the keep, Majesty, it’s roof is the center of the maze. It is quite beautiful, should you wish to see it, my lady.” Intrigued, you nod.

 “Yes, thank you. I would.” 

 Kassandra leads you down into the bowels of the castle, and you feel the walls grow cold around you as daylight through the arched windows is replaced by the soft glow of candles. The construction looks much older down here, the stone pitted and smooth not from polish but from the passage of time. Upstairs, the corridors had been crowded with courtiers, lords and ladies all seeking the king’s approval, or waiting for their opportunity to serve at his request. 

Instead, you take note of the priests in their pale robes, black ink sigils drawn onto the skin of their foreheads and the expanses of their cheeks beneath their eyes. They keep their heads bowed and shoulders stooped as they shuffle through the halls in penitent silence. 

 “Why do they paint their faces?” You ask quietly. 

 “So that the gods might receive their prayers.” 

  The chapel’s carved doors bear images of the gods you do not worship, the wood branded with the sigil of the king—the head of a wolf, it’s mouth open in an eternal snarl. Inside, the air is thick with incense, and it takes you more than a few labored breaths to grow used to it. The inside of the chapel is long and narrow, its walls lined with alcoves featuring enormous statues of the gods. Kassandra gestures to the ceiling, trailing her fingers through the shafts of colored light that stream down, bathing the sullen atmosphere in muted color. 

 “Is it not beautiful, lady?”

 “Yes, it is.” You speak truth—the glass is beautiful, unclouded and the colors  true. Images of faith are splashed across the colored surfaces; a great wolf standing beneath a full moon, devouring a beautiful maiden, the three-faced Mother bathed in the golden light of the sun, and the Spider, sitting in the center of her silver web. You watch as Kassandra makes a sign with her right hand, her middle finger and thumb pressed together. She brings it reverently to her forehead, before dropping it to her chin, and then the center of her chest. 

 It is a quiet, sullen sort of reverence, one you see mirrored in the bowed heads of the priests, and in the quiet, droning chants the monks at the pulpit continue without pause. But there is no joy here. No voices lifted in worshipful, devoted song, nor dances with arms stretched to the bright and brilliant sky. Those are the rituals of worship you know, the ones your father taught you. This place, like the garden in your dream, feels dead. 

 If there ever were gods here, they have certainly gone, now. 

 “Who is this?” You ask, pointing to the wolf. It’s golden eyes seem to follow you around the room as you trail after Kassandra, and it makes you think uncomfortably of the prince. She stops in front of it’s stone copy, and she makes the sigil again, finger on thumb, forehead, chin, chest. 

 “Father Wolf.” She says as she rises. “It is said that he devours the moon each night, so that it may be reborn in the morning, as the sun.” She cocks her head. “Do you not know the stories, Majesty?” 

 “She would not.” You turn to see one of the priests. In his hand, he holds an incense box, sluggish white smoke pouring from the gold painted slats. “Her Majesty hails from Redania. They hold to the old faith there.” You watch his eyes narrow as they drop to your gown before traveling back up to your face. His lips curve into an unfriendly smile. “I did not think to see Your Highness here.” 

 You raise an eyebrow. “In my experience father, it is a poor monarch who expects to rule people she knows nothing about.” Kassandra ducks her head, covering her mouth to hide her smile at your diplomatically worded impertinence.

 His cheek tics. “Of course, Highness.” He bows his head in a manner you know is meant to be respectful, though the acid that drips from his words is anything but. “The people shall be pleased that you are so…familiar.” He drums his fingers against the incense box, before fixing you with another small, curt smile. “They do not react well to the southland’s…” He pauses to search for a word.  “Heathenistic rituals.” 

 The words fly to your tongue before you can swallow them back, flying from your lips with righteous indignation. 

 “Are you quite sure the heathen rituals you fear are not your own, Father?”  His mouth twists with anger, but you do not cower in the face of it, jutting your chin out stubbornly. You have taken little pleasure in the shifting of your station, but his brazen disrespect sets a blazing fire in your chest. You are a princess, and you will not be spoken to this way. 

 “Father Rame.” Your belly fills with hot iron at Prince Geralt’s voice, his tone warning. So irate were you with the priest that you had taken no notice of his approach. The prince leans against one of the stone pews, his arms crossed over his broad chest. “You would do well to hold your tongue, lest my father remove it.” The priest drops into a low bow, his lips curling into a scowl. “I do not think he would take kindly to your… implications.” 

 “Apologies, My Prince, I meant only to—” Geralt raises a hand, and Father Rame’s words die in his throat. 

 “Go. And perhaps I will… forget to inform the kingsguard of your offense today.” You can tell the priest is unsatisfied, his hands clenching into tight fists in the sleeves of his robe. Nevertheless, he issues you another stiff apology through his clenched teeth, before he turns on his heel, his robes billowing behind him. 

 “Thank you.” You spit the words out as if they have burnt you. “For your assistance.” Geralt’s amber eyes dip the way Father Rame’s did, and you hate the way they drag across every inch of you before coming to rest on your face. Instead of scornful disapproval, you find something else there. Something darker you refuse to name. 

 “My pleasure, princess.” He purrs the words, and you feel them like a physical caress. You try to hide the shiver that travels down your spine, gooseflesh erupting on the back of your neck and arms in its wake. He glances at Father Rame’s retreating back. “I would pay him no heed. The good Father can be… Zealous.” 

 “That is certainly one way to put it.” You remark dryly. 

 “He will not bother you again.” He says it with a finality that makes you shift uncomfortably under his gaze. 

 “I hope not.” You brush a speck of imagined dirt from the bodice of your dress, and the prince’s eyes follow the movement. 

 “Your gown is lovely, sister.” He says, and you swallow against the sudden lump in your throat. “I have not seen its like since last I was in Redania.” 

 “Thank you.” You stiffen as he moves towards you, slow steps carrying him in a small circle around you and Kassandra. You force yourself to endure his inspection. 

 “Oh yes.” He fingers the hem of your sleeve before you step back, a little. “I hope you do not mind me imparting a bit of… Rivian wisdom?” 

 Do I have any choice? You force a smile. “Please.” 

 “This is a married woman’s color, Sweetling.” His eyes are molten honey. 

 “W-what?” You do not know which words you were expecting to fall from the prince’s smug lips, but it was not these. “I—”

 “I hope you take no offense,” he drawls, though the expression on his face says otherwise. “I only mean to inform.” 

 “H-how interesting.” You force a small smile, before turning quickly to Kassandra. 

 “My head aches from the incense,” you say, turning away from him and striding toward the door. “We should take our leave.” With a stiff, reluctant bow, you turn from the prince. “Excuse us, please.” 

 “By all means.” 

 Kassandra squeaks, hurrying after you with her skirts gathered tightly into her hands. As you push angrily through the entering group of priests and out into the corridor, you can feel two sets of eyes on your retreating back—

 Geralt’s, and the wolf’s. 

to be continued…

Thank you for reading! Please check out my masterlist for other, similar works, and follow my library blog, @box-of-bones-library for updates. ❤️

[wosohermoso]

Lucy Bronze

Mi Casa Es Su Casa

Warnings: Implied homophobia, FLUFF, none?

Lucy shows a level of affection that she has been holding back on for a while

_

“You ready?” I give Lucy a light tipped smile as she does the zipper up on her coat.

“Mhm” She nods, picking up the leash as my family dog Bessie follows her out of our home.

Lucy had been staying with my family for the past few days. It was the first time in a good while that we had been able to spend some quality time together. Despite having been together for over a year, the time we spent together in person was always hindered by however many days Lucy had away from training, which wasn’t as many as we liked, so we’d soak up as much time together when we could - for however long we could.

My family adored Lucy. My parents treated her like their own as soon as she stepped foot in our home for the first time, just as Lucy’s family did with me, and it was such a breath of fresh air knowing that our families adored us just the same. Being completely openly affectionate in front of them, though - was something Lucy struggled with - having been in past relationships in which her partners family were not okay with their daughter dating another girl.

-

Winter had hit with a vengeance, the misty air making the end of the walkways almost indecipherable. It was safe to say the pair of us were freezing.

I pull my scarf over my nose and mouth as we walk along the frosted path of the woodland park, Lucy’s hand intertwines with mine.

“I think I’m gonna help your mum prepare the roast when we get back” She states, her thumb brushing delicately over mine.

“Yeah?” I grin behind my scarf.

“M-yeah.” She nods. “Gotta show her I care, right?” She chuckles.

I giggle at the gesture, giving her hand a small squeeze as we continue on our walk.

Bessie trotted beside Lucy, still attached to her leash, while she sniffed around in the leaves.

“Alsooo-” Lucy drags out, stopping us in her tracks as she very carefully pulls me towards her.

“What?” I giggle as my hand glides effortlessly around my girlfriends waist.

Lucy pulls down my scarf as she leans down ever so slightly, placing her lips delicately against mine.

“I feel like I haven’t actually given you a proper kiss since being home” She breathes out, tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear.

In that moment - I realised that although Lucy had been staying with us for just under a week, we hadn’t really shown each other that much affection away from my closed bedroom door. I hadn’t really thought about it, because I respected Lucy’s wishes of taking things slow while family were around, it’s something she was wary about and for valid reasons. With the both of us being one of, if not, the only members of our families that considered ourselves to be part of the lgbtq+ community, it was always going to be complex to navigate, even if our families didn’t care. Having people pretend that they don’t mind, but then bringing it up in unnecessary situations was something the both of us had had to deal with in the past. It was just something that played on her mind quite a bit, and that was completely okay.

“Home?” I tilt my head, admiring how the faint white hue of the crisp air made her eyes look all the more greener. I was in absolute awe of her.

“My home is your home” She tilts her head to mimic me.

“Mi casa es su casa” I state, before her lips once again, press against mine.

The kiss was deeper, all the more meaningful, as she brings my chin closer with her thumb and finger, before her hand slips behind my neck.

Her head tilts slightly as I feel her tongue brush against my lower lip, a small giggle leaving my mouth as I feel her grin against me. The brisk air against my face was very quickly masked by Lucy’s lips, as well as her embrace. Not only did she make me warm on the outside, but so warm inside without even realising.

I open my mouth just a little wider, allowing Lucy to deepen the kiss, our tongues slowly brushing against each other in passion and unison.

This kiss meant more to us than any other. It was soft, slow, and it felt like we were the only two people in the entire world.

That was until I felt Lucy jolt against me.

“M- what the fuck” She gasps as her lips leave mine.

Bessie jumps up at Lucy repeatedly, her muddy paws leaving almost perfect prints on her grey joggers.

Lucy cackles, giving me a short peck on the lips.

“Okay Bessie!” She laughs at my extra impatient dog. “Come on!” She grins as she begins to be dragged along by Bessie, her hand latching on to mine as we are unwilling lead away from our intimate situation.

“Wait.” Lucy turns to me. “One more” She pleads, giving me a soft peck on the lips.

“One more” She kisses me again, chuckling as Bessie drags her further and further away from me.

“Wait!” She pouts, attempting to give me one last peck before reluctantly continuing to walk.

“She’s a jealous lady, aren’t you Bess!” I laugh as I watch Bessie pull Lucy along the crystallised path.

“She doesn’t like her mama showing affection to others, she’s the one you have to watch out for!” I snort.

Lucy flashes me a playful eye roll.

“Mama? Sounds good” Lucy glances at me, a soft smile sweeping across her face before her eyes avert down to her feet.

The thought of - one day - having children with Lucy made my heart burst, and I could tell by the way that Lucy looked at me in that moment, that that was what was going through her mind.

“One day, Lucia” I give her hand a soft, reassuring squeeze.

“One day” She nods.

[bumblebeehug]

Hike in Heels

Summary: Natsu takes Lucy on a surprise trip to Hargeon, where they relive their first encounter. Notes: (At the end) Ao3

***

“Please, please, PLEASE, let me take a break!” Lucy almost sobbed as she took another step. A two-day trip to Hargeon was not the best way to break in her new heels, and she honestly never would have picked those shoes if she knew that the “quick walk” Natsu had been talking about, was in fact a hike and not a leisure stroll. 

“Come on, you already know that it’s only another 30 minutes, you can manage!” Natsu slowed down briefly at first but came to a complete halt when he looked down at Lucy’s foot, that she was now massaging tenderly. They had a scary amount of red, inflamed looking blisters, and he almost winced at the sight. 

“Does it look like I’ll manage?” Lucy sneered back. Natsu frowned at her foot at first, for making Lucy suffer, and then at the shoes that were the very cause of her suffering. 

“Hop on my back,” he said, crouching down in front of her. Lucy would normally decline offers like that, but she had already used up too much of time on Horologium’s schedule, so borrowing him for a ride wouldn’t be possible, and though she could walk barefoot the last bit, her feet could really need the relief from all the pressure. That, and the path they were walking on had surprisingly sharp pebbles – something she learned from another unfortunate pick of footwear. 

“Thanks,” she mumbled, annoyed that her pride had even allowed her to get her feet this bad in the first place. Had she asked him for his help earlier, she would probably have only half the number of blisters that she currently was cursed with. If only Wendy or Shelia was nearby to relieve her from it. 

After climbing onto Natsu’s broad back, they were once again on their way. The immediate relief from pressure helped Lucy truly relax, urging her to use Natsu’s left shoulder like a pillow. He could act really heroic when he wanted to. That’s of course until he starts complaining about her weight, which he usually would do as soon as she mounted him. Though, today he’s unusually quiet, leaving the air around them only filled with the sounds of his rhythmic steps against the gravel and the birds chirping. 

“Why are we even going to Hargeon in the first place?” Lucy asked for the tenth time this day, knowing she probably wouldn’t get a proper answer, but still hoping that she was wearing that secretive shield down. 

“I told ya’ it’s a secret,” Natsu answered, still not faltering. At this point Lucy didn’t know whether she should be excited or worried for this trip – for all she knew, a horribly embarrassing job with little to no pay could be waiting in the town they were heading towards. That, or Lucy had once again underestimated Natsu’s kindness, and some nice surprise was waiting for her. You never knew when it came to Natsu. 

Perhaps that unpredictable nature was part of why Lucy still felt like their friendship was as fresh as it only could be in the beginning – in its honeymoon phase, one might say. They never tired of each other, not really, despite what it might seem like when Lucy kicked him and Happy out of her apartment for the hundredth time in a week, or when she scolded them twice that amount. When they first got to know each other, the small fights were actually based on real discomfort – who wouldn’t be shocked when a guy you practically just met used your bath with his winged blue cat without even locking the door? Though as the time went on, her crazy reactions felt more like acting, rather than something based on true discomfort. She would put on her loud voice, yell out something witty and then a ‘get out!’ and then watch as Natsu and Happy would giggle while scrambling to her hallway, and she’d watch them do this with a smile on her face. It was their running gag, something that reminded them of where they started and where they are now. 

Well, unpredictable friendship or not, Lucy wasn’t sure if this little hiking trip Natsu had brought her along to was worth it. Those blisters already looked unreasonably red and angry, and they sure felt like they were angry too, stinging even at small winds. 

“You know I won’t be able to fight properly like this, right?” Lucy told Natsu, kicking her feet in front of him. 

“Well, you won’t have to fight.” 

“Hah! I got a clue!” Lucy burst out, celebrating her success at wearing him down. “So, no fighting… Does that mean I’m just here for company for a job? Or maybe the job just requires one of my spirits… or! Maybe we’re just here for a retreat!” 

Natsu sighed and readjusted his hold of her. He had accidentally told her just a little too much – not enough for her to figure it out, but still enough for her to speculate. He was fine with her talking, but he was a little afraid she’d make him say too much again, maybe even make him spill everything, and then he’d let all his work to keep the secret go to waste. 

“Not telling,” he just told her, trying to keep his ground. He made his mind up to only answer her if she talked about unrelated topics – otherwise he would definitely spill everything. Luckily for him they would reach the edge of the town in just 10 minutes as long as he kept a good walking speed. 

“Don’t you think you owe me a proper clue? After all, you didn’t tell me that we were going to walk for hours! I would have changed shoes if I’d known, you know!” Lucy poked Natsu’s cheek repeatedly. Maybe she could annoy an answer out of him. 

“I already gave ya’ one,” Natsu tried. 

“Noooo, I decided that it was a clue, you didn’t give it to me out of free will!” 

“So you want another clue?” 

“Yes!” 

“Well, my clue is that you won’t have to fight.” Lucy pouted. 

“You already gave me that clue.” 

“So you admit it was a clue?” 

“Natsu!” 

*** 

“I can’t believe you won’t tell me anything!” They had finally arrived, and Lucy was walking barefoot on the cobblestone paths that covered the coastal town. She had insisted on walking by herself when they started meeting people on the way, saying something about it being embarrassing to be carried when she was a mage with reputation. Natsu couldn’t understand how being carried would affect her rep, since she was in a team that destroyed everything in its path, but he complied. 

“I just think you’re making it bigger than it is,” Natsu shrugged. His surprise wasn’t really that big, and this build up certainly wasn’t giving him any favours. 

“I’m not making it bigger than you are. You’re the one that won’t tell me about this small surprise.” Natsu knew that Lucy was stubborn, but this was reaching new heights. 

“It wouldn’t be a surprise if I told you!” he once again defended himself. “I just don’t want you to think it’s some amazing, cool thing and then be all disappointed.” 

“I’d never be disappointed,” Lucy promised. She knew however that Natsu didn’t believe her – he had that peculiar look on his face that showed when he was doubting something. They continued this bickering for a few minutes, until Natsu finally came to a halt. 

“We’re here.” Lucy looked around. The street was familiar – if she remembered correctly, this was the street where that wizard, Bora, had been scamming people. Which also, coincidentally, was the street where she and Natsu first met. 

“Hey, I remember this,” Lucy said, not concealing the fondness in her voice. “This is where we met for the first time.” Lucy was smiling, and Natsu already felt like he had succeeded. For him, the hours of complaints were all worth it as long as she had this expression. But he knew Lucy would be annoyed if they had gone all this way just for a tiny peek into memory lane. 

“Do you remember that there was this big crowd of girls just over there?” Natsu smiled. 

“Yes, and I was in it.” A small grimace crossed Lucy’s face, until she started talking again. “I was completely charmed by Bora. Or, well, his ring at least.” 

“The great salamander and his charms.” 

“But hey, I did get to meet the real salamander! He was just naïve enough to think that Bora was a dragon in the middle of the town.” 

“How was I supposed to know?�� Natsu defended himself. Lucy raised her eyebrows. 

“A dragon? A huge, fire breathing dragon, smack down in a town with crowded buildings and humans everywhere? It didn’t take a genius to figure out that things weren’t adding up.” 

“Hey, me not being a genius led to us meeting. I wouldn’t change that, ya’ know.” Another soft expression graced Lucy’s face, and he had to hold back from giving her a big hug. “Anyways, I thought we could stay here for the weekend. I’ve booked a room, and just across the street there’s a place that’s got lots of cheap food!”

“You really thought this through, didn’t you?” Surprise didn’t begin to describe how Lucy currently felt. She didn’t think that Natsu would be so perceptive, though if she actually thought back she should have known. He had always been sentimental, if that wall of memorabilia had anything to show for. Hell, he even got himself a mannequin so he could display the maid outfit Lucy had dressed up in, way back for their first mission. Naturally he’d remember the date and location of their very first meeting.

“Since I prepared all this I’ll let you pay for the food,” Natsu said, snickering at her with a sinister grin. Right. There’s the catch.

Though since there wouldn’t be any crazy amounts of orders on raw fish, calculating the lack of exceeds in the company, maybe the bill wouldn’t be too severe. And with exceeds on the topic, Lucy sort of missed having the blue pal around. She could name a thousand annoying traits Happy possessed, but when it came down to it she wouldn’t trade him for anything in the world. He was her best friend, they bantered and had fights, sure, but the bond she shared with him was irreplaceable. Which is why she felt like there was a void present - they were missing a part of their team.

Lucy hadn’t gotten any explanations on why Happy wasn’t around today, but she knew that Natsu knew. Hadn’t he known, he would have complained the entire outing. Still, Lucy was curious about what kept Happy away today.

“Where did you say Happy was today by the way?” She had first asked him an hour into their impromptu hike, but had only gotten a vague mumble as an answer. This time she was ready to drill him – after all, she was paying for their food.

“Oh he had this… thing? With his parents and the rest of the exceeds. I don’t remember what exactly.” Lucy found his answer a tiny bit suspicious, but didn’t dig deeper. Surely there was a reason behind the vague answer – maybe Natsu had promised to keep a secret. Happy had recently gotten more serious about his feelings towards Carla, so maybe it was related to that.

“Right,” Lucy said, now feeling her stomach rumble. “So are we checking in at the Inn or eating first? I’m starving, but I think I’d like to freshen up a bit before we go eat.”

“Yeah sure, let’s make a stop at the room.” Natsu’s compliance was also a bit suspicious, Lucy thought. Though she didn’t mind it of course – maybe this was a part of the anniversary treatment.

She should have known something was up when Natsu had booked the room. The Inn was nice and clean, the staff was nice and she was delighted to hear that breakfast was included, but the first red flag was when there was only one room key. Lucy’s face had turned a light shade of pink at the thought of sharing a room – not because she wasn’t used to it at home, but because of the implied intimacy between her and Natsu. They were known to be “only friends” back in Magnolia, people barely batted an eye when they did almost-coupley-things (like walking home with arms linked, always sleeping at Lucy’s apartment, Natsu resting his arm on Lucy’s shoulders at the farmer’s market – all things that had been written about, and then been unbunked in Sorcerer’s Weekly), but in Hargeon their unique friendship wasn’t as widely known. So when the receptionist smoothly added that all their rooms were sound proofed, Lucy could only smile politely and nod.

The room itself was as stunning as the rest of the Inn. It was embellished with cute, golden, swirly details in every corner of every object, and the walls had a stunning tapestry with light blue flowers scattered across an eggshell-white base. There was a body length mirror with a dark wooden frame just to the left as you walked into the room, and to one of the walls there was a pretty wooden dresser. Everything looked handmade, and Lucy couldn’t help but awe at every detail.

See, the room was so pretty that Lucy hadn’t noticed that there was only one bed. When she did notice, it was only because she was admiring the bed frame – of which there was only one. Had she turned light pink before, she could guess that she was sporting a rosy red on her cheeks now. Truth was, she and Natsu had never shared a bed alone in another place than her apartment. Happy had always been a barrier between them, even when a similar occasion had occurred with there only being one spare room for the night. This time however, Lucy and Natsu hadn’t arrived with a third party. And this time, the room wasn’t the “only one available”. Natsu had been the one who booked it, and he clearly didn’t care about their reputation.

This entire thought process had taken maybe a second in the real world. See, Lucy didn’t really believe that Natsu didn’t care about “reputation” and silly things like that. She knew that Natsu didn’t see this sleepover as anything different than when Happy was around, and how the Inn-staff interpreted their relationship was simply not in Natsu’s equation. He had just wanted to make this a memorable trip, and sharing a room was just more economical, and really the only reasonable option when it came to the two of them. They were already sharing Lucy’s twin-size bed at home, so why bother booking two separate rooms when Natsu probably would end up in Lucy’s bed no matter what.

So with a deep breath, Lucy turned around and grabbed her bag where she kept her necessities.

“I’ll take a quick shower, is that fine with you? Or do you need the toilet?” Natsu could see a quite violent blush on Lucy’s cheeks as she tried to act unfazed. He covered up an amused smile with a yawn.

“No, you go ahead.” As Lucy closed the door he allowed himself to chuckle. She was really an open book.

***

“Good evening! Table for two under the name Dragneel?” A chipper waitress welcomed Natsu and Lucy into the restaurant. It was one of the perks of being a well known face in Fiore.

“Yes please,” Lucy said, minding her manners more than usual. She had thought that Natsu would leave the food aspect to Lucy, since he had joked around about her paying for him, but to her surprise he had led her here – to a nicer restaurant than they usually ate at. Well, they usually ate what they hunted in the woods, but even when they went through towns on missions they normally ended up in some cheap diner. This place was no five stars, but it was more than she had expected. She almost felt a bit self conscious in her simple dress.

The two of them were led to a table by a window that had the perfect view of the harbour.

“Hey that’s where we met for the second time!” Lucy exclaimed, pointing towards the horizon. “I thought you were such a loser for getting seasick,” she snickered, giving Natsu a provoking poke on his arm. He was nicely dressed up, wearing a navy dress shirt and black tailored pants.

“And I thought you were stupid for falling for Bora’s trick twice,” Natsu joked back with a smirk. Then he surprised Lucy for the third time in one day, fourth if you count his nice clothes. “We’ll take a bottle of the house’s red, assuming you want a meat dish?”

Lucy almost dropped her jaw, only giving a dumbfounded nod as an answer. As the waitress fetched their first order Natsu started to browse the menu.

“Hey what on earth was that? Who taught you wine-etiquette?”

Natsu shrugged his shoulders.

“This lamb looks good, doesn’t it?”

Lucy scoffed, but she was honestly impressed. It showed that Natsu had put a lot of thought into this day, even if he had played it off as a simple trip down memory lane. She opened her own menu and gave it a quick scan. He was right, the lamb did look really good, but at a closer look she could name multiple meals Natsu would prefer – he had mentioned the lamb as a recommendation to her.

“Yeah, I think I’ll take the lamb,” she slowly said. “What are you having?”

“The firecracker beef,” he said, pointing at the five chilli peppers on the side of the dish, symbolising how hot it was.

“Oh, fun!” Lucy praised.

As they waited for their wine they fell into a comfortable silence. Lucy had a million things to say, to commend him for. Well, minus one since she still felt her feet ache from the long walk. However, as soon as the waitress had taken their new orders, Natsu spoke up.

“This is a special town, dontcha think?” Lucy nodded. “I know Erza, Gray and Lisanna told you already, but before I met you I was really grumpy.”

“You don’t say?” Lucy giggled, thinking back on his curt behaviour before they formed a team.

“Hush,” he smiled, “I’m going somewhere with this.” Lucy made a zipping-motion with her hand over her mouth, and let him continue. “Anyways, I was a real bad-tempered kid, didn’t exactly like to hang around people other than Happy, and well, he’s a cat.”

Natsu seemed different today. Other than his odd sentimentality, Lucy thought he looked mature in his proper clothes, with a glass of red wine in front of him. Had she thought two times further she’d get flustered by how much this dinner seemed like a fully fletched date. Luckily Natsu continued speaking before she got there.

“There were all kinds of circumstances that made me behave that way, but in hindsight I kinda boil it down to searching for Igneel and losing Lisanna. Either way, I was having a tough time back then, especially when guild members didn’t take my search for Igneel seriously. Though, it was thanks to them we even met at all, since I followed one of the leads.” Natsu started looking around, losing the thread. “Well, I guess I wanna say I’m sorry for acting like a brat back then, I was really dismissive of you despite how friendly you were. Hell, you even got me and Happy lunch, we were seriously saved, I had to spend that lunch money on an extra train ticket.” He gave up a pained laugh from the memory of being stuck on that train ride. Lucy was amused by the picture he painted – even back then he didn’t manage motion well. It was sort of comfortable to know that some things would never change, no matter the adventures they went through.

“Either way, I would not change a single thing that day, the extra train ride made me meet you! Though meanwhile you were getting charmed by Bora.” He once again laughed at the memory – her eyes had practically been hearts. “And look what I brought, by the way!” From the backpack he had carried (against Lucy’s wishes) he pulled out the white cardboard paper that was signed by Bora, or Salamander as he had conned people to believe back in the day. Lucy yelped.

“I can’t believe you kept that! Eugh, it still gives me the creeps,” she shuddered and showed her arm where goosebumps had appeared. Natsu just laughed loudly – a heartfelt laugh that Lucy had heard countless times before but never got tired of hearing.

“What can I say, it’s a souvenir!” He was still laughing when he put it back into his backpack.

“Gross,” she muttered, but a smile was creeping across her face. She could never stay upset, even on pretend, when he laughed like that.

“Anyways, I just thought I’d tell you my side of the story of how we met. Though, you know the basic facts already. I just remember thinking that you were really weird.” Natsu was leaning his forearms on the table, suddenly feeling very close.

“I knew that much already,” Lucy teased. She was no longer fazed by his “weird”-accusations – they kind of cancelled out when you considered who was speaking.

“Yeah, well that wasn’t all I thought of you.” Lucy’s interest was piqued. Natsu’s eyes were dark in the dim light, and though his mouth was turned to a smile, he looked very serious. “Other than weird, I found you dumb, for paying for my food, loud, for how you spoke while paying for my food, endearing for how you spoke about Fairy Tail.”

Lucy felt her face get warmer. He had told her that she was weird, dumb and loud before – all while joking of course, but she had never heard him call her endearing.

“Then, when we met for the second time during the same day, I thought you were special. Then I got motion sick, so I mostly felt nauseous,” Lucy giggled before he continued, “but when you brought out Aquarius and helped me out, I knew you were special. I had never seen anyone converse with their magic the way you always have – mostly literally, but also figuratively. Happy told me the same night that he saw you find Aquarius key almost telepathically after you dropped it in the ocean. We both knew you were special. Are. You are special.” 

Lucy felt like her face was on fire at this point. She had never heard Natsu be so straightforward before. It was strange, in a very good way.

“Oh Natsu, gosh, I don’t know what to say,” she breathed. It was rare to hear these sorts of words from anyone, aside from maybe Loke. “You flatter me.” She laughed, fanning herself to cool her head.

“I don’t do it nearly often enough,” Natsu argued boldly, only making Lucy blush more. “It’s just, I have so much to thank you for. My life has been pretty awesome if I may say so, but the truth is, it’s all thanks to you. I wouldn’t have had the amazing team I have today, I wouldn’t have made it out from any of the countless life threatening situations I’ve been in, if you weren’t there to save me. I owe everything to you.”

“That’s my line,” Lucy smiled, holding back tears of gratitude. “I would have roamed the streets still if we hadn’t met.”

Natsu smiled. “I doubt it. I would have picked you up along the way a hundred times if I could.”

Lucy snorted.

“That’s an awful pickup line!”

“Yeah, that was bad, wasn’t it?” He grimaced. “Though I can’t stop it with the sappy stuff until I finish what I started saying earlier.”

“About what you thought of me when we first met?” Lucy asked. She had sort of mastered the art of following Natsu’s train of thought, so she was spot on.

“Right, I think I mentioned weird, dumb, loud, endearing and special.” He regained his serious look, the one that made Lucy feel like she was the only one in the room, nay, the world, that mattered. “I also remember thinking that you were, and are, pretty.”

If Lucy could burst into flames of embarrassment, she would have. Except, she couldn’t say anything. If she said anything, she would wake up from this wonderful dream, and everything would go back to normal.

“I don’t tell you nearly enough,” Natsu said with a sheepish look. He was blushing for the first time since he got into puberty. It would take a lot for him to repeat these words. It was somehow comforting to hear Lucy’s heartbeat patter like a scared rabbit – like she didn’t hate hearing it from him, rather, the opposite.

It was however even more comforting to be interrupted by plates of food arriving. It was a natural ice breaker after the hot tension Natsu’s sentence brought. Lucy could utter a thanks to the waiter, and when her seal was broken, so was Natsu’s. Except, they didn’t address the elephant in the room. Natsu had called Lucy pretty, and Lucy liked hearing him say it. If any of them even mentioned it they feared a bomb would set off - a bomb they would have to clean up after in public. It was a silent agreement that they wouldn’t mention it before they were alone. Meanwhile, they had food to eat and a bottle of wine to finish.

***

The walk back to the Inn was quiet. Lucy walked slowly, partly to not strain her feet, but also because she needed the air to cool her head. Natsu naturally adapted his step to hers. Once they had walked in their own paces, unapologetically, but since quite some time back it had gone without saying that they were meant to be by each other’s side.

Natsu glanced over to Lucy. She had her eyes turned towards the skies, as she usually did when the sun had gone down. It was like she was acting on instinct, searching for the small, twinkling stars that were her good friends. Today however the lights in the town dulled the night sky, to both of their disappointment. Lucy’s skin had a special glow at night. It was like she was meant to be looked at by the moon, because Natsu could swear he saw a light sparkle, almost too faint to be there at all. Even the man in the moon showed Lucy his best side, Natsu realised, and felt his heartstrings tug. What a woman he had met.

If he looked into her eyes at night he could see the stars reflect in them. It looked like the night sky was swimming in dark chocolate, doing their best to stay afloat in her deep gaze. And not to mention how her light blush from the cold made her look ethereal, how her lips turned into a light purple when they no longer had the warm light of the sun shining on her, and how her golden hair almost turned white, following the colours of the sun and the moon on the night sky.

Calling her pretty was an understatement, yet it seemed like she didn’t really believe him when he had told her. At that realisation, Natsu got an overwhelming urge to tell her again. He wanted to tell her how gorgeous she was, inside and out, and he wanted to hold her tight and never let go. Carefully, he grazed his finger on her hand. Light enough to seem like an accident, put listening closely to the signs she gave. If she pulled away, so would he. Except, she didn’t. So he grazed it again, this time longer, making his intentions clear. Still, no movement from her, aside from the slight bobbing of their walk. On his third attempt he carefully braided their fingers together, relishing in the cool temperature of her soft, small hand in his.

He glanced over at her again, trying to read her emotions. She seemed happy, like he had just told her she would never have to pay rent again in her entire life. He caught himself with the same stupid smile, and decided to only look on the road ahead from now on. Whether he decided literally or metaphorically, he didn’t yet know.

***

Lucy was sweating. She cursed herself for it, because when Natsu had taken her hand, he had seemed so nonchalant, just acting like it was the most natural thing for the two of them in the world. And the fact that he hadn’t let go of her hand when they entered the Inn made Lucy beyond flustered. She had held his hand before, in fact, she had held it many times before. None that had felt so meaningful though. The light touches before he actually grabbed her hand, the way he had held it like it was the most fragile, yet important hand in the universe – the intention had felt romantic. And that’s when the day caught up to her.

Natsu’s nostalgia-trip had been like a weekend retreat for couples. It had felt like a long date, with marriage in mind. Though of course she didn’t think he’d propose – even he knew there were steps to take beforehand in their relationship, but today had indeed felt like a long list of steps to take before a proposal. Not that it felt staged in any way, but it was clear that he was advancing their relationship, whether he knew it or not.

Eventually Natsu had to release Lucy’s hand. He wasn’t successful in finding the key with one hand, so reinforcements were necessary.

As soon as the door closed behind them, Lucy said her first words in 30 minutes.

“I’ll just take a shower.”

And 10 minutes later, Natsu copied her.

When Natsu came out of the bathroom, they were both still in their bath towels. Lucy had managed to dry her hair halfway, but didn’t get farther before Natsu suddenly was standing in the archway between the bedroom and the hallway, his towel hanging dangerously low on his hips. She quickly turned off the hairdryer.

“So which sides did we settle on?” She kept the topic safe, or, at least as safe as it could be when she soon was to share bed at an inn, with no one present but her and her crush.

“Whatever you prefer,” Natsu answered. He would cling to her no matter which side they were lying on.

With all safe conversation topics exhausted, Lucy swiftly changed into her pyjamas. Natsu was lucky that she always carried her essentials – toothbrush, hairbrush, moisturiser, a couple of panties and a tank top, because otherwise she would either have to sleep in her outside clothes, or naked – both terrible options in Lucy’s opinion.

Natsu had known what the weekend had in store, but he hadn’t felt compelled to pack a pair of pyjamas anyways. A pair of boxers were enough in his opinion. As soon as he turned off the lights, he joined Lucy in bed. Once again he found himself looking at her in the dark. This time the light was so faint he could barely make out her contours, but he saw her there anyway. Her bangs had fallen to the side of her head, and he saw her entire forehead. It felt holy, in a way, because when he saw her wholly he felt like he could see everything about her. Her thoughts, her opinions, her memories. He knew that he couldn’t tell her this, because Lucy would think he was making fun of her big forehead. Little did she know that all his teasing, all his little jokes, were based in admiration. He had to keep talking to her to convince himself he was speaking with a human, and not an angel.

That’s when she opened her eyes and met Natsu’s gaze. At first Lucy’s heart skipped a beat – she hadn’t been prepared to be so intensely stared at. But then she allowed herself to be. She thought, just because she could see him watch her, it didn’t mean he saw her any differently to when she was unaware he was looking. And even if he understood her differently, did that telepathic thing where they spoke through glimpses and glances, he still saw the same woman he had always seen.

“What are you thinking about?” Lucy dared to ask, in a voice that barely counted as a whisper. He had been looking so intensely, like there was no tomorrow, yet he had an indescribable look on his face. Like he was troubled and content all at the same time. Stuck in admiration and puzzling.

“That you’re pretty,” Natsu said. And it was true. The way Lucy looked in the darkness, when Natsu barely could make out her shape, was captivating. He could easily lighten up the place with his fire, make every pore in her face visible as day, but barely seeing her was seeing her in a new light. He couldn’t get enough of her. It was like he was seeing her for her – not in the lights and shadows of a campfire in the woods, not under the light of her booklamp that she used every night. She wasn’t reflecting any light at all - yet somehow she was. If it was the faint light from one or two stars that peeked out behind the curtains, or if it was the faint glow of her own magic power, Natsu didn’t know. All he knew was that he couldn’t get enough of her. He had to feel her, taste her.

So he did.

He started with feeling. Grabbed her hand, this time with more determination. He grabbed it with both hands under the blanket, tracing her joints and feeling her smooth fingernails. It felt surreal to be touching this work of art he was watching. Then he traced up her arm, along her shoulder and neck, and soon enough he was tracing her face. Feeling the soft, thin skin across her eyelids, brushing up her eyelashes. Feeling her breath under her nose, the warmness of her lips. With every light brush his fingertips made, the more of her he smelled. He didn’t know if it was some sort of instinct, that he could smell her better the closer they were emotionally, all he knew was that he almost went dizzy from the sweetness, the realness she smelled. “Bunny” crossed his mind before he started combing through her hair.

“So pretty.” He had said it out loud before he registered the thought in his brain, but somehow it didn’t feel as smothering as it had in the restaurant. And that’s when he bent forward and kissed her. Softly, lightly on her lips. Her lips had fluttered slightly at his touch, but he noticed that she had closed her eyes on instinct. So he did it again, slightly firmer this time, pulling her body close along with the kissing motion. It felt like the ultimate sign of intimacy – like an embrace out of pure love, except amplified.

When they pulled apart for air, Natsu only had one thought on his mind.

“We can take the train back tomorrow if you want. No more hiking in heels.” And in the middle of a giggle, Lucy pulled them together again.

***

Notes: Over a year late to this nalu week prompt lmaoooo and it's 2am so I should really go to sleep. Hope you liked it! I'm just glad I didn't kill any characters or make them fight. I've written real angsty fics lately (and there's more to come, lol)

Anyways I hope you had as fun reading it as I had writing it! Xoxo

[withwritersblock]

5 foot 9

~5 Foot 9 by Tyler Hubbard~

Author's Note: short and sweet lol Summary: Cole finally speaks to the girl he sees every day. Word Count: 743 Cole Caufield x fm!reader

She was stunning. Every day since he moved into this apartment complex he’s seen her. A sundress covering her frame, even on the cold days in Montreal. It was always a ten second interaction. A polite smile as they pass each other in the lobby. 

Her smile was intoxicating, so much so that Cole hasn’t stopped thinking about her. Which is why he is currently pacing in his apartment, he was ready earlier than normal. He was so excited to just meet her gaze and see her smile. He had a minute until he would leave to get the chance to see her.

Today, he was dressed nicer than how she normally would’ve seen them. He had a black undershirt and a dark teal suit. He switched his suit three times trying to decide which one would be perfect. Yet he was still ready earlier than normal. 

He probably wasn’t even going to see her. It was Saturday night, she was probably getting ready to go out with friends.

He took a hold of his keys and left his apartment, locking it before he walked down the hall towards the elevator. 

“C’mon,” he mumbled as the elevator was taking forever to reach the twelveth floor. The doors finally opened and he quickly stepped inside. Pressing the lobby button before he pressed to close the doors. He leaned against the back wall, watching the numbers slowly go down.

On the fifth floor the elevator doors opened and a beautiful girl wearing a Habs jersey with leather black pants stepped inside. He looked into her eyes, giving her the same polite smile that he’s always given her every time he saw her in the lobby. She always looked gorgeous in a sundress, but seeing her wear his team’s jersey lit a fire inside of him. 

She spun around as she walked inside, Cole took note of Lehkonen on the back. It must’ve been an older jersey since he was with the Avs this season. She stood beside him closer than a normal amount of space allowed in an elevator. 

Cole never noticed her height before, she was a couple inches taller than him, but the thought went out of his mind as quickly as it went in. He shifted his gaze towards her and she did the same thing.

“Habs fan?” he let out, the words shocked himself as she smiled. 

“I’ve lived in Montreal for two years now,” she said with a southern accent, “Have yet to see a game,” she mumbled as she met his eyes.

“Two years? I’m a little hurt,” he explained, placing his hand to his chest. She chuckled a wide smile to her lips.

“I did get a jersey when I moved here, does that make you feel better?” she teased, her southern accent was bright and beautiful. A different sound then what he’s used to.

“It’s not mine, can’t say it does,” he turned his body towards her and raised his eyebrows as he pressed his lips together. She rolled her eyes playfully. “Lehky is a good player though. Good choice,” he said as the elevator doors opened. His eyes looked at the lobby, saddened to see the moment end so soon.

They walked out of the elevator side by side. “Oh darlin’ I know, my dad grew up in Montreal, he’s a die hard Habs fan,” she expressed. He smiled widely.

“So you knew who I was and never stopped to say hi or anything?” he asked with a teasing tone.

“I liked you being the pretty boy stranger in the lobby, not the Habs star player,” she explained while they walked through the lobby side by side.

“I almost didn’t recognize you without a dress on,” he said as he nervously shoved his hands into his pants pockets.

“Hockey arena’s are cold,”

“So is Montreal,” he said laughing. They reached the doors and the chilly Novemeber air hit the pair. She smiled widely. 

“I guess that’s also true,” she explained as she stepped up towards the Uber waiting for her. “Good luck tonight, Cole Caufield,” she mumbled before she climbed into the backseat. 

He stood still, a smirk on his lips as he watched the Uber drive away. 

He finally spoke to the stunning girl in the lobby and he never caught her name.

 His eyes widened, “Fuck,” he groaned, his mouth fell open. He never caught her name, “Idiot,” he muttered, gazing at the pavement.

[im-a-wonderling]

Rescue Me, Part 3 ~ Obi-Wan Kenobi

Merry Christmas from me to all y'all!

Summary: Obi-Wan and his padawan arrive on Taris, but Obi-Wan's odd behavior only increases, sending his padawan into confusion.

Warnings: none that I can think of, let me know if I missed something!

Word count: 8.1k

Rescue Me masterlist | Main masterlist

The landing gear clicked as it unfolded, the ship coming to a landing a moment later.

Obi-Wan and I stood in silence as we waited for the door to open, allowing us to step foot onto the skyscraper that rose high above the pollution Taris was famous for. The rich got to avoid the worst of the pollution, condemning the rest of the planet to fend for themselves. 

It was the kind of thing that would stoke the flames of Obi-Wan’s contempt, causing it to bleed through his resplendent Force signature. As we waited, however, my sense of him was strangely subdued. What was left of the normally pleasing hum had soured into a deep whine.

“What’s our objective?” I asked, unable to take the silence anymore.

“Taris has stayed out of the war until now, but Senator Kin Robb is realizing she cannot stay neutral anymore. She must pick a side, so she has arranged a meeting including the Republic and the Separatists.”

“So…we’re making a case for Taris to join the Republic?” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Obi-Wan nod. Attempting for some normalcy, I turned to him, plastering on a lopsided smile. “You mean I’ll finally get to see the famous Negotiator Kenobi in action?”

Obi-Wan remained staring directly ahead. “That you will.” There was no mirth or happiness in Obi-Wan’s tone.

I dropped my smile. “You don’t want to be here.”

As the door cracked open, letting in the first sickly yellow light of Taris and revealing the sight of a tall woman and two even taller armored soldiers waiting for us, Obi-Wan finally looked over at me. “I am not a politician.” 

“Thank the stars for that,” I muttered. Perhaps I was imagining it, but as Obi-Wan swept forward to meet the attendant, I could’ve sworn I felt a momentary flash of warm light through the Force.

The woman, dressed in elegant purple garb, glided forward. “Thank you, Master Jedi, for your presence here.” 

I craned my neck to meet her gaze, marveling at the famed height of Tarisians. Obi-Wan answered with a bow, which I quickly followed. “Thank you for the invitation,” my master said, a silkiness to his tone I rarely heard before. “This is my padawan, Y/N.”

“Welcome to Taris, Y/N.” The woman shot a no nonsense smile at me. “I’m Kin Robb, I’m very happy to see both of you safely on my planet.” She refocused on Obi-Wan. “Now that you’ve arrived, the negotiations can start. In the instance that they extend overnight, I’ve asked them to prepare a suite for you.” 

I tried to keep my expression neutral. A suite? That would be a vast improvement over a bedroll in some war camp. 

“And finally, the conditions of this negotiation are peaceful, so we ask that you surrender all your weapons to us.”

A shot of alarm spiked through me, and though I couldn’t feel it, I knew Obi-Wan felt the same. “Ma’am, we are peacekeepers,” Obi-Wan said. “We do not raise our weapons until it is necessary, and if it is necessary, we will need them.”

“I’m afraid I must insist,” Kin Robb replied, her voice firm.

One of the soldiers expectantly held out a shiny, metallic tray. I looked at Obi-Wan, silently asking for direction. He gave me a tight nod. Reluctantly, I set my lightsaber on the tray, and Obi-Wan followed suit. I watched the soldier carry the tray into the building, feeling off-balance without the familiar weight of my lightsaber on my belt. 

Kin Robb’s appreciation was evident, if subdued. Like most everyone in the galaxy, she would’ve heard stories about Jedi. If I were more naive, I would’ve expected those stories to speak for our peaceful and moral conduct, but I knew firsthand that not every Jedi was peaceful and moral. 

“If you follow me,” the senator said, “I will lead you to where the Count of Serenno is waiting.”

Obi-Wan stiffened. He really didn’t want to be negotiating, did he, if the very sound of it wound him tighter than a spool of thread? Whatever the issue, I would be there to help him, I decided as I started to follow the politician. For my master, I would be a pillar of–

A hand grabbed a hold of my elbow, dragging me back. “Thank you,” Obi-Wan said to Kin Robb, causing her to stop, “but my padawan will be heading to the suite.”

“What?” I blurted, twisting my neck up to look at my master, confused at the abrupt change in plans. “What are you talking about?”

His beard scratched beside my ear, his words barely audible. “I need you to go to our suite.” 

“Why?” 

“I don’t want to see you until I retire to the suite at the end of the day, is that understood?”

A splash of discontent soaked me through to the bone. “Obi-Wan, I am here to learn. I won’t learn if I’m not with you.”

“Go to the suite,” Obi-Wan said lowly. “That’s an order.” Without waiting for a response, he followed Kin Robb, whose surprise I could sense even if it didn't appear on her face.

I watched them go. 

“This way, please,” the remaining soldier said pleasantly.

Since Krell became a figment of my past, I’d gotten better at sorting through my thoughts and feelings. I had to, since I could no longer push them down or hide them. Obi-Wan helped me identify the ones of which Jedi needed to be wary. 

Shame. 

Jealousy.

Fear.

The feeling boiling inside me was familiar, one I’d become intimate with long before I’d learned its name: anger. 

It was one thing for Obi-Wan to stonewall me, to not treat me as confidentially as he used to. But to keep me from the negotiations? Was he punishing me? And if he was, what for? He’d been given ample opportunity to tell me why he was displeased with me, and yet he said nothing. 

Clenching my jaw, I followed the soldier. 

-

The suite was indeed something to behold. 

Plush, colorful furniture filled the room which adjoined the two bedrooms, each with beds massive enough for an Anoatian pit beast. Double doors made of transparisteel led to a balcony, as if the room were intended for a contamination connoisseur to gaze out on the hazy, sallow air hovering over the ground below. 

The soldier left without so much as a word, leaving me to my own devices.

For the first hour, I fumed over being left out.

For the second, I paced, starting to worry about Obi-Wan. With no lightsaber and no padawan, would he be easily taken unawares? 

For the third, I searched the rooms for anything out of the ordinary, almost hoping to find a bug or a bomb if only for some entertainment. 

When four hours had passed, my restlessness had peaked, enough for me to try something unorthodox. I seated myself in front of the balcony doors, relaxing my shoulders and taking a deep breath. The Force responded as soon as I closed my eyes. “Where’s Obi-Wan?” I whispered. I waited for the Force to grab me, like it had on Felucia, bringing me right to my master.

But nothing happened.

I felt the Force around me, but it didn’t take me anywhere.

I huffed. I’d just have to do it myself then. Taking a deep breath, I began to stretch my conscience. I didn’t know what direction Obi-Wan was in, so I just reached out in all directions, expanding the radius of my mind, searching for any hint of my master. 

My conscience didn’t make it very far before a searing pain shot through my head. “Ow!” I blurted, my eyes shooting open. But the pain stopped as soon as it’d begun. 

“Ready to be a Jedi Knight, my butt,” I grumbled. 

The door at my back opened, and in a moment, I was on my feet, ready for anything. 

Obi-Wan let the door fall closed behind him, walking over to the couch. 

I cocked my head. How had I not felt Obi-Wan drawing near? I’d searched for him, and he’d been close, and yet I hadn’t sensed him. Curious, I reached through the Force again, trying to place Obi-Wan’s light. But there was no light, nor any hint of his emotional state. I scowled at him. Why wasn’t he sharing with me? Why was his light so far away? 

Obi-Wan dropped onto the couch, closing his eyes and bringing his fingers up to rub at his temples. He looked…exhausted. In fact, his very bones seemed to sag underneath his weight. The salient weariness lifted my irritation. 

I sat beside him. “Are you okay?”

“We didn’t get anywhere,” he rumbled. “Hours of talking, and we’re worse off than when we started.” 

“Well, if it was an easy choice, Kin Robb wouldn’t have organized the meeting.”

Obi-Wan merely nodded, his eyes still closed.

Once, I’d been so cut off from the Force that I had to rely only on what my other senses could tell me. Now, it felt wrong to be able to see the evidence of Obi-Wan's fatigue and not feel it. 

I got to my feet. “C’mon,” I said softly, causing Obi-Wan to look up at me. “Let’s go get some food.”

-

The servants down in the kitchen didn’t seem very happy to see us, and with their added height, I felt quite like a Gartro just waiting to be squished. 

We were seated at a tiny table, tucked away by the cellar in the corner. Obi-Wan ate and drank with a vengeance I’d never seen in all my months with him. I was as happy as could be that I was eating something other than war rations, but this was different—Obi-Wan was practically ravenous. Were the negotiations really so taxing?

If he’d let me take part, perhaps I’d know.

Once Obi-Wan polished off his plate, a servant whisked both plates away and set down a serving of chocolate cake. “Wait, we didn’t–” I said to her, but she walked away before I could finish. I eyed the cake hungrily before looking up at Obi-Wan, asking the question I already knew the answer to. “Are we…allowed?” I braced myself for the brusque, negative response. As Jedi, we really weren’t supposed to indulge, and Obi-Wan wasn’t one for breaking rules.

But to my astonishment, a soft smile played with Obi-Wan’s lips. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

I grinned at him, swiftly taking a bite before he could change his mind. 

The delightfully rich taste bloomed on my tongue, the decadent chocolate seemingly melting in my mouth. “Ohhhh.” I shut my eyes and covered my lips to keep any crumbs from falling because to let even a smidgen of this cake go to waste would be a crime. “Okay, I’m not exaggerating when I say this is the best thing I’ve ever eaten.” My eyes fluttered open to see Obi-Wan smiling at me. “You have to try this.”

Obi-Wan lifted his fork, tentatively bringing a bite to his mouth. At first he didn’t react, as if the cake were no different from the overly sweet sugar cubes we’d been eating for the last week. But then he started to cut another piece, and I knew he enjoyed our debauchery as much as I did. 

We took turns cutting bites, eating in blissful silence. 

I still couldn’t locate Obi-Wan’s light through the Force, but some of it had returned to his eyes again. As much as it pleased me to see him acting more like himself, only my concern derailed my boiling questions, and unluckily for him, my concern had been sated. Time for answers. 

Obi-Wan refilled his cup, drinking deeply.

“You must be thirsty after all that negotiating,” I said shortly. 

“I am,” he replied.

“I’m not thirsty at all.” I slowly cut another bite of cake. “There’s plenty of water in the suite.”

“Is there?” Obi-Wan’s tone was bland.

I tossed my fork onto the table. “Do you think I’m ready to be a Jedi Knight?” 

Obi-Wan’s startled blue eyes looked from the delicious dessert to me. He slowly chewed his bite of cake, looking down at the fork in his hand. He chewed. And chewed. And chewed. Finally, he swallowed. “That is the council’s decision,” he said, before quickly adding: “do you know what specialty you’d want?”

I narrowed my eyes, but he avoided looking at me, studiously watching the cake as if it may grow legs and walk off the table. While I could hardly begrudge him vigilance where this cake was concerned, his evasion irked me. But I decided against voicing my thoughts. Obi-Wan could already feel it all anyway. “If I pass the trials, the council will decide my specialty.” 

Obi-Wan didn’t answer for a moment, and when he did, it was quiet but firm. “When you pass the trials, do you know what specialty you will request?”

I stared at him, grappling with my confusion. Whatever answers he hid, I sensed they lay in between the words instead of in the words themselves, yet I could not puzzle them out.  “Once the war is over, I was thinking perhaps of being a Consular Jedi.”

My master twirled his fork thoughtfully. “Not healing?” I lowered my eyes to my food, a pang shooting through my chest. He leaned forward. “You’re sad.”

I rolled my eyes. “Not hiding my emotions might be the Jedi way, but it sure benefits you a great deal.” I expected Obi-Wan to respond with immediate cheek, but he didn’t say anything. Yes, his eyes probed, urging me to reveal more, but his mouth stayed closed. 

Without even thinking, I reached out with the Force, hoping to gain some insight, only to be reminded that it couldn’t tell me anything. Had Obi-Wan had some sort of falling out with the Force? Was that even possible?

“Why are you sad about healing?” Obi-Wan asked, forcing me back into the present. 

I lowered my eyes. The healing ability of a Jedi stemmed from one thing, and one thing only. A thing I’d lost a long time ago. “The heart of a Jedi healer is pure.”

“And you think you’re not pure of heart anymore.” Obi-Wan paused, as if waiting for a reaction. I gave him none, instead raising my cup to my lips. “I think you are.”

I choked on the liquid, nearly splashing it all down my front. “How do you figure that?” I asked, once I finished coughing.

Obi-Wan rested his elbow on the table. “Cody told the council you saved a clone on Felucia.”

I looked down at the dessert, but instead of chocolate-y goodness, images of Dank, Click, and Exit floated through my mind. “I barely did anything.”

“You stabilized him.” Obi-Wan’s stare dared me to argue.

“Well, what of it?” I said crossly, staring right back. “It’s just common courtesy on the battlefield.”

“And then with that villager?” Obi-Wan asked. “Was that battlefield courtesy too?”

“No, that was picking up after the Separatists, which is our job last I checked.”

Again, it was strange to see Obi-Wan’s exasperation and not feel it. “Over and over again, you prove that your first instinct is to heal.”

“Instincts mean nothing, not when–”

“Instincts,” Obi-Wan said firmly, “mean everything. They reveal things that might otherwise be hidden by deception or fear. Your instincts do you credit, and credit builds up.”

“The council would never allow me to become a healer.”

“The council may change their minds,” Obi-Wan said slowly.

I slammed down my cup. “You and I both know that’s not true!”

The noise around us went quiet. I glanced around to see all the servants staring at me. My cheeks burned, and I averted my eyes, wishing I could disappear.

“Carry on,” Obi-Wan said, and I could feel the Force surging from his every word. Without a moment’s hesitation, the clatter and chatter resumed like there was never an interruption.

Another reminder of Obi-Wan’s prowess.

I gripped my cup. “The council sees me as an encumbrance. They won’t ever change their minds.”

“They’ve already begun to.” There was a strange tint to his tone. Was it…bitterness?

I titled my head. “What do you–”

I twisted to look at the door. Something had changed, as if the planet had an earthquake and shifted everything to the left by an inch. 

Obi-Wan was already on his feet, but instead of looking at the door in the direction of the sensation, he was staring intently at my face.

"Something's wrong," I said breathlessly. Together, we sprinted out the door and up the stairs towards the higher levels.

Whatever we were about to face, we would do it together as master and pada–

“You need to go back to the suite!” Obi-Wan shouted at me as we ran.

Faltering a step, I struggled to keep time with him. “I’m not doing that,” I said.

“It’s an order, not a request.”

“You’re going to need back-up,” I bit back.

“Y/N, go!”

“You can’t fight on your–”

Obi-Wan grabbed my shoulder, bringing both of us to a stop. “I fought and won many fights before you became my padawan. Go!”

I watched Obi-Wan disappear out of sight, feeling as though he’d just cut me down at the knees. Why wouldn’t he let me help? If he believed in me as much as he said he did, why did he keep sending me away?

I stood straight. I obeyed him once and wasn’t able to be there to support him during the negotiations. I wasn’t about to make that mistake again. 

I was about to start running again, when the Force tugged at me, tugging me in…a third direction. Not the way to the suite and in the opposite direction that Obi-Wan had gone. It was as if the Force was whispering to me, but I couldn’t quite hear the words. I tried to listen, but the whispering disappeared and the tugging increased.

So I followed it down two flights of stairs and across a large hall to a door that was slightly ajar. 

On high alert, I pushed the door open wide enough to soundlessly slip inside, my heart hammering in my chest. 

The walls were covered with weapons similar to the ones I’d seen the guards armed with. Why would the Force bring me to some type of armory? The answer made itself clear as my eyes fell upon a pedestal with two lightsabers on top. If Obi-Wan and I were going to protect Kin Robb and face whatever threat lurked in this building, we would need our weapons. I clipped both lightsabers onto my belt, turning to go. When my head lifted, I nearly screamed.

Behind the door lay a pile of Tarisian guards, all of them with closed eyes and unmoving bodies. 

It took only a moment to realize I felt no life through the Force.

By the light. Someone had killed the guards and piled their bodies out of sight. Anything that could easily dispose of this many guards without raising an alarm was a grave threat. 

And my master was running around this building without me or his lightsaber. 

I left the armory at a panicked run, following the Force’s guidance, trusting that it would lead me to Obi-Wan. Up stairs I didn’t recognize, through corridors I didn’t have time to search. 

I must’ve been nearing the top of the building when I ran past a pair of double doors and came to a screeching halt. The prodding from the Force was far from subtle. Something was going on in there. 

If I were truly ready to be a Jedi Knight, I might’ve waited outside the door and eavesdropped to get an idea of what situation unfolded inside. If Obi-Wan were here, he would force us to wait.

I didn’t hesitate—I flung the doors open.

The suite was laid out exactly as the one I’d spent my day in.

The only differences were the rich purple of the couches, Kin Robb cowering behind said couches, and the balcony that contained a man I’d never seen before. 

A brown cape, held in place by a delicate silver chain, flowed from the brutally straight posture of his shoulders. The power on his wrinkled face was centered upon the chilling assurance in the arch of his gray eyebrows. He stood so tall, I wouldn’t be surprised if he could be mistaken for a Tarisian. But the most threatening quality was the surge of shadows that emanated through the Force. 

Whoever this man was, he was not a good one.

“You are interrupting.” He spoke with the authority of a man used to being obeyed. “Kin Robb and I have business.”

Kin Robb let out a little whimper, a strangely vulnerable sound from such a noble woman. 

I stepped further into the room, my hands raised non-threateningly and my steps slow. “I believe these are Kin Robb’s chambers, therefore Kin Robb decides if I’m interrupting or not.” Kin Robb darted away from the bed, clinging to my arm as she ducked behind me. I shot an easy smile at the man. “Looks like I’m not interrupting.”

The man fluidly tilted his head to the side. “You’re with Kenobi.”

I didn’t answer, for I didn’t discern a question. Instead, I looked him up and down for a clue as to his identity. Was he a Separatist or a third-party?

“He hid you away from the negotiations, did he?” The man pursed his lips as if he were amused. “How impotent. He kept you in the shadows, not by his side.” The man dipped his chin, and a searing warning hurtled through the Force. I whirled around, shoving Kin Robb behind me and igniting my saber just in time to block the strike from behind. 

I beat back the tall assailant, before slicing their weapon in half and slicing at their arm. Only once the assailant was on the ground, gripping their arm in pain did I notice they wore a Tarisian soldier’s uniform. One of Kin Robb’s own men, turned against her? Or an imposter? 

As I turned, I caught sight of the double doors I'd just come through. They were closed now. Suspicious, but I couldn't linger on it. I returned my attention to the man of darkness, holding my lightsaber loosely in front of me. He mentioned the negotiations, so he was likely a Separatist.

“You’re not ineffective,” the man noted with little surprise, like he was blandly commenting on the weather. 

“No, I’m not. Now I believe it’s time for you to leave.”

The man narrowed his eyes, taking a few steps into the room, studying me with enough intensity to send a shiver up my spine. Clearly something perplexing held his attention, but what could he possibly be trying to puzzle out? “What are you?” the man finally asked.

What, not who.

The oddity of his phrasing threw me off guard, but I quickly brushed it off. “This negotiation is a peaceful one,” I replied. “You are in direct conflict with your government’s agreement by attacking Kin Robb in this fashion.”

“What are you?” he repeated.

“I’m a Jedi.” I crouched slightly, searching with the Force to discern if any more attacks lay hidden in wait. “That’s all you need to know.”

“You’re afraid.”

No, I’m not, I wanted to shout. I’m not afraid!

But a true Jedi didn’t hide their feelings.

“Yes,” I finally admitted. “Yes, I am.”

“Is that why you have a touch of–” he hesitated, as though tasting the air. “The dark?” The words made me lose focus for a moment. The man lifted a hand to his chin. “Or is it something else?” Without waiting for a reply, he reached out with his hand. I flinched, waiting for some sort of attack around me, but I felt nothing, nor any strange nudging from the Force.

What in the blazes was he doing? I threw a look over my shoulder to check on Kin Robb, who was unchanged from her position. If the man wasn’t attacking me nor attacking Kin Robb–

“You’re Krell’s padawan.”

I jerked back to face the man. He spoke with no intonation whatsoever, nor did his face show anything even remotely human, and yet I could sense the surprise that tainted the shadows.

Tightening my grip on my saber, I rolled my shoulders in an effort to stay loose. “I haven’t been his padawan in a long time.”

“And yet his signature is all over you.”

“Well, he matters not, for he is now one with the Force.” It was selfish of me, but my heart burned with satisfaction at the fact that Krell was gone. He couldn’t hurt me or anyone else ever again.

“And yet our teachings bely us, don’t they?” The corners of the man’s mouth turned up into an eerie smile. “He is tucked away inside you, deep in the recesses of your mind.”

“No, he’s–”

“How very like a Jedi you are,” the man said, a cruel smile on his face. Despite his dismissive tone, his dark eyes never left me. “You deny what is inside you.”

Robbed of speech, I glanced at Kin Robb again, to remind myself that my purpose was to keep her safe. Nothing else mattered, especially not this man’s goading.

“How disheartened Obi-Wan must’ve been to receive you as his student.”

I hissed at him before I could stop it. “You don’t know what you speak of!"

For the first time during the whole exchange, the man smiled. It was a starved gesture, the corners of his mouth barely upturning, but it transformed his whole face. He looked human, and it was far more terrifying than any scowl he could’ve given me.

“What a pity I have to kill you,” he said as he reached for his belt. “We could’ve done a lot together, you and me.” Red light filled the room as he ignited a lightsaber.

My heart nearly stopped beating against the pressure of fear that ballooned in my chest, and I quickly took calming breaths. 

He was a sith. 

I was barely able to lift my lightsaber before the man brought his own down. 

“Go!” I shouted at Kin Robb, trying to hold the locked position. The man—the sith—possessed such strength, I wasn’t sure how long I could hold on. 

The sith slid his lightsaber higher, creating an awful scraping sound before pushing hard enough for me to fall back a step, our lightsabers breaking contact. I had less than a moment to catch my breath before the red saber swung again.

I was at a disadvantage. Not only was this man clearly the superior fighter, but I was limited to the defensive. The moment I gave him an opening, he would take it and kill Kin Robb or worse. 

The sound of rattling reached my ears, but I couldn’t afford to look. Was Kin Robb trying to open the doors?

My momentary distraction cost me.

The sith struck my lightsaber with such force, my fingers lost grip of it and it went flying off to the wall. I had barely a moment to grab Obi-Wan’s lightsaber from my belt before a great force hit my chest. 

I managed to roll away, nearly colliding with Kin Robb, who was indeed wrestling with the doorknobs. Without sparing her another glance, I ran at the sith, lifting my master’s lightsaber in an offensive strike, determined to land a blow.

The red lightsaber moved too quickly for me to follow, and the next thing I knew, I flew backwards, landing so hard on my back that the lightsaber slipped from my grasp and my breath filtered out of my lungs. 

“You’re no match for the dark side.” The man pointed his saber at me, the end so close to my neck, I could feel its heat on my skin. 

I looked up into the man’s face, certain that it was going to be the last sight I would see in this life. 

A loud thump sounded, and the man whirled around. Taking advantage of the moment, I scrambled to my feet, once more putting myself in between the man and Kin Robb. 

That’s when I saw Obi-Wan, breathing hard on the balcony. His hands were empty, but his eyes were dark. “Get away from her.”

Get away from her.

Which ‘her’ was he referring to?

I thrust out my hand towards my lightsaber, using the Force to bring it to my palm. 

“I must say, Kenobi,” the man clasped his hands behind his back, his lightsaber sheathed one more, “you did a spectacular job of hiding her from me. Now I know why you were shielding yourself from me earlier.”

I sucked in a breath. Obi-Wan, shielding himself?

“No wonder your padawan found me before you did.” The sith laughed, a cold and short-lived sound. 

“I will give you a chance to leave in peace,” Obi-Wan replied, his voice stiff as his feet moved fluidly closer. “I suggest you take it.”

“Kin Robb is coming with me. Alive or dead, though I assume you prefer the former.”

“You’re in direct conflict with the terms of this arrangement.” Obi-Wan’s eyes didn’t budge from the man, but the fingers of his right hand flexed ever so slightly.

“Alas, the same Kenobi as always, with focus so great, it blinds him.”

Obi-Wan smiled tightly. “I appreciate your concern, Count Dooku, but I assure you my eyesight is fine.”

My legs wobbled like my knees were suddenly replaced with jelly.

This man was Count Dooku?

I’d been fighting Count Dooku?

As if he heard my thoughts, for he probably did, Dooku’s piercing eyes found me. “Tell me, Obi-Wan, did you choose your padawan or did the council?” Distantly, I saw Obi-Wan scramble towards his abandoned lightsaber, but I was frozen. Not under Dooku’s stare, but under his question. “Well, padawan?” Dooku asked. “Did he choose you?”

My world tunnel-visioned to just the sith lord in front of me. 

Dooku’s eyes somehow flayed me open, inspecting every piece of me, even the parts of myself I couldn’t see. He read every piece of me, clearly searching for something, perhaps something that matched his own sinister shadows. 

Suddenly, my view was blocked as Obi-Wan slid in between us. 

“Yes,” Obi-Wan said sharply, igniting his lightsaber, casting blue light onto Dooku’s harsh features. “I chose her.”

“Interesting,” Dooku murmured. “You’re flirting with the darkness, Kenobi.”

He means me, I thought.

Without looking away from my master, Dooku nodded his head, as if concurring with my thought. “And you know it, don’t you? It’s why you’re still shielding yourself.”

“I have no time for your chicanery,” Obi-Wan said forcefully. “This is your last chance to leave in peace.”

Dooku’s only answer was to step forward, and I braced myself for the furious fight that was about to occur. 

But then Dooku cut a glance at the door, just as it burst open. As Tarisian warriors poured into the room, he ran for the balcony and jumped off, free-falling into the gray pollution and disappearing from sight.

A loud “No!” broke through my lips. Holding tight to my lightsaber, I ran for the balcony, bending my knees in preparation for jumping after him. 

An iron grip seizing my arm, holding me back with a great jolt.

Incredulous, I looked at the firm hand and followed the length of the arm to my master.

“Let the warriors go after him,” Obi-Wan said, a little breathless. “Our concern is Kin Robb.”

I looked back the way Dooku had gone, contemplating wrenching my arm out of his reach and following Dooku anyway. 

The grip tightened, as if Obi-Wan knew what I was considering. “Let him go.”

A ship rocketed out of the smog below. As we watched, it flew straight for the atmosphere, growing smaller and smaller. Reluctantly, I stepped back. Obi-Wan’s grasp held on still. I looked up at him, expecting his eyes to be trained on the ship. 

But Obi-Wan’s eyes were fixed upon my face, his steeled look enough to make even the proudest bow their head in chagrin. I couldn’t blame him. I stood in this chamber as a direct result of disobeying him.

After a long look, my master mechanically released me and walked to Kin Robb. “How are you, my lady?” 

Ignoring Kin Robb’s response, I looked back at the way Dooku’s ship had gone. Kin Robb was still alive and with us, so we’d done what was necessary. But I couldn’t shake the sinking feeling that something horrible had just occurred. 

-

“I told you to return here.” Obi-Wan paced between the couch and the window of our suite, his pivots aggressive and his tread heavy. “I gave you an order, and you defied it.” His admonishment was strangely loud compared to his normal low-toned criticism.

“I’m sorry, master,” I said for the third time, hoping to put an end to the frantic pacing. If I could feel his light, I’m sure it would’ve been pulsing like a racing heartbeat, but my master must've still been shielding himself.

How could I be so foolish? It was obvious once Count Dooku said it, but it never even occurred to me that Obi-Wan was concealing himself.

“He could’ve killed you both, he could’ve killed Kin Robb, and then what would have happened to Taris?” Obi-Wan's scowl and raised voice hit me like wafts of bantha dung. It struck me, down to my innermost self. “What if he’d taken you too?” Obi-Wan was saying. “Chobb knows what he might’ve done to you if I hadn’t gotten there in time!”

I blinked, my own mind starting to swivel as quickly and harshly as he was. “But if I hadn’t gone,” I said slowly, “then no one would’ve stopped Dooku from taking her.”

Obi-Wan’s feet halted on the carpet, and my heart rate kicked up into an agitated pace. I couldn’t make myself look up at his face, my own starting to burn.

I’d just questioned him.

Me.

Questioned Obi-Wan.

But even with the desire to sink through the floor, I couldn’t retract the statement, because I wanted to hear the response. None came. Taking a breath, I dared a glance up into my master’s face. I could see the conflict on his face, clear as day, but I couldn’t see which two sides were fighting. 

“You shouldn’t have done it,” Obi-Wan said suddenly, turning away from me to resume his trek. “You should’ve done what you were told, that’s what padawans do.”

Padawans.

I lowered my eyes again to the luxuriously plush carpet. “You really don’t think I’m ready.”

My words were soft, and the way his shadow shifted as he turned was anything but. “What?”

My insides swept and roiled with something I couldn’t name, but it brought hot tears to my eyes. I tried to fight them, and, like every fight I’d fought today, I lost.

The alarmed face of Obi-Wan came into my view as he knelt by the couch. “Y/N?” I twisted away from him, not wanting him to see the tears, but he caught my wrists. “What’s wrong?” I wrenched my wrists from his hands, getting to my feet to put him behind me. “Y/N.” Obi-Wan’s stern voice only made the waves inside me swell all the more.

“Why would you tell me to be a healer?!” I cried, spinning to face him.

Obi-Wan jumped a little, looking like he’d been bowled over. “What are you talking about?”

The words were so jumbled up in my mind that I could hardly keep track of them. “You…you keep telling me to be a healer, but you think I’m useless.”

My master rose to his feet. “I never said–”

“But you’re thinking it!” I shouted. Deep down, I knew it was wrong for me to raise my voice at him, but even deeper down, there was something growing, something that would not be contained. “You…you were disappointed in me on Felucia, and then when we got here you wouldn’t let me go to the negotiation, and then when Kin Robb was in trouble, you sent me away!” My breaths were coming in short gasps, and my head spun. I needed Obi-Wan to explain it, to order my thoughts in the way only he could, to make it make sense. 

But he didn’t speak, simply stared back at me. What was he not telling me? Why had he sent me away? Why did he continually keep me from doing my job at his side? Why had he cut himself off from the Force, to the point where he couldn’t find Dooku and had to physically pick up his lightsaber in a fight instead of using the Force to bring it to him? 

There was only one possible answer to all of those questions. 

“You don’t trust me,” I said miserably, my voice wobbling. 

“That’s not true,” Obi-Wan said sharply, but what else could it be?

“Can you feel the darkness too?”

Obi-Wan’s wary expression didn’t stir, showing me his infamous control as he spoke with an even voice. “What are you talking about?”

“Dooku said that I have a touch of darkness. He could feel it.”

I could’ve sworn Obi-Wan paled. “You talked to him?”

“He knew that Krell taught me!” I spat. “He could–could sense Krell’s signature in mine!”

The distress on Obi-Wan’s face would’ve been enough to clue me into the gravity he felt, but the sudden devastation I felt through the Force could’ve leveled planets. He lifted shaking hands to his hair, clenching his locks with whitening fists. “Y/N–”

“You’re the one who always tells me that my history with Krell is irrelevant!” I snapped, my voice growing louder by the second. “You tell me that I am pure of heart, but you’ve known all along that I’m not!” My voice broke on the last word.

Obi-Wan shook his head. “It doesn’t matter.” 

“Yes, it does! It does to Dooku! It does to the council!”

I paused to suck in a big breath, giving Obi-Wan time to say: “Y/N, you’re ready.”

“If that were true, you wouldn’t keep cutting me out!”

“I’m not–”

“Don’t you dare lie to me again.” My breathing was heavy and loud. “You taught me that cutting oneself off from the Force to hide thoughts and feelings was the way of the sith, and yet you’ve been shielding yourself all day!”

An uncharacteristically wild look flashed in Obi-Wan’s eye. “I was trying to protect you!”

“From what, my own incompetence?”

“From Dooku!” Obi-Wan exclaimed, crossing the room in two, urgent strides. His hands gripped my shoulders, pulling me closer. “Dooku trained Qui-Gon Jinn, my master. Dooku sees myself and Anakin as part of his legacy!” Obi-Wan’s chest heaved as he took gulps of air. “I knew that when he met you, he would be able to sense Krell, it’s why I kept you away!”

Obi-Wan would…go against his own teachings to keep me safe? 

I tried to think through the magnitude of his actions, but his sharp blue eyes hovering so close to me made it difficult to think. “Maybe that explains your actions here,” I said slowly, “but why were you acting strange on the ship?”

Obi-Wan froze, and I could read guilt all over his face. 

“You couldn’t have been angry about my actions in battle,” I realized aloud. “Otherwise…you would have talked to me about it before we went to help the village.” Obi-Wan’s eyes went wide and his grip on my shoulders tightened, begging me not to continue, but I'd listened too long. “It happened in the council meeting, didn’t it? Whatever it was?”

Obi-Wan closed his eyes and exhaled shakily, like a child scared of the dark, wishing for some light to chase away the shadows on his bedroom wall.  

“Tell me the truth,” I said quietly. “You owe me that much.”

When his eyes opened, the deep pain in them was almost enough to dissuade me. But I held his gaze, willing him to talk. 

He let go of me, but didn’t step back. “After this negotiation–” Obi-Wan’s words were scratchy, and he cleared his throat. “After the negotiation, the council wishes for me to bring you to Coruscant where you will complete your trials.”

The news which ordinarily would bring me joy made my mind go blank. The council wanted me to complete my trials? To rise from the rank of Padawan to Knight? 

This was…huge.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I whispered. “Why did you let me believe I’d done something wrong?” 

Obi-Wan rubbed his face. “I never meant to give you cause to doubt yourself, for that I am sincerely sorry.” He looked at me for a long moment, perhaps waiting for an acceptance of his apology, but I couldn’t even form the necessary thoughts. He pursed his lips, his face tight. “As Jedi, our lives are based on change. We carry no possessions with us, we have little control over our whereabouts or activities, and we are charged solely with caring for others.” His eyes flicked to mine, and there was hesitation. “Perhaps…perhaps I wasn’t ready…for this to change.”

“Change?” I echoed. “Why would–”

Oh.

Oh.

Suddenly, my chest was lit on fire, burning and thrashing in agony. Something must’ve shown on my face, for Obi-Wan nodded sadly. “Once you are no longer a padawan, you no longer have need for a master.”

No, I had every need for my master!

“I…I can’t do this without-without you!” I stammered as my head spun. “I’m not, I’m nowhere near ready!”

Obi-Wan stepped back, and I resisted the strange urge to seize his robes before he could disappear forever. “You can,” he said. “And you are. You actually have been for a while now.”

“But what about my darkness?” I spluttered. “I still have a touch of darkness!”

“A touch of darkness!” Obi-Wan laughed—actually laughed—and shook his head. “You haven’t the faintest idea how remarkable you are.”

“Remarkable?!”

“Yes, remarkable.” Affection punctured the amusement in his eyes. “Y/N, you faced a sith.”

Confusion spun my mind like an antennae in a dust storm. “I did not face a sith, a sith thrashed me and then got away!”

“Not Dooku.” Obi-Wan leaned against the couch, his face growing grim. “Krell.”

My brain seemed to make some sort of perplexed popping noise as it tried to understand his meaning. “I never fought Krell. And even if I had, he would’ve won.”

“You were raised by a sith. Krell spoonfed darkness to you and said it was light.” Obi-Wan pushed off the couch and came closer again, his eyes sweeping the expanse of my face. Was that…wonder on his face? “It should’ve eaten you alive,” he murmured. “It should’ve snuffed out the light without a trace, and instead you beat it back.”

His unbearably warm tone caught me by the throat, barricading it shut. 

“You haven’t told me all of what Krell did to you,” Obi-Wan said, and I stared at the floor, unable to look at him. Obi-Wan grasped my chin, lifting it so I was once again trapped under the weight of his inescapable stare. “You told me some things, and Rex told me others, but I know there’s more.” 

“Obi…” I pleaded.

“Yet even with what I know, I’m shocked you have enough goodness in you to think of others.” 

My eyes burned. “It wasn’t me.”

“It was you.”

“No, I couldn’t have done it without your guidance, your teachings.”

Obi-Wan exhaled in exasperation. “You give yourself so little credit.”

“I thought humility was the mark of a Jedi,” I said weakly. 

“The mark of a Jedi healer,” Obi-Wan’s careful words made me brace myself, “is conquering darkness. You can’t conquer darkness if you pretend it isn’t there.” He shook his head. “The code doesn’t say that Jedi must be innocent. Even in a galaxy at peace, it’s impossible to stay innocent for long.” Obi-Wan inclined his head. “Most padawans haven’t faced as much as you, it’s true, but instead of letting your experiences make you weak, you turned them into strength.”

The effects of his words were…indescribable. 

They were like wind passing over me, dislodging my hair and making me feel I could fly. Like warm water pouring over me, giving me relief from the cold. Like the forbidden but heavenly taste of chocolate cake I was never supposed to eat. 

I cast around for something to say, something else to look at, but Obi-Wan’s gravity made it impossible. I could only see—only feel—him.

His long hair, which never got cut, no matter how many times I offered or how many times he said he meant to do so himself. His beard, excellently framing his mouth whether he smiled or frowned. His eyes, half-closed as they were now, spilling into mine, like the distance between us was irrelevant.

I knew the Force showed him everything. He knew how I felt. I knew that he knew how I felt. 

Suddenly, a rush swept through me, warmth nearly twice as large and strong as I'd ever felt. It knocked the breath from my lungs, yet I couldn’t mind, even if I were to drown in it.

Obi-Wan wasn’t shielding himself anymore.

The light that shone was sweeter than the cake he’d let me have. I couldn’t name it or understand it, but I could feel it better than I could see it in his eyes. 

And just as unexpectedly, the warmth turned to an aching loss. Obi-Wan’s deep bereavement was mirrored in me, the pain he felt about our parting sharp even though I still stood in front of him. 

I felt Obi-Wan’s need to speak before he opened his mouth, but while the Force in between us tensed in preparation for his words, no words came. Obi-Wan licked his lips. “Promise me,” he said finally, “that you’ll request to be a healer.”

The tension remained, as if that wasn’t what words he’d been going to say. 

“I don’t think–”

“If not for yourself,” he pleaded, “then for me?”

If this was the final request my master—my good, kind, accomplished master—would make of me, how could I refuse?

“Okay.”

Obi-Wan nodded, his expression one of satisfaction, but his signature one of apprehension. “We are Jedi.” He squared his shoulders. “This is what we are made for.” Made for change? Or for loss? “We should sleep.” Obi-Wan walked towards the door of one of the bedrooms. “Tomorrow, we will escort Kin Robb to Coruscant, and you should be well-rested for..."

For my trials.

We held each other’s gaze for a moment longer, the silence loaded with all the things we couldn’t and didn’t know how to say. 

“Goodnight…master.”

The light fluttered for a moment before Obi-Wan replied. “Goodnight, Y/N.” 

I shut my door, clutching the door knob tightly. 

Obi-Wan was right. Of course he was. Our lives were devoted to the Force. To serve it best, I would eventually have to move on and teach others of it. But if leaving Obi-Wan was a part of my duty, why did it feel like the ground beneath me was disappearing? Why was there a great heaviness inside me, threatening to swallow me whole?

My chest felt like a crumbling bridge, my arms sagged at my sides, and I somehow couldn’t lift my feet from the floor.

I closed my eyes, reaching out for the Force, craving its peace.

As always, it answered, enveloping me like the embrace of a mother and the protection of a father. Bend, the Force whispered to me, don’t break. I leaned into the feeling, allowing the weight in my chest to bend me. I sank to the floor, pulling myself further away from my present and closer into the Force.

And then I felt the light.

Obi-Wan’s light.

It shook violently, like it’d been left out in the cold with no cloak and was desperately trying to hold on.

And then another pull appeared. One far in the distance. A pull made up entirely of shadows. My first instinct was to panic and recoil as fast as possible, even if I ended up recoiling from the Force itself. 

But as my master said: one can’t conquer darkness if one pretends it isn’t there. If I wanted to be a healer, it was time to recognize the darkness. Recognize and prepare. I can feel you, I said to the pull. And next time we meet, I may not be with my master, but I will certainly be ready.

-

Part 4

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[lulublack90]

Prompt 4 - Break

@rosekillermicrofic September 4, word count 648

Previous part First Jegulus part

The rusty van clattered down the pristine street, looking very out of place. He stamped his foot down on the spongy breaks and brought it to a stop. Evan hopped out first, so Regulus could follow, leaving Barty to turn the engine off and make sure the hand brake was firmly on. 

“Are you certain they’re out?” Evan asked. Barty knew he was about as excited to run into Regulus’s parents as he was. 

“Yeah, Fathers at the office and Mothers gone into the city to shop. We have a few hours before either of them comes back,” Regulus told them as he unlocked the heavy front door. 

Barty hated Grimmauld Place. He couldn’t understand how such a beautiful house in a highly sought-after area could be so horrid on the inside. Walburga refused to re-decorate and kept it how her great-great-great grandparents had had it, peeling wallpaper and all. He’d been allowed in a few times as a boy, but when Regulus let it slip that he was in a relationship with Evan, Walburga had refused him entry and threatened to tell his parents. More fool her, he’d told his father just to spite him when he’d started going on about heirs. He didn’t want kids, never had. Secretly he was scared he’d turn out just like his father. Cold and heartless. He’d be the trouble-making uncle for Regulus’s kids. He’d already mapped out his mischievous plans until they were in secondary school and then some. 

He bought himself back to the present and walked into the house, following Regulus straight up to his room. 

Regulus lifted his mattress and extracted a pile of flat cardboard boxes. They began filling them with what Regulus had already sorted into piles and took them out to the van. 

Barty came back in for the last box and caught Regulus staring at the still-full wall of books sadly. 

“I hope she doesn’t hurt them,” He said sorrowfully as he stroked a couple of the spines. “You know if she throws me out,”

“We can come back for them later,” Barty said, squeezing his friend’s shoulder. He knew how much each of those books meant to him. For a while, they’d been all that he had in that house, especially after Sirius had abandoned him. He’d always hate Sirius for leaving Regulus behind. If it had been Barty, he would have dragged Regulus from that house. He would have dug his nails in and drawn blood to haul him away if he resisted. Not just disappear into the night without a second glance. It made his blood boil just to think of it. Gods he needed a smoke break. All this emotional crap was giving him a headache. He pulled the packet from his pocket, tapped out a ciggy and placed it between his lips. He was just about to light it when Evan ripped it from his mouth. Wait until you’re in the van, lunk head!” He snapped. “If burger face gets even a whiff of the smoke she’ll know we were here.” Shit, he hadn’t thought of that. He kicked himself internally. He didn’t want to add to Regulus’s already overwhelming issues with his mother. 

He tucked the stick behind his ear and hauled the last box into his arms before descending the three floors of steps and out into the dazzling sunlight. Out of the cold, dank, lonely house. 

“Right, buckle up kids, we’re in for a bumpy ride!” He cackled before putting his foot down and speeding down the paved road, the poor van protesting the entire way. He honestly had no idea how it was still together, and he had no idea how he would get it though it’s MOT at the end of the month, but that was a problem for future Barty. Right now, Regulus needed him, so the van would have to wait. 

[i-cant-sing]

Idk if you’ve watched ladybird but there’s this secnce where lady brid says to her mom that “I wished you liked me” and the mom replies “ ofc I love you” “but you don’t like me” and I can imange this with big brother Dabi and sister reader

Y/n “I wished you liked me dabi”

Dabi “ ofc I love you”

Y/n “ you love me but you don’t like me”

Yes yes yes. I can just see it.

Like imagine that perhaps reader went out of the house at night without telling anyone, all because she wanted to go and surprise her big bro on his birthday. You know your relationship hasn't exactly been... ideal with him, nor does he like to celebrate his birthday, but yo hoped it would be different this time.

You were going to his apartment when you saw him leaving his place in his dingy car. So, you hailed a cab and followed him to his secret hideout at the LOV, but before you could hear or see any villains, Dabi ha caught you.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" He was fuming as he dragged you away from the hideout, his hands hot enough to leave scorch marks on your wrists.

"D-Dabi let go- you're hurting me-" but he just pushed you into the passenger seat.

"I asked you- WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING HERE?!" You flinched, but Dabi didn't care.

"Does mom know you're out here? Does anyone?!" He began driving away, brows furrowed. "What the hell are you gonna do if they wake up and don't find you?!"

You bit your lip and looked down, hands trying to ease the pain from where he held them. "I'm sorry... I just- I just wanted to surprise you-" you pulled out a small gift box. "-happy birthday, Dabi!"

"What?"

You smiled weakly. "I-Its your birthday, and you don't come on your birthday because you donf want us to celebrate. But I wanted to surprise you, that's why- that's why I came to your house alone, and then when I saw you leave, I followed you. I promise I was just going to give you the gift and go back home! I was gonna go home!" You shook your head. "But forget about that! Mom won't find out! Just open your gift, it's really nice! I know you're gonna like it!"

"SHUT UP!" Dabi yelled, smacking the gift out of your hand, letting the box fall to the back seat. "JUST SHUT IT! I don't care that its my birthday! I don't care that you were gonna go home! You messed up the moment you left the house when you damn well know you're not allowed to step a foot outside! Now mom's gonna fucking panic because of your stupidity and now I have to fucking pick you up and take you back home because you're a fucking pain in the ass!" You sat there stunned in silence, tears starting to flow down your face as his words echoed in your head.

Dabi took one look at you before rolling his eyes. "Great. Start the waterworks now."

After a few more minutes of silence, you finally spoke.

"Do you love me, Dabi?"

"What?"

You looked up at him, eyes holding some strange emotion. "Do you love me? Do you even like me?"

And even though every fibre of his being was telling him that something is not right, he still replied coldly. "No. I don't care about you, fucking nuisance."

You gulped, nodding your heard.

"Noted." And with that, you opened the door and flung yourself out of the moving vehicle.

"Y/N!!!"

-

And from here on out, things could go two ways. First could be the possibility of reader cracking her skull open and either dying or going in a coma. And he'd finally open her gift and realise it was a photo frame of him holding baby reader and there was real joy and happiness as he held his baby sister for he first time. And with the photo were letters from you, expressing how grateful you are to have a big bro like him and how you wish to be as amazing and protective as he is.

The other possibility could be reader fracturing multiple bones and being put on bed rest for months, only this time when Dabi comes to apologise for being a shitty brother, reader does not forgive him and simply ignore his existence, practically cutting him out of her life. Which greatly pains Dabi because he feels immensely guilty and he can't stand you ignoring him because now everytime he closes his eyes, he sees you trying to take your life again because he made you feel unimportant.

[loopstagirl]

Fractured Reflection, Ch 3

Taking it back from @scribbles97 for the next chapter.

Chapter 1 | Jeff's POV 1 | Chapter 2 | Jeff's POV 2

TW: TW: POW, TW: torture

Scott knew he’d given his father permission to leave, but he wasn’t truly aware of the man stepping out. His gaze was locked on Jen. She was alive.

His dad had told him the surviving members of his unit had been rescued. But Scott wasn’t sure he’d truly believed him until this moment. Watching her cross the room; feeling her take his hand.

Silence fell over the two of them once they were alone. Then Jen suddenly shifted from the chair.

“Move over,” she said.

Scott understood. He obediently forced his aching body to shift slightly to the right, giving her space to climb onto the bed next to him. Her head rested on his shoulder and for a few moments, the two of them just breathed.

How many times in recent months had they slept like this? Trying to find a comfortable position, making sure one couldn’t be taken without the other knowing about it.

“She’s a good one, that General,” Jen murmured. “She listened to me. Let me talk. Didn’t tell me to just rest when I… when I…”

Scott felt her shudder next to him. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he lifted an arm, draping it over her shoulder and holding her close. In a way, he was envious. Jenny could find the words. She could say them out loud. She could let her defences down and not be afraid of what was going to come out of her mouth.

Then again, if what his father said was true, she’d had at least a month in this hospital by now. Judging by the look he’d seen in her eyes when she’d walked through the door, it wasn’t enough.

Silence fell again. Jen’s hand was twisting in the blanket, an involuntary movement. Scott moved his own splinted hand, returning her earlier movement and resting his hand on hers, stilling her. He recognised the anxious tick and knew her movements would only get more distressed if she continued. He’d watched her try to twist free of restraints too many times.

“We tried to tell them!” Jenny suddenly blurted out. She sat up, her abrupt movement sending a spasm of pain through Scott’s body but he hid it as she turned to face him, tears in her eyes. “We told them you were still there. That you were alive. They said they’d done a sweep and hadn’t found anyone else. I tried to tell them about… about….”

She couldn’t say it. She didn’t need to. Scott shrunk in on himself, the need to make himself smaller, to have room to breathe… his left foot gave a throb in remembered pain.

She’d tried to tell them about the hidden room. The small room. The dark room. The room where the only thing anyone could hear was their own screams. How many times had the guards mocked they forgot where the door was? A cursory sweep was not going to uncover it. Uncover him.

Nor did Scott blame the rescue party, though. They were deep in enemy territory, evacuating as many as they could. If the choice was between leaving him behind, or conducting a more thorough search and risking the lives of everyone they’d pulled out? Almost since the day they’d been caught, Scott had made it clear he didn’t care what happened to him, as long as his team survived.

“I knew you were alive,” Jen finished, her tone fierce even as tears shone in her eyes. “I knew it.”

Scott forced a small smile. He couldn’t allow her to shoulder this blame. It wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t even the men and women sent in to get them out. They weren’t the ones who’d agreed to the trade; they weren’t the ones who’d have had a prisoner list and know that not everyone who’d gone it came out again.

He awkwardly took her hand, holding it over his own beating heart, wordless reassurance that he was, indeed, still alive. When their throats had been too raw for verbal reassurance, this had been their way of offering comfort.

Jen smiled. She picked up his other hand and mirrored the movement. Scott closed his eyes as her rapid heartbeat thudded under his hand. She was alive.

He glanced at the door, then back at Jen. She nodded.

“I told the general what you did,” she said quietly. “How many times you forced their attention on you, bartered with them to protect the rest of us. What they did to you in response.”

They’d been determined to get him to go back on the deal. If they could break him, if he begged them to stop…

But it didn’t matter how many times he was waterboarded or beaten. There was something deep in Scott that couldn’t be extinguished. He’d never really been aware of it until faced with that choice, but now he was conscious of it, he realised it had been burning in him since the first time John cried not out of need, but out of pain.

Scott would never let anyone be hurt when he was there to stop it.

“You shouldn’t have done it, Scott. What you went through-,” She trailed off.

They had all been tortured. Questioned for hours for information, then just for fun. Several of their teammates had succumbed to it. As far as Scott was concerned, he hadn’t stopped anything. He shook his head mutely, but Jen’s grip on his hand tightened.

“You took so much on yourself. You never let them… I would’ve broken, if not for you. When I couldn’t stand and you stepped in front of me. When Sienna couldn’t stop sobbing and you tackled the first guard, making them forget about her. All the times they had to get you in chains before they could take one of us… Scott, they’d lost interest by the time they got us out. They went through the motions, but that was all. We weren’t worth the effort when they had you.”

Scott’s gaze fell on his wrist. There was a scar there, in the perfect position for someone to fight against manacles. But it was healed. It had healed months ago.

She was wrong. He hadn’t protected them.

It was her faith in him, blind and undeserved, that made him force a word out.

“No.” It was a whisper, nothing more. His voice worked: he’d spoken to his father enough when he first had woken up. But his mind had caught up with the horrors inflicted on his body and he wasn’t sure how to find words when all he’d wanted to do was scream. He’d seen the look on his dad’s face when he’d cried: he couldn’t force the man to witness how broken his son was.

“No?” Jen looked at him, also glancing at his wrist before looking back at his face.

“They won,” Scott murmured. “I couldn’t save Mike. I couldn’t stop them. They took you all, one by one. They won that day months ago when they realised they didn’t have to chain me up anymore.”

“Scott…” Jen stared at him. “Captain, no. We all adapted. We all found ways to survive. No one had the strength to keep fighting, and you lasted longer than the rest of us.”

Scott looked at her. Did she really not blame him? He was their captain: he was supposed to keep the squad safe, make sure everything fell on him rather than them. But half their squad hadn’t made it home and the other half… Jen might’ve been talking, but there was no way in hell she was alright.

“If you’re going to blame anyone, blame me,” she continued.

“What?”

“I was the reason we were caught. If I could’ve run, we might have got out.”

Scott knew what she was referring to. The village they’d been helping. The anti-aircraft missiles half a kilometre away had been unpredictable. The area was supposed to be quiet; their enemy having moved on and left destruction behind. It wasn’t the first village they’d helped. But it was the first one where they’d arrived in their own plumes of smoke, all of them falling prey to the bullets that tore through the sky, making their engines scream as they fought to stay in the air. All four of them had been shot down. It was a miracle no one had died on impact.

There had been injuries, though. In the end, it was hard to say if they were helping the village, or the villagers had been helping them. Scott had carried Jenny in, her ankle swollen, not bearing her weight. How they’d got away with only a couple of broken bones between the eight of them had made Scott believe that luck was on their side.

Fate had just had other ideas in mind.

“You know we weren’t running,” he said softly. “Even if we’d been able to.”

His entire team had come to the decision unanimously. If their enemy thought the village had been helping them, they’d torch the entire place. Innocents would suffer if they’d tried to run. Scott would never have made it an order to stay, but his squad had been taking defensive positions and preparing to fight not only for their lives, but for the people who’d had helped them, before the words came from his mouth.

Scott felt a coil of pressure ease from his chest. This was something he knew how to do. Reassure a team mate, a brother, a random stranger he’d only met once. This was his job.

“Jen, look at me?” He waited until she held his gaze. “This isn’t your fault. Never think that.”

She stared into his eyes for a few moments, then looked away. Scott pulled her close as her sobs echoed through the room. How long had she been holding onto that misplaced guilt?

“I told them you were alive,” she murmured. She sagged against him and Scott just held her as her breathing started to even out.

His body struggled to support her weight, but he didn’t care. For the first time in months, he could protect his co-pilot from her surroundings. If he found out anyone had tried to debrief her without her Captain present…

Scott gave a small huff, the burst of air painful against his sore throat. He’d do what? He didn’t know how to talk about what had happened, how to get the stuck-up Colonels who’d never been out from behind a desk to understand.

It wasn’t like the team had been sitting in a cell, just waiting for a ride home. Every day, they’d had their strength, dignity and pride stripped from them until it became the norm for four USAF personnel to huddle into themselves, trying to make themselves invisible, every time they heard a door open.

How was he supposed to make anyone understand that?

Her weight started to get too much. Scott looked at the door. His dad was out there. He could call out, knowing the man would be by his side before Scott could blink. Or Val. Jen was right: she was one of the good ones. She wouldn’t have given up on him, either.

But he didn’t want help. He didn’t want anyone taking Jen away again, not until she was awake. They’d all been moved while out cold too many times. This had to be her choice.

He managed to shift. His breath caught in his throat as every nerve screamed at him. His body was used to movement meaning pain and right now, he was giving it more of that.

He was sweating, tears leaking from his eyes by the time he managed to get into a more comfortable position. The movement utterly exhausted him though. No sooner had he moved when sleep stole upon him, dragging him back.

-x-

Jen was gone.

They were all gone.

Even the light had gone.

It wasn’t dark: he could see. But it wasn’t light, either. A perpetual dimness that left him halfway between life and death. Everything the same hazy grey that made him want to scream, even to bleed, just to see colour.

He couldn’t move. No matter which way he twisted and turned, regardless of how much he thrashed, the unrelenting walls did nothing but close in further. They were crushing him. Didn’t anyone know they were crushing him?

Of course they knew. Just, no one cared.

Scott knew he was screaming. Begging. Pleading with them to let him out! He’d take anything they threw at him, suffer the beatings, the drownings; anything if it meant getting out of this room. But although his screams echoed in his own ears long after they’d stopped escaping his throat, he seemed to be the only one who could hear them.

“Wake up. Scott. C’mon. Wake up, son.”

He could hear a voice, a voice offering him a way out. But there was no door. No way free. The guards had meant what they’d said about forgetting where the door was. No one was going to be able to find him. He’d die, trapped in here alone, unable to breathe…

“Scott!”

There was a tone of command this time. An order. Orders he could do. Orders meant he didn’t have to think. They stopped the beatings, kept his teammates safe…

He fought to obey, the grey gradually giving way.

Light.

He was surrounded by light. He wasn’t in that room anymore. His father was looking down at him, concern and fear mingled into a loving gaze that Scott didn’t deserve. He tried to shift away but…

No!

He couldn’t move. He was still trapped.

A fast, urgent beeping came from somewhere far away, footsteps came running. His dad’s hands were on him, one holding his own, the other cupping his cheek.

“Son, I need you to calm down. Listen to me.”

He wanted to obey. God knew he wanted to obey: that meant the pain would stop. But he couldn’t. Not this time.

All he knew was that he was trapped, and he couldn’t breathe. He tried to focus on his father’s face, but something suddenly obscured his vision, hands reaching for him, something covering his mouth and nose.

Not again. They’d promised he was safe. They’d let him believe it was over. But here he was, held down, flat on his back, something covering his mouth and nose.

Scott screamed. He couldn’t help it. He couldn’t be strong anymore. Not when he thought he was safe. But this time, in that scream, was a word. A name: a title.

Half-awake, half-delirious, trapped in his own blankets and fighting the oxygen mask a nurse was attempting to slip on, Scott Tracy screamed for his father.

“I’m here. I’m right here. Scotty, I’m here.”

The hands disappeared. Whatever was over his face disappeared. The pressure holding his limbs down eased as hands made short work of untangling the blankets from where his thrashing had twisted them around his legs.

He could move. He could breathe.

And hands gripped his shoulders, pulling him up, straight into strong arms that had promised to keep him safe, promised to let him just be himself.

Scott fell into the hold. Tentatively, as if fearing it would vanish, he lifted his arms, fingers brushing the material of his dad’s shirt, making sure it was real and not some trick, before latching on as if his life depended on it. If he was honest, he wasn’t sure that it didn’t.

Time passed. Scott had no idea how long. He was conscious, but not really in the room, refusing to let go. At some point, he’d been laid back down, but a hand had gripped his own, a promise that he wasn’t alone.

Finally, the room fell silent as the medical staff realised any intervention was making things worse.

Finally, his mind fell silent as Scott realised he was safe in the hospital, his dad by his side.

He forced his gaze on the man. His father was watching him, probably hadn’t looked away for this entire time. When he saw Scott focusing on him, he smiled warmly, a thumb brushing away the treacherous tears leaking from his eyes.

“I’m here,” he murmured softly. “I’ve got you.”

“I’m sorry.”

He’d spoken to Jenny, and had a feeling that if his father hadn’t heard him, it would’ve been reported that he was talking again. But this was the first thing he’d said to him directly.

“For what?” There was shock and – if Scott wasn’t mistaken – repressed anger in his dad’s voice.

Scott shrugged. He gestured feebly at the room around them, encompassing himself in the movement.

“Being weak,” he muttered, looking away. “It was a dream, just a dream, I know that, but…”

He knew he’d begged them in reality as well. He could handle the beatings, the burnings, had only winced when they’d broken his fingers. But after experiencing that room once, he’d cracked. The second time they’d thrown him in, he’d fought, then pleaded with them, then finally fought the room. Not that it got him anything but a broken toe.

How could he admit to his father the man he’d raised was not the son he deserved?

“Never think that.” The fierce note in his dad’s voice made him jump. It was a commanding tone, full of authority and a demand to be heard, obeyed.

“But-,”

“You are not weak, Scott. You’re a survivor. You did what you had to in order to survive that place. I don’t care if you pleaded with them every single day. Hell, if it kept you safe, I hope you did. You have nothing to prove to me, you never have.”

Scott stared at the man, his breath catching in a way that had nothing to do with panic.

“My squad,” he said softly. “I had to…”

He had to keep them safe. And he’d fai-

“You saved them.” His father’s words stopped his thoughts before they’d fully formed.

“Jenny spoke to Val. She’s told her what happened. What you did. You’ve been so strong, Scott. My strong, brave boy. Those that made it back did so because of you. The only people who have failed are the ones who should’ve found you months ago. Who shouldn’t have left you behind.”

Scott shuddered. He wasn’t ready to talk about that. How it felt to know that someone, high up, knew he was still in there, and had decided that was an okay sacrifice to take. He might’ve done the same thing if he knew it meant keeping his team safe. Hell, he might have volunteered to stay behind.

“How’d you know I was alive?” he asked his father quietly. His team might’ve believed, but they hadn’t known. Not for sure. Not given they’d already been separated and Scott had been taken to solitary before the rescue.

His dad couldn’t meet his eye. “They gave me proof of life.”

“I don’t remember,” Scott said. Maybe they’d filmed him while he had been unconscious? Although that was hardly irrefutable proof that he was alive.

“It doesn’t matter. All that matters if you’re here. You’re safe. And you’re going to be okay.”

Scott nodded, letting the words sink in. He wasn’t entirely sure he believed them, but he clung to them like a lifeline, not yet ready to let go and see if he could pull through on his own.

He forced himself up straighter, his father’s hands falling away as he did so.

“What’re you-,” his dad trailed off as Scott threw back the covers, twisting until his feet were hovering above the floor.

Slowly, he let them touch, his toes curling at the coldness that greeted them. He touched the floor again, then shifted further forward, readying himself to stand up.

“Scott. Stop. What are you doing?”

“I have to do this,” Scott said. He was talking to himself as much as his father. “I have to move.”

He couldn’t lie there, trapped in bed, with the nightmare still vivid in his mind. He needed to know that he had the power to move if he wanted to. That he wasn’t stuck in another sort of prison.

“I don’t think- Scott! Wait!” The command was back in his dad’s voice this time and Scott immediately stilled. He was braced against the side of the bed, palms pressed flat to the mattress even with the splint on his hand. The nail on his big left toe was still discoloured from where he’d kicked the wall in that room.

Scott looked up as his dad hurried around the bed.

“I can’t stop you, can I?”

Scott shook his head.

“Then let me help.”

Scott wanted to protest. He needed to do this on his own. But his dad spoke before he could.

“You’ve been in that bed for over a month, son. You were unconscious for weeks. Your legs aren’t going to support your weight. It doesn’t mean you’re weak: it means you have to take this slow and let me help.”

It went against his nature to ask for help. But slowly, Scott nodded. His father slipped one of Scott’s arms over his shoulder, his own wrapped around his son’s waist.

It was a gradual movement, but Scott shifted his weight from the bed to his feet. He would’ve fallen if it wasn’t for his father’s strong arms, but he was upright. He took a shuffling step, then another, suddenly wanting to pick up speed.

“Easy, soldier.”

Scott slowed, every instinct obeying. There was a low chuckle in his ear.

“Always wanted to run before you could walk,” a fond voice said.

Scott blushed, but focused on putting one foot before the other. In a strange, shuffling movement, he made his way across the room.

By the time he reached the other side, he was panting, sweat beading his forehead. When he lifted an arm to wipe it away, he saw his hand was shaking. Suddenly, the bed felt like a very long way away and Scott wasn’t sure how he was going to make it back, even with help.

“Here.”

He was being lent against a wall. Scott hoped the whimper that built in his throat didn’t escape his mouth as his father’s arms disappeared. But then a chair was being pulled over and he was being helped into it.

Scott half-sat, half-fell, every limb trembling violently. He felt sick.

But he’d done it. He’d moved from the bed. He’d chosen to move, and he’d done it. There were no walls, no locks, no chains, holding him back this time. Sure, he’d needed help, but no one had stopped him.

“Scotty?”

“I’m gonna hurl.”

A trash can was pushed in front of him just in time, a warm hand rubbing soothing circles on his back. Just the way it had done when he’d been a little boy, needing his father but not knowing how to admit it when he was trying so hard to be grown up.

The retching passed and his dad helped him take a few sips of water. Exhausted, Scott leant back in the chair, fighting to keep his eyes open. He wasn’t ready to return to bed or the nightmares.

“Dad?”

“Yes, kiddo?”

“You found me.” His voice was slurring. It didn’t matter what he wanted; his body had decided that was quite enough excitement for one day.

“Scott, I-,”

“Thank you.” This time, it was just a whisper. His eyes were already shut, his body slumping where he sat. The bed would have to wait for another day.

He was asleep before his father had a chance to respond.