#he would just be stuffing frogs into his mouth left and right without even blinking

[egophiliac]

everyone out of the way, this is the only thing I'm going to be thinking about from now on.

(okay, there is one more thing)

[monsoonblooms12]

Bittersweet (Ethan Ramsey x f!MC)

Summary: OH Book 1 Chapter 4 written from Dolores Hudson's POV

A/N: I really wanted to do this because Dolores is such an amazing person and this chapter is one of my favourites in the entire OH series. This picks up from the office fire and ends at Dolores's death.

A/N 2: The flashback portions are indented

If you enjoyed the story, please like it, leave a comment or reblog. Your feedback keeps me going🤍

Characters: Dolores Hudson, Ethan Ramsey, f!MC (Pooja Sharma)

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x Pooja Sharma (f!MC)

Word Count: around 2.8 K

Rating: General

Category: Fluff then Angst

Disclaimer: PB owns most of the characters and some of the dialogues. I only own my MC.

Triggers: Complications in pregnancy, Few Curse Words, Character Death

Prompts: @choicesaprilchallenge2021 Day 23: Classic/Classical

Other Works

Clickety-clack!

Dolores's fingers danced on the keyboards in a swift motion as she strived to complete this last email and get home and have a sleep that she missed yesterday due to late-night cravings.

Around her, a chaos of whispers spread as her colleagues engaged in mindless chitter-chatter of the last hour before the end of the office day.

A few nudges of Hey, Dolores! and its variants reached her, but she steered past them, focusing completely on her work.

Just one more line anndd,

Done!

She hit the send and the ping of the 'sent' notification calmed her overworked nerves.

Come on, Lil tadpole, let's file these papers, get ice cream and go home.

She fondly rubbed her belly. 26 weeks in and yet the fact that she was going to become Mamma Froggy was overwhelming and exciting.

She got the prints and in a hurry, nearly got a paper cut.

Careful there! She cajoled herself and started filing those messy sheets of her hard work of the day.

She was almost done just as-

Waaahhh!

The blazing sound, very much like a siren's, reached all of them, leading to the eruption of panicked commotion between all of them.

They had been run through the fire drill so many times that they didn't need to be told that it was a fire alarm.

Dolores left all her possessions, carrying only her bag with the stuffed froggy she had bought for her baby and tried to run.

But being pregnant doesn't make it very easy. Even more, if there was a fucking fire at the place.

People went haywire. Very few cared about the fact that she was carrying a baby, and they should have the minimum decency to help. Most would selfishly try to save themselves, not giving a damn about anyone.

Dolores tried to pave a way for reaching the elevator. It was nearly impossible for her to get down the stairwell in time to save herself from the hazardous situation. She could see that most of the people had already evacuated.

Why was the fire department not here yet?

The fire was ablaze, surroundings hot, and amidst all, Dolores walked slowly, worried only about her little tadpole and not herself.

She pressed the buttons of the elevator. Waited. But nothing budged.

Fuck it!

Smoke engulfed her and she felt suffocated. All through the light-headedness, she could faintly hear, the siren of the ambulance. She hoped someone would save her from this fiery hell.

But there was no one to help her. No one around. The building burnt and if she did not think of something quickly, she would burn with it as well.

Not viewing any other options, she screamed with as much strength she could garner. Once, Twice, Thrice.

The next actions happened quicker than the blink of an eye. She saw a handsome EMT rush towards her. Even though she was already in a blazing environment, she couldn't stop the he's hot reflex of her brain cells. He came to her and reassured her that he would be able to save her and her baby, picked her up, and slowly, yet swiftly, got out of there.

Just like a superhero.

She thought of telling this story of Super-Man coming to save him and his Mama to her baby and the thought made her giggle.

Her head was light, and she felt choked, but her mind would keep going to the little angel of her womb, worrying only for him.

The last she remembers was reaching the ambulance and coughing vigorously. She couldn't breathe normally. She tried and failed miserably. A slow sensation of blacking out and after that, everything blank.

After who knows how long, Dolores feels the glare of white lights around her giving her eyes a painful competition to open up. She squints, tiredness spreading through her body. From office work or the life-threatening experience? She does not know.

She slowly, very slowly, tries to sit up, her hand on her belly, tenderly stroking it, as if to let the child know that his Mamma would not let any harm come to him. Nurses check in on her, one of them replacing the oxygen mask with a nose tube, and she felt a bit more relaxed.

As she was taking in the surroundings, she realized,

Edenbrook!

Coming back here after so many years brought back many memories. The first time she came here. Oh, how panicked she was! She was getting jitters but that calm and brilliant doctor took care of her, not only inside the hospital but also outside it.

Dr Ethan Ramsey.

He still worked here, he had told her in his last email. I need to meet him! She thought.

When was the last time they had met? In that coffee shop last year, right? It had been long.

She traced the name she had thought for her tadpole over and over again on her belly as if to make him memorize it before coming here to her, and looked around.

There was a minimum difference between the room she had been kept in the first time and the one in which she was now, but the time gap made her feel everything was new.

All of a sudden the door swayed, letting in a young doctor and,

Ethan!

She was genuinely excited about seeing him. Of all the possibilities, she hadn't really considered the fact that he would be coming to treat her. He has important cases to take care of than petty smoke inhalation, right?

A frown appears on his forehead. "What did you get yourself into this time, Dolores?"

His stern tone is the tough layer of a walnut, which hid his soft corner, the concerned heart. She smiled at the realization.

She quickly filled him in with all the details. The fire. The hot superman. The baby. Everything.

She finds the young doctor's surprise about Ethan having friends amusing. The look of surprise she had on her face was priceless.

But when the doctor asked her,

"Was Dr Ramsey always so mean?" she guards her mouth using her hand, "And so handsome?"

It was Dolores's turn to be shocked. She knew just how much Ethan hated interns. He used to whine about how stupid they were all the time to her, online & offline. And here was this intern, having enough courage to ask her such a question in front of him.

Impressive!

"This man's definitely got grouchier than before, but even then he had an edge"

"And as for handsome, I think he has aged like a fine wine" Dolores winked and Ethan fumbled for words.

When he got his tone back, it was strict.

No matter what anyone else thought, Dolores knew the real Ethan. The one without his rough and tough exterior and mean demeanour.

And that Ethan, if he ever came out, would make everyone fall in love with him.

As the doctors mumbled between themselves, she looked around, searching for something.

Umm Hmm. She couldn't see it.

"Excuse me Doctor Sharma" Both of them turned to look at her. "I remember having my bad when the hunk brought me out. Did they bring it here?" She asks, anxiety on its borderline, ready to burst out.

She needed it. Very Much.

Dr Sharma looks around for a bit, carefully conscious eyes trained to spot abnormalities. Her eyes, soon enough, fall on the side table of the bed and she picks the purse up and hands it over to Dolores.

Another frantic search follows. She turns all the contents up and down, her happy demeanour replaced with a visible frown.

It's not here, she says, evidently panicked.

A sadness spreads on her face.

"I must have dropped it in the office" She is on the verge of crying.

Dr Sharma places a kind hand on her shoulder. What Happened? Her questioning eyes wordlessly ask.

Dolores sighs, "It probably sounds stupid but I saw this adorable little frog on my lunch break and had to get it for my little tadpole."

"My parents are gone and the father's not in the picture." She adoringly places a hand on her swollen belly, "I just want everything to be perfect for him."

Dr Sharma gives her shoulder a gentle push of reassurance, and adds, "It's not stupid Dolores, absolutely not. I feel like you're going to be a great mom."

Her words make Dolores smile despite the upsetting circumstances, "Thank You. I- I just wished I hadn't lost it."

She stays lost in the thoughts and daydreams of her little tadpole playing with his first gift, growing ever more upset with every passing second.

"I and Dr Ramsey will find it for you!" Dr Sharma's excited tone jolts her out of her thoughts.

She is surprised first and slowly a smile appears, "Really Ethan? You would do that for me?"

He hesitates.

"Erm- Yes, sure." He fumbles.

"Dr Sharma, let's get this urine sample to the lab first. I will meet you in the lot in ten minutes."

Relieved and Happy, Dolores exclaims, "I am 26 weeks pregnant, Ethan. Not gonna take 10 minutes to make me pee!"

And in 15 minutes, they take her urine sample away and bid adieu with a promise of bringing her token of love for her tadpole back.

She was extremely grateful for Dr Sharma. She doubted if Ethan had given in the first time if it had not been her taking initiative.

Wait a Minute.

Ethan Ramsey listened to an intern? That too, in the first time itself? The observation blew her mind.

She recounted the time he had called her to his home to give a dinner treat. Lovely memories of a different face of the man came to her mind like the waves reaching the shore, one after the other.

"Mmm... Ethan, this is delicious!" Dolores found herself falling deeply in love with this masterpiece of Georgian stuffed chicken.

"Thank You, but it wouldn't have got done without your help" Ethan was never the type to take credit. Boast, Huh? What's that?

That's what she liked the most about him. A fine, handsome man, talented without bounds, a successful doctor having shitloads of money and a chef. He was a complete package and yet seemed to be subtly unaware of it.

They chatted about everything from opera to music to their first meet. It was a jolly time.

That is, until, the conversation landed on romance.

"So, seeing anyone?"

"No, not currently." He blushes a bit.

"Imagine" Dolores leans back on her chair, stretching her legs, "if, I said if, you fell in love with," she pauses to look at his curious face, "an intern?"

"Impossible."

It came even before she had finished the word. Dolores was amused.

"Just imagine!"

"I don't want to waste time imagining something as implausible as that. Can we talk about something else please?"

And here he was today, listening to an intern, a different demeanour than usual. Not that it was love, yet, but there was something.

Was he impressed by her?

He talked differently, listened patiently to the young doctor. That Ethan Ramsey who would not stand with an intern for 5 minutes, listened to one?

Anyone who knew him would laugh off the fact and say it was a joke.

Dolores made sure that if it happens, the falling in love with an intern, she will not let Ethan see the end of it. Teasing him to annoyance, yes that's what she would do.

She turned on some soft classical music on her phone, spreading an instant calm and dozed off for a while...

She gets up with a start on the sound of the door opening. She rubs her eyes to get a better view of the people in front of her.

It was Ethan and Dr Sharma!

She looked at them and yes! there it was, her tadpole's froggy.

She was overjoyed.

"You got it!" Dolores breaks into a grin as the sterilized frog is given to her.

"Happy now?" Ethan asks, the faintest glimmer of happiness in his eyes.

"Yes, very, very, much! Thank you so much, Ethan."

She pulls Dr Sharma into a small hug, "You too Dr Sharma, thank you!"

"Of course, Dolores." The young woman's beautiful face gleams at her, "and you can call me Pooja."

After few minutes of chit chat, Pooja leaves to get Dolores's reports.

"Switch on the TV Ethan, it's boring to sit here and do nothing."

"You know you can do better things than watching stupid TV shows?"

"I am doing it because I want to. The least who can do is help me." She shrugs.

"Fine, fine."

After going on a roundabout tour of the various broadcasted shows, they settled to watch a comedy.

Soon Ethan's stoicism got lost in the wilds and he started laughing along with her.

All the while Dolores held the Froggy affectionately to her tummy, to her little tadpole, as if to show it to him and ask if he likes it.

Amidst all the laughs, the medical reports are completely forgotten until there's a soft knock on the door and Ethan looks at someone from the corner of his eye and go out to meet them.

Still, she remains blissfully unaware of her health conditions and basks in the moments of delight she gets alone with her tadpole.

Her eyes remain glued to the TV screen until the doctors come in and from the morbid faces they wore, she knew that the reports were anything but good.

She switches off the TV.

"What is it? Ethan?"

Pooja steps forward, "I want you not to worry, Dolores."

She feels a mild panic attack bursting inside her, "T-That's what people say when there is something to be worried about. Is my tadpole okay?"

Pooja sighs, "Have you heard of preeclampsia? It's a disease affecting one out of ten pregnant women. In most cases, it is manageable, if monitored properly. But in your case-"

She pauses. And Dolores knows that whatever's coming will not be hopeful.

"It's serious."

Dolores quickly asks, "How serious?"

Not too much. Not too much. Please, god, not too much. She crosses her fingers.

"The blood flow to the placenta is slowing. It could deprive your baby of vital nutrients and oxygen."

With his morbid mask matching his melancholy tone, Ethan says, "Your baby is at risk."

Shit.

"B-But I can still feel the baby kicking!" She urges them to come and feel for themselves.

"Dolores it just means the delivery needs to be done early."

"Impossible." Dolores remarks with a deadly determination. "It's too soon."

"Babies delivered at 26 weeks have a good chance of survival." Dr Sharma tries to convince her.

"A-A chance?"

She is not going to play a game of chances with her beloved tadpole, her little jewel.

They keep convincing her.

"Yes he'll have to spend some time in the N.I.C.U and there are chances of post-birth complications-"

"And some don't make it at all. Is my baby is in danger now?" She asks with a motherly force.

"No, not immediately. But-" Ethan is on his tracks to convince her again.

"Then my little tadpole is staying put."

"Dolores—"

"No, Ethan! Just...give me some time! As long as you can give me. Please" It is a request from her heart, and she is on the verge of tears.

"I give you tonight. To come back to your senses."

When they leave, Dolores cries, caressing her belly, her little tadpole in there. She cannot take a risk with his goddamn life, never ever.

Tears roll down her cheeks and she holds the stuffed frog even tighter to herself, praying to god for his magical abilities and to save her baby.

Please.

She fell asleep while crying. When she wakes up, she finds a few unknown nurses and doctors standing there.

She tries to speak but cannot form words. Her head feels light, just like it did in the office building. She could not sense anything, swallowing was trouble.

She makes random sounds and the people come rushing to her, just as her body breaks into violent convulsions.

"We need to take her to the surgery, QUICK!"

They call for a code blue and everything that happens following that is a haze to her.

They are rushing her to the surgery. Her body shakes vigorously, and she can feel that she doesn't have much time left.

She holds the doctor's hand who was rushing her to the O.R.

"N-nam-me him-m E-Ethan."

And with that, she slowly spirals down the realm of unconsciousness, the last thought to ever strike her mind was,

Little tadpole, mamma loves you. You will be okay. Mamma will always be there with you, for you.

And with that her breath leaves her body, the last tear dropping on the O.R. bed.

As Ethan Hudson sees the light of his new life, Dolores passes away into the darkness.

I love you little tadpole.

PS: Thank you so much for reading and I hope you have a great day ahead! Love, Manamee🤍.

Tags (Please let me know if you would like to be added or removed!): @bbrandy2002 @whimsicallywayward15 @ohramsey @natureblooms24 @nervoussaladsludgeopera @trrfanaddict @hopelessromanticmonie @ilikemenbutonlyethanramsey @lovablegranny @bellcat2010 @gkittylove99 @kingliam2019 @starrystarrytrouble @3riche @chetachisblog @zoehanji @withbeautyandrage @drariellevalentine @mvalentine @aestheticartsx @angela8754 @schnitzelbutterfingers @ao719 @choicesstan1 @neotericthemis @nikki-2406 @anotherbeingsworld @maurine07 @sophxwithers @twinkleallnight @choicesaddict5 @gardeningourmet @mysticaurathings @jessiembruno @stygianflood @aleynareads @mercury84choices @udishaman @jamespotterthefirst

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[my-happy-little-bean]

Do The Cooking By The Book

pairings: LAMP/CALM words: 6013 warnings: swearing, alcohol, implied panic attacks, small burn mention, general angst summary: patton bakes when he’s sad and nowadays, no amount of chewy chocolate chip cookies would be able to cover that up.

or: the five times patton bakes something for the others and the one time he can’t.

a/n- hello! welcome to part 2 of that series i mentioned before called  ‘let’s indulge bean in their slightly low quality, very personal fics’ (maybe i should actually make this an actual series on ao3 lol) :’)

i have been having a bit of writer’s block between this patton/janus one shot and golden slumbers (there's just o n e more scene i need to figure out, trust me it's haunting my every move), so i decided to write a bit of a fresh warm up instead! and by warm up, i mean i started writing it in the beginning of july and it somehow spiralled into a big thing, like they always do :’)

inspired by my declining mental health and my unhealthy obsession with baking focaccia at 2 am :)

p.s – later there's a [1] that's supposed to be a footnote but the formatting just said no so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

read on ao3 ~

enjoy!

----------------------------- 

~ patton’s chewy chocolate chip cookies ~

ingredients: 

2 3/4 cups all-purpose flour

1 teaspoon salt

1 teaspoon baking powder

1 teaspoon baking soda

0 teaspoon club soda

2 1/2 sticks unsalted butter, softened (or melted, like my heart around my honeybees <3)

1 3/4 cups packed dark brown sugar (must be working out ;) )

1/4 cup granulated sugar sugar, honey honey (except no honey :P)

2 large eggs, room temp.

2 teaspoons vanilla extract (and not any extra-ct ;) )

2 cups Virgil-esque chocolate chips*

 *semi-sweet! ^v^

 –– 

“Holy shit, Pat.”

Patton smiled, all toothy and wide. He was still standing beside the couch Roman was lounging on, holding up the tray with his pastel blue oven mitts.

“You like it?” he beamed. Roman nodded, scrambling over the armrest to grab another.

“Umfh,  yeah,”  Roman replied, crumbs spilling out of his mouth. “Ovfiously.”

“...What?”

Roman quickly swallowed and grinned sheepishly. “Sorry.”

Patton laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “No worries! I think it’s a- dough -able.”

“...If you weren’t holding cookies right now, I'd say that you suck. But you're holding cookies, so..."

There was a pause that Patton quickly filled with laughter, even if it suddenly felt like he was struggling to carry the sound out of his chest and into the air.

Luckily, Logan walked into the room before Patton could say anything that was affected by the spontaneous pang in his chest. His eyes lit up upon seeing him. 

“Logan!” He cheerily dashed over to the other side of the room, holding up the tray to Logan’s face. “A treat for my smart cookie?”

Logan reeled back slightly to avoid getting hit by the edge of the tray. He pushed up his glasses.

“Ah, thank you, dear. But I do believe it is too early for copious amount of sugar consumption–”

“Just try one, cookie-tita,” Roman cut him off, “you and I know that you want one.”

Logan frowned at him over Patton’s shoulder, then looked back at Patton. He gave Logan the widest smile he could muster, which made him sigh. 

“While Roman’s reference was a bit of a stretch–” He eyed the cookies one more time, then looked back at Patton– ”I suppose I will agree to half a cookie.”

“Goody!” Patton said brightly. “Or should I say, gooey?”

“You shouldn’t.”

Logan picked one cookie up and took a small bite. His eyes softened, which made Patton’s heart melt. 

“...Oh sweet Einstein,” he muttered, grabbing one more cookie off the tray before making a beeline to the coffee machine in the kitchen. Patton just smiled to himself, admittedly a bit proud. 

Before he turned around to go see if Logan needed help, he heard shuffling coming up beside him. He looked over and smiled. 

“Virge! You’re awake!” Virgil pulled one side of his headphones up as Patton presented him the tray. “Cookie?”

“Uh, sure.” He took one and nodded when he had a few bites, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Thanks, Pat.”

“No problemo!” he chirped, wandering back to the living room. Virgil trailed behind him, now slipping his headphones around his neck. 

“Did you bake these this morning?” Virgil asked as Patton set the tray on the coffee table in front of Roman, who readily lunged at it. Patton turned and smiled brightly at him. 

“Yeah! I mean...it was technically morning, heh.” 

Virgil blinked in that knowing way Patton was all too familiar with. Patton mentally cursed.  

“What do you mean by technically–”

Before he could say anything else, Patton clapped his hands together. 

“Well, I’m glad you all liked the cookies.” He tried not to think about how loud his own voice suddenly was. “Feel free to finish them!”

Roman frowned, mid-bite of his third cookie.

“Don’t you want any, sweetheart?"

“No no! I chip-ed in so much effort in baking them that I tired myself out, heh!” He faked a yawn. “I’ll just go to my room!”

Roman just laughed, stuffing another cookie in his mouth with a shrug. Logan wandered back from the kitchen, conjuring a book as he walked and nodding at Patton. He grabbed another cookie and sat on the couch beside Roman, leaning against his shoulder.

Virgil just looked at him as he left, eyes narrowed and steely. 

They’re so perfect, Patton thought as he sunk out to go to his room, leaving the three of his boyfriends alone with a wave. Perfect just the way they are.

 Without me.  

----------------------------- 

~ ‘i got ya’ focaccia ~ 

ingredients:

for the garlic-infused mixture

1/2 cup extra-virgin, PG-rated olive oil

2-3 minced garlic cloves

0 garlic gloves (haha i’m hilarious)

1 tablespoon chopped fresh thyme or 1 teaspoon dried

1 tablespoon chopped fresh rosemary or 1 teaspoon dried

1/4 teaspoon fresh ground black pepper

for the bread

1 cup warm water

2 1/4 teaspoons active dry yeast (1 packet)

1/4 teaspoon honey honey, you are my candy girl–

2 1/2 cups all-purpose flour

1/2 teaspoon fine sea salt (maybe it’s wearing some nice clothes!) (sea what i did there? i’m funny, aren’t i?) 

–– 

Virgil heard a soft ‘ shit ’ coming from the kitchen. 

Don’t panic, it’s probably all fine,  he thought, slowly walking towards the entrance to the kitchen.  It’s totally not some burglar, ready to steal all our spices and blow them into my eye, making me blind. It can’t be, we’re not even real so how could there be a burglar–

As he neared the dimmed light coming from the kitchen, however, a quiet sob broke through his thoughts.

A chill ran through him. The sob was muffled, squeaky, and admittedly a bit pathetic in terms of how there was an attempt to cover it up. Almost like the sound a puppy would make when someone accidentally stepped on their paw.

All too familiar.

“Patton?” he murmured, turning on another light in the kitchen. 

Patton was hunched over the counter space beside the oven, next to a saucepan on a burner; which was emitting a strong garlic and herb smell. 

That wasn’t what Virgil was focusing on, though; but rather the way Patton held his hand close to his chest.

Patton spun around on his heel when his name left Virgil’s tongue, his eyes wide and glazed over, like a deer caught in headlights. 

“Sh– Virgil! Hi!” He laughed nervously. “What are you doing here? It’s like, 2 am!”

Virgil dug his hands in his sweater pockets. “I’m always up at 2 am. What are you doing here?”

He watched as Patton’s smile forcefully tugged at the corners of his lips.

“I’m baking focaccia! Wanna join?”

There was a slight crack in his cheeriness. Virgil took a step closer. 

“What happened to your hand?”

Patton looked down at it, then held up his index finger, which was slightly red. 

“Just accidentally brushed up against the pan!” he chuckled. “It was still hot. ”

“How could you brush up against the pan,” Virgil deadpanned, hopping onto the kitchen island. “Roman’s asleep.” 

Patton blushed as he ran his finger under cold water.

“Grab the flour and pour a cup of it in that bowl,” he said, shaking his hand dry and going back to the stove. “I think that the yeast and honey had enough time in the water. I’m just about done with the garlic stuff.”

“Okay, honey,” Virgil hummed, already scooping the flour in the measuring cup.

Patton turned to face him over his shoulder with a smile.  

“Gosh, you get funnier at 2 am, kiddo.”

Virgil shrugged. “It’s easy to cater to your humour, babe. Though no one does it as good as you do.” 

Patton’s blush intensified, and it made Virgil feel a little more at ease that he could still make him flustered like that. 

“So really, Pat,” Virgil asked, stirring in the flour as Patton went over with a smaller cup of the garlic-infused mixture. “Why are you up so late baking focaccia of all things?”

A pause. Patton finished pouring in his cup before turning his back away, his head low. 

“No reason!” he said brightly, though Virgil suddenly felt edges of darkness to each word. “I thought it’d be nice. Plus Roman loves my focaccia. Thought I could surprise him!”

A pause. Virgil wanted to press him more, but there was something about Patton’s cracked smile that advised him against it. He knew a warning when he saw one. 

“He likes anything you bake him, babe,” he said instead, adding salt and the rest of the flour before beginning to knead the dough in the bowl. “You could bake him a frog and he’d be grateful.”

“Now Virge, I think you’re mixing the twins up again,” Patton giggled. Virgil smirked, even if he felt like he shouldn’t. There was such heavy air in the kitchen; a positive emotion wouldn’t last a second. 

“You sure you’re okay, Patton?” 

When Patton finally faced him, it felt like the air was sucked out of him. Now that he was standing under the light, he felt like he saw all of him more clearly. There were dried tear tracks running down his cheeks. Did he always have those? And under his eyes were bags of purple, dark and stormy; clear evidence that maybe Patton had been late-night baking before. 

However, that broken smile was what haunted Virgil the most.

“I’m just peachy, Virge!” he chirped, conjuring up a towel and covering the bowl of dough Virgil probably over-kneaded. Patton’s eyes seemed to drill right into his own. “ Positive.”

Virgil numbly nodded as Patton clapped his hands. 

“Well! Now we wait!” He smiled again at Virgil. “Want some coffee?”

 ----------------------------- 

~ mushy gushy marshmallows ~

ingredients:

marshmallow base

2 cups of sugar 

1/4 cup corn syrup

1 cup water (1/2 for for dissolving gelatin)

7 tsp / 3 packets of gelatin

1/4 tsp salt

1 1/2 tsp of vanilla extract

 dusting powder

1 cup confectioner’s sugar

1/2 cup cornstarch

*note to future patton: don’t make these, actually. they suck.

–– 

“Fuck!” 

Logan heard the curse from the kitchen, lifting his head from his book and immediately smelling for any smoke. 

“Patton?” 

There was no smoke. Instead, just another string of curses. Logan sighed; it was not like the moral side to swear. But reprimanding him didn’t sound like a wise idea. 

Instead, he set his book down on the coffee table in front of him and wandered to the kitchen. 

“Is everything oka–”

He stopped mid-sentence and looked at the sight in front of him. 

Surrounding him was a sugary mess, with many bowls of gelatin and water littering the entire counter. Logan could only assume they were failed attempts at whatever was being made today.

In the middle of this mess was Patton, holding the hand mixer up in the air with tears streaming down his face. 

“...Let’s put the hand mixer down, shall we?”

Logan moved forward before Patton could even respond, slowly lowering his hand that held the mixer. Patton just sobbed, dropping it on the floor in defeat. Logan tried not to panic at the suddenly broken hand mixer. Logically, they could summon a new one. It was extra energy, sure, but it was fixable.

However, he wasn’t quite sure he could fix the sight in front of him.

“Is there something wrong, starlight?” he murmured, ushering Patton toward the kitchen table. Patton just sighed. 

“It’s the stupid marshmallows.” Patton threw his apron onto the floor as he sat down. “I just don’t get what I’m doing wrong. I tried everything.  And they– they just suck.” 

Logan blinked, almost dumbfounded. In all the years he spent together with Patton, he had never seen him so distraught. Not even his arguably-worse decisions elicited a response similar to the frustration he was currently witnessing. Patton always wore a smile and carried on. Any mistake was just a mistake; nothing more to it. 

So what was different here?

“I even tried summoning a candy thermometer,” Patton continued. Logan tried his best to be present, even if his worry was slowly overtaking all of his senses. “Those things are stupid! I thought–”

“Hey,” Logan finally said, cutting Patton off by holding his hands into his. “Let’s slow down for a minute, okay?” 

When Patton looked up at him, his heart broke. 

Patton’s eyes were glassy with tears, some kind of foreign look not too far behind his irises. The absence of his smile was even more unsettling. 

He looked completely different; as if someone took one of the loves of his life and replaced him without even leaving a trace. 

Suddenly, he was filled with what he only assumed was longing. 

“Patton,” he said slowly, looking down at their intertwined hands, “please don’t worry about the marshmallows. They’re just marshmallows. Clearly there is something else that is–”

He cut himself off as he heard Patton’s breath hitch. When he looked up, there was a faraway look in his eyes.

And that was when it clicked. That foreign look…

It was fear. Fear and guilt, all wrapped up in one. 

The face of someone who just got caught.

Patton quickly pulled his hands away from Logan’s, stumbling onto his feet and muttering something about cleaning up later under his breath as he sunk out. 

Logan blinked, taken completely aback. He quickly re-evaluated every word he said that could have led to him leaving. 

“They’re just marshmallows.” 

Logan winced. Shit. Perhaps Patton was still in his ‘in his feelings phase; not his ‘in need of rational solution’ phase. He should have known better and now, Patton was further away from him than he was before. 

Logan then thought about the guilt that struck Patton’s face before he could confront him; the fear in his eyes when Logan dared to dig a little deeper. 

Patton wasn’t far away, actually.

Patton was just gone;   and Logan didn’t know where to look to find him.

----------------------------- 

~drunken    bitter    butter rumcakes~

 ingrdents:

for the cupcakes:

1 cup of choped picans

1/2 cup coconut flake

yellow cake mix, lots of it probs

some vanilla puddin apparently? i dont know why

eggs i dont care how much fuck it

1/2 milk

vegetable oil (optional cuz it sounds gros)

rum

for the bitter rum glaze:

some butter and sugar

more rum

rum 

 for the frosting

confictione confecion confectioniser’s powdered sugar

soft buttter

vanilla extract

rest of the bottl eof rum probably

 ––

It only took a crash from the kitchen for Roman to realize that Logan and Virgil were right: something was wrong with Patton. 

Virgil had been the first one to express his concern, and it was right on the day Patton baked them all cookies. Patton had since baked many more cookies; which for some reason, only intensified his worry. Roman didn’t think much of it at first. Virgil, bless his soul, always held a bit of his paranoia close to his chest. Plus, Patton’s cookies were the best! There wasn’t much to complain about. A few days later, Virgil mentioned something weird about Patton’s focaccia; but even that admittedly didn’t raise any concern from Roman. 

It was when Logan mentioned the marshmallow incident that Roman knew something might be off. 

The two had warned him that going to the kitchen late at night could possibly bring some less than ideal sights, but that only drew Roman closer; like a beautiful moth attracted to light. If Patton was truly upset, Roman had to be there! He knew that the others didn’t know much about navigating the small crises Patton would have every now and then, but Roman did! It was Patton, after all! Roman had experience — and he just had to play it by the book. 

But when he finally walked into the kitchen upon hearing the source of the crash, he was greeted with something he never quite saw before. 

Patton was on the ground, holding a long, glass bottle by its neck and a bowl—with all its contents—was splattered on the floor beside him. 

Roman stood there, almost dumbfounded. Patton didn’t even realize he was there before he looked up and blinked a few times. 

Then, Patton started to cry. 

“Oh, sunshine,” Roman murmured, sitting next to him on the floor. The strong stench of alcohol filled the air beside Patton, and Roman saw a glimpse of a rum label on the bottle. It was half empty. 

“M’sorry,” Patton mumbled under his breath, immediately resting his head on Roman. “Didn’t–” He hiccuped– ”Didn’t mean to make noise.”

“Shh, mi amor, it’s okay.” Roman stroked his hair slowly, going through the familiar motions of comforting his boyfriend. “I understand. Let me help you, okay?”

Another sob wracked through Patton’s body. 

“I– I don’t deserve your help.” The words came out in a slur. Roman had a slight feeling that Patton didn’t use all the rum in his bottle for baking.

“Nonsense! Of course you deserve help,” Roman whispered, twirling a strand of his hair. “I’m here to help you. I always am.”

Patton leaned into the touch, though the weight of his head seemed heavier than usual; like he was unintentionally pressing himself onto Roman, limp against his shoulders.

“S’fine,” he said after a few more teary hiccups, trying to push himself onto his feet. “Gotta– gotta finish cupcakes. Tryna new recipe.” 

Roman frowned. “The cupcakes can wait until tomorrow, Patton; I’m going to bring you to bed and clean up–”

“No!” 

Roman jumped at the sheer volume of Patton’s voice, suddenly nervous that he’d wake the rest of them up.

I can handle this myself,  he thought.  I always have been able to, this isn’t different. 

“No, I don’t– I don’t need your help.” Patton stumbled up to his feet, leaning his arms on the kitchen counter like it was a life raft. He buried his head in his hands.  “I don’t need your help, I don’t need anyone’s help, I just need– I just need to finish this, then–”

“Darling, I don’t think–”

“No thinkin!” He pushed his index finger onto Roman’s lips. “No thinking, that’s for Logan. Tonight, we’re not thinking of anything– not thinking about anything anymore.”

Roman was taken aback. 

“Patton, we can continue,” he said gently, “but only if you sit down first and let me grab you some water, okay?”

Patton lifted his head to face Roman, his eyes red from the tears. 

“Why do you take care of me?” he suddenly asked, his voice a small whimper. Roman froze as he continued. “Why do– why do any of you care?”

“Patton, I–”

“I don’t do my fucking job right anyway,” Patton hissed. “I’m– I’m broken junk in Thomas’ brain! I can’t even do the right and wrong thing, I can’t– I can’t make him happy. I can’t make you guys happy– ‘n I  love you guys! God, I can’t even make stupid cupcakes–”

“None of that is true, Pat,” Roman tried to protest. “You make us extremely happy, you make me– ”

“You’re a liar!” Patton cried, turning on his heel to stare at Roman, whose heart dropped. “You’re– you’re a fucking liar, Roman.”

The air suddenly felt too thick for both of them to be breathing. Patton must have noticed that because as soon as the words left his tongue, he covered his mouth with his hands with teary eyes. 

“...Patton, please sit down. You’re not thinking straight.”

“M’not–”

“I know.” Roman tried to keep his voice levelled as he spoke. “Just...just sit down, okay? We’re going to talk it all through.” 

Patton just stared at him blankly for what seemed like an eternity before finally speaking up. 

“I’m sorry.”

And before Roman could plead for him one last time, Patton sunk out, the bottle of rum still in his hand.

Roman blinked at the spot Patton once stood in, all shaky and teary like he was facing an inky, twisted nightmare. His words echoed in his head and while Roman knew it was best not to take it all to heart, he still felt the sting of each curse. 

What kind of a hero was he?

He then looked at the splattered mixture on the floor and sighed. It looked a lot like cake mix. And if there was rum in that, it probably would’ve been good. A shame, really.

His eyes then spotted a book on the kitchen counter, open to a page that had a bit of rum on it judging by the smell. Roman frowned, going over to grab it. He closed it to look at the cover. 

It seemed to be Patton’s recipe book, judging by the baking-themed stickers littering the blue cover. When he opened it, he was greeted with pages of ingredients and instructions to make some of Patton’s signature baked goods. The first few pages made Roman smile; there were puns besides some of the ingredients and even cheesy references to him, Logan, and Virgil. It seemed very Patton-esque. 

But as he went further through the pages, the tone seemed to shift. There was an absence of puns for one of the recipes, and Roman knew he could’ve at least hit a few. And when he got further than that, he just stopped writing measurements all together. The rum cupcake recipe, which seemed like a recent entry, was barely decipherable. 

He flipped back a few pages and saw words scratched out; sentences that didn’t belong in a typical cookie recipe. And the corners of some of the pages were crisp, as if water dried on them over time. 

Roman’s breath hitched as he closed the book. Something was wrong, and for the first time he didn’t know what to do.

----------------------------- 

~ whats good-berry muffins ~ 

ingredients

who

cares

theyre

just

stupid

muffins

berries, probably

––  

“Roman, he did not mean what he said,” Logan said as Roman paced in front of him. “Perhaps you caught him at a bad time.” 

“A bad time?” Virgil echoed incredulously, turning around on the couch to face Logan. “Dude, he was wasted. That’s not a bad time, that’s a ‘code red’ time.” 

“Besides, shouldn’t you be advocating for intervention,  lo -ve of my life?” Roman asked, still pacing. “You seemed pretty upset about the now-called ‘marshmallow incident’.”

Virgil gave Logan a look and Logan looked down, almost embarrassed. 

“...I have since realized that my actions were not ideal, but that is to no fault of my own. Holding guilt does no good, and neither does intervening when one does not want to be...intervened upon.”

“Okay first off, even Janus lies more subtly than that.” Logan didn’t make eye contact with him, but stiffened at Virgil’s words. “And second of all, Patton  needs support. We’re supposed to be there for him – not just waiting for the most dire sign. The plane is crashing, Logan; you can’t just put your seatbelt on and wait. You have to do something.” 

“Actually, if an airplane is crashing and you are instructed to put your seatbelts on, it is of your best interest that you–”

“For Odin’s sake,” Roman groaned. “I love you, my nerd in shining armour; but you got to learn what a metaphor is.”

Logan fell quiet as Roman continued. 

“We need to do something. This isn't a typical Patton dilemma. And I know he doesn’t want to talk about it just out of the blue so we can’t confront him. We have to figure out a way for him to trust us.”

“He loves us,” Virgil grumbled, though hints of anxiety singed the edges of his words. “Shouldn’t the trust be there already?”

“Virgil, he loves us an infinite amount,” Logan said reassuringly, finally settling back into the chair. He pushed up his glasses. “In fact, he probably loves us too much to want to worry us or cause us any emotional strain.”

“But it wouldn’t cause us– well, whatever you said!” Virgil protested. He slumped over, his elbows pressed into his thighs. He looked defeated. “I just want to help him. I can’t stand seeing him like this.” 

“I know, stormcloud,” Roman murmured, sitting down beside us. “But...but we can do this. Together. We always have and now, we will.”

Logan nodded, tapping his shoulder so Virgil could rest against it. 

“Roman is correct. Besides, we do not even have to confront him. Perhaps confrontation is where part of this issue stems from. The trust is there, we just have to remind him that we are willing to, given that we are his partners. We just need to make a comfortable environment for–”

Suddenly, Virgil felt a small tug in his chest; as if something was pulling him downwards. His eyes widened and his breath hitched at the sensation. He knew where it was coming from. 

“Guys, it’s Patton. Something’s wrong.” 

In a flash, he sunk out, Logan and Roman soon following suit. Roman pulled out his sword just in case.

When they rose, they found themselves in Patton’s room; though it was less bright than usual. The fairy lights were flickering and swaying against the walls and the frames were all askew. It looked as if it was struggling to keep itself together. 

And in the middle of the room was Patton, on the floor and tugging at his hair as he cried, heaving into each sob. Surrounding him were boxes of half-summoned muffin mix, as well as some sugar slowly fading out of existence. In front of him was his recipe book, tearstained and ripped at the edges. 

Virgil immediately went to Patton’s side, scooping him up into his arms. Patton made no effort to protest, his body still clenched up from all the energy he was spending summoning the ingredients into his room. In the corner of his eye, he could even see the beginnings of what would be an oven.

“Patton,” Virgil heard Logan breathe out, still standing in the same spot behind them, almost in shock. “You are spending too much energy summoning all these things, your room nor your form cannot handle it. Why don’t you just go to the kitchen?”

Patton sobbed even more, tugging at his hair and curling up into Virgil’s chest. Virgil looked up at Logan over Patton’s hunched shoulders and just shook his head, his eyes flickering between him and Patton. 

Logan then made a small ‘o’ shape with his mouth, slowly approaching the two on the floor and sitting cross-legged beside him. He made an attempt to lower Patton’s hands from his hair. Eventually, it turned into him rubbing small circles in Patton’s back with the palm of his hand, softly whispering “it’s okay” under his breath as he moved closer to him and Virgil. 

Roman dropped his sword onto the floor and followed suit, grabbing a fluffy blanket from Patton’s bed and going behind his three boyfriends, laying the blanket over their shoulders as if he was shielding them from the unstable room surrounding them. He hovered over their shoulders for a while before kneeling down and hugging all three of them. 

And as the ingredients slowly disappeared around them, the room began to fix itself. Patton could breathe a bit slower now, yet the others curled up into him like the warm blanket they were surrounded by. 

Eventually, Patton realized that he was no longer crying;  yet everyone stayed. 

And then, Patton fell asleep;  and they stayed for that too. 

----------------------------- 

~ Don’t Forget-ti That We Love You Funfetti Cake* ~

 Ingredients:

 For the cake

1 and 2/3 cup (210g) all-purpose flour

1/2 teaspoon baking powder

1/4 teaspoon baking soda (because so-da one for us!) [1]

1/2 teaspoon salt

1/2 cup (1 stick or 115 g) unsalted butter, melted

3/4 cup (150g) granulated sugar

1/4 cup (50g) packed light brown sugar

1 large egg

1/4 cup (60g) yogurt

3/4 cup (180ml) milk

1 Tablespoon (15ml) pure vanilla extract

2/3 cup (90g) sprinkles (nonpareils not recommended**) 

For the buttercream

1 cup (2 sticks or 230g) unsalted butter, softened to room temperature

3–4 cups (360-480g) confectioners’ sugar

1/4 cup (60ml) heavy cream

2 and 1/2 teaspoons pure vanilla extract

salt, to taste

 *Virgil actually came up with this and thinks its so lame so thats why that’s the name LOL ~ Roman

[1]  Roman wrote this pun but I am making the executive decision to retract this comment from the original script because it is not a necessary part of the recipe.

**can you tell that lo was the one who wrote the recipe ~ v 

–– 

Patton tried his hardest to fight the pull coming from the kitchen. 

It’s been a few days since the others found him in his room after his failed ‘bake muffins in isolation’ mission and Patton hadn’t dared to bake since. After all, if that incident wasn’t a good enough warning, the other times they found him in the kitchen were. He couldn’t let them see him like this again, what ‘this’ was. 

The others thought they knew he was upset about something, but Patton didn’t know how to tell them that he didn't even know what he was feeling. He wasn’t upset, he wasn’t stressed; he was just feeling every feeling, all at once.

And he didn’t know what to do. 

Baking was the only thing he could do when he felt like this. He longed to see a smile on Virgil’s face; to watch Logan actually eat and enjoy it rather than talking about how it didn’t matter that they ate; to laugh as Roman scarfed all of it down and ask for the recipe. The recipe book was actually going to be Roman’s gift for their anniversary. It made his heart ache even more knowing that it wasn’t good enough for him anymore. 

When he felt everything or nothing at all, he would just bake and watch as the people he loved were filled with joy; and Patton, selfish as it is, would bask in the sunlight they radiated. If he kept baking and kept making them happy? Well, their light could never disappear. 

But then, it did.

And Patton couldn’t bear to stand in the darkness of that kitchen anymore. 

Still, the tugging persisted. Patton secretly hoped that him pitying himself would guilt whatever force was summoning him to the kitchen into giving up its pursuit. 

Patton sighed, tugging the strings of his cat hoodie a little tighter so that the hood with wrap around his head. Maybe if he didn’t show his face, no one would see that he had been crying for an hour or so. 

When he sunk out, he was met with a warmly-lit kitchen and a small cake in the middle of the dining table.

Patton frowned, walking towards it curiously. It was a very...rustic cake, if rustic still meant ‘messy’ in baking terms. The icing was a bit rough around the edges and he felt like the writing in icing was supposed to say “WE ❤ U” but the heart looked a bit like...well, Patton didn’t want to say. 

Still, it was rather cute. There was a small plate beside it with a fork and a slice of the cake, dots of sprinkles baked into it. Patton smiled; it seemed to be a funfetti cake! His favourite!

Patton took a bite out of the cake without really thinking about it, his smile only growing at the sweet taste. 

That was when he saw the book. 

It laid neatly beside the plate, open to a page he didn’t quite remember writing. On it were various scribbles of bright red ink mixed with blue ink, along with a note written in pencil at the bottom of the page. He recognized the handwriting immediately as he picked up the book and began to tear up. 

“Virgil, if he does not want to be summoned you cannot–”

Patton looked up from the book and saw Logan and Virgil suddenly at the entrance to the kitchen, stopped in their tracks with their eyes wide. They stared at each other for a brief moment before Virgil huffed, breaking the silence.

“See, Lo?” He kissed Logan's cheek and went on his tip-toes to ruffle his hair, much to Logan’s dismay. “Patton always comes down for cake.” 

Patton dropped the book on the table and went over to sweep the two in a big hug, warm and tight and filled with love. Virgil fell quiet, but hugged back as Logan chuckled, patting Patton’s back. 

“I sincerely hope the cake is to your standards, Patton,” he said as he pulled back. “I know that the aesthetics are not...well, they are not ideal; Roman spent so much time planning that he forgot to take into account the amount of time we’d  actually have–”

“Logan?” Patton said, his voice still scratchy from being close to tears. “I love you. It’s perfect.” 

Logan smiled brightly, the light from it almost blinding Patton. 

“You guys didn’t have to bake for me!” Patton rubbed at his eyes with a small laugh. “I know baking a cake is no easy task, especially a funfetti cake!”

Virgil shrugged. “Logan led most of it. I kinda just made sure the kitchen didn’t explode. You know how those two can get."

Patton giggled. “Of course.”

“Roman should be on his way shortly,” Logan said, pushing up his glasses. “He is acquiring a few blankets and pillows from his room.”

Patton perked up at the thought. Roman’s blankets were made of the softest, most delicate velvet. The idea made his chest warm up.

“You guys did all of this for me?” Patton asked, his voice small. 

“Of course we did, Pat.” Virgil held Patton’s hand and kissed it softly. “We love you. And we want to be here for you; even in the less-than-ideal times. You would do the same for us.”

“But we do not expect you to dwell on your emotions if you do not feel comfortable doing so,” Logan continued as he went over to the dining room to grab the cake. “If you would like, we can watch Disney movies and eat cake and provide a distraction. However, we want to reassure you that we are here to listen to whatever is troubling you, so whenever you feel comfortable, please do not hesitate to reach out.” He paused. "We do not have to find a solution right now. We can metaphorically 'sit in the feelings' for a while."

Patton smiled as Logan arrived at his and Virgil’s side. He kissed Patton’s shoulder softly before making his way to the living room, where Patton could hear Roman rambling about what movie would be the best to watch; and he heard Logan’s rebuttals come after. 

And walking out of the kitchen and into the living room could only be described as a slow-moving blur. Patton watched as Roman spotted him and swept him up into a big hug, startling Virgil who was later brought into the hug as well. He watched as Logan gave them an amused smile, patting the blankets Roman arranged under a pillow fort in front of the TV, the opening to Tangled—Patton’s favourite—playing on the screen. 

“I love you guys,” Patton murmured as he sat in the middle of the pillow fort, a plate with cake in front of him. Logan sat beside him with a nod, kissing his head as he summoned four forks with a smile. Roman and Virgil found their way somehow into the tangled mess of each other, cuddling against Logan and Patton until they were the closest humans, or sides, could ever get.

And no one complained when Patton paused the movie when Eugene got stabbed, crying a bit and telling them about how that scene sort of reminded him about what he felt the night before. No one left when Patton began to spiral a bit from that and sob into his cake, finally admitting to them his thoughts and how he had just been feeling everything. 

And then, everyone stayed; even after that. 

[catflorist]

The Time Being (ao3 / ffn) catflorist Summary: Time-slipping is a side effect of wielding the Rinnegan. When Sasuke slips through time, he always goes to Sakura, whether he wants to or not. 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8

The Time Being pt. 1: slipping

By the southern tip of Fire country, Sakura dropped her bags once she spotted two colossal rock formations jutting out of the ocean. Wood erupted from the ground, shaping itself the way she wanted. By sunset, a one-roomed house with big windows stood on the beach.

Days bled into one another. Sakura gathered stones to lay a path and explored the tide pools. Her cat, Hime, claimed a sunny patch on the kitchen counter as her own. The salt and humidity in the air curled the ends of her long hair. From her bed in the loft, Sakura watched waves crash against the rock formations, the giants resting in the surf. 

It was not long before he appeared. He arrived in the normal way, materializing from particles of air.

.

. 

On the eve of Sasuke’s seventh birthday, his stomach dropped as if he had skipped a step. On one end of that feeling, he was half-asleep in bed. On the other end, he was standing in a bright kitchen as a tingle faded from his fingers.

A woman swooped into the room. Her eyes brightened. “Hello there,” she said, placing a hand on her pregnant belly. 

Sasuke’s mouth opened, scrambling to explain his presence. He did not want to scare her, especially if she was having a baby. But the woman’s brow remained smooth and unworried, like she was expecting him.

That’s how Sasuke knew he was dreaming.

“Are you hungry?” she asked.

“People can’t eat in dreams,” he scoffed.

She crossed her arms. “Why not?”

Sasuke shifted on his bare feet and shrugged. He didn’t know enough about dreams to argue his case, and she was clearly a dream creature. Her hair was odd—pink like springtime flowers—and her eyes were too green to be real.

The woman placed a bowl on the table, and he took a seat. She served a breakfast of miso soup, rice, and grilled fish. Sasuke’s stomach growled at the smell.

“Am I still in Konoha?” Sasuke asked as he ate. The view from the window looked familiar, but greener, somehow.

The woman touched a finger to her chin. “Yes. But not the Konoha you know.”

Sasuke nodded. It was a dream, after all. “What will your baby’s name be?”  

“Sarada,” she said, then her eyebrows shot up.

“What is it?”

The woman pressed a palm to her stomach. “She just kicked. Would you like to feel?” 

Sasuke’s fingers were tingling again. Chopsticks slipped from his grip. He frowned at his hands.

“Looks like you’re going, Sasuke-kun,” the woman said.

Sasuke had not told her his name, but her knowing did not startle him. He offered her a smile, but he was back in his bed. He drifted asleep. 

In the kitchen the next morning, his mother stifled a knowing look and set a fish on the counter. “Good morning. Will you help with the rice?”

“I’m not hungry,” he said, but he measured and rinsed the rice like she had taught him.

Mikoto stopped halfway through deboning the fish. “Why’s that? Are you feeling sick?”

“I ate in my dream,” Sasuke mumbled, feeling foolish. He set the rice over the stovetop—he was tall enough to reach now.  

“Sounds like a pleasant dream,” Itachi said from behind. Sasuke turned. His brother leaned down to tap his forehead, wearing the smile he reserved only for Sasuke. 

Mikoto produced a plate of freshly-sliced tomatoes. “Happy birthday, Sasuke-kun.”

.

.

“Ichiraku’s?” Naruto begged, as Team Seven crossed the gate into Konoha. The setting sun bathed the village in a warm glow. After weeks of traveling, the noise of sizzling street food, wooden carts rolling over stone paths, and distant shouts overwhelmed Sasuke’s ears.

“I’m pretty tired,” Sakura said, hopping to adjust the weight of her travel pack. The three teammates all wore dirt, grime, and rumpled bandages as marks of their recent mission.

“It’ll be on me!” Naruto patted various pockets for his frog wallet and frowned at its contents. “Hey, sensei, can I borrow some money?”

Kakashi turned to face his three students. He rubbed the back of his neck. “What a shame—I don’t have my wallet on me. I’ll leave you to it.” Beneath his mask, his expression grew serious. “Good work, you three. Take the week off.”

Kakashi’s praise was hard won, and this time, well deserved. Team Seven’s assignment in the Land of Waves—their first serious mission as a team—had not gone according to plan.

Naruto spoke again, but Sasuke did not hear him. He was returning from this mission with two things: a newly-awakened bloodline trait and a near-death experience. He rubbed his forearm, dispelling phantom pricks from the memory of Haku’s senbon. 

“…so tomorrow, then?” Naruto said, drawing Sasuke back to the present.

Sakura blinked, dropping her eyes from Sasuke’s face. “What’s that?”

“Tomorrow we’ll train like normal. Kakashi-sensei said that’s fine!” Naruto said, pointing to Kakashi’s retreating form. 

“Great. Thanks, Naruto,” Sakura chided.

In solidarity with Sakura, Sasuke rolled his eyes, but he was not displeased with the change in plans. He liked training. He was used to his teammates.

“Yeah, no problem!” Naruto flashed his teeth. “Let’s get dinner.”

“Shouldn’t we drop off our stuff first?” Sakura asked.

“But I’m starving,” Naruto wailed.

“You don’t have any money,” she pointed out.

Sasuke stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Let’s just go,” he mumbled. 

Naruto’s eyes widened. He gripped his teammate’s shoulders. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” 

Sasuke scowled and shrugged away Naruto’s hands.

“Can I please get an extra egg with my order? Please please please?”

Naruto ordered two extra eggs. And extra chashu. And gyoza, "For the table,” he insisted, situating the platter next to his own bowl. 

As they ate, Naruto sighed with contentment. “Sakura—you’re great and all—but Sasuke-kun is my favorite teammate right now.”

Sasuke rolled his eyes and cast a glance at the vanishing gyoza.

“I’m very hurt,” she said cordially, then frowned. “Stop hogging the gyoza.”

Team Seven might always bicker and rub each other the wrong way. But traveling, sleeping, fighting beside each other for the past few weeks had forged a strange new bond between them. Somewhere they had crossed a line, and now Sasuke would protect his teammates without a second thought. In turn, they would protect him. They already had.

For a moment in that battle, Sasuke had closed his eyes, fully believing he would die and leave Itachi the last Uchiha. Instead he had woken to Sakura’s face. She had not let him out of her sight since. 

Sakura stole the last four pieces of gyoza, dividing them between her plate and Sasuke’s.

“You finished it,” Naruto complained. Sakura clicked her tongue in regret. 

Naruto lived suspiciously close to Ichiraku’s. After the meal ended, he darted home with a smile, leaving Sakura and Sasuke alone outside.

Sakura smiled. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“The dobe wouldn’t shut up otherwise.”

“Naruto will never leave you alone now,” she teased. This was also new. 

“Whatever,” Sasuke said. But he did not mind footing the bill. In all likelihood, he would do it again.

“Where do you live?” 

“Near the Academy.” He did not know who had arranged his housing, but they had chosen well: a busy area full of shops and restaurants, walking distance from the Uchiha compound, but not within sight. “You?”

Sakura named a nearby neighborhood populated by working-class, civilian families. Sasuke inspected his shoes. “All right,” he said, and started walking in that direction. After a couple steps he scowled. “Aren’t you coming?”

“Ah,” Sakura exclaimed. She fell into stride beside him.

Sakura was unusually quiet on the way home. They reached her door, narrow and flaking with old green paint. She dropped her bag and sat on the stoop. Sasuke accepted the unspoken invitation and took a seat.

“It’s strange to be back, after all that,” she said, cupping her cheeks, elbows balanced on her knees. “It doesn't feel real.”

Sasuke understood better than most. No matter what happened, the world went on.

“I’m really glad—” She swallowed, lip trembling. “I’m really glad you’re okay.”

Sasuke mumbled, “Yeah.”

Sakura flung her arms around him. She smelled like the soap they bought in the Land of Waves, and also something sweet, like the fresh forest air around Konoha. Her elbow jutted painfully into his ribs, and pink hair tickled his nose, but he didn't move. After a breath, he grazed her back with his fingertips, so light he didn’t know if she could feel.

“I don’t think things should be this way. Don’t you think?” Sakura’s quiet voice was close enough to his ear that he had no trouble hearing. At his silence, she pulled away. “We shouldn’t have to fight this hard. Just because we can, doesn’t mean we should.”

“This is how things are,” he said. He didn’t know any other way. He had been fighting for so long.

“Why?” Sakura asked.

Sasuke had never thought to ask this question. He frowned. Somewhere down the alley, water was dripping upon stone.

“Okay, I’m done.” Sakura exhaled. “I’ll stop annoying you now.”

“You don’t annoy me,” Sasuke mumbled. His palms tingled as the words left his mouth.

Sakura’s eyes sparkled, but she did not comment, and Sasuke was grateful.

They rose and Sakura and placed a hand on the door handle. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said, then scowled. “No thanks to Naruto.”

The door creaked softly as it shut, then Sasuke was alone. He dropped his pack at the door of his silent apartment and set out for training ground twelve. Secluded and near the woods, it was a place where he spent many sleepless nights. 

As Sasuke threw kunai at targets he could barely see, a shiver ran down his spine, and his head spun. The kunai slipped from his grasp. When the sensation passed he was no longer in the training ground. 

The first thing he heard was a small sniffle. Smooth wooden floors and walls came into focus around him. A figure sat on the ground with their head lowered. Even though he couldn't see their face, Sasuke knew who it was.

“Sakura?”

She looked up. Tears clung and trembled upon her eyelashes. “Hello, Sasuke,” she said, with a watery smile.

“You…you’re different,” he accused, narrowing his eyes.She was not the Sakura he knew so well. Short pink hair fell to her chin. Her limbs were longer, her shoulders straighter. She wore the uniform of a chunin. He wondered if he was dreaming. “How old are you?” 

Sakura wiped her cheeks with the heel of her palm, and the rest of Sasuke’s questions fled his mind. 

“Who hurt you?” Sasuke did not know why he assumed this. Sakura was not visibly injured, and there were plenty of things that might cause her to cry. But she drew a shaky breath, and he knew he was right. She was upset. She was in pain. His gut clenched in anger.

“Who?” he demanded.

Sakura’s lip trembled. “Don’t worry, Sasuke-kun.”

Sasuke sat. With his jaw locked, he threaded his fingers with hers. Sasuke hated unnecessary physical contact. But it was not the worst thing in the world to hold Sakura’s hand. His own Sakura would never know, and the loophole emboldened him.

Her eyes shut. After a long few seconds, she gave his fingers a gentle squeeze.

It struck Sasuke that Sakura was not at all surprised by his sudden appearance. “What is this? What am I doing here?” he asked. She would tell him, if she knew.

Sakura folded her arms across her chest. She cleared her throat. “It happens, sometimes—us meeting like this. It will happen again. When you go back, it’s best you don’t tell anyone.”

“Why is this happening?” Another question occurred to him. “If you’re here,” he asked, “then where am I?”

Sakura said, “We love you, Sasuke. Kakashi, Naruto, and me. Always. I hope you know that.”

If these words had come from his own Sakura, he might have scowled and said something rude. But this Sakura would see straight through him. So Sasuke nodded. He knew. 

Sakura’s mouth curved up, and her eyes crinkled shut. It was a smile so soft and warm that Sasuke thought he imagined her earlier tears. Sasuke knew Sakura was pretty in the same way he knew springtime was pretty. But now, somehow it was more. It ached. 

Sasuke’s fingers were tingling again.

Through the ringing of his ears, he heard Sakura say, “Thank you for coming. I feel better.”

Moonlight glinted off the metal of an abandoned kunai at his feet. Cicadas shrilled in the darkness. Reaching for the kunai, Sasuke realized Sakura had not answered his last question. But the way she smiled at him, he knew that wherever he was, he was okay. 

Sasuke felt off the next day.

First, he was late to training. “I overslept,” he muttered. His teammates gaped, because when they traveled together Sasuke was always the first awake. 

Then there was the matter of Sakura. Sasuke was alarmed, because looking at her now set off a curious, soft pang in his stomach. He stared at her until a flush colored her cheeks, which somehow made everything worse.

“What?” she asked.

Something strange is happening. I saw you. You had short hair. You were in pain. 

“Would you ever cut your hair?” he could not help but ask.

Sakura frowned and touched the ends of her long hair. “I don’t know. Should I?” 

“Never mind.”

She grinned. “Why? Are you offering?”

Naruto appeared beside them. “What’s this about haircuts?”

“Nothing,” Sasuke grumbled.

“Are you cutting hair now, Sasuke?” Naruto asked.

“I don’t think you’d be very good at it,” Sakura kindly informed him. Sasuke scowled. This was not a skill he intended to master, but he was offended all the same.

Lastly, at the start of their lunch break, Sasuke leaned back against a tree and fell into a short, shallow doze. When he jerked awake his surroundings trembled in a perfect clarity. He could count the feathers of the hawk soaring above him.

“Sasuke?” a voice called. “Don’t you want to eat?”

Sakura knelt beside him. Her brow furrowed. She did not drop her gaze, looking straight into his red eyes. His Sharingan jumped to memorize every detail of her face.

Sasuke blinked hard. Sometimes the smallest triggers activated his new bloodline trait: a twig snapping, a cold breeze on the back of his neck, the motion of waking up from sleep. Sasuke’s vision swam as the scope of his awareness returned to normal. Naruto approached them, swinging his bagged lunch, and the movement made Sasuke’s head throb. He shut his eyes.

“Seven thousand, one hundred and twenty-eight,” he murmured, as Naruto sat beside him.

“What?” Sakura asked, voice soft.

After a beat of silence, Naruto said, “Sasuke-kun, you need a longer nap. You’re slipping.”

Sasuke experimented with opening his eyes and this time was successful. He fixed his teammates with a stern stare and jerked his chin up. “That’s how many feathers are on that bird.”

As one, Sakura and Naruto looked up to the bird circling over their heads.

“He’s right.” Kakashi’s shadow fell over them. Shading his eyes from the sun, he tilted his head towards Sasuke. “It gets easier to switch between, as time goes on.”

Sasuke stilled. Once, a whole clan shared in the dizzying experience of wielding a Sharingan. Now there was only Kakashi to guide him.

Kakashi wandered off, and the genin ate lunch together in the shade of the tree. They sat in their normal arrangement—Sakura in the middle, Naruto on her right, Sasuke on her left. As they traveled, this was the way they sat down to eat. It was even how they arranged their bedrolls at night. Everything was as it should be.

Except Naruto’s word stuck in Sasuke’s mind. Slipping. That’s exactly what it was. He had slipped through the cracks of his time and into another.

Sakura bumped her knee against his own. “Are you all right?”

Sasuke nodded.

He felt seen. It was not such a bad thing.

.

.

With training and preparing for the chunin exams, the slipping fell to the back of Sasuke’s mind. Then in the Forest of Death, he awoke to see Sakura with newly shorn hair. She was one step closer to the girl he saw in that waking dream. He had failed to protect her, and now she was in pain.  

The dark lines of his new curse mark leaked over his skin, and he unleashed all his power against the ones who hurt her, until Sakura begged him to stop. Only her touch brought him back to himself.

.

. 

Sasuke was leaving Konoha in the night when he slipped again.

It was sudden this time, violent, like the ground giving way to a pit beneath his feet. Daylight blinded him. His head spun. Pins and needles pricked his fingers.

“Sasuke-kun,” someone said.

Sasuke couldn’t speak. It had taken every last shred of his willpower to leave. And now she was in front of him again like it had been nothing.

“I see,” Sakura said. “You’re leaving now, aren’t you?”

She was taller than him. They were on a dark street, but he could make out the white coat she wore.

The worst part was the kindness on her face. The understanding. Like she knew.

His eyes stung.

With a jolt Sasuke returned to his own time. He was alone in the dark woods, three hours from Konoha. Still close enough to return. Sasuke touched his face and discovered he had been crying.

He wondered if Sakura was cold where he had left her. 

His curse mark itched, then it throbbed. Sasuke set off again.

Two days later, Naruto caught up with him. They confronted each other against the waterfall.

“Sakura told me not to come,” Naruto said. “She said you’d come back.”

“What does Sakura know?” he scoffed.

They fought. In the end, Sasuke was the one left standing. He left everything and everyone behind. He was strong.

.

.

.

. 

Up next: As he trains with Orochimaru, Sasuke slips to an older Sakura, who is living by the ocean. Other notes: -I started writing this fic in late July and finished in early October. When first playing around with the idea, I wrote "this cannot be another 40 page fic." Joke's on me because it became an 80 page fic, lol.

-I have not read/watched Boruto, so I am not aware of the specifics of Sasuke's time travel works in that verse. In this story, it is something he can't control. Please ignore any discrepancies!

-This whole fic was inspired by @theredconversegirl's fic The Red Loop, with art by myr_art. Thank you to them for their inspiration! 

Thank you so much for reading! Please let me know if you enjoyed :)

[split-n-splice]

Oop, a longer chapter. Bear with me.

[Chapter Guide | FFn | Ao3]

40. Whose Side – 3

Her foul mood was expected, but her curt greeting still stung like a viper bite.

“I-I’m sorry I’m late,” sputtered Drakken, glancing at his bitter passenger. Making up excuses was a lost cause, but the feeble explanation tumbled out of his mouth before he could think to match her callous attitude. “I slept through my alarm, a-and I got distracted, and then you didn’t answer when I called so I figured I had best come check on you, but you weren’t home—”

“Drakken,” she interrupted tersely with a voice cold and sharp as ice.

He gulped. “Yes, Shego?”

“Shut up.”

He bit his cheek to silence an objection. The van idled a moment more as he studied her dark glare fixed dead ahead, her arms folded tight across herself and the faintest hint of green glimmering from between her fingers, visibly containing how upset she was at – at him? What had he done? Besides forget to pick her up from Buckley’s again? He wracked his brains quickly, but decided figuring her out was best saved for another time.

Attempting to appease her didn’t suit the image he was going for. He’d have to work on it. Nonetheless he couldn’t stop himself from piping up. “It’s not too late to pick up some Chow.”

Shego was silent.

Drakken turned the van around and said nothing of it when she dug out a pack of smokes from her pocket to light one up. He certainly kept his eyes off her every time she brought it to her lips to take a puff. Or he tried to, anyway.

By the time he’d navigated his way back to the Cow-n-Chow, she’d relaxed enough to kick her feet up on the dash and tune the radio. That came as some relief, but he knew better than to believe the danger had passed. Drakken was ready to order her usual for her when she spoke up, requesting salad instead. Erring on the side of caution, he ordered her usual anyway, which she tucked into and finished without a word before demanding another stop for a video rental.

He anticipated being presented with a dark and ominous film, but instead she returned to the van dully announcing she could use a laugh, and flashed the cover of a detective comedy. He had mixed feelings about the whimsical man in the picture, but ultimately decided it wasn’t his movie to watch and so the only opinion he spared was a grunt.

“Anything else?” could have been asked a little more nicely, but she could have answered a little more crossly too so he counted his blessings.

“Yeah. Do you have popcorn back home or should we pick some up?”

A sound of frustration snuck out of his mouth, but at least he could nod.

She’d get her popcorn and movie, and he – he had a backlog to catch up on. If there was any urgency to complete projects though, he quickly forgot about it when Shego’s fingers curled around his arm as he made to cross the tech lab to head downstairs. Weak against her pull, he followed her lead with nary a word in defiance.

He barely stifled his protest when he was shoved down onto the couch, his shoulders feeling strangely sunburned where she’d pushed him. “Shego, I can’t—,” was all that made it out of his mouth before her cold stare shut him up. He sat stiffly in place for a minute, contemplating ways to get out of a goodie-goodie comedy he already owned a copy of. He told her where the popcorn was when asked, but otherwise kept his lips zipped tight as the buttery aroma warmed the stale air.

Shego still wore the same stony glare as she wordlessly turned down the lights, popped in the tape, and threw herself down on the far end of the couch, guarding her bowl of popcorn she didn’t seem keen on sharing.

By the light of the previews, Drakken dared to watch her from the corner of his eye – and before they were over, he’d found the gall to unzip his lips. “Do I need to build a brain tap machine to figure out what has you so…so…,” pissed off would not be a safe choice of words, he decided as Shego’s glare turned to sear through him. “Because I can and I will.” How hard could it be? Like a lie detector, but more in depth, right?

“Stay. Out. Of my brain,” she ground out. Slumping further and drawing her knees up, she added in a small grumble, “Jackass.”

He didn’t know what he’d done to deserve her ire, but he knew a brain tap machine was off the table. For now.

Drakken crossed his arms and willed his gaze to stay on the television, but it strayed once more as scenes he’d seen before played out. She couldn’t be that angry at him for being so unfashionably late, could she? Puzzled, he stared until her jaded gaze darted to him, if only for a split second.

He hardened his own frown on the television, willing his arms to unfold, bracing himself to stand on the count of three – or ten – or one hundred. He made it to the count of sixty-five when he bit the bullet. His butt was lucky to have made it an inch from the cushion when a hand snapped out, nails digging into his shoulder. He could smell the trace of fabric smoldering beneath Shego’s palm, and felt the tremble before she retracted her grip and stuffed her hands in her armpits to hide the faint green glimmer emanating from her palms.

Swallowing and setting his jaw, Drakken stared down the moody young woman who did not appear to be enjoying her movie whatsoever. “I have better things to do with my time than—,” he began tersely, but of course was interrupted by his puzzling company.

“Lipsky, you are going to watch this normal movie with me, on a normal couch, on a normal television,” she said, her voice bearing a threat of consequence if he dared defy her. “And it’s going to be – I’m going to be—,” she was swallowing hard then as if to gulp down the frog in her throat, batting her lashes to blink away – oh for Pete’s sake, were her eyes misty?

This wasn’t a tearjerker movie, but he glanced to the television anyway as some silly, borderline obscene, gag played out.

“Yes?” he carefully urged, playing the odds she might shed a little light on the situation.

Shego all but blew up on him, flipping the bowl of popcorn balanced on her knees in the process. “NORMAL!” she shouted in frustration, and in the dim light, he caught a glimpse of the green embers fizzling and oozing from her palms as she clawed the air as if she wished to wring someone’s neck. “I want to feel normal! Just for a little while. So please. Forget about anything outside of this room for the next ninety minutes. Just shut up. Shut up and watch the fucking movie with me.” Given the daggers she shot at the television, it was a wonder she didn’t pelt it with plasma.

The startling outburst had Drakken pressed to the far corner of the couch, but at least she didn’t paw at any tears. She looked as though she’d rather throw punches before she let tears roll down her cheeks, though he was sure he saw the threat looming by the rapid flutter of her eyelids. He studied her as she curled into herself again.

He scoffed and gestured to his own blue skin. “Normal? Shego, normal is something people like us aren’t likely to be getting back,” he blurted out, much colder than intended. Even if true, once the words left his mouth, he braced to be struck with a punch, or maybe a glow-laced punch, or maybe hands around his throat, or—

Shego drew a shuddering breath and continued to glare at the television as though that would be enough to let out whatever pent-up frustration he was caught in the crossfire of. “It’s not just that,” he barely heard her grumble into her knees.

“Then what?” Drakken carped. She’d said shut up. He should have listened.

Thankfully a reprimand – verbal or physical – didn’t come, though he was so braced for one he was starting to cramp up. Shego was quiet for a long moment, until finally she exhaled slowly as though to calm herself. He swore he could see it, like breath on a chilly morning or a thin wisp of smoke after taking a drag. “It’s personal,” she said decisively.

In that case, whatever business she had with his television and couch tonight was none of his. Before second thoughts could weigh him down again, Drakken stood and played deaf to her displeased grunt behind him. He glanced to the door. He did have things to do. But he also had something he’d wanted to show her. He’d even tried to tell her so earlier, but she’d been determined to make him sit and keep her company.

“Do you mind if I—”

“Yes,” she snapped.

“You don’t even know what I was going to say!” he griped back, barely without whining, and pinched the bridge of his nose before trying again. “I think you’ll like it. I was really looking forward to showing it to you.”

It was the truth. He’d intended to show her the rare orchid sometime this evening, ever since she’d asked about it on the ride to Buckley’s Brew. And right now, she sure looked like she could use something to lift her spirits. Though there was also a risk, given the funk she was in, that she could destroy the specimen without regard to its value or the lengths he’d gone through to construct the miniature biosphere to grow the picky plant in, let alone the seeds he’d acquired in a high-stakes gamble. With a little work under the scope, the plant he’d genetically-modified himself months ago had been brought to bloom years ahead of schedule.

Shego’s misty-eyed glare burned into him for a long moment before she gave a stubborn sniff and reached for the remote to stop the movie with a loud crackle of white-noise filling the room. “Whatever,” she said coldly. “I’m going to get dressed for bed.”

It was barely six in the evening – but Drakken refrained from bringing that up as she shouldered past him. Her burnt mattress and linen had yet to be replaced. He desperately hoped that by tomorrow, his couch wouldn’t need to be replaced too. He frowned down to the marks she’d left on his coat, blue fabric singed black where shoulder pads ought to be, and discarded the victim of his volatile hot-tempered accomplice over the back of a barstool.

He slowly counted to three – only three – before leaving his living quarters and into the tech lab. Already, Shego was nowhere in sight, but as he passed down the hall toward his office, he heard the shower running. He tried not to slow or pause or lean toward the washroom door, but he didn’t make it past in time to miss a distinct sniffle inside. She couldn’t possibly be that upset he’d failed to pick her up from Buckley’s. Personal, she’d said. Then it was none of his business, he reminded himself, squaring his shoulders and stalking off for his office once more.

She wanted to be normal, she’d stressed. What was that supposed to mean? Drakken again wracked his brains. What was her idea of normal? Was she homesick? Did she regret passing up her opportunity to rejoin her brothers? Just a few nights ago, when he’d mistakenly brought his own personal woes to her, they’d sat together in front of her television and she’d drowsily reminisced about piling up on the sofa for family movie nights, failing to console him through his acceptance that he may never see his own family again – though he could barely relate to whole idea of family movie nights as an only child. Did she miss that? Not being alone? He knew she had four brothers, at least, and a father, and presumably a mother too – in other words, some aspect of her normal was a sizable family. He was only one person, and he was not crowding henchmen into his quarters to substitute for a family. Androids and henchmen had to be a sorry substitute for family anyway.

Drakken stopped at the bottom of the staircase, sighing wretchedly and rubbing at a crick in his neck.

It was quite possible he was off the mark, but if she wouldn’t tell him what was on her mind and he couldn’t devise any mind-tapping devices to get to the bottom of it himself, he was left to speculate. Unfortunately speculating was bound to give him a headache. Leaving Shego to sort herself out was possibly for the best, he decided, but he still turned for his desk to retrieve the orchid he’d left there.

He froze in his tracks when he lifted his eyes from the stone floor to see an uninvited figure sitting sidelong in his office chair, holding the glass pod containing the plant. Unplugged from what was essentially its life-support system, the delicate little biosphere was scarcely more than a glorified flowerpot, but it was still infuriating to see the intruder turning it over so carelessly.

The wave of alarm washing over him had Drakken scanning the room, frantically questioning where he’d had that blasted intruder alert button installed. That’s right – it was at the CCTV system desk across the office, in convenient reach of any henchman on security duty. Why didn’t he have a henchman stationed there anyway? He should know better than to let his guard down with a perceived threat in the area! He grit his teeth, inwardly berating himself.

“So,” cooed the young woman behind his desk before he could storm up to her. “Who’s this for?”

Frozen, Drakken couldn’t help a nervous gulp. There was no way she could know he’d brought it up from the basement for Shego. Then again, maybe she did. He thought out loud sometimes, and this stranger had the gift of invisibility to make spying a breeze. “Shego,” he growled through his teeth, though it wasn’t so much an answer as it was the irate wish for his accomplice to be beside him to explain the woman’s presence.

Miss Kimbley arched an eyebrow and smirked. “She doesn’t go for flowers,” she informed as if offering a helpful piece of information. “Oh, but try a fish dinner!” she recommended instead, smiling wider and chuckling, though Drakken failed to see what was so funny as there was certainly nothing comical about the territory she was suggesting. Even the henchcrew was strongly advised against cracking jokes of such nature.

Cheeks warming over, Drakken fixed a grimace on his face and hoped it was enough to mask his fluster. He sputtered something indignant and incoherent before he could stop himself, and he bit his tongue with a grunt and tried to form the words right before he spoke again. “What are you doing here? How did you get in?” he demanded, crossing the room to yank the spherical biosphere from the intruder’s hands. She was Shego’s acquaintance, but he was certain Shego wouldn’t have willingly invited her in.

The woman shied back just a little bit at the bite in his tone, but then she rose to her feet, pushing the biosphere aside to stand toe to toe. Drakken decided to set it down for safety’s sake, though the thought occurred too late to cradle it in his arms and make a mad dash upstairs for Shego. Instead he glanced across the room toward the CCTV desk, wildly seeking the button to sound the alarm, and lurched back from the fingers spreading over his chest.

“I have an offer for you, Mr…?” said Miss Kimbley, but he recognized a honeycoated tone when he heard one.

“Drakken,” he hissed. He batted the hand away, taking a swift step back toward the staircase – and most importantly the alarm button across the room. “Dr. Drakken.” Hadn’t he clarified that earlier? Alias or not, maybe he shouldn’t be giving his name out to a potential Global Justice spy. Even so, if she had something to offer, she had something to gain, and it was practically reflex to inquire, “What do you want?”

Despite another step back, the intruder was invading his space once again. “Better question,” she chimed, giving the bottom of his tie a tug. He snatched her hand this time, and tried not to consider how cold her fingers felt compared to Shego’s, which he could so often feel warming him even through his gloves. She didn’t let up, clearly not taking the hint nor offence to his scowl and raised lip. “What do you want, Doctor?”

Impulse urged him to snap at her that he wanted her out of his lair. The woman was trespassing, therefore posed a threat, and he was inclined to trust Shego’s judgment that he ought to keep his distance. Which was hard to do with his back against the wall. His mouth was dry. Where was that button? Better yet, where was Shego?

“Whatever she’s offering, I can do better,” said the confident pretty little thing before him in a voice that made his stomach give a sickened flip-flop. An odd shimmer like a mirage glazed over the woman and she was gone – to the naked eye, anyway. He knew better than to believe she had left, not when he still felt the invisible touch running down his stomach and—

If he hadn’t had a reason to panic before, he certainly did at the first tug of his belt.

“Hands off, missy!” snarled Drakken, leaping to the side and stumbling over his own feet. He reached for his waist – everything was in place – and just to be sure everything was in order, he tucked his shirt in a little neater.

The ghost of Shego’s past was visible again, down on her knees, a chafed look on her face for a split second before one of deep consideration settled in its place. Her gaze strayed from him as he regained his composure, her hazel eyes darting to his filing cabinet. One of the drawers had been pulled open. Had she been rifling through his files? Without a doubt, if she was here to spy.

“You need a thief, right?” she said, taking a stab at finding his sweet spot from another angle. “Assassin? Watchdog? I’m your gal.” She stood, gesturing to herself.

She most certainly was not his gal. He didn’t have a gal. And even if he did, even if Shego – Drakken stopped that thought in its tracks and gnashed his teeth, hoping his glare was as menacing as the ones he practiced in the mirror. But by the slow bat of the intruder’s fake eyelashes, it was not.

“I’ll have to get back to you on that,” he ground out, gesturing to the stairwell to signal it was time she took her leave. If she couldn’t take the hint, then he didn’t need someone on his crew who needed it spelled out for them.

Priscilla Kimbley glanced from the stairs to him, the calculating look still set in her furrowed brow. “Look, man, I need a change of pace,” she said pointedly, taking a step closer once again, but he squared his shoulders and balled his fists and she paused. Hopefully intimidated. Hopefully thinking twice about trying underhanded persuasion a second time. “Looks to me like Shego struck gold here. I saw some of your shit in the basement. Pretty wicked stuff.” Her wry smile was back. She couldn’t still be pushing for what he thought she was, could she? She didn’t look like the henchwoman type. She wouldn’t last a week in villainy.

Drakken glanced across the room to the button again. He could press it now, and Priscilla could be gone by the time the henchmen assembled, and if Shego was still in the shower – well, whatever the case, the intruder would be long gone before anyone could hope to catch her.

“Shego is more than I can handle, thank you,” he said stiffly, stepping toward the stairwell and nodding up it. He needed this woman out of his lair, before Shego could see her and he risked having another catfight on his hands. “Goodbye, please leave.” If only it was that easy. She understood the hint. No one was that stupid.

She still took her time sauntering over to him. “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” she said flippantly. “She’s not even giving you one-hundred percent.”

True, he wasn’t taking advantage of his accomplice’s full potential, but she did what he asked of her and that was enough. He still couldn’t stop his brow from scrunching as the intruder passed him and took the first step up. He nearly reached out to snatch her by an arm. “What do you mean?” he all but demanded.

The young woman paused to glance back. “She’s on drugs,” she answered simply, as though it were obvious.

And maybe it was obvious to anyone who knew the troubled superhuman. He’d like to think he knew her well enough. He’d smelled evidence on her before, and she’d made a friendly offer the other night and had the paraphernalia and everything. “I am aware she smokes—”

Priscilla Kimbley laughed, the single bark echoing up the stairwell, and she clamped her mouth shut as if only realizing now how well sound traveled in the lair’s stony corridors. “Nah, not that kind,” she said, toning it down to little more than a giggle. She set her hands on her hips, beaming down at Drakken, and he hated having to tilt his head to look up at the woman standing several steps above him now as she explained. “This shit puts her out cold. And I do mean cold. Total chill pills. Those megalomaniacs pulling the strings of that little superhero team of hers use it to keep her under control. I can get you some, if you wanna mess with it.” She gave a nonchalant shrug, as if offering to give him some miracle drug to control someone as dangerous and unpredictable as Shego was no big deal.

“I-I know about that too,” he bluffed. But did he really? He’d had a suspicion she’d been taking something, but it could have been anything. Truthfully he hadn’t given it much thought, but he wracked his brains quickly now.

When she’d first arrived, she’d skulked through his lair half-asleep occasionally, sometimes grumbling about withdrawals late at night amidst her unique issues – issues which were just now proving to be not as benign as he’d thought, if her crispy mattress had anything to say about it. If such a drug did exist, why in the world would she be back on it? Was she relapsing? She couldn’t be. She’d been so excited to use her full power when he’d made her the enhancing gloves – why would she self-sabotage herself to turn down the heat? Where would she have even gotten such a drug?

Drakken’s mind didn’t finish reeling through the possibilities before he blurted, “She doesn’t take them anymore—”

The intruder scoffed and reached into a pocket, producing a little orange bottle. She rattled the contents. “And you believed her?” she jeered down at him.

Drakken made a reflexive grab for the bottle but the woman held it out of reach with a wicked snicker before surrendering it without further difficulty. He couldn’t believe his eyes. It had to be just a bottle of aspirin, but the label – bearing a bar code and dosage with the instructions Take with food before bed, prescribed to simply Shego – looked legitimate enough, even if it didn’t clarify what the drug was. He trusted his accomplice leagues more than this shifty intruder, and he trusted her not to weaken herself – not to mention, if she was taking it, then she would have to be in contact with the supplier, Global Justice, and there was no way—

“I’ll let you sleep on it,” said Priscilla, interrupting his doubtful train of thought. She smiled again as she backed away up the staircase. “Roofie her if you don’t believe me. Only way you’ll get to have a little fun with her.”

He had plenty of fun with Shego – Vegas and the stolen station wagon were still fairly fresh in his mind – but as the words sank in, he concluded that spray painting graffiti and pushing cars off cliffs wasn’t the kind of fun this woman was suggesting. He opened his mouth to object, to defend himself or Shego or them both, but the intruder had vanished in the blink of an eye.

Maybe Shego hadn’t been over-exaggerating when she’d said the woman was not a friend. Maybe she’d had every reason to attack her when she’d arrived on her doorstep.

Stupefied for a second too long, he was late in diving up the stairwell, reaching out to grasp at open air, hoping to catch the invisible lady in his lair, but his hand met only empty air. “I am not drugging my partner in crime,” he hissed out, knowing she must still be near enough to hear him, and strained to listen for the slightest breath or shuffle of retreating feet.

He heard nothing.

Still clutching the pill bottle in one hand, daring not stow it in a pocket lest the intruder merely steal it back – invisiblity had to grant an innate talent for pick-pocketing – Drakken climbed the staircase a few steps more, his free hand outstretched and feeling uselessly for the invisible intruder. When he decided it was a lost cause, he let his hand fall and he snorted his frustration. An invisible woman who didn’t want to be caught would be a challenge to catch without a full sweep of the lair with infrared goggles, and he simply didn’t have enough for every henchman, nor did he have his own handy.

“I am not drugging Shego,” he repeated to himself, though as he returned to his office, pills in hand, he had to wonder how often she drugged herself. He tried to guess how many pills were in the bottle – the label specified 30 – and wanted to believe that most, if not all, were still accounted for. Where had Shego even gotten the pills? Had she brought them from Go City? She couldn’t possibly still be in contact with that rotten Global Justice – that would make her a spy, wouldn’t it? He trusted her not to be a spy. He knew it in his gut! Her brothers, on the other hand…

He shook his head but it didn’t clear up the plague of second thoughts he had now about his partner.

Drakken dropped himself down in his desk chair and pushed up his glasses to rub his weary eyes until stars burst behind his eyelids. Friday night, Shego had behaved especially strangely. He didn’t want to consider the possibility it wasn’t just the alcohol to blame – but he’d been sober enough at the time she’d stolen his cheese to make out her cursing to herself about needing to eat with something she damned with enough profanity to make a sailor blush. Looking at the bottle of pills now, the instructions take with food served as a jigsaw piece he didn’t want. The puzzle was coming together and he didn’t like the picture it formed.

How had Priscilla Kimbley gotten hold of Shego’s medication anyway? Were they working together, conspiring against him? No, of course not. Shego clearly had a beef with the woman, and she reminded him at every opportunity.

He’d very much like to believe Miss Kimbley was pulling his leg, but evidence pointed to Shego’s use of the mysterious medication. He shook the bottle around again and counted carefully – recounting at least two more times for good measure. There were a few missing. So what? That was proof of nothing. That Kimbley woman could have easily stolen a few. And if Kimbley had stolen them from Shego, then she would be missing them.

As Drakken was battling to convince himself that his companion wasn’t taking some strange chill pill provided by Global Justice, soft footsteps descending the staircase made him jump.

It was only Shego, in her googly-eyed owl pajamas and soft green slippers – not the sight one would expect in a lair of all places, but regrettably a sight for sore eyes nonetheless. Her hair was still damp, and her voice was a little on the hoarse side when she croaked, “Hey,” in greeting.

Drakken didn’t realize how fast he could move until he’d stuffed the bottle in his pocket and come to stand beside her. “Are you ready for that movie now?” he blurted, though he wasn’t eager to watch it himself, if he was being honest. Somehow it felt like an appropriate change of subject.

She sniffed, nose stuffy, and gave a weak smile. “I’unno,” she said with an effort at dry wit, “are you ready to be cute and cuddly?”

His legs felt weak and his heart thrummed meekly against his ribs. He wasn’t cuddle material nor did he strive to be cute, yet the prospect she might think so gave him an itch to try it out anyway. “I-I’m—let’s not get ahead of yourselves,” he stammered with a nervous smile.

She reached out for his arm, fingers curling delicately into his sleeve. She didn’t inadvertently burn him when she touched him this time, though by the look of concentration skewing her face, she was trying hard not to. “You wanted to show me something?”

In that moment, he tried to forget just how nice she smelled fresh out of the shower, and tried to think of how lovely the orchid did instead. And then he sharply reprimanded himself – because giving the orchid a whiff when his nerves were high would only heighten them, and he didn’t need any mood enhancers, for good or for bad, at a time like this. Neither did Shego, for that matter, but he turned back for his desk and the biosphere anyway.

“Now, it’s not for keeps,” he warned, gesturing to his desk and the flower on it. “But it looks nice, no? Y-you probably shouldn’t sniff it. It has strong effects on the brain. Amplifies – uhm – maybe when you’re in a better mood.” The blossom was largely unstudied, but by what he had gathered, the potent flower could act as ecstasy or it could plunge a person into depression, and cause any number of wild mood swings depending on the circumstances.

He went on to explain the exotic pink blossom to her, the lengths he’d gone to cultivate it, and its potential – but she looked bored the entire time his mouth was moving. Maybe that Priscilla woman was right, he considered, disheartened as he set the biosphere aside. Shego really didn’t seem all that impressed by flowers, even flowers as difficult to grow as genetically-modified orchids in climate-controlled biospheres. He made a mental note to find some she did like – and corrected himself that it was only to prove Shego’s indifference wasn’t withstanding among all flowers. No one hated flowers that much, except maybe the odd villain or two who utterly despised healthy ecosystems.

Shego pulled at his sleeve. “Okay,” she said, sounding bored to death. “You like gardening. Great. Can we go back upstairs and play pretend now?” She seemed more stable now, at least.

Drakken couldn’t help a sigh. “Do I have to pretend to be cute and cuddly?” The idea still had him uncertain. Especially the idea of cuddling – a possibility seeming realer by the moment, and with her no less – well, it made his insides do a nervous jig. There were more productive ways to spend his time, and yet he was compelled to bend to her will.

She flashed an impish smile. “You don’t have to pretend.”

“Good.”

“Because you already are, flower boy.” She turned away then with a small laugh at his grunt of indignation.

Despite what should have been an offence to his villainous ego, he followed her back up the stairs. His smile on her back faded though, and he reached almost involuntarily for his pocket and the pills in it. Pills prescribed by Global Justice.

Keeping his eyes up, he studied the back of her head, eyes inadvertently drawn to something that stood out against the sheet of black. Maybe he just hadn’t walked close enough behind her to see them before. There wasn’t much to see there on the back of her head – except, of course, a grey hair or two he hadn’t noticed until now with her hair damp and sticking flat around her shoulders.

Following Shego back to his quarters, Drakken tried not to stare too hard. She seemed too young for grey hair, but he was mindful enough to keep the thought to himself. She wasn’t older than she said she was, was she? No, of course not. He’d first met her as an awkward teenager – well, technically she still was a teenager – but it was only four years ago or so that he’d first encountered her. She’d been in rough shape, but thinking back, she’d still been very much a kid then. He hadn’t been in the best shape himself either, and he’d been in even worse shape when he’d ditched her at that lonely rest stop in the middle of nowhere.

Something about that fateful day echoed at the far reaches of his mind, just out of his grasp. Something about Subject B.

Drakken mulled it over as he made a fresh batch of popcorn while Shego sheepishly swept up the mess she’d made earlier.

It wasn’t until she was sitting on his couch, awaiting his return with the bowl, did it finally resound clearly in his head and out of his mouth. “Subject B is liable to break down in a matter of years,” he muttered incredulously to himself, staring down at the grey strands standing boldly against her unnaturally iridescent raven locks.

The thought of cellular damage crossed his mind. If her body hadn’t adapted to her alien power, the plasmic fire would have destroyed her years ago as surely as it would have anyone else’s who came in contact. Thankfully the first round of researchers had clearly been wrong about her – try as she might, Subject B hadn’t destroyed herself during the metamorphosis – but that didn’t mean they were entirely wrong, either. Without a so-called chill pill to suppress the flame, was she still at risk of hurting herself? Had Global Justice been doing her a favor by regulating her alien glow in some way?

Shego glanced back at him innocently, tearing her eyes off her movie. “What was that?” he barely heard her ask.

“Nothing,” he answered quickly, sitting down awkwardly on the far end of the couch, the bowl of popcorn set on the one cushion between them.

He tried to face the movie and eat popcorn one puff at a time from the palm of his hand while his companion snacked by the handful. He didn’t make it long before his eyes slid across to her, the thoughts still wreaking havoc in his head.

She caught him staring. “What?”

“Nothing,” he blurted, gaze snapping away briefly. “Um. Actually.” He was sitting on the pill bottle in his back pocket. He shifted, but it didn’t make his rear feel any better. Unabashedly studying the woman in her pajamas now, the question “Are you on any special medication?” escaped his trap.

Shego quirked her brow at him, suspicion fleeting on her face, but she laughed awkwardly. She took a guess, “Like…what? Birth control?”

He had to dismiss that one the best he could, awkwardly scratching at his neck. “Ah, no. That probably couldn’t hurt, but no, I mean – what I’m asking is – I’m just wondering if you’re taking anything. That’s all.” He swallowed and waited.

She dropped the wry playful act, her glare hardening on him. “No,” she denied, though he could hear the lie laced in her tone alone. “What makes you think that?” She needed to work on her deception skills.

“Nothing. Nothing, just…” Drakken blurted, realizing he was just as bad. His own pulse thundered in his ears. If Shego had put Priscilla up to giving him the pills, she’d be expecting him to come clean, wouldn’t she? And if she hadn’t, she’d have to expect him to return the stolen item. And if they were stolen, and if she was on medication, then maybe she needed them. “Well, actually, you said something the other night. And I just thought, if they help…maybe you’d want these back. I believe these are yours.” Swallowing doubt and anxiety and anything else, Drakken fished out the bottle from his back pocket and held his hand outstretched, bottle in his palm for her to take.

Shego’s eyes locked on the bottle. She reached for it but withdrew her hand just as quickly, wringing her fingers. “No, thanks. I don’t need that shit,” she spat – only to change her mind in the next instant. Before he could argue it or retract the offer to return the medication, she snatched up the bottle and jumped to her feet.

“It might be for your own good, Shego,” he called, leaping up to follow her to the kitchen. Her hands were emitting green cinders as she fought with the child-proof lid. He smelled melting plastic. She was heaving for breath. She was angry. What was she so angry about? It was a damn good thing he hadn’t let her sniff the flower.

“Fuck off!” she shouted vehemently, chucking the bottle with full force in the general vicinity of his sink. The half-melted bottle shattered, little white pills scattering. Before the pills had even stopped bouncing, she scrambled forward to collect him, cursing to herself. “Whose side are you on anyway?” she snapped back at him, voice cracking, as he approached the kitchen island.

“Yours!” Drakken blurted in reflex. “I mean – I thought – I thought you were on mine, is what I mean. And if they help you, maybe you should—”

“No,” she spat. She was trembling, throwing every pill she found into the sink under the running tap. She slammed cabinet doors to find the switch for the garbage disposal. “No, no, no,” she repeated to herself, to every pill she disposed of. He heard her counting them under her breath.

Once the distraught superhuman was sure that every tiny pill had been thoroughly destroyed and washed down the drain, she hovered over his sink, shaking her head as she ran her glowing hands beneath the steaming stream of water while the garbage disposal snarled tirelessly.

Drakken was quiet for a long moment, standing cautiously on the other side of the kitchen island though he knew he wasn’t out of the danger zone. Once her tremors had subsided somewhat and the steam had stopped billowing, he crept forward, daring to stand beside her and shut off the faucet. When he reached for her shoulder, he was just about zapped by the energy radiating unseen from her body.

Despite the shimmer of unchecked green glow glistening over her skin, Shego turned sharply toward him, her face thudding into his chest and arms constricting around him, squeezing the breath out of him in a bear hug comparable to his mother’s. The only difference was Shego was not his mother, and her body burned like a furnace against him, namely her hands digging into his back. He winced. The plasma burns eating holes in his shirt would need lotion later.

Bearing it, Drakken squeezed his eyes shut, choosing not to look so closely at her grey hairs, evidence she might very well be breaking down in some way. She was certainly breaking down on an emotional level, anyway. Cute and cuddly, he reminded himself as he gingerly held her by the shoulders, desperately hoping to channel whatever cute and cuddly part of him she’d been hoping for tonight even if it wasn’t his normal.

He knew the third degree was coming when his companion went rigid and roughly shoved him back, an accusatory glare written across her face. Drakken didn’t wait for her to demand answers before opening his big mouth to spill the beans.

[doctor243]

The Girl Who Cried Wolf Chapter 7

Summary: 5 times MJ says ‘I love you’ and 1 time Peter says it back.

Characters: Michelle Jones, Peter Parker

AO3

The blaring of an alarm clock and a pounding headache woke MJ up from a restless sleep. Some weird dream involving marshmallows, tea and a spatula. She slapped a hand on the ‘off’ button and curled deeper into her blankets. But her blankets were too hot; in fact, her entire body seemed too hot. Was she getting sick? She tried clearing her throat but stopped when she realised how dry it was. Yep, she was definitely down with the cold. But the cold had never stopped Michelle Jones from getting to school before, and today wouldn’t be the first. Sliding her blanket off and gingerly placing her feet on the floor, MJ stood up and promptly collapsed.

Okay, maybe today would be the first day after all. No biggie, everyone had sick days. In fact, Peter had sick days where he wasn’t even sick, probably out webbing the world together.

She slid back into bed, making sure to text her Mum that she was calling in sick today, before slipping into much welcomed sleep. Yet it felt like she’d only gotten a second of sleep before she woke up to a thump. Slowly rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she forced a peak over the edge of the bed to find her phone on the floor. Vibrating. Picking it up, she gritted her teeth. Peter Parker. 23 Missed Calls. 317 Text Messages. Had her phone vibrated so much that it fell off her night stand? She was going to throttle the little twerp. Or punch him. In the mouth. With her mouth. Softly.

What time was it even? Looking at the clock, she grit her teeth in frustration. 2 in the afternoon. How did so much sleep feel like so little?

‘MJ where are you?’

‘MJ are you coming to school’

‘MJ it’s second period.’

‘MJ answer me I’m panicking.’

She sighed fondly at her phone, and had just enough energy to type ‘I’m alright, Loser, just sick’ before slipping back into slumber.

::::

‘Who the fuck,’ she thought with a grumble as she wrapped the blankets around her shoulders and begrudgingly trudged to the door, from which a relentless pounding was emanating. ‘I swear if it’s anyone other than Peter freaking Parker, I’m going to commit homicide. And if it is him-’

“Um…hey, it’s Peter Parker.” A hesitant voice called out from behind her front door.

‘-I’m gonna commit suicide.’ Mustering her most annoyed face, she opened a crack in the door and peaked out.

“How’d you know where I live?” She glared.

It seemed to work, as his frame visibly shrank.

“Um…I’m Spider-man?”

She narrowed her eyes further. This was too easy and too much fun.

“And you use your genetically enhanced abilities and multi-million-dollar suit to stalk me?”

“What?? No!” Liar.

“Geez relax, I was kidding,” she sniffed, pulling back and opening the door for him to enter. His eyes immediately started to shine like stars and she had to hold her smile back. “What’d you come here for anyways?”

“I got some tea for you,” he gulped, reaching into his backpack for a package of tea leaves that he’d probably swung an hour south for. “After I heard you were sick I-”

“You mean after I texted you,” she interrupted, staring at him straight in the eyes.

“Ok, yeah after you texted m-”

“After you bombed my phone with 23 calls and 317 texts.” Her gaze was unwavering. This was definitely too easy.

“I was worried!” He argued. “I’ve never seen you miss school and-”

“While I was asleep.” She could see his cheeks flush as his eyes darted around, looking at anything but her face. Why do you have to be so delightfully adorable when you’re nervous, Peter Parker?

She watched the clogs in his brain work furiously to find an exit from this predicament while she inwardly chuckled. Finally, he gingerly offered the bag of tea to her, smiling shyly. “I got you a book too,” he tried.

She counted to 15, and savoured the look of his conviction slowly diminishing before she rolled her eyes, sighed and let him in.

“What book is it?” She asked, bolting the door and shuffling to the couch – dear God her head was still hurting – and snatched the tea from his outstretched hand.

“Oh it was this tea book that the lady at the store recommended,” he fumbled and pulled it out. “It was on sale and it’s where I knew what tea to buy for a cold. Also the authors name is Mary Jane, but that’s also MJ, so I-” oh dear Peter Parker you wonderful idiot.

“That’s my book.”

“Um, I know,” Peter replied, raising an eyebrow questioningly. “I’m giving it to you.”

“No,” you idiot. She took a breath. “I wrote that book.” At his bewildered silence, she rolled her eyes. “I’m Mary Jane, okay? I couldn’t very put Michelle Jones as the author of a tea book, or everyone’s gonna think it’s a detective novel.”

Silence. It was deafening, and Michelle struggled not to break it. Now her cover was definitely ruined. He was definitely going to laugh and her reputation as the resident hard-ass and–

“You wrote a tea book??” Peter finally squeaked.

“Wow, that’s your takeaway from this?” She rolled her eyes.

“And it’s a bestseller!”

“I’m well aware, thank you very much.”

“Can I have an autograph?”

MJ froze. “Excuse me?” Her hope that he was joking turned to ash when she turned and saw his bright eyes sparkling again. Even glaring at him didn’t work – possibly because of her state of health.

“I mean,” oh Peter. “I’m sure if you’ve written one bestseller you’re gonna write many more in the future,” you magnificent loser. “And since you wrote the book I’m not gonna give it to you, and if I had an autograph I could brag that I was the first to get it.” No human being has the right to be that cute. Go reflect on your actions, Spider-man.

Count to ten, she counselled herself. Fill the kettle. Put it on the stove and turn it on. Grab a sharpie. Count to ten again before you say something you regret.

“You’re lucky I love you,” she muttered. Well fuck you too, brain.

“Wha-what?” He seemed to choke on the frog in his mouth. Ah fuck he heard me.

“I said, ‘you’re lucky I love the tea.’ Now gimme the book.” She replied without missing a beat. As impulsive as her brain had been recently, it had not slowed down any. It might have been increasingly active, if anything. She’d have to mentally prepare herself for these sort of situations when he’d left. But how was one supposed to be prepared for Peter Blessed Parker?

“Ri-right,” he handed her the book, but his mind seemed a million miles away. This was bad. Did she break him?

“You’re such a Loser,” She signed hastily.

“Here you go, Loser,” she grumbled.

“Thanks,” he smiled, returning to Earth. Was that fondness in his smile? He stared at it for a minute before blinking. “Oh yeah I’ve got some homework for you from Chem and some class notes from History today.” He pulled the respective worksheets from his bag as he stuffed the tea book back in. “Ned says hi, but he couldn’t come cuz he has to help his mum cook.”

“Hmm,” She hummed. She took the stuff from him before plopping on the couch and studying them intently. Or she tried. Even as she glared at the words on her paper, the only space left in her brain from her headache were occupied by the adorable Spiderling sitting across from her.  

“Anyways I’d love to stay and try the tea but I really gotta go,” Peter spoke up, getting up. “Cuz I gotta get some web hours in before dinner tonight.”

“Oh um, ok,” MJ looked up, trying her hardest not to seem disappointed, before something struck her as unacceptable. “Hold up, did you really just say ‘web hours’?”

“Yep see you get well soon bye!!” He chirped and closed the front door behind him, leaving a stunned MJ with a stack of papers in her left hand and a cup of tea in her right. She couldn’t go back to sleep.

Previous Chapter: Here

Next Chapter: Here

Masterlist: Here

Tags: @you-guys--are-losers​ @spideychelleforever​ @spideychelleee​ @spidermaninlove​ @tonystarkissist​ @spideychellefics​ @spiderxboy @spideychelle-4-ever @spideyxchelle @thespideychellelibrary @here-be-spideychelle 

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Lullaby [40%]

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Read Equinox here and come back!

A howl echoed through the forest. 

Sakura jolted upright, her eyes flying around in the darkness. Hana eased her feet up onto the dashboard. 

“It’s still gonna be a while. Go back to sleep,” Hana called back to her. In the driver’s seat, her husband, Ren, glanced back too. 

“Are you sure you’re not cold?” he asked her for the millionth time. 

“I’m okay,” Sakura insisted, shaking her head. Hana and Ren exchanged a look. Blowing out a sigh, Ren reached back to hand her a thermos of hot tea. And then Hana threw a blanket on top of her. 

“Kiba would kill us if you get sick,” Hana sighed, crossing her arms behind her head. 

“Are you sure he’s alright? What if he runs into a bear? A Bobcat?” Sakura continued to fret, even as she wrapped the blanket around her shoulders. 

“Then I feel sorry for the bobcat. He’ll be ok,” Hana replied. 

Hana and Ren’s jeep sat parked in the forest behind Sakura’s house. The engine was silent. But the woods weren’t. Even at night. The crickets chorusing for miles at miles without end. The occasional frog croaked in the darkness. And then there was the anonymous rustling of other creatures moving about in the night. 

"Hey, seriously. You can go inside and sleep. We’ll wake you if anything happens,” Hana told her for the millionth time that week. 

Sakura pretended not to hear her. It was spring, but the nights seemed to think that it was still winter. She stuffed her hands in her pockets, rubbing her fingers against the warmers she had stuck inside. Shook them a little like tiny maracas in her palms.

For the past five days, Sakura had stubbornly sat out here with Kiba’s sister and brother-in-law. Just waiting.

And it had all started with the most mundane visit.

“I brought pie!” Kiba exclaimed as soon as she opened the door.

“O....kay?” she replied. 

Past her leg, a black, wet nose poked out. And then another. Sakura looked down.

“Boys,” she warned.

Pakkun and Shiba skittered back into the house, their tails wagging.

“Oh, is Kakashi here?” Kiba wondered. Sakura opened the door wider, shaking her head. 

“He got a call so he’s out doing... sheriff...ly things. I think that’s right?” she replied. She took a step back to let Kiba into the house. Laughing, Kiba handed her the pie. 

“Yeah. Sheriffly. Sounds right to me,” he agreed.

Sakura peeked under the foil top and gasped.

“Apple pie, again!”

"Yeah,” was all he said before he went to greet the dogs. Bull sniffed at him, butting against him. Kiba bumped him back before Shiba tackled him and began licking his face. 

“Kiba...” 

“Yeah?” He rubbed Shiba under the ears, making his tail a blur. Kiba laughed when Pakkun butted his way in for some love too. 

Sakura pressed her palm to her mouth. Thinking. And then she sighed, “Kiba... you didn’t have to. This probably takes you forever.”

“What are you talking about? It was only, like, two hours,” Kiba snorted. He reached into his pocket to look up the recipe on his phone. This stopped when Bull placed his front paws on Kiba’s legs, begging for more attention.

“No, that means you make, like, a million pies. And you only bring the best one, didn’t you?” she guessed.

“Uh...” His hesitation was an answer in itself as he rubbed Bull behind the ears.

Sakura sighed. She placed the pie on the kitchen counter and then stood there. Hands on her hips as she watched Kiba play with the dogs.

“You’re... so sweet. You know that?” Sakura declared. Wrapping her arms around him from behind, she kissed him on the cheek. Kiba turned his head to the side so she could kiss him on the mouth this time around. 

“Anything for my girl,” he replied. And maybe if someone else had said those words, it would have sounded like a corny joke. But it was special when Kiba said it. So special that she felt compelled to kiss him again.

Kakashi had returned a few hours later to the smell of something bubbling away on the stove. Kiba stood at the sink peeling potatoes while Sakura chopped carrots. Her knife tapping away. 

Kakashi hung his keys on the rack Kiba had mounted by the door. It was just one of the few additions Kiba had made around the house. Including a pot rack above the kitchen island and a new sink that could actually fit more than a couple dishes at a time.

“Hey, Kiba,” Kakashi greeted him, patting him on the shoulder.

“Sheriff. Out catching the bad guys?” Kiba said in return. 

Kakashi scoffed. “Helping Tsunade get her cat out of a tree, you mean?”

Kakashi waited until Sakura set the knife down before he kissed her. He leaned over her shoulder, peeking down at the ingredients on the cutting board. 

“I felt like stew,” she explained before he could ask. And then she pointed at the pie on the counter.

“Kiba brought pie again, so I figured we should have something good for dinner too.” 

“Oh... he did?” Kakashi mused in return. He glanced at Kiba again, forehead wrinkling. He plucked a slice of carrot off the board and crunched it between his back teeth. Then, he reached out stroke the top of Sakura’s head a few times. She turned to him, a little confused, but not unhappy at the affection. When she smiled, he returned the expression, the corners of his eyes crinkling. 

“I gotta make a call. I’ll be right back,” he told her.

“O....kay? Weirdo,” Sakura replied, laughing a little as he leaned in to kiss her cheek.

“I’m glad the Sheriff called us. Although, Kiba could’ve just told us himself. That idiot,” grumbled Hana. Her husband reached over to pat her knee. 

“Hey, this is hardest for him. Kiba’s always had a hard time with wolf stuff,” Ren replied.

Because apparently Kiba bringing her food all the time was a warning sign. One that Kakashi had learned after his many years of observing all different kinds of monsters. It didn’t take long for Kiba to take a week off of work and to disappear into the woods. 

He had randomly dropped by her house one night. Knocking on the back door when he already had a key. Hands bracing against the stair rails, Kiba kissed her before she could say anything. The kind of kiss that left her a little breathless as she tried to figure out what had gotten him so worked up this time. Especially given that she was in sweatpants and an old t-shirt.

“Hey. I’m gonna be... not around as much for a few days,” he told her. 

“Um... okay?” she replied. A little perplexed by the vagueness. 

“But it’s nothing dangerous,” he added, his eyes widening as he waved both his hands in front of him. Sakura giggled.

“Alright, Slick. Whatever it is, good luck, I guess,” she replied as she pulled him in for one last kiss.

Huddled in the back of the jeep a few days later, Sakura wondered why she hadn’t asked him for more details. And then, for the millionth time, she sighed. It wasn’t like she could go back in time to change things. And each time she asked, Hana and Ren tried to reassure her that everything was fine. 

Still, she couldn’t help but ask again: “This is normal, right?”

Neither of her companions jumped. Hana glanced at her in the rearview mirror to nod. Her husband twisted around to look at Sakura.

“Kid’s establishing his territory. Even though the order’s a little backwards. It’s fine, though,” he assured her.

“The thing is that Kiba’s got himself a mate. And a hot one at that. He’s gonna want to make sure he has the space to provide for you and any future pups,” Hana elaborated. Ren looked at her, scratching the stubble on his cheek.

“I took down a bear trying to get Hana’a attention,” he recalled. 

“That was pretty cool,” she agreed.

Sakura wasn’t really in the mood for laughter. Her anxious eyes returned to the woods. Staring at the bushes and leaves. Hoping that he wasn’t out there getting himself hurt. Or worse.

Shivering a little, she snuggled down deeper into the blanket. 

Sakura didn’t know when she fell asleep, but she jolted awake when the car door slammed shut. 

“Sak! Get up!” Hana whispered, reaching into the back of the jeep. 

“Wuh?” Sakura mumbled. But she was obedient, following Hana’s hands as she pulled her up and out of the car. The older woman pulled her through the darkness. Sakura blinked, trying to clear the blurriness out of her eyes as they hurried through the woods. Twisting and turning to avoid scraggly branches.

Somewhere ahead, she could hear panting. Ren was running ahead of them. 

“Wait. Isn’t that my house?” Sakura wondered as they hurried ahead. 

They found Kiba sprawled on her front porch. Scratches covering his legs and arms. There was a huge scrape running up his left shin that oozed blood. Which seemed horrific to Sakura until she noticed a deeper gash on the sole of his right foot. He was covered in dirt. His chest rising and falling- like he had just collapsed there after running and running. 

“How much longer will this last?” Sakura whispered. She watched as Ren took off his jacket to cover Kiba’s naked body. 

“Not much longer. I promise,” Hana said, putting her arm around her to give her a squeeze.

The couple lingered for a while, but Sakura eventually sent them home. They both had work in the morning. There was no sense in them being exhausted too. 

“Oh. Just one thing,” Hana called, stopping halfway down the gravel path. She turned to look at Sakura. “He’s gonna be sleeping pretty deeply. Don’t try to force him awake. Right now wolf-brain and human-brain are kind of fighting. If you wake him before he’s ready, you don’t know which will respond first.”

“Oh,” Sakura said, taking a step to the side, away from Kiba. Hana laughed.

“It’s not like that. Just don’t rattle him around,” she told her before she hurried after her husband. Boots crunching on the grass and the sound growing farther and farther away.

Kiba sat up in the morning, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands like a little kid. He looked over and found Sakura curled up beside him in a tight ball. There was a blanket on top of him. It smelled like the laundry soap that Sakura used.

“Hey,” he said, giving her shoulder a little shake. And then immediately regretted it because he had no idea what time it was. Or whether she’d gotten enough sleep at all. 

Still, she roused with no complaint. Rubbing her hand through her hair, she slowly sat up. Her eyes were red.

“Are you okay?” she asked, interrupting herself with a yawn.

“I should be asking you that. Why aren’t you in bed?” he wondered, rubbing his hand up and down her arm. It was cold out here. 

“Well... Hana said not to move you. But I didn’t want you to be out here alone,” she replied. And then she sneezed. She lifted the edge of the blanket to peek at his injuries. They were already scabbed over. It was still bizarre whenever she saw how quickly weres healed.

“You’re gonna get sick,” Kiba sighed, reaching out to touch her forehead. He stopped himself when he saw that his nails were caked with dirt and what looked like dried blood. 

“I’m gonna borrow your shower,” he announced. Sakura ran a hand through her hair.

“Sure,” she yawned in return. And then her eyes popped open when Kiba wrapped the blanket around her and hoisted her into his arms.

“I can walk!” Sakura protested.

“I know,” he answered.

“You stink.”

“Sorry.”

As he stepped into the house, Sakura searched his face. Despite the healing, he still looked battered and bruised. Like someone had stuck him inside a giant cement mixer and rattled him around. 

She leaned in to kiss the tip of his nose. Which looked like the cleanest part of his face. 

“It’s okay. You’re my stinky,” she assured him.

Three days later, a single, drawn-out howl pierced the air.

“Finally,” sighed Hana. 

Sakura jolted upright. “I wasn’t sleeping!” she exclaimed. Because she had definitely nodded off.

“It’s over,” Ren told her, glancing over his shoulder at her. And then he added, “He sounds far off. Just how much land did he claim?”

And feeling relieved, Sakura finally managed to sleep in her bed for the first time in over a week. Because according to Hana, it was over. Kiba had established his territory and fought off whatever lone wolves were wandering around in the area. Which explained all the cuts and bruises that he came back with. 

Kiba went back to work, just as cheerful as ever. 

Only, there was something slightly off about him. Which Sakura knew she wasn’t imagining because even Itachi noticed it. 

“There’s.... why do you have so much food in your fridge?” he wondered as he glanced through the shelves.

“It looks like Costco in here,” Itachi muttered half to himself. And then he opened a cabinet to find it stocked to bursting with canned vegetables and tuna. In another there was a ridiculous amount of dry pasta of all shapes and sizes.

“Kiba keeps bringing groceries. He’s been really on me about not eating out because it’s unhealthy,” Sakura sighed. Which she knew was true. And she really couldn’t complain because Kakashi and Kiba were always cooking for her. And even Itachi cooked vegetarian meals when he came to visit on the weekends. 

It also didn’t help that Kakashi wrinkled his nose as he clomped up the front steps.

“What?” Itachi asked.

“It reeks of werewolf piss everywhere,” Kakashi coughed into the collar of his shirt as he raised it to cover his poor nose.

A week later, Sakura shrieked when she spotted a dead deer sprawled across her lawn. Kiba stood next to it, a smile on his face as he waved at her.

“Morning!”

“Kiba, what the hell is that!” Sakura yelled through the screen door.

Kiba looked slowly from the carcass to her. “It’s... a deer? Have you never seen a deer before?”

“Of course it’s a deer! I mean why’s there a dead one at my house!” she snapped, her hands bunching into the bottom of her shirt. She could see blood oozing from the teeth marks all around the animal’s limp throat. 

“Venison! It’s good for you,” Kiba replied, still unbelievably cheerful.

He jogged up the gravel path to open the door. 

“There’s tons of nutrients in deer. It’s really good once you get used to it. Here, let me show you something,” Kiba went on, taking her hand. 

Sakura dug her heels in.

“Seriously? What’s up with you lately?” she demanded, wrenching her hand from his. Kiba stopped. 

“Am I being weird?” he asked.

“Yes! You’re being super weird! Why are you being all... all... just weird! A dead deer? Also, the groceries? And you’re peeing everywhere. Again!”

He scratched the back of his head. 

“I just...”

Sakura opened her mouth to yell more until she saw that he was really thinking. Eyebrows pinching together, mouth twisting as he tried to come up with an answer.

“I just feel like, I have to take care of you. Make sure you’re eating a lot. Get more territory. Make sure that I can provide for you,” he muttered, half to himself. He rubbed the back of his neck as he thought.

“Why? You know I’m fine even without that,” Sakura reminded him, taking his hands in hers. Heaving a sigh, he shook his head.

“No idea. It’s... wolf-brain, I guess. It’s almost like...” Kiba lifted his head, staring off into the distance. He stopped talking mid-sentence.

“Kiba?”

“Holy shit, Sakura. I think you’re pregnant,” Kiba whispered as something clicked in his brain.

“Congratulations. You’re three weeks along,” the doctor said as she settled in her chair. 

She flipped through the clipboard. “I’m glad you came so early. Most people don’t catch on until they’ve missed their first period.” And then she looked up. She looked from Sakura’s face to Kiba’s. 

“...I’m guessing this wasn’t planned?”

Sakura found Kiba’s eyes. He reached out to grasp her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. 

“A happy surprise, I guess,” Sakura told the doctor.

Kiba drove them back to her house, grinning the entire way. Even at the stop signs and the red lights. “Man. This is... it’s crazy!” he kept saying to himself, shaking his head. And then he would glance over at her, shaking his head again. 

It wasn’t that she wasn’t happy. But Kiba’s reaction was more subdued than she had expected. Or at least, that was what she thought until they got a few blocks from the hospital. As they sat at a red light, Sakura watched his face. She could see it actually sink in.

Throwing his head back, Kiba exclaimed, “Shut up! YEEEEAAAHH!” And he dissolved into laughter. Slapping his palms against the steering wheel and stamping his feet. Sakura found herself laughing too as Kiba wiggled around in his seat. Pumping his fists into the air as he whooped.

The light turned green and the car behind them blared its horn. Even as Kiba resumed driving, he was still cheering and laughing the entire drive back to Old Pines.

They debated about how to break the news to the other members of their family. But Kiba took one look at her and chuckled. He flipped on the signal to make a left turn. In the direction of the police station.

Kiba waited in the car, waving for her to go alone. He had gotten the news first. He could at least give Kakashi a little privacy when he found out.

Kakashi stood in his office, a cup of coffee in his hand. His head jerked up as soon as she walked in. Sakura was sure that if he had been in his dog form, his ears would have perked up. Tail wagging. It was rare that she came to see him at work, after all.

Sakura headed straight into his office. She closed the door and drew the blinds, before she faced him. Her hands clenching and unclenching as she tried to contain her excitement. Sensing that this wasn't just a quick hello, Kakashi set his coffee aside. He leaned against his desk, bracing one hand against it to keep balance.

“What is it?” Kakashi asked, half-smiling and half-not as he tried to read her expression. 

“A baby,” was all she managed to whisper. 

Kakashi’s hand slipped. He tumbled to the ground, dumbstruck. And all he managed to do was continue to stare at her as he sat on the floor. His legs splayed out the way he had landed. Ignoring the pain in his butt. 

“A.... what?” he asked. Even though he had heard her perfectly.

“A baby, Kakashi. In here,” Sakura said, resting her hand on her abdomen. 

Kakashi laughed. His eyes growing even larger. “Are... are you... sure?”

“I just came back from the hospital. Yeah,” Sakura replied. She slowly knelt beside him. Smiling so hard that her cheeks were starting to hurt a little.

“A baby,” whispered Kakashi.

It took him a long moment. But it finally seemed to sink in. Kakashi wrapped his arms around her, kissing the top of her head over and over. She could feel his smile each time he kissed her.

“Wow. A baby,” he breathed as he held her close.

Itachi was just as surprised when she called him that night. It was a Monday and he was in Empire City working on some big multimillion dollar project. She could see from his expression that it hadn’t been a pleasant day at work.

“A b- baby. Like... wah wah?” Itachi asked, imitating an infant’s crying. 

Sakura nodded.

“Holy shit. A baby,” Itachi whispered. Both his hands on top of his head. 

She watched him walk around his kitchen once. And then he approached the computer again. Hands clasping on top of his head, Itachi began running through all the calculations. "We have to start a college fund now. And the cost of diapers. Daycare? No, maybe a private school." 

"Itachi," Sakura called. His head snapped up as he refocused on her.

“Should I drive up now? I can call out sick. And... oh my god a baby.”

Sakura laughed. “You can’t miss work. You just told me you have a ton of meetings tomorrow,” she reminded him.

“Yeah. But that was before I found out that.... ah man. I don’t care. I’m coming over,” Itachi decided. And Sakura saw that there was no point in trying to convince him otherwise.

Sakura called Tobirama right after. It took him a while to pick up, which meant that he was probably working on a song. 

And when the call connected, she saw that she was right. He sat in his studio, headphones dangling around his neck. The lights in the room were soft purple and blue. He wore a lapis lazuli ring on his fourth finger.

“Hey,” he greeted her. She saw him muss his hair. Fix the collar of his shirt.

“Tobirama,” she called. And then she bit her lip, smiling.

“Yeah?”

“Tobirama... do you wanna be called daddy or papa?”

A long silence answered her. Tobirama was so still that she wondered if the call had frozen. But then she saw him raise both hands. He rubbed his eyes, in slow, deliberate motions. 

Tobirama sniffed. When he lowered his hands, tears glistened in his eyes. 

“Sakura.”

“Yeah?”

He sniffed again. Wiping his eyes, he blinked a few times. His lashes heavy with moisture. 

“You craving anything? I’ll buy it on my way down,” he offered, trying to keep his voice steady. As tears continued to drip down his face.

Sakura beamed at him, feeling her eyes stinging at the corners. “No. Just hurry up, you big idiot,” she said before she burst into tears too. Laughing and crying together with Tobirama. Who wiped his face with the sleeve of his jacket as he tried to find his keys and wallet.

[burlybanner]

Syzygy -6

Syzygy - An AU of Infundo (post-Infundo Chronicles).

Chapter 6: S**t Gets Too Real

Chapter 6 Summary:  Tony Stark’s a genius. Sometimes he wishes he wasn’t.

 Gentle warning: Slob stuff and multiple stuffings ahoy.

Link to Chapter 1, 2, 3, 4, 5

** Surprisingly, Bruce got hungry pretty damn quick after Hulk's stuffing. He didn't think he'd feel hungry ever again but after eating a banana he'd soaked in a double portion of his gainer solution, his stomach roared to life soon after waking. Being so suddenly and frightfully hungry shocked him, but thank the chubby powers-that-be that Steve had a huge country breakfast waiting. Bruce gobbled multiple servings of buttery Belgian waffles soaked in syrup, several donuts, half a coffee cake from his favorite bakery, and a couple of spinach mushroom quiches.

Which, to be honest,  was nothing near lunch a few hours later at a private buffet ("to celebrate new growth," Tony'd told the manager). Bruce had rolled his eyes. Of course Tony said something that stupid out loud. They'd brought some of the gainer formula to the buffet, shook it over Bruce’s food, and Bruce tore into the portions like a bull in a glass factory. And it surprised him. It took an hour of heavy gorging before he almost felt full and he'd never eaten that much for that long before. But it felt...great. No, more than that. He felt incredibly pleased. Sated. Beyond high. 

His pants got so tight at the restaurant he'd had to undo his belt.

His fullness turned him on and he begged Tony and Steve to blow him in the limo, on the way back home. But they weren’t total heathens; they waited until they returned for stuffing sex, 

where one of his boyfriends fed him sickeningly sweet desserts while the other blew him, effectively creating double orgasms. 

God. They'd been ridiculously horny. Insatiable rabbits.

And then there was dinner. Holy shit, dinner turned into another orgy when they mixed the day's remaining formula into his meals. After several dishes and baskets of rolls Bruce couldn't suck in his gut to fasten his pants. His stomach bloated and swelled in his lap as he slurped down sweet sriracha chicken,  Thai coconut curry, and on and on. Food continued coming as fast as he ate it and he barely choked one meal down before the next course presented itself. He'd spilled a ton of food down his shirt, but he didn't care. He mindlessly gobbled everything up like a sloppy, greedy piggy wallowing in mess.

Then they sated themselves with sex. Again and again.

Bruce's body quivered from the memories and his dick jumped in his pants. He wondered how the rest of the night would go which dampened his enthusiasm. He had to fall asleep and his body would be taken over, forced to consume whatever Hulk desired. Thinking about Hulk's "meal" worked like ice water on his libido.

Bruce sighed and nervously squeezed his stomach. "You really found everything?"

"Sure did, Pooh."

"I would've...no. I wouldn't' have asked. I can't imagine what you went through to get it. After everything I ate today, I thought you would've been sick of catering to me."

Tony smiled gently and gave Bruce a quick kiss on the lips while slipping on a pair of sweatpants and his nano shirt. "For you? I'd buy the moon, Pooh Bear. Besides, today's good eatin' was to slick you up for tonight. You don't think Steve and I noticed your apprehension? Perish the thought. You're stuck with us."

"And how," Steve sighed, coming up behind him. Steve was still floating in a post-coital glow and his high was infectious. He wrapped his arms around Bruce's shoulders and gently swayed him side to side, palming Bruce’s spare tire while bouncing his heavy overhang. "Betcha gained a ton today, Porkpie."

Bruce shuddered with lust and kissed Steve's arm. "We'll see."

"We still have the bonus round," Tony told them. He snapped his fingers. "Bruce, bed. Steve, get him sleepy." He checked his watch. "I've got caterers to catch."

Bruce suddenly perked up. "They're here? Already?"

"In an hour. But I need to set up for Hulk. He likes his food ready and he likes getting messy, as you know."

Bruce snorted softly. "I saw."

"I've got a few things prepared. No worries, Brucie, it's not about you now. Rest up for the nightly pig-out."

Bruce chewed the inside of his cheek. "Be careful, yeah?"

"Always, Brucie Bear. Always." Tony winked and skittered out, but Bruce wasn't convinced. Tony could be notoriously bad at self-preservation and he'd need all of his skills for the Hulk.

Please be careful, he thought as a silent litany, even as Steve kissed his neck and led him to their bed.

**

"Yeah, lay it out."

The caterer and their helpers looked confused. "On the--"

"On the tarp, yeah. Line up the steno and servers in a line. The tarp's fireproof," Tony explained, although he doubted they thought that was the weird thing. "Set it up. I'll take care of the rest."

"Of course, Mr. Stark."

Fortunately they didn't bat an eye. He figured they'd seen weirder things. Probably from him, come think.

He gave the catering crew time to plate everything but kept checking his watch. He still had to prep before Bruce showed up.

When they lit the last steno he clapped his hands. Only one startled. Good. "Awesome. All finished? Wonderful. Someone'll drop off your gear tomorrow, or you can bill us. Jarvis, see 'em out. Thanks." He shoved a bunch of hundreds at the nearest person.

"If you would, please follow the lights as I direct you to the exits." A few of the newbies blinked around the room, but most of them knew the drill; they'd dealt with Jarvis before and knew their way out.

When the last one left the kitchen, Tony let out a slow puff of air and stilled his breathing. "How're we on time, J?"

"The last caterer will leave the building in approximately two-point-six minutes, sir. From what I've been observing with Captain Rogers, I estimate Doctor Banner will enter NREM sleep in approximately six minutes."

"Perfect. You clear on the plan?"

Tony could almost hear Jarvis sigh. The minute pauses mimicked one enough times. "Of course, sir. Although if I may interject?"

"Shoot." Tony darted around, finishing the set up before Bruce-Hulk lumbered in.

"I assume Doctor Banner will want--"

"Nope, no," Tony said, cutting off his AI. "This is a need-to-know op only and Banner doesn't need to know. Not until there's conclusive proof. You cut the feed on my mark, got it? Don't go all HAL on me."

"Perish the thought, sir." Jarvis would be chuckling, if he were human. "But I felt I needed to voice my concerns, considering your current relationship status."

"Duly noted. Bruce will...well." Tony gestured flippantly. "Either way we'll know conclusively and I'll apologize to Bruciekins tomorrow. I'll have to drag the rest out of him later anyway."

"Easier to ask for forgiveness than permission?"

"You got it, J."

**

Within ten minutes of Tony's talk with Jarvis heavy feet slapped the kitchen floor. Not as heavy as Hulk's actual feet but it wasn't Bruce's footfalls either; Bruce's tread was normally softer and shuffled more. The new steps were definitely steps of purpose and power.

"Hey, Hulk, it's Tony. I'm over here."

"Tin Man?"

Bruce - no, Hulk - poked his head into the formal dining room. It was damn weird, but Tony had no problem differentiating between Hulk taking Bruce's body, and Bruce himself.

"Yeah, it's me. Have a seat. I got your grub."

Hulk snuffled and snorted the air, and plopped heavily next to Tony. "Smells good. What's that?" He poked a server, and Tony lifted it.

"Twice fried ostrich wings, like you requested. Cajun spiced, using a seasoning mix from that guy you remembered on TV."

"Prudhomme magic," Hulk rumbled, and Tony stopped short from reeling in surprise. No. Definitely not stupid. At all.

He'd have to keep on his toes.

"That's right. Chef Prudhomme's legendary seasonings." He watched as Hulk took an ostrich wing and sniffed it cautiously. Laughing, he stuck half in his mouth and crunched it, bones and all.

"Good. Good ostrich!"

“Some of the best chefs in Louisiana fried it up and sent it to you. We've also got your--" he tore off another lid, "--deep fried Rocky Mountain Oysters, swimming in white gravy, and..." he removed another server lid and stopped short of shuddering. “Crocodile and alligator tripe, simmering in an alligator head with the eyeballs still attached. Just like you wanted."

Hulk grunted his approval, scooped a hand in the warm stew, and slurped it. "Good. Very good. Where's main dish?"

Tony sighed deeply. "Big Green, you've got some unique tastes and I'm diggin' the vibe. But just know for Bruce's sake we couldn't serve it to you raw."

Hulk slammed his fist on the floor, but it was still Bruce's fist. So Tony called it a win despite his tantrum. "Cap said anything!"

"Yeah, he did. But think about it. You wanna do Bruce a solid, right? Make him big and cuddly, like you?"

Hulk snorted, but folded his arms in a childish pout. "Yeah."

"And you wanna make sure you can do this again, right?"

"Hmph."

"Then you gotta do right by him. You're in his body, so take it easy." Tony removed the last lid. "Ta-daa...frog and rattlesnake stir fry. Not quite raw but as close to raw as we could make it without making Bruce sick."

Hulk grabbed a handful of the hot dish and shoved it in his mouth. "Banner not get sick," he muttered. A frog leg tumbled from his lips as he talked with a full mouth. "Banner has Hulk's immunity. No poison can kill Hulk!"

"True, true," Tony said. "But it can hurt Bruce temporarily. He wouldn't want that, and he'd kinda hate you for it."

"Mm." Tony could tell Hulk was mulling it over as he continued shoving the food into his mouth with his bare hands. The last server had the deep fried andouille sausage with crayfish gumbo in it (crayfish heads still attached, of course), but Tony figured Hulk would get to that eventually. It was definitely the messiest of all the dishes. Who knew Hulk was such a foodie of weird foods?

"Andrew Zimmern ain't got nothin' on you," Tony muttered.

"Hmm?"

"Nothing, Hulk. Go back to feasting."

Hulk nodded vigorously and scooped fistfulls of one dish, then the other, and poured them into his mouth. A lot fell to the tarp, but Hulk scraped up the scraps. Waste not, want not, he supposed.

After five minutes of watching Hulk develop an easy eating rhythm Tony licked his lips. "Hey, Jarv," he said quietly.

Jarvis relayed his response to Tony's hidden earpiece: "Understood, sir."

Although Bruce pinned a GoPro to his robe Tony'd hacked the camera days ago. He had Jarvis loop the feed so it'd show Hulk chowing down. He knew he'd only have a few minutes before it'd look suspicious, so he had to hope he got everything he needed from Hulk in one take.

"Hulkie," he began. "You love Tin Man, right? Love all this great food?"

"Mm. Yes. Good food. More tomorrow?"

"Sure. Let me know what you want before we wrap up tonight. Can't promise you everything, but we'll do what we can. Like the rattlesnake. That fair?"

Hulk snorted and dumped a handful of the gumbo in his mouth. Which, of course, dripped down on everything. "Is okay. But not great."

Tony chuckled. "I get it," he said, then sobered. "I also get what you're not telling Bruce. You're workin' the system, Big Green. Not sure I'm okay with that, and I know Bruce won't be."

Hulk didn't respond, but continued stuffing his face.

Good. He knows I'm on to him.

"Pull back on the control shit - you're mucking around with Bruce's subconscious more than he's aware; I saw you at dinner today. Don't deny it."

Hulk laughed, deep and throaty. "Fooled you. And Banner."

"A little, yeah. But I know that's not all - you're not dumb but neither am I. You helped Bruce with that gainer cocktail, didn't you? I'm guessing there's more junk in there than Bruce realizes."

Hulk stilled, and for the first time that night Tony wondered if he'd have to activate the nanosuit. "I see what Banner sees," he murmured. His voice was oddly calm, oddly quiet. "But Banner doesn't see what I see. He doesn't know what I know."

Bingo.

"It's all an act, isn't it?"

"No."

A chill came over Tony and his brain overclocked. "Shit...Hulk isn't the only one in Bruce's head, is he?"

He almost smiled, but the expression wasn't Hulk's. Wasn't Bruce's, either. "Are you going to tell on us?"

Don't. Don't freak out. Don't. Freak. "Depends." Tony was surprised at how calm he kept his voice. "Who are you, and what are you planning?"

The Person sighed softly and briefly brushed away food from Bruce's robe. "Actually, I like being left out of things. I work behind the scenes, and I don't wish any harm. I'm actually the one helping maintain control over Hulk these days...I suppose in a pinch you could call me the lecturer-researcher construct." He paused, tilting his chin before sharply nodding.  "Call me Professor."

Tony swallowed. "Professor? Like when Bruce works at NYU?"

Professor hummed. "I'm present at any event where he's teaching, or when he learns something new. But honestly, I'm harmless. You've seen me before - I was the first to touch the Tesseract."

Tony sat back on his heels and scrutinized Professor sharply. "Huh. Yeah..." he gestured lamely at Professor's face. "I can see it now, a little. I remember that expression." Burned forever in his brain, now.

Sighing heavily Tony licked his lips, pausing at whatever seventh hell revelation this was. "So, um." He shook his head. He wanted a drink. Several. Despite cutting back for his boyfriends' sakes he wanted to drown his brain in a tank of whiskey. "Where...?"

"Where does this put the four...hum. Five of us?"

Tony nodded lamely. "You outflanked me. Royally."

"Did I?" Professor seemed to take that in stride, and smiled coyly to himself. "It wasn't my intention. I simply revealed my hand because it was timely. There wasn't anything left to hide." He tilted his head and gazed at Tony. "It doesn't change anything. Of course you should tell Banner and yes, even Captain Rogers, but do ask yourself if this is the right time. Could be fairly disastrous for the three of you if your timing's off." Tony narrowed his eyes slightly. Was that a veiled threat--?

Professor stretched and yawned, and held his hands above his head for a beat. "I'm actually quite pleased Banner wishes to become immobile, Tony." He smiled softly and ran his hands over Bruce's swollen belly, imitating a mother-to-be's reverence. The image burned Tony's retinas and he felt sick - maybe a bit horrified. "I'm looking forward to reading all the books I've yet to read and I'm glad for the time I'll have to myself."

Professor checked his wrist, as if viewing an invisible watch. "By the way, you should tell Jarvis to turn the camera feed back on. It's been far longer than five minutes."

Tony snorted. "You sly motherfucker. You knew all along."

"Of course I did." He winked and saluted Tony with two fingers. "Be seeing you, Tony."

Tony watched as Bruce's body shook before returning to shoving food in its face.

"Good food! Hulk wants more tomorrow."

"Sure thing, Big Guy," Tony whispered. He let out a shuddering breath and ran a hand down his face. "Jarv, tell me you recorded all that."

"Yes."

The AI's response was curt and to the point; he probably had as much to think about as Tony did.

"What the ever living fuck."

"Sir. Doctor Banner's Person was correct in one sense. It's been far too long, and there's bound to be an interrupting glitch in the feed if closely scrutinized."

"Yeah. I know." Tony licked his lips and made a circular motion in the air. "Go ahead and turn it back to black, J. Shit. I have no idea what the fuck I'm gonna say tomorrow. Hell, I dunno if I can keep up pretenses tonight."

"Might I suggest trying your best, sir? Especially as we're going live in three...two--"

"Shit."

But somehow Tony plastered his showman's grin to mask his shell-shocked face pretending for all the world he didn't do a Prince of Bel-Air, Freaky Friday flip. He watched Hulk eat most, if not all, of the dishes and he whistled for the 'bots to clean up the mess before guiding Hulk to the shower and repeating what Steve had done the previous night. But his mind was split and he knew he couldn't maintain the act for long. Both Bruce and Steve'd know something was up but he wasn't sure how, or when, he'd tell them.

God. He hated covert shit.

Ch. 7

[slinkinginshadows]

I WOULD LIKE TO SEE IT, if you want to share! I’ve definitely had moments of ‘damn I didn’t even know what this WAS back then’ with early writing and it’s a TRIP

ALL RIGHT… gosh, I’ve been looking for this for a while but assumed it was lost to the ages. I definitely had no idea what I was making at the time, just that the idea of seeing a character I liked stuffed full of food/with a round belly was weirdly appealing to me.

I was around Dib’s age at the time, and I actually remember multiple scenes from this idea that I never got to writing. Huh. Anyways, here it is, unedited! (I had a complete grasp on spelling and grammar at 13, since I read a lot, so luckily it’s easy to read.)

Dib blinked his eyes open, but he couldn’t see anything. Hevaguely wondered if Zim had blinded him, but quickly shot down that idea. Therewas a tiny sliver of light in the corner of the room, or at least he thought itwas a room. The barely-there chill radiating in the air told him he wasprobably in the lower base. He sighed, tugging at his arms and legs, but thecold Irken metal straps pinning them down didn’t budge. The bridge of hisglasses was nestled fairly comfortably on his face, so when light returned,he’d probably be able to see just fine.

“Okay, let’s see.” The boy said aloud, his voice givinghim little comfort as it only echoed in the probably wide space. “I’mchained down, it’s really dark, and I’m alone. Well, this is wonderful.”He started wriggling around. Although it was hard to tell through his shirt-histrench coat had been taken off, and all of his useful defenses against Zim weregone with it- he guessed he was on a metal table, probably for examinations.Images of himself gutted like a frog flashed across his mind, but he pushedthem down.

“How did I get here? Oh, right… Gaz had told me Zim’s basehad three of the gnomes gone, and I went to check… but when they all werethere, I was ready to go in any way when…” He squeezed his eyes shut toconcentrate, although it was pretty much a useless action considering hecouldn’t see anything in the first place. “When Zim stepped out… he hit mein the head, then injected my shoulder with something…” There was still asmall aching throb in his right shoulder blade to prove it. Not wanting to beleft stewing in his thoughts for heaven knew how long, he called out,“ZIM! GET OUT HERE!” When he heard the quick ‘pitter patter’ offootsteps, it didn’t take a genius to guess the alien had been waiting for himto wake up. He opened his eyes as the sliver of light shot wider, the doorbeing flung open.

“Dib-thing! You’re awake!”

“No really, what was your first clue?” The boy saidsarcastically. Now that there was enough light, he could see Zim just fine-thealien was munching on a bag of chips. His disguise was gone, so Dib was lookinginto maroon alien eyes.

“The fact that you-”

“I was being sarcastic.” Dib rolled his eyes.

“I knew that!” Zim said quickly, before holding up thebag. “Does the Dib-smell want one?” The action took Dib back-Zim hadnever asked him something like that, especially with an offhand tone… But Dibknew the alien well, and he could hear the hint of manic glee behind thecarefully casual tone.

“No way, I don’t want any of your irken food! It’s poison tohumans, isn’t it?!” He glared at Zim. They were at eye level with eachother, and Zim stuck out his tongue. He grabbed a chip, before shoving it allthe way into Dib’s mouth, hand and all. Dib gagged at the sudden intrusion, notto mention the fact that Zim’s gloves were probably dirty. Ooh, if his handsweren’t bound… “Mppph!” Zim laughed, pulling out his hand and rubbing it on histights.

“Like it, earth child?” Dib glared at him, but the chip wasalready starting to dissolve in his mouth. It was… really sweet, actually. Dibchewed it, mostly to get rid of the rubbery aftertaste of the glove.

“What the heck was THAT for?” Dib asked, never pulling his gaze fromthe alien. Zim was still rubbing his glove on his uniform- germaphobe. Zimfinally stopped before walking RIGHT up to Dib’s face. The boy tried to pullaway, but the alien just smirked at him.

“I’ve been trying to get rid of your smelly head for almost a yearnow… and finally, I started studying your weaknesses. Humans have so many… andthere was one in particular that would be particularly… demeaning.” Zim glaredinto Dib’s eyes as the human boy swallowed thickly.

“And what is that?” He tried to force his voice not to shake, butit was difficult. No matter what he pretended, he was completely at Zim’smercy. Zim backed up a little, before poking Dib’s stomach with a claw, leavinga biting sensation like a bug bite.

“This. Metabolism.” Dib rolled his eyes, nearly breathing a sighof relief.

“That’s it? You were going to try to starve me or something?” Zimgrinned again, before shaking his head, his antennae bobbing up and down at adizzying rate. “Then what could it be?” He sighed-Zim was going to tell himeither way, there was no use in even asking…

“How much food can you hold?” The question came right out of leftfield, and took Dib off guard. He had to think for a moment.

“Not much, I suppose-I never ate much anyway. Why?” He wiggled hisarms, wishing Zim could loosen them at least a little… To his surprise, thealien swung the table around. “Wha-this thing is on WHEELS?”

“A rotating stand, actually.” Zim snapped his fingers, and all ofa sudden the room was flooded with sickly lavender light, bathing everything ina cool glow. Dib blinked rapidly, making sure he was really seeing what was infront of him. Then again, he’d never expect Zim would have anything likethis-and why would he? It hurt Zim like poison.

He was staring at a huge mound of food. Mostly multi-colored cupcakesand slimy-looking tacos, but there were a few pizza boxes and grocery bagsmixed in. “What the heck is this?”Zim was standing next to him, ramrod straight from what he could tell from hislimited peripheral vision. “Zim, I thought you couldn’t eat-“

“I can’t. Most of it, anyway. No, it’s for you.”

“WHAT?” Dib gasped, taking another look. “That’s enough for… months!How long do you expect to keep mehere?” It seemed his situation was finally starting to sink in as he swallowedthickly. Zim walked around to the front, a wide grin decorating his pink zipperteeth.

“About a week or two…” Dib’s hazel eyes widened.

“That’s supposed to be for a WEEK? Geez, how much do you irkensEAT?” He let out a long breath. “No way I’m-“ Zim zipped up, getting right inhis face again.

“That’s the plan-you ARE.”

“Are you nuts? I’d explode!” Dib argued back, feeling thefamiliarity of their usual banter calming him a bit. Zim chuckled.

“I’m going to make the computer monitor you constantly so youdon’t.” Dib glanced back at the pile.

“What are you going to do, force-feed me the whole time?” He saidit sarcastically, but the look in Zim’s narrowed maroon eyes was dead serious.“…You’re kidding. What would that accomplish, besides making me sick?” Zimharshly poked his stomach again, making the boy wince.

“This! You’re skinny, and very fast and hard to catch. So…” Thelight dawned on Dib, and he swallowed again.

“If I gained weight, then I’d be less of a threat?” Zim nodded.

“Glad your puny hyuman brain could understand my amazing plan. Istarted thinking of it since the… bolognaincident.” The Irken’s tongue slithered out for a split second at the word. Heflicked something next to Dib’s legs, and they suddenly fell free. All hisweight now resting on his chest, Dib started squirming around.

“Hey, that hurts!” Another flick and Dib’s body collapsed onto thefloor. He almost hit his nose, but luckily landed on his hands. He startedrubbing them on his shirt, glaring up at Zim. “What was that fo-wait. You justlet me go?” Zim crossed his arms and Dib thought he rolled his eyes-it was hardto tell, considering the irken had no pupils.

“Of course not! If you leave without me taking you out, thecomputer is instructed to electrocute you.” Dib’s eyes widened again, and hepressed his warm palms onto the cool floor.

“You’re insane. You can’t make me do this! Someone will comelooking for me!”

“It’s skool break, no? And your sibling is the one who lured youhere…”

“Gaz knew about this?” He blinked his eyes slowly. “Why wouldshe…?”

“I gave her a holographic game system.” Zim waved his hand, theair swishing.

“She SOLD ME OUT FOR-“

“YES!” Zim shouted, before walking over to the pile. “Now, whatshall we start with?” Dib shuddered. He couldn’t believe this was happening.He’d always figured that if Zim ever captured him, he’d dissect him orsomething. This… this was… he didn’t even know! He curled his arms around hischest, hugging himself. “Actually-computer, weight the hyuman.” The square tileunder Dib lit up, making him jump for a moment.

“Current weight-ninety four pounds.”

________

Aaaand that was as far as I got.

[malecsecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, @ladymatt!

I hope you enjoyed this. Happy Christmas! :)

Read on AO3

*****

Everlon

“This is heavier than I expected.” Jace readjusted the bow and quiver on his shoulder, while keeping a steady hold on his friend's waist.

“I'm heavy?” Alec rasped, holding his side. His black t-shirt was sticky with his own blood and ichor.

“Your bow,” Jace muttered. “And you,” he added teasingly.

“Remind me to punch when I get better. Fuck.” He stopped walking, his hand tightening against his wound. Color left his face as Alec bend over, his face scrunched in pain.

“Re-route. I'm so not taking you to the Institute. Look at yourself!” Jace helped his parabatai in a standing position, with some difficulty. “I'm taking you home.”

If he expected Alec to protest, he didn't show that Alec nodding in acceptance came as a surprise.

The second they'd defeated the demon, Alec had demanded for Jace to help him to the Institute and that he'd find some lie for Magnus about not going home.

They were almost at their destination when Alec's legs gave out. If it wasn't for Jace's strong hold on him, he'd have crumpled to the ground.

“Alec!” Jace held him close, using both hands. He dragged his friend into the alley leading to the loft he shared with Magnus and their children, leaning his tall and heavy frame against a wall. With bloodied fingers he pulled his stele out of his pocket, then he pushed Alec's shirt up. Jace had seen his fair share of nasty wounds, but that was one of the worst he'd seen in a long time. He drew another iratze rune, followed by a mendelin rune to strengthen him, and to make sure Alec wasn't losing too much blood, he drew an amissio rune.

He watched with horror as the runes disappeared as soon as he finished drawing them. Nothing happened.

Alec's eyes fluttered open, pain etched in his look.

“It will be okay.” Jace stroked a hand through his friend's hair. “Can you stand?”

Alec grimaced, shaking his head.

Jace readjusted the bow on his back, before hoisting his friend up. “Almost home. Lean on me.”

The few minutes that took them to reach the front door felt like hours, especially to Alec. His side was burning and he was sure he'd collapse again any moment.

“Where are your keys?” Jace propped him against the door, already searching inside Alec's jacket.

“Pants,” Alec gasped. He tried to get them, but his fingers felt like jelly.

“This didn't happen,” Jace half-joked, sticking his hands in the pocket Alec pointed to.

If Alec had the strength to be amused, he'd have joked about Magnus banishing Jace to a far, far away dimension for feeling him up. But he wasn't sure he could stand with or without aid for another second, let alone talk.

“Got them.” Jace tried all five keys until he found the right one. Getting a hold of Alec again, he pulled him into the building. “And stairs… Joy.”

“I… can't.” Alec collapsed on the first step, both hands holding his wound.

Jace crouched to check on him just as Alec went limp, his head hitting the wall as he fainted.

“MAGNUS! HELP!” He shouted up the stairs, hoping Magnus would hear him.

Jace had only once been that terrified for his parabatai and he didn't like the feeling. There was emptiness in his stomach and his hands shook as he pried back the wet shirt to check Alec's wound. Blood was bubbling from the cut, dripping on the step.

“MAGNUS!” He yelled again, louder this time.

He appeared at the top of the stairs in a blue satin bathroom. “Who dares distu…” The words died down on Magnus's lips. “Alec!” The horror in his voice was palpable as he fled down the stairs. “What happened?” He asked, but his arms went around Alec.

“He fainted.”

“He's bleeding! What have you two been doing? I thought it was a minor demon attack.” Magnus lifted Alec as if he weighted nothing, carrying him into their apartment.

Jace ran after them, his eyes on the blood drops leaving Alec's body.

“Make sure the kids are still sleeping,” Magnus said seriously, taking Alec into their bedroom. “Then come here.”

Jace was extra aware of the blood on his hands and after wiping them on his jeans, he opened the door to the boys' bedroom. Rafael was on his stomach sleeping deeply. Max was curled around a stuffed toy, his blanket kicked at his feet. As he approached to cover the blue-skinned boy, the toy opened his eyes, blinking lazily at him.

Jace covered his mouth so not to shout in surprise. It took him a moment to realize the toy was actually Chairman Meow.

He left the room with a heavy heart, unsure what they'd tell them in the morning. Whatever was wrong with Alec couldn't be healed overnight. Not even by the High Warlock of Brooklyn.

In the dimly lit bedroom a few doors down, Jace found Magnus was set to get Alec better. Alec's shirt was on the floor, and so were his jeans and boots.

Magnus looked up, his cat eyes glinting in the barely illuminated room. “Time to tell me what demon hurt him, Herondale.”

Jace kept his eyes on the steadily bleeding gash in Alec's side. “A Behemoth demon. They're especially hard to kill, and even though I fought them before, this one went down pretty hard.”

Magnus winced at the mention of the demon's name. He snapped his fingers, a flask of red liquid appeared in his hand.

“This might hurt,” he said, before pouring some on a wad of cotton.

Jace was about to question why Magnus was telling him that, but his eyes widened when sharp white pain exploded from his side. It must have been a powerful substance that which's effects could be felt through the parabatai bond.

“I'm sorry,” Magnus whispered, glancing at him. “This will help with various things – disinfecting, cleaning the wound, stopping the bleeding…”

“And stabbing a knife into my side,” Jace added, sitting at the foot of the bed. “Though, if it gets Alec better, I'd suffer through the worst pain. He'll be okay, right?”

“If I figure out with what he was poisoned…”

“We cornered the demon near an apparently inoffensive mundane magic shop. Something exploded in the depository when we fought the demon. Alec named the substance on the floor, but I was too busy keeping Behemoth from eating me.”

“Can you tell me the look, texture, smell?” Magnus waved his fingers over Alec's wound. The blue flames at the tips of his fingers did nothing on the gash, which was a shock for Jace. He'd seen Magnus healing minor cuts, and his magic worked as well as an iratze.

“All the runes I put on him sank into his skin. Nothing helped.”

In that moment, Alec's eyes opened and he gave a cry of pain.

Magnus was over him in a second. One hand on his cheek and one resting on his shoulder, his eyes full of concern. “You're home. I'll take care of you.”

“Hurts,” Alec hissed through gritted teeth.

“I know, sweetheart. I'm trying to figure out what kind of poison hurt you.”

“There… where… I stepped…” Alec gasped, his hand going to his wound which started bleeding again. “Dendrobatidae.”

Magnus pried Alec's hand from his side, peering closer to examine it. He muttered under his breath about tiny poisonous frogs.

“And we… broke… several other… poisonous plants… from jars.”

“Behemoth stepped on them. We were everywhere in the room. I guess his claws…” Jace looked at Alec, before focusing on Magnus. “Alec killed it. He dipped an arrow in the substance on the floor then shot the thing.”

Magnus shot him a disturbed look, like he wanted to hear those words, but at the same time, that was exactly what he'd feared most.

“Put a sleep rune on him. It should work now,” he instructed Jace. “I'll make sure to get you better then we're going to have a talk about your tendency to get yourself in such sticky situations,” Magnus said firmly, his eyes on his boyfriend.

Alec's lips twitched in an almost smile, but then his face went slack as the rune Jace applied on his shoulder pulled him into a deep slumber.

“He was really brave,” Jace said after a while.

Magnus was busy mixing some colored liquids, making more bottles appear on the nightstand.

“I don't doubt it. Alexander has always been brave, but reckless. He never cared if he got injured, not if it saved one he loved.”

A knot formed in Jace's throat. “He's been more careful since the Dark War, then came the kids…”

“Yet, here he is poisoned with several deadly substances.”

“If I say it is my fault are you going to kill me?”

“It isn't a surprise, Jace. Somehow, it's always your fault when something terrible happens.”

“It's not my fault I attract bad things.”

Magnus shook his head. “You Herondales will be the death of me. I swear. No sense of self-preservation.”

“Do I want to know?” Jace raised a brow.

“It's a story for another time.” He coated Alec's wound in the mixture he'd created. As Magnus wiped the excess of cream from his hands, his eyes cut to Jace. “This is his only wound, right?”

For the first time, since he'd noticed Alec was hurt and holding his side, Jace thought that might not be his only injury.

“Help me roll him on his side. Gently.” Magnus threw him a withering glare when Jace grabbed a hold of Alec's shoulder, ready to manhandle him. Magnus's sharp intake of breath proved to Jace the wound on Alec's side wasn't the only one. “Dammit. Hold him still.”

He worked unhurriedly, repeating the process of cleaning the small lacerations on Alec's back, before coating them in the mixture.

Next, Magnus checked all over his boyfriend's body, finding another small gash oozing blood at his right ankle.

When he was done, he propped Alec on his good side so his back wouldn't touch the bed, then slumped in the chair.

Jace noticed how tired and worn out Magnus looked. He felt terrible for causing him such stress. He wanted to apologize, but he couldn't find a good reason to say 'sorry'.

Hunting demons and getting injured in the process was part of the daily life of a Shadowhunter.

Magnus scratched his cheek, sighing heavily. “Sometimes I wish Alec wasn't a Shadowhunter. I try to imagine a life where he is a normal human, but then I realize what a dull life we'd have.”

Jace chuckled despite himself. “Alec used to be dull before he met you.”

“I can't believe you just said that about your own parabatai.”

“It's true. I mean—”

“Alexander was too afraid to be himself, to tell you what he wanted, who he liked – which happened to be you before he met me – and he had all these burdens, including the secrets of his family, weighing him down. You have no idea how much one can observe about a person if you know what to look for.” Magnus reached to stroke Alec's shoulder. “From a first glance at him, I knew Alec was a strong, troubled, loving, caring man.”

“I thought that at first glance you wanted to take him to your bedroom to canoodle with him.”

Magnus's lips twitched up. “Don't get me started on how insanely attracted to him I was. It doesn't happen often to desire someone so much. But when I looked into his eyes, I knew that I wanted to give him anything he wanted and make everything better for him.”

“He seemed more relaxed when you started dating. I didn't see the change right away, but it was clear he was loosening up.” Jace looked down at his friend, smiling. “Do you mind if I hog the couch? I want to be here when he wakes up.”

“Let me check you for injuries, too. The couch is all yours, but text Clary and let her know where you are.”

Jace pulled his shirt over his head, and while Magnus treated some minor injuries on his back, he texted Clary about where he was and that she shouldn't worry.

The couch was lumpy and it had been the same one for several months. It made Jace wonder why wasn't Magnus exchanging it for a new, better one, but then he could clearly remember both the boys jumping on it and imagined it would be hard to return a broken sofa.

 oOo

The first thing Alec saw when he opened his eyes was Magnus. His boyfriend was sleeping from a sitting position next to him, a book on his lap.

Alec noticed the black nail polish was chipped on some fingers, and thought of how much the boys would love to reapply it. Then his eyes traveled up to Magnus's face. His make-up was smeared under his eyes and he looked tired.

As he reached a hand to touch him, pain flared from his side.

Memories came flooding back to Alec, as he gasped, biting his lip so not to cry out in pain.

Magnus's eyes flew open, finding his boyfriend's unguarded face. “You're awake. You need to rest so the poison leaves your body. You don't want to be awake during this.”

“You don't say?” Alec cringed, rolling on his back, only to gasp, wincing.

“Drink this. It will help you rest for a few more hours.” Magnus brought a cup to Alec's lips.

Alec scrunched his nose. “My stele…”

“This is more efficient than a rune. Jace gave you a Sleep Now rune about five hours ago. It did no go.”

Alec accepted the drink, understanding that it was better than his way. With the cup's contents gone, he turned back on his good side. He touched Magnus's hand, stroking his thumb over the smooth skin. “You should sleep too,” he slurred, already feeling the effects.

“After I make sure you're better. Sleep.”

 oOo

Fingers poking at his face and arm woke Jace from his slumber. He groaned, flinging an arm over his head, rolling around, feeling for Clary.

All he found was the hard floor as he fell with a thump from the couch in Magnus's loft.

It took him a full minute to recover and remember why he was there.

Then he looked up at the two small faces watching him. Rafael was biting his nails. Max was beaming, proud he'd managed to wake him.

“Hey, guys! You're up kinda early, huh?”

Truthfully, Jace had no idea what the time was, but judging by the pale pink and blueish sky visible through the window, it had to be early.

“Daddy and Papa's bedroom door is locked,” Rafael mumbled. “We knocked and tried to door. Max said he could open it, but he melted the doorknob.”

“Maaaax.” Jace groaned. Magnus was doing a stellar job at teaching the little warlock all his magic tricks, but Max was too young to have full control over his magic. All kinds of accidents happened. “They're probably still sleeping. You guys hungry?” He picked himself up off the floor, taking the two boys to the kitchen.

After raiding the cabinets and fridge, Jace only found a few biscuits, milk, and two eggs. Magnus and Alec weren't the kind of people to starve their kids, which meant they had run out of food. It was probably shopping day.

As he thought about it, he remembered Alec saying something about stopping at a 24/7 shop on their way back. But that had been before he got injured.

Jace looked between the eggs and Max and Rafael, sighing.

He pulled his phone out, ready to take hell from Clary for waking her at the crack of dawn. The phone rang several times before she picked up.

“Jace,” she grunted, yawning loudly.

“Can you bring some food at Magnus's? Please? They're still… not awake. But the kids are up. There's no food.” He had to choose his words carefully so not to scare the children.

“Now? Why don't you wake one of them?”

“Remember my text from last night?” Jace asked softly. He got an affirmative noise in return. “Well, I had a good reason to stay here.”

“Shit!” Clary sounded awake. “Are you hurt?”

“Not me. Please Clary. I'll tell you everything when you come here. You don't even have to change out of your pajamas. Just grab some food and Portal yourself here.”

 oOo

When Magnus stepped into his kitchen, he wished he hadn't left Alec's side.

The sight that greeted him was ripped out of a bad sitcom combined with a horror movie. The first thing he noticed was an unknown gooey red syrup sliding off the walls and covering the floor. Then his attention was diverted by a loud squeal. Max on Jace's shoulders, pulling at his hair.

Clary was scrubbing at a pan in the sink. Her white top was splattered with chocolate.

Rafael was at the table, eating a pancake, chocolate cream dripping from it all over himself and the floor.

“What have you done?” Magnus exploded. Finding chaos was everything he didn't need.

“Papa!” Max exclaimed, lifting his arms, poking Jace in the eye in the process. Then he lost his balance, but Magnus was quick to catch him. He held him securely against his chest, glaring daggers at Jace.

“They woke up and your door was locked. You had no food, so Clary brought ingredients for pancakes.” Jace shrugged. “I guessed we used too much chocolate.”

“You guess?” Magnus slumped in a chair. “You should be glad Alec is still resting.”

“How…” Jace glanced at the kids, before meeting Magnus's eyes.

“He's much better. Biscuit, forget the pan.” Magnus snapped his fingers, making the ruined pan disappear from Clary's hands.

“I'm so sorry.” She sat next to Jace, resting her head on his shoulder. “We're terrible babysitters.”

“Though, Max shouldn't try a hair-stylist career. He's terrible.” Jace ran his hands through his hair, taming what Max had ruined.

“You don't want to know what happens when he gets his hands on my hair gel.” Magnus looked around, cringing. “Do I want to know what the red thing is?”

“It was strawberry jam. Max made the jar explode because he wanted chocolate.” Clary laughed, reaching to tickle Max's tummy.

“Max, we talked about this. You don't get to destroy everything you don't like.”

“Blah.”

“Chocolate is better,” Rafael agreed. His whole face was smeared with chocolate.

Magnus couldn't be mad at them when they looked so adorable, even though he probably had to change the entire kitchen after they were done, and probably hose down both the kids.

“Did I hear the word chocolate?” Alec's weak voice came from the doorway. He was holding himself on the doorframe, smiling.

“You should be in bed, darling!” Magnus scolded, depositing Max back into Jace's arms as he went to his boyfriend's side.

“It sounded like you were having fun here.” He leaned into Magnus's side, walking to a chair. “By the Angel! What happened in here?” His wide eyes took in the damage. “Is that a pancake on the ceiling?”

They all looked up in time to see a pancake coated in chocolate falling and landing on Magnus's surprised face.

Alec gasped, trying to laugh, but the slight pain in his side didn't allow him. Jace, however, was howling with laughter along with Max. Clary was giggling in her hand. Rafael looked in utter shock at his papa.

Magnus pried the pancake off, a disgusted look on his face. He narrowed his eyes at Jace, because he completely blamed him for everything. “You find this funny, Herondale?”

Before Jace could answer, Alec switched seats, getting comfortable in Magnus's lap. He licked Magnus's cheek. “Delicious.”

“Young eyes here!” Jace cried out, covering Max's eyes.

“Oh, they're used to see Alexander affectionate. If you can't take it, you know where the door is,” Magnus commented, pulling Alec closer. He kissed him slowly, stroking a hand through his hair.

Max clawed at Jace's hand, then reached out with his chubby hands to Alec.

“No, Maxxie…”

“It's not the best time…”

“Maybe in a day…”

All the worried comments were empty words when Alec turned to pick his son from his parabatai. He winced visibly, but held Max close, kissing his cheek. Then he looked up to see Rafael watching them longingly. With a smile, he motioned for him to join the hug. He was plastered against Magnus's side and between Alec's legs in a flash.

Magnus was particularly fond of the satin robe he was wearing, but he'd have to trash it after having chocolate and blood all over it.

“Maybe we should go,” Clary whispered, nudging Jace.

“I could make you stay and scrub my kitchen clean.” Magnus smirked. He enjoyed the look of horror on Jace's face.

“Magnus, baby…” Alec whispered, not lifting his head from where it was firmly between Max and Rafael's.

Magnus lifted a hand, dismissing Clary and Jace, leaning to kiss Alec again. He knew they left when he heard the kids biding their uncle and aunt goodbye.

Alec pulled away, dazed, looking around. He seemed disappointed Jace and Clary had left, but Magnus knew that he understood why he'd sent them away.

“Who wants a Disney movie?” Magnus asked slowly.

The answers were the same as always. Max wanted to watch The Little Mermaid and Rafael wanted The Lion King.

“I think we should let Daddy choose,” he said softly, carding his fingers through Alec's hair. “What would you watch, Alexander?”

“Anything they want.” Alec shrugged, biting his lip. He hoped the kids hadn't noticed the way he winced. “Both movies?”

“Me first!” Max jumped down off Alec's lap, before taking off to the living room.

“No, me!” Rafael rushed after him.

“How bad does it hurt?” Magnus asked, concerned.

“It's bearable.”

Magnus lifted the shirt to check the big wound on Alec's side. It was a pale pink, which proved he was healing nicely. He traced it with the tips of his fingers, blue sparks easing the slight pain.

Alec slid off Magnus's lap. “Let's see who won this time.”

“Papa! Daddy! Max destroyed my movie again!”

Magnus laughed, guiding Alec to the living room with a hand on the small of his back. “I'll run out of places where to get The Lion King at this rate.”

Alec plucked the DVD case out of Max's hand. “I've changed my mind. I want to watch something different.”

“But Daddy!” Max stared at Alec, betrayed.

“Max, get your magic under control,” Magnus said firmly when purple sparks flew out of Max's hands. “Learn to share. You won't always get your way, and when it happens, you don't get to use your magic to get what you want.”

Max sighed heavily, trudging to the sofa. Rafael shot him a look, before smiling at Magnus.

“I want to watch The Little Mermaid!” Max shouted. His little hands outstretched in front of him, aiming the TV set.

Magnus was quick to block the shot of magic flying in that direction. “What did I just say, Max?”

Alec stared at his youngest surprised. He crouched in front of him, taking his small, blue hands in his. “Max, Rafael doesn't get to watch his favorite movie, either. We'll watch something else. I'm not good at this, but I remember we all liked Aladdin. Huh?”

Max stared into Alec's eyes, then he nodded, tucking his head in his chest.

Alec smiled fondly, stroking his hair.

When they settled to watch the movie, Magnus leaned to whisper into Alec's ear. “The last time we watched this, Max wanted a pet monkey named Abu. You talk him out of it this time.”

Alec grinned. “I always wanted a pet monkey named Abu. Can't you magic one out of a tropical forest?”

Magnus got a far away look in his eyes, before he blinked. “Monkeys are evil.”

“Do I want to know?” Alec laughed.

“No. Some things are better left unknown.” Magnus looked at the kids. They were both on the carpet, watching the TV fascinated. “Maybe a replacement for a live monkey?” He clapped his hands twice. Two stuffed monkeys appeared in front of Max and Rafael.

They grabbed them, squeezing them to his chest, saying in unison, “Thank you, Papa!”

“You're going to pay for these,” Alec muttered, not approving of Magnus stealing.

“You're just sour I didn't get you anything.”

“I don't need anything as long as I have you by my side.” Alec kissed his cheek, taking his hand.

Magnus beamed, tilting his head to catch Alec's lips in a kiss. “I'm not going anywhere.”

“Neither I am.”

Magnus lifted a brow. “I want you to be more careful. Last night… You really scared me, Alexander.”

“I'll be more careful,” Alec promised, kissing him softly. “Though, it's a good thing I know a powerful warlock to magic me back to health if I get hurt.”

“You think you're funny.”

“I know I am. I've learned a thing or two from Jace.” Alec bumped Magnus's shoulder. He snuggled into Magnus's side, sighing contently. “I promise to be more careful, Magnus.”

Magnus kissed the top of his head, holding him tightly in his arms.

[humanrebel]

Serpents and Lions Ch. 2

Fandom: My Hero Academia Characters: Ochako Uraraka, Katsuki Bakugou, Class 1-A Relationship: Bakugou/Uraraka, Slow Burn Summary:  A long time ago, a boy met a Princess. Years later, they meet again.

2K // AO3 // FFN

First // Next

~

He always thought Tsuyu was more frog than human. She had big eyes and big hands and a flat, monotonous voice, like she never quite learned to emote properly. Her hair shone green in most light, and even her skin seemed to take on the slightest tint of green in his room.

That was probably more because of the luminescent algae than any potential frog-curse or whatever.

She was the one that suggested their next target.

"That's the Hydra," Tsuyu said, surveying the coastline. Katsuki joined her near the window and watched the rocky cliffs roll by. "We could start investigating."

"Hysa has nothing to offer," he told her. "Nothing but cotton and rocks."

"And untold riches," Jirou countered, "the king and his family never go hungry. Must be sitting pretty on a pile of his people's gold." She eyed the castle in the distance, fiddling with her ear. "I say we check it out."

Tsuyu nodded. "I'll take it up with Aizawa." She turned to leave, but paused at the door. "Start the investigation, though. Jirou, you take Kirishima and Izuku to town. Tell Kaminari to check up above. Bakugou–"

"Save it, frog face. I'm going." Sliding into the water, he smirked back at them. "Besides, I got a way right to the castle."

It takes longer than he remembers to get to the private beach.

Not because he came from the other side of the island, no–he expected it to be well after sunset when he reached the gate. But the tunnel he used before was smaller than he remembered, or perhaps it was the same and he's the one that got bigger.

It didn't matter, really. He'd just blow a hole in it if he didn't fit. But he does fit, just barely, with about an inch of clearance on all sides.

It does amuse him, though, that such a heavily guarded place would have holes running all through it. The wall was built into the sandbar, and the gate rolled out of it, only allowing enough space at the bottom for small ships to get through. Guards patrolled in half-hour intervals, protecting against any potential threats from inside or out.

The only thing left unguarded were the tunnels beneath it. They were vents, to be more accurate, to let water flow in and out. Most of them were barred off, but there were three that weren't–they were deep enough that no human could get through in a single breath, though, not without proper equipment. They were escape holes, most likely. All castles had hidden hallways and secret escapes for the royalty to flee. There was probably diving equipment hidden in the wall somewhere.

Katsuki finally reaches the end of the tunnel and enters the private waters. He's cautious, of course, because he didn't bother to wait until the next guards passed to investigate. His first objective was just to see if the rest of his crew could make it through the gate if needed, and that was, for the most part, a yes. They'd need down-stuffed dive suits and a source of oxygen, but they could make it.

His second task is to find the castle's hidden stash of what's sure to be top-quality equipment–something that could be sold for a high price. He swims along the wall, feeling for any seams or latches. He swims one way, then the other, then up and down and all over, but nothing catches his attention–if there is a secret in the wall, it's hidden above the water.

That's fine. There are plenty of boat docks to hide under. He swims to the closest one, keeping his eyes on the water above him. Caution doesn't really matter, he thinks, because the ice on the surface is thick enough to hide his form. It wouldn't hide his color completely, but there are fires on the beach, and for anyone looking from above, he's just a reflection.

He darts beneath the dock, and calling upon his Gift, sets a hand against the ice. It melts away, gentler than his normal bursts because if there's fire on the beach, it means someone's out there.

He has no idea why there are humans out on the beach in the dead of night, but he also doesn't care. They won't notice him. All he needs is to be quiet and covert.

It's a goal that shatters when the ice next to him does.

If he'd been more aware, it might've been obvious. The planks above him vibrated with sudden movement, jostling with weight that was there one moment and gone the next.

But no, with all his attention on his Gift, slowly widening the hole that he'd made, the ice startled him when it cracked. Which broke his concentration, which caused his hands to explode on their own–a sound that was hopefully hidden under the crack of the ice.

He turns to the source of the disturbance, expletives spilling from his mouth like an overturned cup despite the lack of audience–because of course no one could hear him underwater, and it irks him enough to consider ignoring the fool who jumped into the freezing cold ocean. But his morals win out in the end, so he swims toward them.

But then he stops to take in what he's seeing.

Floating before him, with her eyes squeezed shut and her hair flowing in an invisible current, is a girl, no older than him. That's not what makes him pause, though. It's the arrow sticking out of her shoulder that stops him.

He moves behind her and wraps an arm around her waist, and it surprises him when she grabs it–it's a feeble grip, but one that feels like she's trying to dig her nails into his skin.

He swims up, hand extended for balance, and when he gets beneath the dock he melts the ice that formed while he was gone. He pulls the girl above the water, still hidden beneath the dock, and covers her mouth when she gasps for air. Yes, she's starving for air, she's been under a good minute or so, but he's smart enough to know that she shouldn't make a sound.

If this girl–in nothing but a light jacket and nightgown, with an arrow sticking out of her shoulder–was desperate enough to risk her life to escape, it must be from something truly horrible.

Ormaybe, he thinks as she begins thrashing in his hold, she was counting on that risk to end her life.

Because she's biting him now, and kicking her feet, as though she wants him to let her go and die freezing cold. But he's Katsuki Bakugou, and he hardly ever does things according to other people's wants. So he just clamps down tighter on her, and focuses on his Gift to keep her warm like it does him, and he whispers in her ear.

"If you die, they win."

This stops her movement, and like flipping a switch, her shoulders are shaking. She grips his wrist in another feeble hold, but there's more strength in this one than there was the last. He lowers his hand from her mouth, and they wait in silence as the soldiers walk away.

She's quiet when they leave. She's been quiet the whole damn time, actually, and he's getting annoyed. She doesn't even swim behind him, she just sort of floats and lets him pull her like a weight.

He turns around, glaring right at her, but she doesn't respond. Maybe it's because they're underwater, and she's wearing an enchanted diving mask(he was right about that stash of equipment), or maybe it's because she's outwardly ignoring him. He can't really say for certain which it is, but if it's the latter then the gods better save her from his wrath.

He pulls them to the vent and immediately sees a problem. Namely, her inability to do anything on her own. He tried to take her back to shore when the soldiers left, but she grabbed his belts and didn't let go. It was almost subconscious, the way she held him in one hand, the way she kicked her feet every now and then, the way she pointed out the compartment that the masks were hiding in. There's no way she'll make it through the tunnel without him, especially with that arrow in her back.

But they also can't make it swimming side-by-side.

He sighs (as much as one can sigh underwater) and, in a quick movement, breaks off most of the arrow's shaft. It makes her flinch, an unexpected pain that curls her fingers loosely around her knife. He takes out his own knife and slides it down the back of her jacket.

Boy, was that the wrong thing to do. As if by magic, she springs back to life, kicking away from him as the jacket floats off her shoulders and pools around her elbows. The look she gives him is indignant, as if she cares more about her jacket than her life. But then the jacket falls apart, floats to gather on either wrist, and she holds it out to him, the fight in her lost once again.

Actually, he notes as he cuts it into strips and ties them together, it's much too big for her.

When he's done with that, he signs through the water, Can you hold this?

She blinks, then nods, holding the makeshift rope in her good hand. Katsuki sighs, then signs, You better not let go, after all this trouble.

She nods and tightens her grip, wrapping the jacket around her wrist and in her fingers. He starts to swim, and she drags behind him again, but it feels like she's putting in a little more effort than before.

When they reach the other side of the tunnel, Katsuki pulls her up to the surface. Too much magic in her lungs can be bad, so he pulls the mask off her face. And maybe he can get her to talk, while he's at it.

But before he even says anything, though, she has her head against his shoulder.

"Don't," she whispers. "Don't get anymore involved. Just take me to shore and I'll...I'll find a way to fix it."

He's not sure what she wants to fix, but there's no way she'll do it on her own. Especially not when she's spent, fallen asleep on his shoulder in the middle of the goddamn ocean.

Katsuki sighs yet again, hopefully for the last time that night. He scans the night sky, searching for a shadow among the stars–a shape that could easily be mistaken for a bird, but he knew better. He spots it, gliding above the castle, and lifts his hand to release four short bursts–three for his location, and one for his passenger.

Shin marches from the dock, his blood boiling. The air around him steams, melting snowflakes as they fall around him.

The Princess is dead.

He stops at the ring of horses, standing in the center. Where she stood.

The Princess is dead.

He kneels, combing the sand with his fingers.

The Princess is dead. This was all for nothing.

He frowns, unable to find what he's looking for, and furrows his brow.

Unless I can make this work.

He won't sleep well. He won't sleep at all, not until his body gives out on its own. He'll have nightmares. Red, bloody, screeching nightmares.

All I need is time.

He smiles when he finds it–a small gem, buried in the sand. He's not sure what it is, yet, but there are people for that.

Her body will surface at some point. That's all I need.

[taotrooper]

Open skies

Fandom: The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild Characters: Zelda, Link Pairing: soft Zelink but can be read as gen friendship with a crush Rating: G Spoilers for the game’s ending! Summary: The first day after leaving the Castle is exhausting for Zelda, but Link is there to make her feel more comfortable as she rests and gets used to normal life again. As the night advances, he also feels more relaxed around her. AO3 link: here

She had done two astonishing things in a matter of hours: sealing the Calamity and making the Hero laugh. Perhaps she had grown to be less of a failure, after all.

She stared at the horizon, her heart sorting itself out just as the sky cleaned up from the malice. An instant ago, when she had used her power to seal the beast for good, gold had inundated everything. The sky above Hyrule Castle went back to purple tones, then it slowly went to grays and then soft blues, as it tried to remember how it used to look like. She, too, had to get used to using her own body once again, to think about things that weren't holding the evil back or believing in the hero. She was standing on her feet again, under gray clouds that struggled to turn as white as her dress, as clear as she wanted her feelings to be.

"I've been keeping watch over you all this time..." she said, knowing he was listening closely to her words. He had listened to her every word after his awakening, but this was different, this was personal. It wasn't an advice or an instruction, but her convictions.

She heard steps and the rattling of metal towards her, but she kept talking with her back on him.

"I've witnessed your struggles to return to us as well as your trials in battle. I always thought —no, I always believed— that you would find a way to defeat Ganon." She turned around, slowly. Blades of grass touched her ankles and calves, an old sensation made new again. There he was, attentive, his own blade sheathed on his back. "I've never lost faith in you over these many years..." She put her hands over her chest; putting infinite gratitude into words, both hers and the kingdom's, was not easy. She decided to keep it short. "Thank you, Link... the hero of Hyrule."

She finally gathered the courage to look into his eyes for the first time in a century. She smiled, but the winds of doubt swept it away just as quick. Yet she wanted to believe, so she fought against the frown and the sigh.

"May I ask... Do you really remember me?"

She waited for the answer, her heart beating at the sight of him, as dashing and quiet as she remembered him. It was curious she would find this scarier than the intense battle that had taken place. Calamity Ganon was like the palm of her hand after so long, but Link... Strands of long blond hair danced with the breeze. He took his time, staring at her as well. Once upon a time, that would have driven her crazy. She had always been impatient by nature, but she would gladly give him as much time as he needed. She knew patience already.

"Yes, I do," he finally said. "I remember you more than I remember myself... Princess Zelda."

She laughed in relief. Her name on familiar lips, she had missed such a simple thing so. She would accept it even if Link had no idea of who she was, but then again, he was all she had left from her old life. That little selfish desire might be justified, just for that day. The first day after destiny was fulfilled.

"Is he...?"

"Calamity Ganon? Yes, so it seems. You've done it!"

"We," he corrected her. "We six. And you did the most. Thank you."

"Link..." She closed her eyes, trying not to soak on the compliment. Fixing your own failures doesn't count as heroism, she thought. Still, the thanks warmed her ancient soul, and he made a point she agreed with. "Yes, we all helped. Our friends have poured all their strength into their support, despite... the losses."

For a beautiful day that should be celebrated, the breeze was certainly cold on her arms.

Link walked past her and stared at the castle doors. She turned as well and joined him, her heart in conflict. It had been her home, then her cage, and then something akin to a common tomb. It was hard to say goodbye, but it was painful to even look at it after a century of being trapped between walls of stone, between the airs of malice, between the bones of her dead ones.

Let's go, Link told her with his blue eyes. Birds chirped nearby, urging them with their songs of encouragement. She walked away with her knight behind her. Old sandals echoed on stone floors. Walking felt strange. Breathing pure air also felt strange. The air... it felt full of energy. She stopped and looked back once more. Presences had been around the tall towers but they had vanished before she could glance at them. Instead, blue petals just like the silent princess' rained on them.

Father... Dear friends... Please bless us and finally find peace.

Zelda brought it unto herself when she insisted to walk on her feet instead of riding on the back of Link's horse or using the Sheikah Slate. She hadn't expected to be this out of shape, falling behind to grasp for breath like a child every few minutes. Her feet hurt under the straps of her sandals. But Link didn't seem annoyed. After a while, he called her with his hand and brought her to an abandoned pan over an extinguished campfire, hidden between the trees.

"I am so sorry for slowing us down," she apologized while he set his things on the ground.

"Why?" He looked at her. "You just used all your power, of course you're tired. We both are."

He was tired? She had assumed he wasn't since he could keep on and on. But it made sense for him to be exhausted, by all means. The feat was astonishing even for someone of his strength, not to mention the emotional burden. Slightly ashamed for not realizing it, her cheeks flushed as she sat. The grass tickled her legs and the trees' shades lulled her to sleep, while she admired the beauty of her broken homeland.

When she woke up, the sky was dark and the smell of food filled the air. She felt hot and stiff. When she looked down, she saw a coat over her body like a blanket.

"This..."

"Warm doublet," he explained over the sizzle of the fire. "You were shivering, so... You can have it if you want."

"Is that alright?"

"Yup, I bought a better outfit for the cold anyway."

"Thank you." She put it on over the prayer dress. It was large for her, but it didn't matter much. Zelda could feel the familiar spiritual presence in its fibers. "Father gave it to you, didn't he? I will treasure it." He blinked; perhaps he had forgotten how he got it, or he was surprised she wanted to cherish something from the king. She didn't know, but that's how it usually was with Link. She glanced at the plates over the ground. "So all this food, are you trying to prepare a celebratory feast? This is the fourth dish."

"No, I just don't know what you like, so..." So he was giving her choices. That's right, he still had amnesia.

"Are you planning to eat the rest, you glutton?" she teased.

"...Some. I'll save the others for later."

"I see! That's practical and wise!"

In the end he cooked six recipes. Eating was another thing she had to get used to. Zelda could vaguely remember the exquisite dishes the royal chef would make for her and her father, the beautiful presentation of the table. But the taste of the fancy delicacies was hazy in her memories. Everything that wasn't bile and ash and blood in her mouth was, perhaps.

She tried a bit of every dish. Link didn't have a full set of cutlery; she had to eat some things with her hands, which was more fun than she expected. Everything about that meal was memorable. All flavors were bound to be a new pleasure for her tongue, a new discovery awaiting the research. She didn't recall that meat could be so juicy, that rice could be so fulfilling, that soup could be so creamy, that fruits could be so sweet.

"Exquisite. Actually, this is surprising," she smirked. "You have become quite the cook!"

"Uh, I don't usually do most of these..." he smiled back shyly, caressing the back of his head. "I just slap some meat skewers or roast hearty radishes or durians. Get things done quickly."

"So you don't experiment like this when it's just yourself?"

"Sometimes." He stuffed his mouth with rice and mumbled something.

"I beg your pardon?"

Link swallowed and tried again. "You were right about hot-footed frogs, though."

"I knew it!" Her face lit up. "Oh, it makes me glad that you have been testing the properties of elixirs! Have you tried other species of frogs?"

He nodded and then stared at Zelda's face with a pleased, content expression. Even lovingly, perhaps? Maybe that's what the girl wanted to see so she wasn't sure. She stared back for a few seconds, not tired at all of looking at him. His serious eyes, his messy golden locks, his long ears, his silent lips, his proud chin... She could still see her beloved friend, her beautiful knight in there. Since he woke up he had become a wild, sloppy boy with a knack for the unconventional, sure, but she didn't mind the change. If anything, it was refreshing to see him so alive. His courage, kindness, and sense of duty were still alive and strong, so it shouldn't matter.

The peaceful smile as he looked at her was a welcomed change of pace, even if the intrigue was starting to get to her.

"What?" she laughed. "What is it?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing of the sort!" Her eyebrows rose. "You're thinking of something but you remain silent to keep appearances, aren't you?"

"..."

"Say it, go on. I believe we're past formalities after all these events. Besides, I've noticed you're a tad more communicative lately. So you can tell me anything and I won't censure you for your thoughts."

It took a while for Link to say it and he had to take a deep breath before he murmured one single word:

"Nerd," he said, not without affection.

That wasn't the heartfelt têtê-à-têtê about his feelings that she had expected, but it amused her regardless.

"Cheeky!" she gasped in fake outrage and grasped her chest with one hand. "Thank you very much, as I may be a nerd but I'm quite proud of it!"

Then it happened. At first he bit his lower lip. His torso started to shake. He soon let them all out, joyful chuckles that could be overheard over the hoots from the owls and the chirps from the restless crickets. It was contagious, also. Zelda's giggles soon joined in, charged with all her positive emotions through the day: the courage, the resolution, the satisfaction, the relief, the peace, the curiosity... the love.

She had done two astonishing things in a matter of hours: sealing the Calamity and making the Hero laugh. Perhaps she had grown to be less of a failure, after all.

"There she is, I recognize her," he nodded when they calmed down, while he packed the extra food. "The girl from my memories."

Zelda's heart raced as fast as the horse sleeping next to the camp had during their fight. Perhaps it was a bad idea to give him free reign to express whatever was in his mind, if he was going to be so open about her. Oh, she might be over 100 years old, but her soul was still a teenager's in so many areas. She went back to the teasing, not knowing how else to handle that. His fault for saying things in ways that were easy to misinterpret.

"So you remember me as a nerd? Well, it could be much, much worse."

"It's... no, not just... hmmm... like the sun?"

Zelda blinked. Link wanted to say more, but he suddenly seemed too embarrassed to be coherent. What was that about the sun? What on Hylia's name did he remember? She didn't push it, though. His communication issues were not something to solve with one blow. He was still learning. Baby steps. They both had to get used to so much...

"It's alright, it was just banter. Hey, do you have any shoes that might fit me? Just borrowing for a bit until I can get some boots, please. These cursed sandals are killing my feet!"

Quickly, Link reached for his backpacks and rummaged through too many outfits. How he could carry so much with him was a mystery that she was willing to solve one day. It wasn't just the raw strength, but also the space!

She suddenly found footwear hanging over her nose. They smelled, but she was willing to let that aside.

"Gerudo slippers...?"

"The only vai... uh, women's shoes I have."

"I saw." She grabbed them and took out one sandal. Maybe it was as retaliation for calling her a nerd and saying those ambiguous phrases, but she decided to add as she tried a slipper on: "You looked really cute in that outfit. Oh, it's a couple of sizes too big, it seems. Here you go, thanks."

She handed the shoes back. To her surprise, Link seemed shocked and flustered. But why, didn't he waltz through a town wearing that with no shame? Wasn't he used to people admiring his good looks? Was it different because it was her...? Oh, she was getting her hopes up and that was not good. He might be suddenly embarrassed because she saw most of his crazy adventures, right? Right?

This boy was bad for her heart.

Luckily he snapped out of it fast and took out a pair of Hylian trousers with its boots from his luggage.

"Uh, they're still big but won't fall off."

"Thank you, Link." Zelda got up and went behind a tree to put everything on. The boots were loose inside but adjustable, and the trousers included a belt. She felt much less naked now. "I'll take good care of your clothes until I can get my own."

"No rush..." she heard from the campfire, and a yawn afterwards.

"Even after sleeping all afternoon," Zelda said as she sat down next to him, "I could still sleep tonight like a log. Must be your feast of a dinner."

"You haven't slept in 100 years, right?"

"I was in a magical state of suspension where time didn't pass for me but..."

"State of suspension?"

"...Fine, no. Meanwhile, you only slept in the past 100 years."

"We need rest."

"Heh, I guess. I'm getting nerdy again, aren't I?" She yawned.

"Ah. I have no pillows, my lady."

"Do you..." she blushed. "Do you mind if I use you as pillow for tonight, then?"

As a reply, he earnestly patted himself as encouragement. She settled her head on the curve of his shoulder. He was softer than she expected.

"So much to do... but tomorrow, I wish to go to Kakariko Village, if it's alright." She hadn't realized she had assumed he would travel with her, once again the shadow to her lights, the light to her shadows. But there was no problem, as Link was of the same mind.

"Impa?"

"Yes, Impa."

"She'll be happy," he smiled.

"I have to visit Purah and Robbie as well, but she comes first. It will hurt, seeing her so old, but I owe it to her."

Link nodded, which rocked her head along. He was so comforting to her. Exhaustion took over her and her eyelids started to shut down.

"Good night, Link."

"Rest well, Zelda," he whispered. She felt nimble, callous fingers caressing her head and combing her hair. In any other time that would have set her heart aflutter, but that tenderness just made her relax and fall into a peaceful slumber with no nightmares.

Her duty might not be over but everything was alright, and she deserved the fleeting rest and the happiness.

[juniperallura]

Jealousy - part 3/3

ao3

Shiro scanned the room, waiting for an optimal time to leave his safe position on the edges of the ballroom. The Great Hall was bustling, the dance floor crowded with dignitaries and socialites mingling before the chamber ensemble began playing; servers bearing overloaded trays of hors d’oeuvres and drinks wove through the sea of swirling skirts. The stone walls were draped with shimmering tapestries bearing the Andrean royal insignia and chandeliers cast a glow over the room, their crystals twinkling like the planet’s sparkling mist. 

Lance and Hunk could be spotted across the room, the latter attempting to teach the former how to taste, not scarf, the Andrean dishes. Pidge and Keith had grabbed drinks, claiming a sheltered table in the corner where they couldn’t easily be dragged into the social melee. Unfortunately, that left Shiro with small talk duty; something he generally didn’t mind in small doses, but dreaded when it involved being stuffed into a stiff diplomatic uniform with a starched collar and a hundred clasps and forced into a parade of monotonous introductions and innocuous comments.

He spotted his opening when Coran appeared through the filtering bodies. Shiro called to him, weaving his way toward the Altean, who would make the perfect buffer between him and the monumentally boring task ahead. Coran gladly took him under his wing and they slowly made their way around the room, Coran doing most of the talking and Shiro doing most of the nodding. Shiro was pretending to be following a conversation about the Polgarian Jabber Frog trade when a voice from the front of the hall called, “Presenting, Princess Allura of Altea!”

Shiro followed everyone’s gaze over to the entrance stairs, and was glad he had a tight hold on the stem of his glass. Her long hair was pinned in soft curls that curved against the slope of her neck and shoulders. Something glinted above her forehead, a small tiara that picked up the gleaming crystals that clung to the bodice of her dress. She reached down to delicately lift the folds of her powder blue skirt as she descended the stairs. Allura was a vision and Shiro couldn’t hear anything but the blood that his thrumming heart pounded through his veins.

He was nudged out of his trance by Coran. “Come along Shiro, the first dance is about to start-” He shuffled back to the perimeter of the room as who but Allura and Xor appeared arm in arm at the middle of the dance floor, surrounded by a few other pairs. 

The musicians started up something akin to a waltz and Xor made a sweeping bow to Allura before taking her hand. Shiro’s eyes were glued to them as they began to glide across the floor; they were both elegant dancers, and Allura gazed up at Xor with a smile. Shiro drained the rest of his drink and forced himself to ignore the heat that crept up his neck at the sight of Prince Xor’s hand around her waist. 

Once the first dance finished the room relaxed again, and the less rhythmically inclined milled around the sides of the Great Hall. Shiro was content to end up at a table with Hunk and Pidge after Lance forcibly dragged Keith onto the dance floor. The night didn’t seem so bad when he was nibbling cheese under Hunk’s direction, with his back turned to any potential encounters with alien royalty. 

At least, until Pidge looked up with wide eyes and started hissing, “Shiro! Full moon at six o’clock—”

“What? Full m-” Shiro turned with knitted brows, only to come face to face with Allura. 

“Hello, Shiro,” Allura smiled down at him, extending a hand bedecked with gleaming rings and bracelets, “Would you care to dance? They’re about to start the next song.”

Shiro met her crystalline eyes, which blinked expectantly at him. His mouth opened and closed silently as the pit in his stomach argued with the warmth in his chest. He heard himself say, “Sure, Princess.”

She glanced at him as they made their way to the floor, saying loud enough to be heard over the bustle of the room, “You look nice tonight- the uniform suits you.”

“Oh- thank you,” Shiro cleared his throat, his mouth going dry as they reached their position. She folded one hand into his, soft fingers brushing his palm, and laid the other on his shoulder. Shiro’s right hand skimmed her waist, as if she were a dream that would slip through his fingers if he clung too hard. In fact, he wasn’t positive she wasn’t a dream; everything felt too intoxicating— the scent that wafted from her skin, the warmth that buzzed between their bodies, even the full contours of her lips as she smiled at him. (But that might have been the wine.) He managed to catch her eyes and say, “You do too, Princess.”

Allura glance down at her jewelry. “I tried to get my chambermaid to tone it down a little, but she insisted. I will admit, though, it is nice to get dressed up,“ she chuckled as the song began and they started swaying in time. After a moment she looked up at him with a smirk. “Shiro-” Suddenly her hand reached down and took his, pressing it flush against her waist. “-You lead.”

There was no hiding the redness in his cheeks and Allura didn’t do much to hide her amusement. His eyes flickered to hers, but he found it impossible to hold her gaze. There were too many things he desperately wanted to, but wouldn’t, couldn’t say; and such close quarters were dangerous. There was a reason he had only spoken to her a handful of times that week outside of their diplomatic meetings. 

As if reading his mind Allura tilted her head slightly to the side, her lips curled but eyes searching. “You’ve been avoiding me lately, Shiro.” There was no discernible edge to her voice, but the intensity of her gaze forced Shiro’s eyes to her’s.

After a flash of panic Shiro collected himself and managed a feigned smile. “Avoiding you?”

“Yes- every time I turn around you’ve disappeared.” Her voice seemed to soften a little. “I’ve missed our walks.”

She was right and Shiro knew it, of course. The nights they spent meandering in the Castle seemed so long ago; how it had actually only been a week, Shiro had no idea. But, just as the thought crossed his mind, he saw Prince Xor across the room. Their glances met briefly, and something sour flooded Shiro’s stomach. He couldn’t help replying, “Well, you seemed to be in good enough company. I didn’t want to intrude.”

A flicker of confusion passed over Allura’s face. “What do you mean?”

Shiro smiled wryly but tried to keep his tone nonchalant. “Nothing, just— you and Prince Xor-”

Allura interrupted him with a tsk. Her tone sharpened, but a flush come into her cheeks as she muttered, “Why does everybody insist on steering the conversation to him?” She looked to the side, eyes narrowed. Shiro’s mind jumped to the conversation he had overheard. The phrase echoed in his head: marrying age. Suddenly, the color in Allura’s cheeks annoyed him. The two of them lapsed into tense silence until Allura, without looking at him, asked, “Is that why you ignored me today, at the gym?”

Shiro looked down at her. There was no sense trying to play dumb, so he answered shortly, “I was distracted, Princess. I’m sorry.”

“And yesterday, in the hall?” She was serious, her voice tight.

A tinge came into Shiro’s cheeks as he felt his stomach knotting again. None of this was her fault, but that didn’t seem to matter at the moment; he just kept thinking about Prince Xor’s hand on her arm, her waist, her shoulder. He let out a short, testy sigh. “It was a long day, I was tired— and not from a walk in the rose garden.” He didn’t check the snort of air that escaped him.

The music continued to float over them, but Allura stopped abruptly. Her grip on his hand tightened and her face reddened as the other couples continued twirling around them. “If you didn’t want to dance, Shiro, you could have just said so.” 

Suddenly, he was alone on the dance floor, left to weave his way back to the margins of the party. 

As he approached his table, he saw his teammates circled intently around what appeared to be a precarious stack of cheese and crackers; a cry arose from the table as it collapsed under the weight of a final piece of garnish, the other Paladins clapping Hunk on the back for his valiant efforts. A smile pulled at Shiro’s face but he stopped in his tracks, realizing he shouldn’t join them. Without saying goodnight he turned on his heel and headed for the door.

Just before he slipped out into the hall, he saw Allura standing with Coran against the wall, his hand laying comfortingly on her shoulder as she bowed her head and covered her forehead. The hot anger and indignation that had risen in his chest suddenly turned to a cold, dosing wave of shame. Shiro dragged a hand down his face, pulling at the collar of his uniform as he strode through the hall back to his room.

| v | o | l | t | r | o | n |

The sand felt good under his feet. The sea breeze rustled his hair and pulled gently at his t-shirt. Shiro took in a deep, slow breath. He leaned down to pull up the legs of his joggers and stepped ankle-deep into the tide, letting the cool water wash over him. Andrean’s two moons hung low over the distant horizon, their reflections wavering with the gentle movement of the ocean. 

Shiro was startled when a soft voice sounded behind him, “-May I join you?”

For the second time that night, Shiro turned to see Allura standing a few feet away. Her hair was unpinned, falling over her shoulders in locks that caught the moonlight. She waited for his answer, holding the hem of her nightgown away from the sand with a patiently tentative expression on her face. 

His initial surprise quickly receded into a crushing guilt at the sight of her. He nodded, “Of course.”

Allura sighed as the tide washed over her ankles. She gazed out at the sea, letting the sound of the waves fill the silence that hung between them. Shiro watched her, trying to decipher the expression in the curves of her face. Eventually she spoke, her eyes fluttering down to where their feet stood side by side in the surf. “I walked through the east wing the other night. It was very late- I thought I might run into you.” Shiro’s mouth opened slightly, his brows knitting, as she glanced up at him for a moment. “I bumped into Tala. She looked at me like I was crazy, wandering the halls.” 

Shiro was crushed by her dry smile. He clenched his jaw, looking away from her. He knew there was a way to fix things, to make them right; but, as the pounding in his chest reminded him, that was the very thing he was afraid of. 

God, he was such a coward. Were his feelings, his pride, really more important than Allura? Would he really lose this- them standing side by side, the soft voice that kept him sane during the night, the friend that only wanted to reach out to him- because of some jealous fit?

He closed his eyes, letting a slow breath escape him. “Princess, there’s something I need to say-”  When he looked over her eyes were on him, patient and prompting. Shiro didn’t try to fight the deep flush that came into his face. He forced himself to turn to Allura, meeting her gaze as evenly as he could. “I’m sorry. I’ve been a terrible friend. Really. I know I’ve been distant, and cold, and there’s no excuse for that. You said you trusted me, and I hurt you— but I want to explain, as best I can.” Allura was searching his face with knitted brows, but said nothing. He continued, “The way you talked about Prince Ronan, and how close you were-” Shiro stopped, pausing to consider how to proceed “Well- you and Prince Xor—”

“—You know, I wasn’t sure what to expect when we got to Andrean,” Allura interrupted suddenly, looking at Shiro- whose eyebrows shot up but lapsed into silence- and then back at the ocean. “I just kept thinking of my memories, and even though I knew it had been thousands of years…part of me expected it all to be here. Ronan was a dear friend, and I am happy to see that his people are still thriving-” A frown pulled at her lips. “But he is gone. That time is gone. And Prince Xor— he’s not his grandfather.” Even in the moonlight, Shiro could see a flush coming into her face. His stomach flipped, but he kept his lips sealed. “He’s charming, certainly, but-” She let out a slow sigh, “It’s like every minute I spent with him was another reminder of how everything’s changed— how much I lost. Everything felt- heavy.” There was a catch in her voice, but after a moment she said, “But when I talk to you, Shiro, it all feels lighter.” Allura glanced up at him through her long lashes, the corners of her lips curling up. Then, suddenly, her expression dropped and an edge came into her voice. “Shiro, you’re an incredible leader. You’re careful, insightful, organized— but sometimes, you’re an absolute idiot.”

Shiro’s mouth dropped as her eyes flashed, but he held his tongue, knowing he deserved whatever she was going to say.

“Did you really think I would just replace one prince with another? That I could be won over with flattery? With toasts, and bows, and flowery words? That I’m so concerned with politics that I would throw away something so important just to please a minister?” She jabbed an accusing finger at him, heat coming into her face.

Shiro held up his hands, sputtering, “No, Princess, of course not! I know how much Rona-”

Allura interrupted him again, crying, “Do you really not see what I’m saying?” When Shiro’s face only registered panic, she sighed, catching her lower lip on her teeth. “I cannot believe you’re making me embarrass myself like this-” She held up a hand to stop his protests- “I know it was you, listening to my conversation with Tala on the balcony. But you missed an important part, when you nearly took your door of its hinges.” Shiro’s face was in flames, but Allura just smiled, clasping her hands in front of her. “She was quite excited to match make between the prince and myself, so, obviously, she was disappointed when I told her I had no interest in Xor. She said, there had to be somebody in the picture if I could resist their irresistible prince…and I told her she was right.” Shiro was beginning to feel nauseous. He wanted to look away, but Allura’s gaze was magnetic and he couldn’t seem to see anything but her. “That there was this officer- he was kind, and handsome, and thoughtful. And we understood each other better than anyone else. That we could tell each other anything- but lately, we didn’t. Because we were scared.” Her voice was soft. “Because we would rather hide how we felt than lose what we had.”

The blood drained from Shiro’s face. Allura was leaning closer. 

For a second, the world seemed to pull far, far away from him. His heart stopped. All he could hear was the tide, all he could see was the gleam in Allura’s eyes and the gentle curve of her lips parting. 

Then, all at once, everything collided. 

She fell into him, her hands reaching up to catch his face. Shiro’s eyes fluttered shut as the space that had separated them for so long was shattered and every secretly cherished daydream burst into reality. Their lips met, ardently, fervently, and all the things left unsaid disappeared. Shiro’s hands wrapped hungrily around her waist, determined never to let go. Every touch of her soft lips, her fingers grazing his jaw, her breath on his cheek, was electrifying. He was sure Allura could feel his heart beating wildly as she leaned into his chest, but he didn’t care. All that mattered was the sweet scent wafting off of her, her fingers sifting through his hair, the sigh that escaped her lips as they parted. 

His head was spinning, but an inexplicably singular thought arose from the haze. “Allura,” Shiro murmured in the agonizing seconds her lips left his, “Your dress-”

They had stumbled further into the tide, and the delicate silk of Allura’s slip was soaked with seawater almost to the knee. Her hands slid down to rest on his chest as she pressed slow, soft kisses against his mouth. “Shiro,” she laughed breathily as he leaned down to nuzzle against her forehead, “I don’t care—”

Shiro smiled against her lips, untangling his hand from her hair to fold it over hers. He leaned down to brush a kiss against her knuckles, searching her face. “Y'know, I missed our walks, too, Princess.”

Allura reached up to brush a lock of hair from Shiro’s forehead, her face flushing and eyes gleaming. She entwined her fingers with his, pulling just enough so he would follow her lead as she starting drifting down the beach. Shiro fell into step with her and she curled her arm around his, leaning her head against his shoulder with a slow, contented sigh. He felt the vibrations of her throaty chuckle as they splashed gently through the tide. “Princess-” she mused, “Always so formal…”