#ive hardly found time to pick up reading comics where i left off and i wanted to start drawing again from time to time.

[hyperanaemia]

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[heli0s-writes]

IV. A Commitment*

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader x Bucky Barnes Summary:  Natasha teaches you how to kiss. Tony gives you an opportunity. A/N: Part 4 of Mystery of Love. . (*) denotes NSFW!!  

At 23, you were struggling to have a conversation about … it.

It was almost three weeks since your moment on Steve’s couch with him and Bucky. Their touches on your skin haunted you day and night, and it made your work at the compound significantly more difficult than you could have ever imagined. It was hard to find clarity under such zealous and watchful eyes, and the distance you continued to keep them at would eventually be thwarted. You had to ask Pepper for an extension on your assignment mid-May before it got too out of hand. She happily obliged, very understanding of your predicament. The deadline was extended indefinitely, but having no schedule threw you further off course.

In an effort to control at least your personal life, you allowed yourself to spend time with Steve and Bucky in small bursts, intent on not repeating another couch-event. They each had very different approaches of being in your presence, you found out. Steve was happy to accompany you to galleries and the store if he was already in town- which he often was whether it be by coincidence or intention.

You took walks with him through the park, had coffee together, read the paper, and laughed at the comic strips. You’d go to bookstores where he’d browse non-fiction and history while you showed him some of your favorite art books, teaching him about famous artists and their vision. Your conversations were light and full of laughter.

Once, he met you at a local bar and you discovered his passion for sports- one you didn’t share but were happy to appreciate. You didn’t even know the championship game was going on that day and in the middle of it it’d become so rambunctious (someone recognized him!) that the two of you had to run out before it could conclude.

 Physically, Steve was rather indulgent of your reservations. He’d hold your hand in private and brush his fingers over your knuckles in public. More than the touches, it was his gaze that sent your blood rushing. He perfected that slow lingering sweep with his eyes. There was no fervent message to be analyzed behind those blue-green gazes—only a simple feeling. And that feeling he held for you was incomprehensible. It swept you away.

It wasn’t like you didn’t want to be physical or intimate because you loved the feel of the pads of his fingers and his callused palms. Or that smooth line of his winning smile, tilting upwards on one side. You constantly thought about those rough edges of Steve Rogers on your body.

It was rather that you were so fearful of crushing all the eggshells under your feet labelled “Steve and Bucky’s Tentative and Healing Friendship”.

Oh, you knew about The Winter Soldier and HYDRA. You’d gotten the quick and dirty version from Steve after your initial meeting with Bucky; the wipes, the assassinations, the complete and utter control they had on him for 70 years. The image of him in ice seared itself into your brain, the thought of them putting him up when they were finished using him killed you.

You weren’t just heartbroken, you were livid. You couldn’t help but take it so personally and you couldn’t quite explain why to Steve as you sobbed uncontrollably in the kitchen that morning except rasping breaths of goddamn it, oh god, Bucky. By the time Bucky returned from his run, your eyes were swollen and pink, bottom lip nearly chewed through.

You buried your face in his chest and whispered that you were happy to have him in your life and nothing else. There couldn’t be anything else yet. He was still raw, and you couldn’t tear him open any more.

 Spending time with Bucky was significantly different, and a much more delicate task than Steve. He was hesitant to go into the city, a choice you understood completely so you never asked. Instead the two of you spent lots of time on separate sides of couches with tea and a book, careful not to sit too close. He’d gladly sit with a movie on while you worked on editing your many files.

After travelling for so long, you wanted to pick up your old hobbies again, so you started to make small meals at the compound. Bucky was hardly a cook by any means, but always seemed to know when you needed an ingredient from the cupboard and before you could fumble to reach for it, he’d have already set it next to your hand.

The conversations were short, and as you expected, he never divulged anything meaningful. After you had the talk with Steve, Bucky often sent you precarious glances, worried you might lash out because of his past. When you carried on as usual, the weight lifted from his shoulders.

Bucky was more physical, to say the least. He tried to respect your boundaries, but it wasn’t unlike him to push them from time to time. Unlike Steve’s tender gazes, Bucky stared intensely and openly. There were many a time when you’d look up from your book to see him on the other side of the sectional, staring straight through the pages and right at your face. His fingers would be tapping on his knee. When you’d finally see it and swallow nervously, he’d smirk and look back to his book.

Or you’d sit on the floor with your laptop open on the coffee table and Bucky would have silently moved from his supposed area on the couch to directly behind you. He’d lean over close, so that his breath would tickle your ear and ask you innocently about the picture you were working on. It never failed to send shivers up your spine and elicit wide, devilish grins from him.

It was his favorite game. It set you on fire.  

And so it was that you attempted to balance your time with both men, as they navigated their own schedules of work, training, and rehabilitation.

You also tried to retain any semblance of your employment to Stark Industries.

You snapped pictures here and there, trying your best to maintain the illusion of your contract. There were some exceptional ones of the interior but photographing the Avengers themselves was challenging. Especially when it came to Bucky. He could sense any time you were in the room and strictly refused to ignore your presence. There were no candids taken of Bucky Barnes; he simply did not allow it. He never stopped staring at you.

At the end of May, you put the assignment on pause and decided instead to focus on the photos from your travels. Pepper kindly put up a room for you so you didn’t have to make the trip to and from the compound, but you were afraid that being in such close(ish) quarters with Steve and Bucky would lead to complications. She was very understanding at your hesitance and careful not to pry but left the offer open if you had any questions. You contemplated asking her, but in the end decided to save your queries for someone less motherly and more straightforward.

 When you turned up at Natasha’s room, she hardly seemed surprised. She had two Irish Mules set on coasters on the small coffee table. You took a sip, licking your lips at the lime and ginger beer; she could really make a drink. It would have been bad to get drunk quickly and spill all your secrets, but there was something about her presence that was tossing out all pretense. You supposed the phrase, “You can’t bullshit a bullshitter” was especially applicable with Natasha.

The first query slipped out before you could catch it.

“Does it hurt?”

The right corner of her lips lifted, but her eyebrows raised in sympathy at your innocent question. It was a valid one, of course, and it was right of you to ask it. Natasha assured you that discomfort is normal at first since you’d never experienced it before- but that they both should be treating you respectfully, kindly, and lovingly. She restated that there was nothing wrong with taking it slow, finding your own pace and easing into it, and doing what you feel is comfortable.

When you told her you’d never kissed anyone before and that Bucky sucking on your finger probably didn’t count, she sputtered up a bit of her cocktail mid-drink. She didn’t specify whether it was because you’d never been kissed or if it was the... other thing.

“I don’t even know how it works. There’s two of them.” You’d been stuck on it all month. You’d have to decide in the end, and sure, maybe Bucky wasn’t jealous when Steve kissed your hand or when you’d go out with him but what if they started fighting about who got to do what with you. It wasn’t like they were each others’ soulmates. You complained to Natasha more freely at the end of your mug.

What if they didn’t like how you looked?! What if you were bad in bed? What if they got bored after seeking the physical aspects? What if that was all that became of your relationship?

She had listened to your rambling briefly but became determined to put a stop to the madness and set down her drink.

“You have to stop being so crazy, those two are closer than you or I can imagine. You might need to be convinced about the validity of being Soulmates, but those old boys do not. They have committed.”

There was that word again, you thought.

“And, if you’re so worried about your first kiss...” A single red brow raised itself high up her forehead, “I can show you. No more worrying about who kissed you first.” Natasha set her copper mug down with a definitive clink.

It might have been the drink that was making you brave, or the desperation of wanting some relief to your constant distress, because you eagerly said yes. Natasha had brushed back loose strands of your hair with her hand and propped herself up on her knees. She hovered over you, letting her locks fall over your face.

“Is this okay?”

You nodded, captivated. You could feel your eyes fluttering as she lowered her lips to yours in a single tranquil movement. Her warm breath pleasantly caressed your mouth as she kissed you. Natasha’s lips were soft and full, velvety with every parting and descent. One hand came to cup your jaw, pulling you closer and deeper into her motions. You didn’t expect the sound your mouths made against each other- the smacking was half disturbing, half arousing.

She had seemed like a good kisser, but it was almost a clinical experience, whether it was because it was a learning moment from a friend, or if it was because you were so concentrated on memorizing Natasha’s actions, that made it not quite enjoyable as the movies tried to portray. There were no string quartets harmonizing in the background or doves flying, only the lax pulse of your heart in your own ears.

When she finally pulled away, you were expectant for another one; you wanted to learn. She cocked her head at your silence.

“How was it?” You had thought about it for a second before answering truthfully, “Noisy...”

Natasha howled with laughter. When she gathered herself enough to speak again, her raspy voice was slightly a little more hoarse than usual.

“Kid,” she gasped, “The noises are the best part, trust me.”

The unexpected statement made your abdomen clench. You vaguely wondered what kind of noises Steve and Bucky might make, but hurriedly squashed them. Linger on that one for too long, and you’d burst.

After another half hour of fielding questions, she finally sent you back to your quarters with a flash-drive in hand, disclosing to you that it was her personal collection of ���friendly” pornography- which made your entire body flush crimson. It was for you to watch, explore, fantasize about, and maybe get some ideas before the day arrives. Before opening the door, Natasha called your name sternly.

“Remember when I asked you if it was okay before I kissed you?”

You nodded.

“There is nothing wrong with that. In fact, they should be asking you. Porn does not capture all the real-life shit that happens during sex. There is nothing embarrassing about asking questions, voicing your needs and desires, and talking to each other. You’re not going to be awesome at it the first time. But you’ve got the rest of your life to practice.”

You thanked her sincerely. There was nowhere else that you were going to receive this kind of lesson and you really wanted her to know. Natasha shooed you out of her room, pointing to the flash drive gripped tight in your fist.

“Go rub out some good ones for me, okay?”

With a wink and playful slap on your ass, she promptly kicked you out but not before deftly tucking a flask of whiskey under your arm. You shoved the deviant things as deep into the pocket of your jeans as possible and wandered to the guest room Pepper had set up. You often took naps in there, and it would have been a better idea to go home, but you were strangely eager. Bucky and Steve were in the shooting range this evening, so you hoped they’d be fully distracted with loud gunfire and not sniff you out with 100 gigabytes of porn in your pocket.

 Once safe in the comfort of the room, you tentatively launched a window on your laptop, headphones jacked in, one bud hanging loose. Your door was locked all the way, and you had wiggled the handle thrice just to be safe, satisfied when nothing budged.

 Natasha’s files were categorized into multiple folders and subfolders. You made a mental note to thank her for such thorough and thoughtful placement of the videos, sorted and titled by extremely efficient keywords. She had a deliberate folder of multiple threesome videos, just for you, and you promptly decide to never bring it up any of it. Reading the titles alone made your legs tingle; your mind couldn’t help but automatically fit Steve or Bucky in the fantasy.

You fired up the first video, reaching over to the small nightstand to inhale two fingers of whiskey for good measure. It burned your insides going down but became a relief when it took your mind off the fire in your cheeks at the performance unfolding on your dim screen. Once again, your brain replaced the two male actors with your respective soulmates, and yourself as the woman sitting in the middle of the bed.

Of course you’d masturbated before, you weren’t a nun, for crying out loud; some bodily tension could only be relieved in a certain way. And it just so happened since the Binding, you were in the habit of doing it much more, anyway. It was difficult to spend all day with Bucky’s burning gaze and Steve’s feather light touches and expect yourself to immediately fall asleep...

Your phone lit up as two large hands caress the actress’ shapely thighs.

Tony’s face blinked on the screen. You ignored it, concentrated on thick fingers peeling the flimsy material of a lacy bralette down. Open-mouthed sloppy kisses begin between the woman and the man on the left as the one on the right cups the breast closest to him in a firm hold. You imagined a ghostly touch on your own chest and shuddered. One hand imitated the actions between the woman’s legs: feather-light touches interspersed with solid grips. The tickle creates chills that crawl all over your skin.

Tony face blinked again on your phone.

You fixed your posture against the headboard of your bed and flexed your legs, straightening them for a more relaxed pose. Your palm traced over the slope of your thighs as they dipped into a valley in the middle, slowly you brought your other hand to your chest, following the line of Steve’s Words. Bucky’s eyes flashed in your mind when one of the men catches the woman’s fingers in his mouth in a hard suck. The woman’s free hand and palms the opposite man’s crotch, rubbing slow circles around the tent in his jeans. He sucks in a low hiss of air and groans lightly, a profane word wiggling its way out of his mouth. In your left ear, it sounded like Steve.

F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s voice filling the room sent you into shock.

“Mr. Stark is requesting your presence in the living quarters.”

In a panic, you slammed your hands down on the keyboard of your laptop multiple times, silently screaming when the headphone jack falls out and there’s moaning repeatedly being paused and played in the darkness of your room.

“How does he--”

“Mr. Stark had me do a sweep of the rooms to find you.”

“F.R.I.D.A.Y.!!”

“Mr. Stark does not know what you are watching.”

You grumbled, accepting the interface’s comment. Sometimes it was hard for you to remember that she wasn’t an actual person since she so often responded in very human ways, including predicting your source of embarrassment. You flopped down on the bed, muffling your face in the soft comfort of your pillow, catching the smell of your whiskey-sour breath.

“Please tell Mr. Stark I’ll be coming,”

“That's an interesting choice of words, ma’am.”

Another scream was muffled in the pillow before you trudged your body out of the guest room.

As soon as you stepped foot into the gathering space, a tiny firework was popped in your face, colorful confetti flying from it into the air and scattering itself in your hair. You shrieked, naturally. There were some cheers and whooping from those in the room: Steve, Natasha, and Pepper. Your heart was pounding in response.

“Hey kid! Congrats! I got some news for you.” Tony beamed widely, slapping both hands firmly on your shoulders, “What is that, whiskey? Do I smell whiskey? Good shit, too. What is that? You drinkin’ Yamazaki?”

You cleared your throat and pressed your lips together firmly, hoping Tony would get the message, eye catching Natasha’s cat-like grin in the process. He clucked his tongue before pointing to the wall to your left where an e-mail was being projected. You briefly glanced it over as the room watched on, flicking bits of neon plastic from your head.

The e-mail thread was between Tony and Kristopher Byrne, the former director of the Museum of Modern Art, singing your praises. Your eyebrows raised higher and higher the further down the e-mail chain you went, and eventually it felt like they might fly off your face altogether. Byrne was pushing meeting you, possibly having a dinner together, possibly a position of employment with a local university or being a permanent fixture at one of his private galleries.

There was a choking noise you were vaguely aware of coming out of your mouth- and it wasn’t from excitement.

There was a reason you didn’t pursue a higher degree in the Fine Arts. There was a reason you only gave phone interviews, hardly showed your face, never entered your work in museums, and ran all over the world instead. You hated the attention and the culture of rubbing elbows with the upper crust. Yes, having a secure and stable income is nice- but that was already fulfilled by being employed by Stark Industries, and you never really needed more than that.

“I really appreciate it, Tony,” you began gesturing to the screen, hoping to not offend him, “But you don’t have to do this on my behalf.”

Tony put a hand over the ACDC logo and dimly glowing light on his chest, “I love nepotism as much as the next guy, trust me, but I did not schmooze him, he schmoozed me. He schmoozed me a lot, kid, and it was to get to you. He’s been asking about you for years.”

“Can you stop saying schmooze?” Pepper called, raising her hand primly, “You make it sound so gross, Tony.”

“Look, he just wants to have dinner. With you. And some friends.” Tony shrugged, as if the lift of his shoulder could so easily discard the rest of the statement hanging in the air. You knew that Kristopher Byrne did not just want to have dinner.

“What kind of dinner?” Bucky piped from the background. You turned your head to him, lingering in the back; he must have just come in after a shower. His wet hair was tied into a low knot at the nape of his neck, a few strands hanging loosely. You tried to hide a smile at his protective questioning.

“And what kind of friends?” Steve added, arms now crossed as he sat down on the couch.

Natasha gave a knowing look to Pepper as if to communicate that Tony couldn’t hide his agenda with both Bucky and Steve at his heels. Throwing his hands up he rolled his eyes with a histrionic lament, “Wow. You overprotective geriatrics really suck the fun out of my life, you know that? Great. Cover’s blown, F.R.I.D.A.Y.! Give me the real deal.”

The projection against the wall was hastily replaced with a different e-mail chain, one that very specifically requested a formal show of your most recent work post-travels, as well as a special request for never-before-seen Avengers portraits. You released a loud, disappointed groan, taking two big steps to the wall and jabbing your finger at the mass of text.

“This is why.” You ran your pointer under the phrase “black tie event” and shook your head. “This isn’t my life, Tony. It’s your life.”

“Yeah, I thought you’d say that.” You felt set up. His abruptly somber tone meant that he was about to drop some shit on you that would change your perspective.

“This is my life,” Tony began, pausing for effect before taking two fingers and waving it broadly over the room, making sure to catch Bucky and Steve in his radius. “And it’s their life, too. You think Cap’s not obligated to formal events? He’s a national treasure, kid. And Winter Dead-Eyes over there is America’s new Redemption Sob Story.”

Bucky growled, but was quickly silenced by the outline of Steve’s turning profile.

“You’re Bound to them; you can’t wander the world at your whim anymore. This is a golden opportunity dropping into your lap. One black-tie event with Byrne gets your foot in a lot of doors. He’ll make you a permanent faculty member at Tisch in two years if that’s what you want; you’ve got the clout- whether you like it or not.”

The whiskey was making you a little agitated, and it felt like Tony was cornering you into a pocket you weren’t ready to face. These types of decisions required time and deliberation, and twenty minutes ago, you were barely choosing when you were going to have sex in the next week.  

“And if you’re so adamant against nepotism, how do feel being employed by me?”

“Are you saying you continue to employ me because we’re friends?”

“Aren’t we?”

He really did corner you. If you answered no, it would have been too cruel to everyone. If you answered yes, then you’d be a hypocrite, and there would obviously be no reason for you not to take the offer other than the fact that you didn’t want to. Regardless, Tony had a valid point: you couldn’t keep floating. You needed to settle permanently in New York.

You put your face in both hands, feeling the heat rise from your neck.  

Steve stood up from the couch, “That’s enough.” The edge in his voice meant he was serious. He didn’t like seeing you distressed, but you waved him off, eyes still closed.

“I’ll need… time.” You thought your voice might shake, but it didn’t. Your brain was pumping out information that your mouth was glad to blather about, “I need at least a month. I need to work. I need to set up a studio space, I need equipment, need to find my printing guy… Where are we hanging them?” When your eyes opened, Pepper had her hands clasped together over her chest and Natasha gave you two thumbs up. Steve and Bucky, on the other hand, looked concerned.

Tony was grinning like a child in a candy store.

“Leave all of that to me, kid. Date’s set. Last Saturday in June, we’re doing it. Mazel tov! I love a good black-tie event, especially if I’m throwing it.”

-

You went home that night and slammed yourself into bed, tossing and turning for what seemed like hours. Your stomach was churning wrathfully, already expectant of the party. Everything felt like it was falling apart again. You had just barely come to the physical terms of having soulmates, taking small steps to ensure that you were treating them fairly and meeting their needs, yet it seemed like once again, the reality of being Bound was eclipsing your independence.

Steve’s words echoed in your head. It was a commitment. You needed to stay in New York and commit to him. You needed to commit to Bucky.

You picked up the phone when it vibrated and lit up with Steve’s face. A concerned murmur of your name passed through the receiver.

“Hey,” You replied, face pressed into your pillow.

“You okay? You left in a hurry.” He sounded relieved to hear your voice.

“I’ve got a lot on mind, I think.”

In the background was Bucky’s distinct mumble of “What’s she doin’?”

“Did ya get that?” Steve laughed, “Buck’s on edge.”

You shuffled yourself around the bed and snuggled deeper down, imagining the crinkle on Bucky’s forehead and matching crease of Steve’s eyes as he smiled. You suddenly missed them. There was something about the image of them sitting together purposely, talking to you, concerned about you, that opened the floodgates.

You let go.

Steve listened generously as you expressed your hesitations about presenting your work to Kristopher Byrne or any other elite art critic or connoisseur. The thing you dreaded most about art school was the jargon of “artspeak”, the constant performance of socializing with the right people in the right way to get an opportunity. After your solo exhibit of the Soulmate Series, you were so exhausted and disenchanted by the questions and feeling the need to defend yourself that you refused to enter any more exhibitions. It was why you chose to travel instead of pursuing a Masters or making your mark in New York.

Interviews were strictly phone-only for independent magazines or social media websites and you never showed your face. You didn’t want any attention that was not on your work, which was why you were so glad that Pepper was not only a great resume opportunity, but that she was extremely professional. The photos you took of the Avengers were posted for the public relations needs and you were credited only by name.  

“I just want to be a photographer,” you said, “I want to make images and talk about them in way that is digestible for ordinary people. I think photo is a great medium for that because it is so commonplace. Why is necessary to then jumble it all up with pretentious terminology? I want to take photos that are meaningful but even your grandmother could enjoy.”

Steve laughed.

“Okay, maybe not yours, specifically,” You chucked, “But you know what I mean. Photography is ubiquitous, I just so happen to have had also an education and know the theory and mechanics. And I’m lucky enough to work with you guys. But I’m not them. I don’t want to sell a picture for thirty-thousand dollars and have it put up in some guy’s house and never shown again.”

“Give ‘em hell!” Bucky’s voice rang in the background. You were surprised he was still there, listening. It made you happy that he was.

Steve paused, “I think you can do both.”

You sighed. He didn’t understand.

“No, no, listen to me. You can fight it, but you’ll need to be a part of it. You can’t change anything about the system if you’re running from the system. As much as you hate elitist jargon, you know it, and you can participate in it.”

Your brow furrowed, but Steve went on, “Get the faculty position, exhibit in galleries, gain that platform and then you make changes on that platform. Even if you just teach- imagine having 100 students a year that you can pass this to. What were the students like in your college classes?”

“Uppity.” You admitted. “We took such dumb photos and then would critique them in such meaningless ways. Sometimes a sink is just a sink. Sometimes it’s not, but when it is, it really is."

Steve laughed again; the example was lost on him. “Okay. Now what if your professors felt the same way you did?”

“We’d probably hate each other less and experiment more without second guessing ourselves.”

“Don’t you think you want to do that for other students, sweetheart? Even if it means that you’re in the thick of it yourself?” A smile was slowly forming on your face. It only made sense that Steve Rogers was such a revolutionary. It really was such good advice.

“Buck’s right, sweetheart. Go give ‘em hell.” In the background was a satisfied huff and a “Damn right!” for good measure.

“Anything else on your mind?” Steve quietly asked after a moment had passed between you, as if he’d forgotten his friend in the room, highly alert and intently listening, “Anything ‘bout us?”

You breathed a deep sigh, careful not to blow into the phone as you thought about your next words carefully. The anxieties for the show colluded with your anxieties for your future here. Steve knew that; he was only asking to be polite. “Mmm… It’ll keep me close,” You murmured, “That’s good, right?”

“I can’t decide that for you, sweetheart. That’s up to you.” There was a pause, the sound of something hitting the wall softly like a pillow, some fuzzy scratches telling you the phone was moving around, and Bucky with an irritated reprimand: “Wrong answer, punk!”

You laughed mirthfully, feeling your worries rolling off your body as you listened to Steve and Bucky quarrelling on the other end. It felt so natural that you couldn’t help but think maybe this was another good step in the right direction.

More and more each day you could imagine yourself having morning coffee with Steve, watching a movie with Bucky, cooking together, eating dinner, working side by side at the compound. Maybe you didn’t have to settle for brief fifteen-minute walks in the park, and maybe one day Bucky could talk to you about his demons. The three of you could exist together, as you were intended to.

At 23, you made up your mind to stay in New York with Steve and Bucky.

Next Chapter

[hellospunkiebrewster]

Dysphoria - Part VII of Duty

Author’s note: As always, thank you, thank you, thank you for reading. You all inspire and excite me. I hope you all enjoy, I am up entirely too late because I couldn’t sleep with this worming inside of me. If you’re new here:

Part I: Déjà Vu - Part II: Hopelessly Cold - Part III: Bitterness - Part IV: Rage - Part V: Promises - Part VI: Oath

These characters aren’t mine, I’m borrowing them for a bit. Thanks Pixelberry. Portions of my ceremony were adapted from the coronation of a King or Queen in the U.K.

Summary: On the day of Ellie’s ceremonial coronation, Riley struggles with the expectations placed on herself and her daughter. She finds solace in an interesting place.

Word count: 3124

Tags: @queencatherynerhys, @theroyalweisme, @mfackenthal, @crayziimaginations, @boneandfur, @hopefulmoonobject, @lizeboredom, @pbchoicesobsessed, @madaraism

After their return to the palace, days turned into weeks and weeks into months as the chaos and bustle of their lives returned. Riley longed for the days spent in Valtoria, taking a hike, playing a game, baking cookies, and fishing. The time away was much needed, but entirely too short. She found herself dreaming of being on that dock once more, her only worry whether or not Ellie was enjoying herself in the quiet. If she closed her eyes, she could almost see the way the sun reflected off the lake. She could almost feel it warming her skin in the crisp mountain air.

Riley allows herself a short moment of this in the middle of the throne room. Her eyes close and she’s suddenly surrounded by the stillness and silence of a couple months before. It isn’t the sort of quiet and stillness that’s unsettling, it’s comforting and relaxing.

A light elbow to her ribs breaks her from it. She glances sideways to Bertrand, clad in his formal wear, a medal hangs around his neck from a ribbon. Riley returns her gaze forward and watches as Liam’s large, heavy crown is lowered onto Eleanor’s tiny head. Her neck bobbles slightly but she quickly rights herself. She stares ahead of herself, directly through the ceremony officiant who has yet to step back from her as he helps adjust her cape and hands her a scepter. Eleanor’s eyes are wide and nervous, shifting momentarily to her mother, out of reach at the front of the audience.

The bishop steps back from Eleanor but remains facing her.

“Be strong and of a good courage, Eleanor Charlotte Rhys, stand firm, and hold fast from henceforth.”

This was the cue for the regents to step forward and pledge their loyalty and counsel to her. Riley leads the committee of regents to the step below Eleanor, where they kneel. Riley looks up at her daughter and throws her a proud smile before launching into the pledge alongside the other regents.

“I do become your liege of life and limb. Faith and truth will I bear unto you, to live and die, against all manner of folks.”

The committee rises and a group and moves to return to their places in the audience. Riley takes a moment to reach out for Ellie’s free hand, catching her from her anxious daze. Eleanor takes a deep breath and smiles at her mother before looking again at the bishop, who is waiting for Riley to return to her spot by the other regents. She bows her head and steps away from the throne.

The bishop leads the rest of the room full of nobles through their pledges before announcing Eleanor to the room. Riley claps along with everyone else, but watches her daughter’s expression, sad and distant from the pomp around her.

Eleanor is helped from the throne by the bishop who follows her as she exits the throne room to the Great Hall where there will be a small reception before the larger Coronation Ball that night. Riley follows closely behind the bishop and shuffles quickly around him once they are out of sight of the other nobility to help her daughter.

“Ellie, sweetheart, you did amazing.”

“Can I take this off now? It’s heavy,” she whines.

“Absolutely, and let’s go see if we can find some of those chocolate cupcakes we ordered special for you.” Riley helps lift the crown from Ellie’s head and feels it’s true weight again. It was rare Liam used this ceremonial crown so she hadn’t gotten the opportunity to truly hold it for long. Liam told her, not long after their wedding, that the crown was thousands of years old, dating back to when Cordonia was first founded. Parts of it had been repaired and modernized over the years. Liam had shown her portraits and pictures of former rulers and what was once a quite simple spiked silver crown, was now jewel encrusted. The crown weighed about five pounds and sparkled from every angle. A steward, flanked by royal guards, steps forward and takes the crown from Riley leaving the room quickly to return it to its vault. Few people knew where exactly in the palace this was located, if it was in the palace at all.

Riley takes Ellie’s hand and helps her navigate the crowd, avoiding the chattier nobles and making their way to the dessert table where a spread of Cordonian sweets and chocolate cupcakes awaited the child queen. Food at these events was often more mature and adult oriented, consisting mainly of fancy and expensive hors d'oeuvres, but Riley insisted that they provide something their new queen would actually enjoy.

Ellie’s eyes light up upon seeing the table, set out mainly for her. Before reaching for anything, she looks at her mother unsure what she’s allowed. Riley smiles at her daughter.

“Today’s a special day Ellie, you can have whatever you like.”

Riley reaches for a small apple tart and takes a bite. After watching her mother, Eleanor immediately grabs a cupcake in each hand, then looks frustrated at the fact that she can’t unwrap them.

“Riley, a word?” Bertrand has approached the two of them and motions for her to follow him as she takes a cupcake from Ellie to unwrap. She unwraps it and hands it back to her, taking her time to unwrap the second one as well.

“Surely there’s someone in the palace who can help Eleanor with her snack that isn’t you.”

“Bertrand, there’s plenty of time to mingle. We’ve got all day, and Ellie won’t be attending the ball.”

“Unwrapping cupcakes hardly seems like a good use of your time.”

Riley takes in a deep breath, pushing down the urge to shout at Bertrand for scolding her for spending time with her daughter, who only just over two months previous, lost her father. She instead takes a bite of the apple tart she had picked from the table with Ellie and chews it thoughtfully.

“I’m sorry Duke Ramsford,” she says, venom in her words, “but I happen to think unwrapping cupcakes for my daughter is a perfectly good use of my time.” Riley turns on her heel back towards her daughter, avoiding any nobles along the way.

--

It had been another late night discussing how the committee planned to divide the various state visits and travel for the coming month. Riley hardly had time to eat lunch, let alone check in with Ellie. She opened the door to their suite quietly, not wanting to wake Ellie since she was most likely already asleep. The residence was darkened, but not entirely dark, the lights were still on in the kitchenette. As she stepped from the foyer into the living room, she carefully placed a few documents and her phone on the kitchen bar. Drake and Ellie sat together on the couch. He was watching a soccer game, the sound low, while Ellie slept next to him, her small arm draped across his wide torso.

Riley approached them from behind the couch and placed her hand on Drake’s shoulder. It was then that she noticed the comically large bowl of popcorn on the table in front of them. She looked at Drake with a questioning look.

“Movie night,” he whispered, looking down to make sure he didn’t rouse Ellie.

“And it required a five gallon bucket of popcorn? Seems legitimate.”

“You should know the palace kitchen never does anything half-assed.”

He shifted slightly, holding Ellie up as he slid from under her. With one quick but surprisingly gentle motion he lifted her from the couch and carries her to her room. Riley plopped to the couch, reaching for the large bowl and placing it beside her. She grabbed a handful of popcorn as Drake returned a minute or so later.

“Another long day hmm?” Drake rounds the couch and sits leaving the large bowl of popcorn in between them.

“Yea,” Riley sighed, looking off into the distance. “I was really hoping I’d be able to have dinner with her or read her a story for the first time in a week.”

“She misses you, didn’t want to go to bed until you got home. So I kind of let her stay up later than usual.”

“That’s sweet of you, you big marshmallow,” she teased.

“Watch it, someone could hear you.”

“Your cover would be blown.”

“I’ve got a reputation to uphold.” Drake chuckled.

“Is that… glitter?” Riley laughed, touching his face. He recoiled slightly at her touch, as if it shocked him. She shifted in her seat, placing her back on the arm of the sofa, the bowl now in front of her and surveys him head to toe. Aside from some glitter under his left ear, he looked perfectly rugged as usual. In the month after returning to the palace, Drake had stopped drinking and seemed to be finding some actual happiness in his couple days a week with Ellie. Riley smiled fondly at him, unable to look away, waiting for his response.

“There may have been princess makeovers involved.”

“Oh please tell me there’s pictures.”

--

Riley takes Eleanor to the royal residence later in the evening while the rest of the nobility and guests are sitting down for dinner. When they arrive, the smell of pizza greets them.

“Ah, Uncle Drake delivered. See, I told you there’d be pizza Ellie. How could this day get any better?”

“If you didn’t have to leave.” Ellie’s words, while harsh, do not come as a surprise to her. Today was probably the most time they’d been able to spend one on one in weeks, and they were in a room full of nobles and distinguished guests all day long. The small talk alone exhausted her.

“You know what? I don’t have to leave.” Riley turns and kicks off her shoes towards the entrance for when she has to leave for the ball.

“Really?” Ellie and Drake say in unison.

Drake enters the room from the hallway, smiling at both of them.

“Really. Now let’s go get a little more comfortable.”

In her room, Riley slips out of her daytime dress and into some leggings and a baggy t-shirt. Her ballgown hangs in her dressing alcove, she had chosen a midnight blue gown, embellished with dark crystals. The illusion skirt is what she loved most about the gown, it allowed her to get away with something a little more her style in a stuffy ballroom.

Ellie meets her in the hallway in her pajamas.

“Kitten PJs, a fantastic choice,” Riley compliments her daughter.

The three of them sit down to the pizza and as Ellie recounts the day and number of cupcakes she’s eaten to Drake, he seems distracted. He watches Riley as she smiles at her daughter, looking relaxed for the first time in weeks. Riley notices and grins at him, her gaze falling down to her plate after she feels like she’s been looking at him for too long.

Thirty minutes later, after Ellie has somehow stuffed herself with three slices of pizza, no crust, Riley notes, like her father, she starts to fade and hard.

“Ellie can you take your plate to the sink and go brush your teeth?”

Wordlessly and in a haze, Ellie does as she’s told and trudges sleepily to her bedroom.

“I’m going to go change and say goodnight,” Riley tells Drake. “A night nanny should be arriving soon, but I really should get back before Bertrand stages a coup.”

“Whatever you need.” Drake shrugs as he clears the plates and boxes from the table.

Riley shuts the door to her room and changes into her ballgown. She can’t seem to get the zipper all the way up on her own and puts on her jewelry instead. Her make-up, slightly worn from the stress of the day, she decides not to waste time touching up and she crosses the hallway into Ellie’s room.

Her daughter is already in bed and smiles when she enters.

“You look pretty mommy.”

“Thank you sweetheart,” Riley says, sitting delicately on the edge of Ellie’s bed. “I’ll see you in the morning okay? Sweet dreams.”

“I love you mama,” Ellie says as Riley places two small kisses on each of her eyelids. Her words are heavy with tiredness.

“I love you the most.”

Riley rises from the bed quietly, moving to the door slowly as she drinks in every inch of her daughter’s sweet face. She pulls the door closed behind her as lightly as possible. She’s lost in images of Ellie’s tired face when she enters the great room, Drake standing in the middle.

“You look… wow.”

Riley is shaken from her thoughts of Ellie and laughs. “You’re very eloquent Drake Walker.”

He lets out a small laugh, it’s barely there and more like an exhale.

“Oh! Could you uh… zip me?” Riley turns her back to him and lifts her hair exposing her back.

“Uh,” he pauses, holding his breath, “sure.” Drake crosses the room to her and places one hand on the side of her ribcage while the other grabs hold of the zipper. She feels the zipper travel up her back and when it meets the top, his other hand lingers, leaving a tingling warmth where it once was.

“I think there’s a… like a tiny hook too.”

“Of course there is.” Drake mumbles as his rough fingers run over the nape of her neck. He fumbles with the hook for a few seconds before finally stepping away. Goosebumps pepper Riley’s back, all her tiny hairs standing on end.

She turns to face him. “Thank you.” She’s looking at him with a different look, like she’s noticed something for the first time.

Drake clears his throat, interrupting the quiet between them.

“I guess I’ve got a ball to get to.”

--

She slips into the ball quietly and she’s positive no one missed her aside from Bertrand who shoots her an exasperated look. Rolling her eyes, Riley reaches for a flute of champagne from a server’s tray. She grabs one, takes a beat, and plucks another from the tray with her free hand. Immediately she sucks down the first, depositing the glass on another server’s tray. Bertrand and Savannah approach her.

Savannah smiles at her and excitedly gushes over Ellie. “Eleanor did amazing today. That was a lot of pressure for her. And she looked adorable.” Savannah’s hand finds her stomach, round and beautiful. She glows.

“You’re too sweet Savannah. My goodness, you look amazing, how long now?”

“Another month or so,” she smiles even more.

“Riley, it seems you missed dinner. Do you want to inform me on where you’ve been? You missed the Cordonian waltz.” Bertrand interrupts.

“You can’t be serious, I guarantee no one actually missed me.”

“You can’t simply skirt events because you’re not feeling up to them anymore. There’s no one to stand in for you any longer. Liam’s gone.”

“I know, but thank you so much for reminding me about my dead husband.” She fights back the urge to cry right then and there when the familiar sting of tears hits the back of her eyes. Savannah stands there, stunned, looking at her husband her mouth agape. “If you must know, I was having dinner with my daughter, who I haven’t seen for longer than fifteen minutes a day for the last week. Now if you’ll excuse me.” Riley pushes her way past Bertrand and towards the exit.

“Seriously Bertrand?” Savannah hisses and stares at him in disbelief. She walks away shaking her head. Savannah finds a seat across the hall and pats her baby bump as she watches Maxwell work the dance floor.

The ballroom, large and grand, is suddenly suffocating and she bursts from the door and into a hallway. She finishes the glass of champagne still in her hand and walks in the direction that will get her to the least travelled part of the palace tonight.

She turns the corner into what she knows should be a deserted hallway. She had to escape them and the whole debacle. Riley leaves the room of nobles and dignitaries behind, unable to tolerate the entire disaster for one more moment. Surely they didn’t expect her to spend all this time away from Eleanor when she had just lost her husband, when Ellie had only just lost her father. Her mind races towards one thing only, her daughter and how much they needed each other right now. Their wounds have only just begun to heal. The committee is asking too much of her right now.

The hallway should’ve been empty, there was no reason for another person to head in this direction unless they were headed to the library. The entrance hall was in another direction entirely and the ball was far from over. But still, there was someone in that hallway. The only person she could see herself welcoming right now stood at a window five meters from her. She didn’t think Drake would’ve remained at the palace after the night nanny showed up.

She knows she looks like a mess right now and she certainly feels like it, but she approaches him, slipping next to him at the window.

He doesn’t say anything when he notices her and she’s relieved. He’s looking at her though and she feels his gaze on the side of her face. When she notices it, her breath hitches in her chest. After weeks of not being heard or taken seriously, after months of having everyone expect the world of her, he was standing here, not wanting anything of her. She didn’t need to speak or smile or do anything and it was enough.

Riley turns to face him and leans against the wall beside the window. She’s itching to reach out to him and her fingers tremble at the sight of him. Her breathing finally returns to normal and stops immediately afterwards.

Somehow the distance between them closes and something is drawing them together in this moment. They collide, her lips on his. She doesn’t know who started it or who ended it but in that same tiny instant, it was over. His eyes roam her face for an answer she doesn’t have but her hand finds his cheek and she’s pulled into him all over again.

--

Part VIII: Toska is here.

[anotherlipstick]

GOODBYE & HELLO Part IV

I woke up to aching muscles and body. I looked beside me and was surprised to find Becca wasn’t next to me. I managed to get to my feet and walk into the kitchen and was relieved to see coffee already made. I poured myself a cup while noticing the time 3:39 in the morning. I then went into the other room where we had our offices.

I almost dropped my coffee as the entire room was a disaster. My books was all piled on the floor with what appeared to be from the file cabnet, several tables and our laptops was missing, and Becca sitting on the floor taking a sip of coffee with sweat pouring off her.

“Is the coffee good? I wasn’t sure how many scoops you put in.” I took a sip and knew she put way to much coffee in. However, I couldn’t recall when she made coffee before and looking at the room strong coffee is what I’m going to need. “It’s tastes fine. How many scoops did you put in?” “I don’t know… six? I couldn’t sleep so I figured I would get started on this so we can hopefully have our room back tonight. The sooner this is cleared out the sooner we can go see about beds. We should go early to make sure they can be delivered today.

I was shocked as I couldn’t believe she was putting so much effort into this. I set my coffee down and walked over to her. "Okay, let’s do this!”

By the time the kids woke up it was going on eight a clock and the room was cleared out. Not only that we found room to set up our computers and tables in the living room though most of my books would have to go out to the garage.

we got the kids ready and went to get breakfast and then shopping for beds for them. we did have Madison’s key but Becca felt it would be to much trouble to move that stuff back and forth especially once she was released. We ended up purchasing two complete beds with matching nightstands and dressers and they was able to deliver and set everything up by three so we would have plenty of time to visit Madison.

——————————————

Just over a month had gone by since we took in Caleb and Mariah. While they did have a few rough nights they seemed to be doing well. They missed their mom and I couldn’t blame them. We went everyday to visit her when Becca got back from Femsational and sometimes we even would go earlier as well.

They had cut her hair do to the chemotherapy and her skin was heavily flaking but otherwise she seemed like she was going to beat this and that made seeing her in this condition a much better. Becca had bought her a wig that looked great on her and got a lock of her hair in a zip-lock bag that we held for her for safe keeping.

Madison was all smiles as we walked in today. “The doctor said my red blood cell count is a lot better. He wants to wait till after my next chemotherapy treatment and then he said I could probably return home.” “That’s wonderful Madison. I’m so happy to hear that.”

We stayed about an hour before heading home again. She was always so full of energy when we first arrived but she would quickly get tired so we would go and let her rest.

I was a bit sad at the news as I had actually gotten use to the kids being with us. We had both had worked so hard on their room and Becca had even put up comic book Superhero’s and Disney princesses all over it. She really had gone all out in it and it looked amazing.

Was it wrong to feel this way? I wasn’t sure but I felt awfully guilty about it. I had often thought about kids but Becca had said several times she had no such desires. Then out of nowhere two amazing children fall in our lap and Becca’s all for it. Maybe it is because of how much she cares about Madison, but it works.

I looked over and could tell Becca was depressed about the idea of giving them up as well. She had been such a different person the past four weeks but now she was moody and snappy a fair amount of the time.

“Hey it’s okay.” I walked over and gave her a hug as we got ready for bed. “ I’ll miss them too, so you’re not alone in this.” Becca just nodded then got into bed without a word. I decided not to push it we’ll see how things go.

—————————————-

Midnight Maiden started playing waking both me and Becca up. I looked at the clock that read a quarter to five. “Who is it?” Becca asked upset. “I don’t know” I looked at the name that listed initials I didn’t reconize. I decided I better answer it just in case. “Hello”

“Hello I’m calling to speak with either MC or Becca. Is one of them available please?” Said the gentleman on the other line. “This is MC, who is this and what is the reason for this call so early?” “I’m apologize ma'am but I’m calling from General Hospital and we have you listed as an emergency contact for A Ms. Madison Eckhart. "Oh yes! I’m so sorry, what can I do for you? is something wrong?”

Becca had rolled over as if asleep so I hit her leg a few times and she sat up. “I’m afraid Ms. Eckhart suffered two large seizures last night nearly right next to each other…” “Oh my god!” “It was a close call but I am pleased to say we did manage to get her stabilized. We’re not really sure of the cause of the seizers but it’s believed to be a reaction to the antibiotics she has been on. We have changed them and hoping that takes care of things. Ms.Eckhart is of course very weak, but is insisting on seeing you and Becca as soon as you’re able.” I looked over at Becca who had a worried look “Wake the kids!”

——————————————

Madison had been moved to the ICU on the 3rd floor. Becca notified the staff with the phone attached next to the door and we heard the buzzing of the door unlock.

Madison was like a ghost from even the day before when we had visited. Her skin looked like it had never seen sunlight and her eyes was sunken in.

What the hell do you say to someone like that? I was a published author yet I couldn’t think of anything appropriate. We definitely need more ways to greet someone besides ‘How are you?’

“Madison….I…” “I want you two to keep the Caleb and Mariah. I don’t trust my family and I don’t want them….” Madison started coughing a few times. Becca filled up her glass with some water and held it for her as she took a few drinks from the straw.

“I don’t want them to go into some foster home and I know…” “You think for one minute we would allow that to happen? Don’t you worry about them at all. Besides, this was just the antibiotics and those have replaced. You are going to be fine so dont be thinking like that!”

Becca could hardly even form the words. She constantly had put her down since we were in college but there was no mistaken how much she cared about her as she kept wiping the tears that flowed. She looked like she was going to fall apart at any moment.

Mariah and Caleb picking up on the tension started crying. Both of them had been wanting to be with their mom and in her shape we couldn’t let them. Before we could use hand sanitizer but now the chance of Madison getting any germs was to much.

“I’m going to take them down to the cafeteria and get them some breakfast. They haven’t eaten yet and I’m sure they’re both hungry. Why don’t you two talk alone for a bit.”

I had got them some oatmeal and Apple juice but both Mariah and Caleb was too upset to eat more than a few bites no matter what I tried. I figured I was probably wearing more than I managed to get them to eat. At least they did drink the juice.

Becca came down after about 40 minutes. I have never seen her look that way. “You want something to eat they didn’t…” Becca shook her head and I decided to drop it. I tossed what was left in the trash and we left.

By the time we got back home the kids had settled down a bit but was now acting hungry. I needed something to do so I figured we would try round two. “I’ll make some eggs and sausage. You should eat too, honey. You had even less than they did.” Becca shook her head. “I’m not hungry. Besides, I have things I need to take care of. "Like what? You should eat and we have things we need to discuss.” “I need to get going!” Becca turned and headed for the door. “Becca!” She didn’t stop. The only reply was the slamming of the door.