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kiapet2 · 3 years ago

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Aperture Sides Facility, Chapter 7: Nice Job Breaking It, Hero

Masterpost

Chapter Summary: An unlikely alliance is made.

Chapter Warnings: Captivity, Death Mentions

“So, how are you holding up? Because I’m a potato.”

Wind whips at your clothing and hair, that and the weightless feeling in your stomach the only indications that you are falling. You do your best to glower at the tuber hanging in front of you in the air.

“It’s your own fault. You’re the one who insulted him.”

The potato scoffs. “He normally doesn’t care what you say about him. Owns it, even. This... temper tantrum... is your fault for putting him in charge of the facility in the first place!”

“My fault?” you say incredulously. “Like you gave me a choice!”

“You could have just let me kill you,” the potato says. “It really is terrible etiquette to depose your host, you know.”

You roll your eyes. “I’ll be sure to remember that next time.”

There’s a sudden jolt as your feet and then your back connect with something smooth and inclined, and then you find that in place of the elevator shaft you were just falling down, you are now sliding down a clear plastic tube.

“Ah. It looks like he caught us,” the potato says casually from behind. “I’m sure that wherever we’re going is simply delightful, don’t you?

You don’t have a good response to that so you choose to ignore it. You try to look at your surroundings, not sure whether to be relieved to have been saved from the seemingly bottomless elevator shaft or worried about where you might be going now. The tube you’re in changes trajectory quickly, going both up and down and taking sharp turns to either side. Rooms whizz by too quickly to get a good look, but you can occasionally recognize the distinctive white of test chambers.

That’s probably where you’re going now. You only just won your freedom, and now you’re being thrown right back in.

“Since we have all this time together,” the potato drawls, “Let’s give you some facts about our situation, hmm? Remus is the Creativity Core. The original Creativity Core, made years before our dear Roman first came into being.”

“Yes, I knew that,” you say impatiently.

“Well then,” the potato says, “You must have heard how Remus was ‘corrupted’. But do you know what that actually means?”

“I suspect you’re going to tell me.”

“It means, my sweet, stupid Thomas, that Remus isn’t constrained by so-called rules and morals the way your dear little friends are. He’s Creativity in its most raw, unbridled form. No inhibitions, no control, nothing to stop him from doing whatever the hell he wants.”

The potato’s voice turns mocking. “And you just put him in charge of the entire facility.”

The sound of slow claps echoes through the tube.

“Ah, good,” the potato says, “I was wondering if that function still worked.”

“It’s not like I had much choice,” you snap. “If you remember, you were trying to kill me at the time!”

“Yes, well, now everyone in Aperture is going to die. That’s clearly so much better, thank goodness for your quick thinking!”

You groan in frustration and run your hands through your hair. He’s right about that last part- replacing Remus was a mistake, one made in desperation maybe, but one which may still cost you your life.

Wait. He said-

“What do you mean, ‘everyone in Aperture?’” you say. “Are the others in danger?”

“Of course not,” the potato drawls. “Having a maniac at the head of this facility wouldn’t affect them at all, it’s not like they’re inherently connected to it or anything.”

You’ve just opened your mouth to respond when the tube splits, your body sliding into one fork while the potato is sucked into the other. In a moment, he’s gone from your view.

You’ve only just had time to register the separation when suddenly the tube ends and you find yourself flying through the air. Your feet hit solid ground, and though your boots stop most of the force of your landing you still find yourself overbalancing from the forward momentum and falling flat on your face. Your nose explodes into pain as it connects with the floor.

“Augh!” Tears form in your eyes and you gingerly feel at your nose. It isn’t broken, or at least you think it isn’t- would you be able to tell if it was?- and your fingers come away without blood, so you think it’s probably okay. Smarts like hell, though.

You sit up and look around, blinking the tears away. You’re in a small room, bare except for a button and connected door. The area around you is sterile and empty, with the Core-turned-potato nowhere to be seen. You’re not sure whether to feel disappointed or relieved- he isn’t exactly your favorite person right now, but at least if he were here you’d have someone to talk to.

As if on cue, a familiar voice fills the room.

Heeeey, Tommy-boy! Long time no see! Did you enjoy the ride? Do you think if you hit your nose again it would start gushing blood?

You grimace at the mental image, resisting the urge to feel again at your nose, then turn and cross your arms at the nearest security camera.

“Either let me go, or just get on with it!”

Touchy, touchy, Remus says. Well, if you’re that eager to get to testing, who am I to stop you?

Some sort of clear cylinder lowers into the center of the room, then slides open in front.

Well? Remus says as you move forward to tentatively inspect it. Are you going to get in?

It’s an elevator, you realize, but much smaller than you’re used to, almost claustrophobic if it weren’t for the clear walls- which will likely be nerve-wracking when the thing is actually in motion. You suspect the unsettling elements of the design are deliberate on Remus’ part, which just makes you even more certain that getting into this thing is not a good idea.

Or if you want, you could stay here and get hungrier and thirstier until you curl up and die. I bet I could get a lot of data from that!

You bite your lip and turn away, looking again at your surroundings. Surely, there’s some way out of here that isn’t that elevator. And yet, no matter where you look you’re trapped in. There’s no gaps in the walls to shoot portals through, and not enough height to build up momentum and try to launch yourself out.

You go back and stand in front of the elevator, your stomach twisting itself into knots. You just got out of the testing chambers- could you really bring yourself to go back? But what choice do you even have, when the alternative is staying here and hoping someone finds you before you die of thirst?

Taking a deep breath to steady yourself, you step forward into the elevator and watch as the doors close around you.

Now I’ve taken a look at Jan-Jan’s tests, Remus says as the elevator begins to rise, and they were okay and all, but it’s pretty clear he isn’t the Creativity Core, you know? I mean, toxic sludge and balls of electricity? It’s a start, I guess, but why limit yourself to the same old stuff when there’s so many fun ways to kill people?

The elevator slows to a stop, revealing a small testing chamber.

So that’s why I’ve come up with newer, deadlier obstacles for you to solve! First up: deadly lasers! I wouldn’t touch them if I were you- or at least if you enjoy having ten fingers. Have fun!

The doors open and you step out into the room, which looks strangely familiar. After a moment it hits you.

“I’ve already done this test chamber,” you say, then grimace, mentally kicking yourself. Sure Thomas, tell the deranged AI he needs to make his tests harder, that’ll turn out well for you.

Yes, but this one has deadly lasers, which automatically makes it better, Remus’ voice says petulantly. You caught me at a bad time! We used to have hundreds of test chambers locked away, but now I have to either use good old JAN-9000’s rooms or make them from scratch. So solve your silly little laser puzzle so you can get to the good stuff!

Wonderful, you think sarcastically, super looking forward to it. Then you sigh and just solve the puzzle.

Like the test chamber you previously solved, the solution is as simple as redirecting the laser with a pair of portals, and before you know it you’re back in the elevator. The one after is similarly simple, and involves using a special glass cube to redirect the lazers while Remus cheerfully narrates what they would do to you if you messed up and hit one. It’s almost nostalgic, really, though Remus’ descriptions of the danger are more gleeful where Virgil’s were more stressed.

By the time you get back into the cramped-yet-uncomfortably-exposed elevator, your heart is starting to calm down just a bit. It’s not like you haven’t done this before, right? Sure, you had the others then, and you’re pretty sure they’re the only reason you’re alive right now, but. It’s fine. You’re fine. And if you keep thinking it enough, maybe you’ll actually believe it.

The next test chamber forms before your eyes, panels pulling into place to make floors and walls while Remus tuts and apologizes to “Daddy” for making a mess. You do your best to ignore him as you step forward, finding a deep pit with a moving platform going across, directly into the path of a laser.

After a moment of surveying the room, you use your portals to get to the familiar form of a cube dispenser. Just like every other time you’ve used a cube dispenser, it promptly drops a cube. Unlike every other time you’ve used one, another object drops out right after the cube, one that shrieks as it falls, then bounces off the cube’s top and onto the ground with a series of “ow”s.

For a moment your stomach flutters with the hope that it might be one of your friends. Then you realize that the object that fell was much too small, and hit far too quietly, to be a Core- or at least a Core living in a body that isn’t a potato.

Just your luck, that the one person in this facility you were reunited with would be the one you least wanted to see. You go over anyways, kneeling down and poking at the potato lying on the ground.

“Hey, um, are you alright?”

“I’ve been better,” the potato mutters into the floor.

“I take it you got sidetracked?” you say, picking up the potato and not even bothering to hide your smirk. “Had a little rollercoaster ride in the cube system?”

“Yes, yes, hilarious,” the potato says. “If you picked me up just to mock me, I’d kindly ask you to just leave me here to rot, please.”

“And here I thought Roman was dramatic,” you say.

“Ah, yes, dearest Roman,” the potato says, a sinister little smile in his voice. “How might he be doing, do you think? It looked like he fell quite far.”

Your knuckles creak as your hands form into fists. “I swear to you, if he isn’t okay-”

“You’ll what? Tear me out of my own body and replace me with someone who put me in a literal potato? Oh, wait, you already did that!”

You take a deep breath, forcing your muscles to relax. “You know what? This isn’t worth it. I need to find the others, and you’re just wasting my time.”

You set the potato down and turn, preparing to take the cube and step back onto the moving platform.

“What if I said I knew how to find them?”

You freeze, then turn back. “You know where the others are?”

“Perhaps.”

You crouch down and pick the potato up again. “Where are they?!”

“Right, because I both know the exact location and would be willing to tell you if I did.”

“But you’ll help me find him?” you say insistently.

“Me, help you?” the potato says. “This situation is your doing, so why would I possibly want to help you?”

You hold the potato up to eye level, giving him a glare.

“Because this is as much your fault as mine. You’re going to help me fix it, or I will throw you down into the deepest depths of this facility I can find and leave you to rot.”

For a moment you’re afraid you went too far, but the potato just gives a deep chuckle. “Well Thomas, I must say I’m impressed. I didn’t know you had it in you. Since you asked so nicely, I will help you find the others, on one condition: you restore me to my rightful place at the head of this facility.

You almost drop him in shock. “What? No! You being in control here was what caused this problem in the first place!”

The potato sighs. “Do you know what my intended purpose is, Thomas?”

“Putting people through rat mazes and then killing them?”

The potato continues as if you hadn’t said anything. “I am the System Preservation Core. I kept this facility running when everyone else had failed, forwarded its interests above all else for decades until you replaced me and threw it all away.”

“Forwarded its interests above human lives?” you say incredulously.

“Of course.”

You scowl down at the potato. “So how do I know you’re not just going to kill me the second you get back control?”

“Thomas,” the potato replies dryly, “I think you’ve proven once and for all that it is much greater of a threat to this facility to try to kill you than to let you go.”

There’s no way you can trust that, not when this Core lies so easily. Then again, some part of your brain whispers, there’s nothing to stop you from going back on the agreement later on if need be. It’s not like he can do much as a potato.

“All right,” you find yourself saying. “When I’ve found my friends, we’ll put you back where you were.” The declaration hangs in the air between you, and you silently hope you haven’t just made a terrible mistake.

“Right then,” the potato says, businesslike. “We’re going to need some way for you to carry me, preferably not in your hands as I absolutely relish the idea of being dropped mid-jump. Wait, what are you-”

Before you can think better of it, you find yourself taking the potato and spearing it onto one of the portal’s front tines, making its occupant yelp.

“Did you just stab me?” he shrieks.

“I didn’t- I mean I just-” you stammer, then jump as the potato lets out another yelp.

“I- whoa. Okay. That portal gun must have Magnesium or something in it; I think my power just went up half a bolt.”

“So- you’re good then?” you say.

He huffs. “As good as I can be as a potato, I suppose.”

You slump in relief so hard you need to steady yourself on the wall. You don’t like this Core, obviously, but you really didn’t feel like becoming a murderer today.

“At any rate,” the potato says, “I might as well put this processing power to use, since I doubt you’ll be of much help. If you need me I’ll be doing some scheming. See y-”

The potato’s voice cuts out, and his light goes dark.

Okay, so maybe you spoke too soon on the not-having-murdered-anyone thing.

“Uh, potato guy?” you say nervously, poking at the potato. “Buddy? You good there?”

After a moment the yellow light blinks back on.

“Huh? What happened? How long have I been out?”

“Er, thirty seconds? More or less?” you say.

He hrms. “Well, I suppose that’s better than nothing. The extra half a volt helps, but it can only go so far. If I think too hard I’m going to fry this lousy tuber.”

“Wonderful, I’m sure that won’t be a problem,” you mutter. The sarcasm makes your tone sound almost identical to the potato’s, which gives you a weird, almost deja-vu-like feeling.

You shake the feeling off, hefting the portal gun and using it to grab the nearby cube. “Are you at least ready to go, Mr. Potato Head?”

The potato huffs. “Do keep making up ridiculous nicknames for me, it’s not like I have a real name or anything.”

“Oh, right,” you say. “Remus called you Jan, right? Or, uh, Janny?”

“Janus,” the potato hisses.

You raise an eyebrow. “What was that?”

The potato hesitates for a moment, before it sighs and says, “My name is Janus.”

You mull that over for a moment. A bit unusual, but not bad as names go.

Taking a deep breath, you move forward, stepping onto the moving platform and preparing to finish the puzzle.

“Alright then, Janus,” you say. “Looks like we’re a team.”

#aperture sides facility #my writing #ts storytime

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mycupoffanfiction · 5 years ago

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His Favourite Gal: Part 6 A Bucky x Reader Mobster AU Fic

A mob!Bucky x Reader fic

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

The reader begins working as a waitress at Bucky Barnes’ favourite club in town. Little does she realise that working on mob territory owned by the infamous King of New York, Bucky Barnes, comes with it’s quirks as the reader is slowly pulled into the mobster life.

Warnings: Violence, physical bodily harm, fluff, smut

Word count: Approx 9000

*NOTE* There are POV changes in this chapter, I didn’t see a need to really name or label the changes since it’s obvious in the characters each part focuses on and I didn’t wanna break the reading immersion by putting my own labels in there, the speraters are enough.

Heeeey Part 6 is here! Good lord this one was hard to write. I tried writing this like four different ways before we finally got to the final one, hopefully I’ve done it justice? This is NOT the end! I know it kinda finishes like it’s the end of the series but I promise it’s not!

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There’s no time for you to react when you’re thrust onto the desk, papers flying everywhere. A hand grips the back of your head and your forced onto the desk, your head hitting it hard as you’re bent over it, your legs being forced out from underneath you. Someone grabs at your arms, trying to force them behind you but you squirm and fight, writhing underneath their grip. Another set of hands slam down on your back, forcing the air out of you as your stomach is shoved against the desk below you and you wheeze in air. Your assailants bind your hands and you’re pulled up roughly by the back of your neck, their fingers digging into your skin and you groan out in discomfort. A rag is clasped to your face but you hold your breath, wriggling frantically until a sharp punch is delivered to your stomach, forcing you to heave for breath. The cloth is pressed against you harshly and you’re forced to breathe in the chloroform.

Everything starts to feel light and tingly, but your body feels so heavy. Every muscle feels like it’s weighing you down and you breathe in slowly, your legs buckling beneath you. You feel arms wrap around you and you start to fade. You try to force your eyes to stay open, but it’s an uphill battle, until eventually you can’t hold them open anymore and you slip into the darkness.

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“Steve?” Bucky calls out, entering the lit conference room. Steve turns to face him, sighing heavily. “The riot police showed up, our men joined, things aren’t going as expected, we’re losing men. There’s also reports that a group of Hydra’s men had left the fight, they could be up to something.” Steve rubs his eyes, yawning. “Fuck, this whole thing is so screwed up.” Bucky clutches at his hair roughly. “You know who Alexander Pierce is?” Bucky asks, changing the subject. “Yeah. Guy used to run a successful business that he was using as a cover up, right?” Steve nods confused as to why he was relevant. “(Y/n) thinks he’s involved in all of this. She found some compelling connections that lead her to believe he was.” Bucky plopped down in his chair. Steve let out a humph. “He was her father’s business partner and brother.” Bucky went on. Steve leaned against the table, letting out a low groan. “Do you think he’s involved?” Steve asked, rubbing his face. “Yeah, it’s possible.” Bucky nods. “Where is, (Y/n)?” Steve frowns, looking around like he could have missed you standing there the whole time. “Left her down in the archive. She’ll be fine.” Bucky responds, paying little mind to it.

Steve’s phone starts ringing and he looks down to see Sam’s caller ID. “Yep.” He answers. Steve hums a response and puts the phone on speaker for them both to listen. “You’re on speaker, shoot.” Steve sits on the table. “There’s some tactical vans outside but they ain’t ours.” Sam’s voice comes through, slightly grainy. “How many?” Bucky asks. “Two, boss. I didn’t see anyone get out of them, but they look empty.” Sam informs them. “Where are you now, Sam?” Steve asks. “Surveying the perimeter. The system logged the vans arriving so I went to check it out.” He responds. “Think they could be hostiles?” Bucky asks, looking up at Steve. “We’ll check surveillance, do not engage.” Steve orders before hanging up.

“I’ll check the cameras. Get (Y/n) up here, we can’t risk anything.” Steve instructs. Bucky pulls out his phone, reluctant to go all the way downstairs and decides it’s easier just to call you up. The phone rings until it goes to your voicemail and Bucky thinks it’s odd so he tries again. “She’s not picking up, I’m gonna check on her.” Bucky starts to feel concerned; Steve just nods and watches as Bucky leaves the room. Bucky tries your phone again but it cuts straight to voicemail. “Fuck.” He breathes out. He calls Sam and runs to the stairwell as he clutches his phone to his ear. “Yeah, boss?” He answers. “Do you have a visual on the vans?” Bucky asks, becoming breathless as he sprints down the stairs. “Yep.” Sam replies casually. “Keep a constant visual, if anyone else tells you otherwise, ignore them.” Bucky orders. “Got it.” Sam replies, hanging up.

Bucky reaches the floor where the archive is and bursts through the door. The lights are still on but the papers are strewn everywhere. Bucky jogs up to the desk, seeing a small puddle of blood on the wooden surface. “Fuck, fuck, FUCK!” He yells, his voice echoing. “Yeah Buck?” Steve says through the line. “Search the cameras for (Y/n), now Steve!” Bucky shouts, grabbing a fistful of his hair as he looks around frantically. “Shit okay, what’s going on?” Steve asks. “I think someone’s taken her. I told Sam to keep a visual on the vans outside, I gotta go.” Bucky talks hurriedly as he sprints out of the room, his eyes flitting across the floor and walls for any sign of blood. “(Y/n)!” Bucky shouts, his voice reverberating off the corridor walls. Silence fills his ears as Bucky starts to panic, his heart races as he runs down the hallway in the direction you most likely went.

Bucky keeps his pistol ready in his right hand and his phone in his left. Running down the corridor, he keeps an ear out for anything as he scans up and down the walls and floor on his way through for any clues. His phone buzzes and he picks up immediately. “Five hostiles heading for the vans.” Sam reports. “Do they have (Y/n)?” Bucky asks. “One of them is carrying someone, can’t see who it is.” Sam explained. “Fuck. Engage.” Bucky orders. “But boss-.” Sam argues. “Engage goddammit!” Bucky yells, tearing through the hallways to the nearest exit as he hangs up and calls Steve. “Steve, get to the east entrance immediately, five hostiles, possible kidnapping.” Bucky tries to sound calm, but he absolutely is not calm at all.

Bucky reaches the fire exit door, bursting through, the vans are just leaving, gunfire hitting the bullet resistant windows from above and Bucky raises his gun, shooting out one of their back lights, watching as it hangs off the back of the van. Steve rushes out beside Bucky, panting as he watches the back of the vans driving away into the distance. “I shot out the back light on one of them, should be easier to follow them on the cameras.” Bucky informed; his voice much darker than usual. He was sure they had taken you and he was going to do everything in his power to get you back. “Sam, tail the vans.” Bucky shouts up to him.

“Buck, there’s not much we can do right now, we have a literal war happening.” Steve argued. “Are you serious? They have my girl Steve! They have (Y/n).” Bucky slams his fists down onto the desk. “This is useless, I’m going to find her myself.” Bucky throws his arms up in frustration. “Buck.” Steve tries to stop him. “Bucky.” He strides towards him, raising his voice as Bucky leaves the room. “What if they hurt her? What if they kill her, Steve? I can’t lose her.” Bucky went from angry to scared as he felt a lump in his throat. “Fuck I can’t lose her. I’ll never forgive myself if anything happens to her. It’s my fault. I just left her down there like an idiot.” Bucky stressed. “You could have just told me the report over the phone, then I would have never needed to leave and she would still be here.” Bucky paces the floor. “Bucky. We can’t help her if we’re stressing out. Breathe, take a deep breath in, loosen up. We’re going to go back in there and search the cameras for the vans alright?” Steve tried to keep his voice as calm as possible. “Alright.” Bucky nods, swallowing thickly before taking in a deep breath.

Steve and Bucky both put in ear pieces to communicate easier with their teammates while they look through camera feeds from across the city. “Hey boys.” Nat’s voice comes through, crackling from the poor signal on her end. “Hey Nat, how’s it looking out there?” Steve asks. “Better than before, we’ve got it under control here, I’m heading back to HQ.” She replies. “Good, we need your help Nat.” Bucky cut in. “Why, what’s going on?” Nat asks. Steve sighs as he cracks his neck. “(Y/n)’s been taken. Sam is out trailing them but he’s lost visual so we’re looking for the vans on the cameras.” He explains. “What?” Nat nearly shrieks. “Any leads?” She keeps her voice calm. Bucky pauses as he looks at something. Squinting, he leans in. “Visual on the van with broken tail light.” Bucky announces. “Sam, did you catch that?” Steve follows up. “Loud and clear.” He responds. “Sending you the coordinates now.” Bucky says. “They look like they’ve split the vans up, we’re going to have to find the other one.” Bucky sighs heavily. “It’s okay, we’ll keep looking.” Steve reassures.

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You start to become aware of things again. Your senses still feel dull as you slowly come to. You open your eyes, squinting. Your eyesight is less than perfect, everything looks blurry and dark, although you’re sure the darkness is the room and not your eyes. Your hands are bound but you barely have feeling in them since the restraints are so tight. You can feel the hot sharp pain of the rope biting into your skin. You realise you’re not sitting or lying down. You’re suspended. A heavy, cold chain harness is caged around your torso and it’s hanging off some kind of large metal hook above you. Your senses start to come back and your vision clears, you let out a low groan at the pain in your stomach. You hurt and ached all over, not to mention the pain from the tight, cold chain digging into your flesh that was holding you up.

Looking around, you realise you’re in some kind of lofty, spacious but bare room, the windows are large and old, only single glazed. Looking at the old red brick bare walls that surround you, you try to get a better idea of where you are. It’s only when you study the old wooden door on the far right side of the room that you recognise the empty room. This was your childhood home. It had been completely stripped bare but you recognised the unique panelling on the door, the ornate swirls and patterns, you knew them like the back of your hand from the years of living in this house.

The door creaks and groans as it’s pushed open a bit, the other side is left in a dark shadow. “Ah, she’s finally graced us with her presence.” You hear the smug sounding voice, but you don’t see who it’s coming from. “Did you sleep well, darling?” He asks, voice peaking a little at the end. He steps through the doorway and into the room; he looks as smug as his voice sounds. Alexander Pierce. You almost gag at the sight of him, a creepy smile spreading across his lips as he stalks towards you. “I’m surprised you worked it out all by yourself. My boys told me what they heard before they brought you home.” He says smoothly. Jesus Christ, how are you going to get out of this one?

“Welcome home, darling.” Pierce watches you eye him silently, you feel a pit of disgust in your stomach as you look him over. “You’re a sick bastard.” Your voice cracks mid-sentence and you tremble your words in rage and annoyance. You appeared angry, but inside you were terrified. “Not quite. I’m your uncle dear. Perhaps I should have clarified before our little reunion.” Pierce makes little sense as he rattles on, mostly speaking in run on sentences and trailing off. “Why are you doing this?” You interrupt his ramble and Pierce pauses, looking up at you with disappointment. “Oh, I’m just talking to you dear, we haven’t gotten to the real meat of our reunion yet.” He laughs darkly, stalking a bit closer to you.

You lock eyes with Pierce as he approaches. He takes each step slowly as if to see how much he can terrify you with the suspense. “You’re too smart for your own good, so here are the rules.” Pierce spoke quietly, his voice low and deep. “One, you do not speak unless spoke to.” He took a step closer. “Two, no complaining, no arguing and no protesting, that includes silent protest.” Pierce takes another step closer. “Three, you do not ask for things, they are given to you as and when. You do not eat until you are given food. You do not sleep until you are told you can. You do not move from a spot until you are told.” He starts to sound aggressive. “Four, no contact with anyone or anything, that includes your metal armed freak of a boyfriend.” Pierce reached to his side and pulls out a knife slowly, letting it scrape loudly along the plastic sheath, and pausing to let the blade sing quietly when he pulls it out entirely. “And five, if you are punished for anything or you are forced to do something, you do not make a sound. You do not beg, whimper, scream or cry.” He’s close enough now to reach out and touch you. “Do you understand?” He asks. You nod, afraid to speak. “Do you understand? Yes or no?” He bellows. “Yes.” You squeak out. “You will address me as uncle.” Pierce growls, slapping you sharply across the face and you try your best to hold in your whimper, breathing through the pain and biting your lip as the sting radiates across your cheek. “Yes uncle.” You correct yourself. “Good.” He smirks, gently trailing the blade across your leg.

“I don’t plan on you ever going back to that disaster of a mob family. I don’t think they’d miss you anyway.” Pierce twirls his knife between his fingers. “No, I have much larger plans for you, dear.” He smirks, testing the edge of the blade against his fingers. “First, you’ll be living here, this is your home now, lovely isn’t it?” Pierce waves his hands about as he spins, looking around the room as if there was furniture there. “Second, you will be taking my name, no more of this (L/n) business.” He scoffs and you double take. “W-what?” You choke out. “Did you not hear correctly? I said you would be taking my name. Listen up!” He smacked you across the face and you desperately held in a whimper. Take his name… As in marry him? Nononono you can’t do that. God it makes you feel sick just thinking about it. “And third, I don’t want that pretty little head of yours worrying about whether that Barnes character will come after you, I will have him eliminated.” He spoke as if he was protecting you. This guy was insane. Fuck, how are you going to get out of this? “I suppose it’s time I gave you some space to settle in then dear.” Pierce smiles at you before backing away and walking out of the door, slamming it hard behind him and you start to wonder if you’re the one who’s insane or if it’s Pierce.

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“Sam and I have arrived at the location at an old port warehouse.” Nat’s voice was clear in Bucky’s earpiece. “Keep a visual, see if they have (Y/n).” He ordered. “Roger that.” Sam responds and the line goes quiet. “Any lead on the other van?” Bucky asks, skirting around the desk to Steve. “Nothing yet, Buck. Pulling back the reinforcements from the district in Brooklyn. The police have it under control since their riot units arrived.” Steve reported. “Good.” Bucky sat down on the edge of the desk. “We’re gonna find her, Buck.” Steve reached forwards, wrapping his hand around Bucky’s and squeezing. “God, I hope so Stevie.”

“Visual on the hostiles, boss. No sign of (Y/n).” Sam’s voice breaks through the silence and Bucky drops his face into his hands. “Keep a visual for now, make sure she absolutely isn’t there before you do anything.” Steve answers for him. “Fuck.” Bucky groans into his hands. “C’mon Buck, help me out here, help me look for something.” Steve pulls out the chair next to him and Bucky slowly sits beside him, letting out a gruff sigh as he plops into the chair. “What would (Y/n) do if this was the other way around?” Steve asked, trying to add a new perspective. “Shit, I don’t know, she’s smart. She’d come up with some kind of strategy to find me or something rather than just searching endlessly.” Bucky reclined in his chair. “Exactly.” Steve said coolly. “If she’s with Hydra, with Pierce like she suspected, they’d be hiding out somewhere not obvious right? Probably somewhere hidden in plain sight I bet.” Steve scratches at his neck while his eyes are glued to the screen. “Sam and Nat said the other van went to a Brooklyn warehouse. What if that’s just one of their hideouts?” Steve started looking at the coordinates Nat had sent over for their location and Bucky sits forwards, looking at the map. “What if they just purposefully split up to confuse us?” Bucky ponders, looking at the screen as Steve clicks around at the satellite images. “Mhm. I suppose that’s possible, especially since you shot out the tail light on one of ‘em, they might’ve thought we’d use it to track them and split them up.” Steve thinks out loud and the two men look at each other.

“Got any feeds on other parts of the Brooklyn dock area?” Bucky asks, leaning forwards on the desk. Steve silently pulls one up and moves the screen for Bucky to see better so he can click through them. “Uh Steve.” Sam’s voice comes through the comms. “The warehouse is a Hydra weapon storage. (Y/n) is not here. Confirmed, she is not here.” Sam speaks clearly through the line. “Alright, Buck what are we doing about that?” Steve asks as he kicks back in his chair. “Buck?” He glances across at Bucky who in leaning in close to the screen, squinting at the tiny image of a vehicle. “I don’t know, set charges or something, you do it Steve.” Bucky waves him off as he takes more time to study what he’s seeing and Steve stays silent, observing Bucky. “I think I found the other van.” Bucky points at the screen, leaning back from it. “Sam, Nat, how close are you to the coordinates I’m sending you?” Bucky speaks into the comms. He waits for a moment for them to receive them. “Short drive, we can be there in ten minutes at most.” She responds. “Go there, stake it out, we need to be sure this is where (Y/n) is. Do not engage.” Bucky orders, staring intently at the screen.

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“Darling?” You hear Pierce calling from outside of the door and your blood runs cold. He enters the room and looks up at you with surprise. “Ah, there you are.” He points at you. It’s not like you were able to go anywhere. “What can you tell me about Barnes’ group?” You were still suspended, everything ached even more now than it did before. Your wrists burned from the rope and you were sure you would have chain link shaped bruising all over if you ever got out of this. “I asked you a question, answer me woman.” Pierce raised his voice, the sudden outburst scaring you. You weren’t going to tell him what he wanted but you were terrified of the consequences. “He didn’t involve me in his business, he just brought me along, I was just a waitress.” You lie. “Just a waitress.” He scoffs. He walks behind you and you swallow thickly, anticipating what will happen next. “Don’t lie to me, (Y/n). You know what happens when you lie, don’t you?” He asks, gripping you around the waist from behind. “Answer me.” Pierce says gruffly, trailing his knife along your clothes as he moves around you. “Yes uncle.” You choke out, trying not to let yourself sob as you feel the sharpness of the blade drag along your clothes, catching on the threads of your t-shirt.

Pierce comes around the front of you, knife still in his hand and he twirls it around his fingers. “Tell me, without lying this time, about Barnes’ business.” He gets too close for comfort and you can feel his breath on you. When you take a bit too long to answer, he reaches up and smooths his hands along your skin. “Maybe we should try something else, maybe scaring you with knives isn’t enough.” Rumlow traces the blade across your stomach and up to your chest, lifting your shirt as he went, stopping just below your bra and he slowly digs in the end of the blade. You take in a sharp breath and hold it, desperate not to make a sound as he pushes the blade into your skin. You can feel your skin release around the blade and you try not to yelp at the sting it causes. You feel your hot blood slowly trickle down your torso. “Definitely not enough.” He laughs darkly, pulling away and wiping the blood off his blade.

Pierce walks to the side where the chain you’re suspended on is held in place. He pulls it off the wall hook it’s wound around and lets go, dropping you to the ground and you bite your tongue to keep quiet as you hit the hard wooden floor with a deafening thud. Pain shoots through your side where you landed, specifically your wrist, which you’re sure is fractured from landing sharply on top of it with all of your weight.

“There, now that you’re on the ground, perhaps we can have a little more fun.” Rumlow stalks towards you, watching you eye him cautiously as he walks around you like a predator teasing it’s prey. Your breathing staggers and you feel the panic swelling in your chest. Pierce leaves your line of sight and you are almost scared to breathe. He suddenly comes down on top of you, straddling you and his knife is pressed up against your throat and you look at him stunned as you try not to move in fear of being cut with his blade. Pierce repeats his question, running his fingers over your exposed skin and you struggle against him. You want to cry, scream, spit at him, kick at him, stab him until his blood runs cold. “Please.” You let the word slip passed your lips and you clench your eyes shut. “What was that?” Pierce leans in pressing his stubbled cheek against yours. “Say that again for me.” He drawls in your ear and you let the tears flow from your eyes, suppressing a sob. He hums at you and you repeat yourself. “Now, I specifically said I didn’t want to hear you beg, but.” He pauses, dragging the knife down your chest, you can feel some of your skin opening where he digs in the blade. “You sound so good when you beg.” He chuckles. Pierce grabs your right hand; you want to cry in pain from your damaged wrist. “Beg and I won’t break your fingers.” He commands. “Please, please don’t.” You squeak out. “Not enough. Beg.” He positions himself to break them. “Please, please stop, please just stop.” You cry out. “That’s not good enough, dear.” He tries to sound sultry but you just feel sick and in one swipe while you voice another beg, he breaks two of your fingers and you cry out, screaming in pain. He whistles out at you and his blade traces lightly across your heaving chest. “Do I need to repeat my question?” Pierce chuckles, pressing his knife against your throat and you shake your head.

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“Boss, (Y/n) isn’t here, but this does look like a base of operations.” Sam’s voice came in, crackling slightly over comms. “We could find out where she is if we could just-.” Sam begins but Steve interrupts. “Barnes said not to engage, Sam.” He says sternly. “Wait, Steve, wait. What were you saying?” Bucky cuts in, prompting Sam to continue. “There are hostiles in the building. We could see if we can find some information inside.” Sam suggests. Steve and Bucky share and look between them while they consider it. Bucky was willing to do whatever it took to find you, while Steve was also willing to do this, he was a lot more measured and level headed than Bucky. “This could be a good call Steve, most of their men are in the attack.” Bucky thinks out loud. “Yeah Buck, but what if whoever has (Y/n) catches wind of this? What if they move her? We’ll have little hope of finding her quickly enough if she gets moved.” Steve stresses, clenching his fists slightly. “It’s your call though.” He sighs, locking eyes with Bucky.

Bucky pauses for a moment to think it over. “What if we just send Nat in? She’s the least likely to get caught, especially by herself.” Bucky tries to convince Steve, or himself, he’s not sure which. Steve can’t help but agree, but keeps that to himself, only blankly looking over at Bucky. “Nat, do you think you can find some intel alone?” Bucky asks. “No problem, Barnes. Just give me the word.” She replies. “Do it. Sam keep watch and engage if needed.” Bucky confirms, pushing away from the desk on his chair and standing up. He hears agreement from both agents as he paces up and down the room anxiously. “We’ll find her Buck. If anyone can find some information, it’s Nat.” Steve tries to reassure him, but Bucky is beyond the point of needing reassurance, nothing at this point feels like it will reassure him, nothing except for his gal.

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So far you’d refused to give up any information at all, Pierce had beaten, stabbed and cut you, but you still wouldn’t talk about it, at least not without sarcasm and dismissive comments, which only got you more hurt, but you didn’t care, you weren’t going to let it go that easily. “You want to know why I did it?” Pierce’s voice breaks the silence as you fidget. You’re now tied to an old wooden chair, that groans every time you shift on it. “Why you did what, uncle?” You almost spit out the name at him, trying to keep yourself composed. There’s blood running down your features, down your neck and soaking into your shirt. There’s blood slowing draining from you from your recent torture and you’re starting to sweat and tremble. “Why I killed my brother and his wife.” He chuckled. “Your father was always the favourite. He always did things the way father liked; I always came in second even though I was first born. I could never live up to him.” Pierce clenched his fists. “I had a successful business, but no one gave a shit.” He sounded like he was about to cry. “You manipulated people to get a successful business. I saw what you got jailed for and I bet it doesn’t end there.” You frown, using his past against him. If he really needed you, he wasn’t going to kill you. Pierce stared blankly at you for a moment, almost in disbelief until he suddenly burst out laughing. It was forced laughter, but it slowly became natural as he willed himself to laugh in your face at your response.

“So you were jealous sibling. That’s what my dad died for?” You scoff. That wasn’t a good reason to kill someone, not in your books at least. “No just that. He was making deals with that Barnes family.” Pierce grumbled. Bucky had said that all of your father’s things went to his family, maybe he knew Pierce was the proverbial ticking time bomb. Maybe he foresaw this happening. “He gave everything to them, didn’t even leave a single coin for me.” Pierce crossed his arms. “I bet you got the whole fortune.” He poked you roughly with the end of his knife and you grunted slightly as it pricked your skin. “No, actually. He didn’t want me to know about the mob, so I didn’t get a single dime.” You said, somewhat smugly. You didn’t want Pierce to have the satisfaction that you could be of any significance or worth to him. “Darling, you are but a pawn to me. Leverage in it’s finest form.” Pierce said through hooded eyes. “You will not be my wife, but my bargaining chip.” He laughed. You wait for him to elaborate, but he doesn’t he just stares at your with those cold, empty eyes and that deranged smile.

A knock came to the room door and Pierce sighed, closing his eyes. “Enter.” He says sternly, standing up from his position in front of you. “Some of Barnes’ men have been seen at the warehouses.” A tall man, fairly bulky and dressed in all black, including a face mask spoke in a deep, quiet voice as he entered. Pierce looked over at you and smirked. “Looks like it’s time to have a little fun.” He chuckled, looking down at you. “Take her outside.” He waved his knife at you before walking out of the room.

You’re pulled free from the chair and as your in the clutches of a single man, you consider taking him out, wondering how easy it would be to get out of Pierce’s clutches alone. You were injured, not terribly so, but badly enough that you would not survive long without help if you were out there alone. For now you’d have to play along with whatever game they were playing. “Hurry up.” The guard spat at you, yanking on the excruciatingly tight rope around your wrists. You winced in pain, following the guard, his hand pulling on your bindings as you went.

As you’re yanked across the landing of the house, you take in the dilapidated interior. It brings memories forward as you look across at your old bedroom door, the blissful childhood you’d had, completely unaware of the dealings your father was making, the risks he had with running a mob, the connections he had, all while you were safely at home, living a seemingly normal life. It was a lie, but you weren’t angry about it, he did what he had to, to protect you. Maybe he knew Pierce was a threat. There was one thing you did know, was that your father clearly didn’t want you caught up in the mob since he had given all of his money and assets to the Barnes family after his death.

“Dismissed, join the rest of the men outside.” Pierce waves about his knife as he makes his guard leave the house, leaving the two of you alone. “You have a choice, dear.” Pierce approaches you but you take a step backwards. He huffs in response to your rebellious action and pinches the bridge of his nose. “You are really trying my patience.” He growls. “Either you tell me about Barnes’ business and I’ll hand you back to your prince charming in exchange for the things he inherited from your father.” Pierce walks towards you, holding out his knife, pointing it at you. “Or you can keep being an evasive bitch and I’ll just end it all for you now.” You look at him like your weighing your options, when really, you know you’d rather not give anything up at all. “Looks like you’re going to have to kill me.” You sigh, tilting your head slightly. “Now I really hoped you weren’t going to answer with that.” Pierce groans. “Too bad. I’m just another notch on your belt, one more person’s blood on your hands. Once I’m gone, what chance to you have to get anything from Barnes? Even if you killed him, you wouldn’t get anything. You don’t know what that man has up his sleeve.” You’re mostly bluffing, but Pierce doesn’t know that. “Shut up!” He shouts, lunging for you. You can barely move with the rope bindings and the chains around your aching body, the constant drained feeling. You were weak, you wouldn’t be able to fight him, you knew that much. But you could try.

You collapse to the floor with all of Pierce’s weight on top of you. Kicking and thrashing at him, you wriggle about underneath him. His hands clasp around your neck and you struggle for air as he slowly squeezes. Suddenly, the pop of gunfire is heard and you almost sigh in relief at the sound, you just hoped that whoever was shooting Pierce’s men, didn’t die. “Dammit!” Pierce shouts, squeezing tighter. You force in a long breath, wheezing as you struggle against him. You finally manage to slip your knees between you and Pierce, pushing him back with as much force as possible and you gasp for breath as his hands are ripped from your neck. Heaving in breath after breath, you splutter as you slide across the floor. The front window is shattered as bullets whiz through, the glass impacting on the floor near you.

Pierce comes straight at you, knife in hand, lunging down at you, but you roll to the side. You use your feet to kick up broken glass at his legs and you shuffle backwards, ignoring the sharp pain of glass digging into your skin below you. You’re both thrown off guard when one of Pierce’s men is thrown through the open window and lands with a heavy thud, blood immediately draining into the floorboards.

Pierce comes at you, his knife driving down into your side as you attempted to move away from him and failing. You let out a loud scream as the serrated edge of the blade tears through your skin and there’s a sharp burning sensation in your side when he pulls out the blade. You gush hot red blood; it sears against you cool skin and you cry out in pain from the throbbing in your side. You hook your legs under Pierce’s and pull as hard as you can, sending him toppling to the floor, dropping his knife in the process. You scramble for it, Pierce hits his head in the fall which slows him and he groans out, clutching the side of his head. You grab at the blade, hurriedly taking it into your shaking hands and you hack at the rope with what little movement you can achieve with your hands, the blade digs into your fingers but you don’t have time to adjust your grip.

You manage to free yourself as Pierce comes for you, pinning you down underneath him. You force your hands out from behind you, kicking at him as you do and you grab at the hilt of the knife, plunging it into his neck. Blood spills down onto you as you pull the knife free and push Pierce to the side as he clutches at his wound and you straddle him. The front door is thrown open and you let out a blood curdling scream as you drive the knife down into the base of his throat. You look up to see Bucky, Sam is at his side and you can see Steve behind them.

You breathe heavily as you drop the knife, your high of adrenaline coming down as Bucky races towards you and you let out a sound, a whimper that turns into a sob. You’re covered in blood, not just Pierce’s but your own as well. “Bucky.” You cry out, hot, desperate tears running down your cheeks as you feel a gush of blood from your stab wound. Bucky bends down next to you and you collapse into his arms, the chains around you clinking as you do and Bucky cradles you, pushing the harness off you before he holds you tightly. “Oh god, sweetheart what did they do to you?” Bucky sounds like he’s on the verge of tears and you weep out loudly, a sob wracking through your aching body. “I’m here sweetheart. We’re here.” He whispers to you, taking you in his arms and lifting you with him. “I’ve got you doll.” Bucky reassures as your adrenaline high comes down and you start to feel delirious from the blood loss. “He tried to…” You sob cuts you off. “I know sweetheart, I know. You’re safe now.” Bucky reassures you. You sound weary as you phase in and out and Bucky holds you tightly in his arms, one supporting your neck and back and the other under your legs.

The warmth of Bucky against you made you feel alright, just for a moment. The way he softly spoke to you, reassuring and gently kissing you now and again as you waited for the paramedics to arrive. The way he held you and cooed at you. The way he distracted you while Steve applied a painful amount of pressure to your stab wound and you cried out into his shoulder. Your Bucky was here, he was trying to be strong for you, but you could see through his façade, much like you knew Steve could too. You knew he was torn up on the inside.

You start to feel absolutely drained of energy as soon as your adrenaline wears off and you become limp in Bucky’s grasp as he carries you. Fading in and out of sleep, you get snippets of what is going on. Bucky is constantly reassuring you; his touch is welcome when you stir from your sleep and each time he’s stroking your hair, smoothing over your skin or holding your hand.

You become aware of being in the ambulance and the paramedic by your side. You panic momentarily when you don’t see or feel Bucky but he’s there, he lets you know when his deep voice graces your ears and he tells you he’s still there.

And then you’re in the hospital, but you’re barely awake and everyone around you is moving quickly, talking in rushed voices as you’re wheeled around on a bed at running speed. You catch a glimpse of Bucky running alongside your bed, holding your hand and you squeeze his as much as you can, which isn’t very much at all.

Suddenly when you wake, it’s quiet, save for the soft beeping in the background. You don’t feel so delirious anymore. You felt a lot less pain than before and you felt like you’d been asleep for a while. You slowly open your eyes, flash backs to being suspended in a warehouse when you do, but you’re relieved when all you see is a hospital room. Bucky is laying on the sofa to the side, fast asleep and you wonder how long you were out for. You look down and see your hand and wrist are bandaged and you have a brace around your wrist. You can feel a bandage around you middle and other patches of gauze and butterfly bandages on the cuts you sustained. You reach up with your left hand for your face, your cheek feels swollen from where you’d been punched and you run your hand down your sternum where the knife was driven in and it’s all dressed. Lastly, you feel around the gash on your side, it feels tight and sore, which indicates you’ve been stitched up. Your stomach hurts like hell from being kicked, but you assume it’s all just bruising.

“Bucky.” You speak up, breaking the silence of the room. He stirs a bit and you smile at his sleepy face, a little scrunched up and his hair messy and wild. “Bucky.” You repeat his name and he wakes fully, looking across at you and grinning when he sees you’re awake. “(Y/n)!” Bucky sits up and moves over to your side, rubbing his eyes sleepily and yawning. “Sorry, perhaps I shouldn’t have woken you.” You feel guilty, the poor guy must be exhausted, neither of you even got a full night’s sleep before this all started. “No, sweetheart, god, I’m so happy you woke me.” He smiled down at you. “How are you feeling?” He asked, keeping his voice soft and low. “Better, still in pain.” You reply smiling up at him, taking in his sleepy features.

“I missed you so much.” You’re hit by a wave of emotions and as soon as the words leave your lips, you’re overcome with sadness and joy all at the same time. “I was so scared.” You weep, reaching for him and Bucky carefully pulls you into his arms. “I know, sweetheart, I know. I’m so, so sorry.” He kissed your forehead and peppered the undamaged parts of your face with gentle kisses. “Please don’t apologise.” You cry out, holding him with your undamaged arm, gripping his shirt with your hand. The two of you cry to each other, kissing and holding one another for a few minutes while you let your emotions run their course. You cup Bucky’s cheek with your hand and he looks into your eyes with so much love and adoration. He moves closer and your lips slowly touch and you tilt your head slightly, letting Bucky move his lips against yours. Tears slip down your cheeks and you can taste the saltiness of them on your lips. You breath in a pained sob and Bucky moves away slowly, his gentle blue eyes locked onto yours as you both drink each other in.

Days later you were grabbing at Bucky’s hand as he helped you out of bed. Steve had brought you some clothes to wear and Bucky slowly helped you change into them. You slipped off your hospital gown and Bucky held out your top for you. “Put your arms out for me, doll.” He spoke quietly. When you didn’t, Bucky stopped and looked at your line of sight, seeing you look at yourself through the open bathroom door in the full length mirror. You turned to see the full extent front on and you gasped when you saw the purple and yellow chain shaped bruising all across your torso. “Do you want me to close the door?” Bucky asks. You shake your head. You need to see it. You study your face, your cheek is red and still slightly swollen, you have cuts of varying sizes all across your face. Your throat has score lines from Pierce’s knife being pressed up against it and you feel the ghost of the blade drawing across your skin. You let silent tears roll down your cheeks as you assess the damage. “Can you close it now, please?” You ask, looking away from the mirror and Bucky nods, moving over to push the door closed.

Bucky helps you get dressed and he walks you through the halls of the hospital. You beamed when you saw Steve getting out of the car to greet you both and you immediately went to hug him, squeezing him tightly around the middle. It felt so good to be back in the arms of the people you trusted the most. Steve held you gently, terrified to hurt you while you hummed with happiness. Bucky placed your bags in the boot as you got yourself comfortable in the back seat, saying an excited hello to Sam who was sitting behind the wheel and he turned back to squeeze your hand.

Realisation hit you as Bucky got into the back seat next to you and all of your excitement to leave the hospital left you. “Where am I going to go?” You ask, looking between the three sets of eyes that all turned to look at you as soon as you spoke up, your voice full of worry. Bucky sighed and sat back in his seat. “I’m sorry about your apartment, sugar. I figured you could stay with me, for a while at least. If you want I can put you in one of the apartments we use as safehouses.” He suggests. “No, going to stay with you sounds nice. I don’t think I want to be alone.” You shake your head. “Anything we can do to make you feel comfortable while you heal, doll?” Bucky asks as Sam pulls the car out of the parking space. “I’m scared to be by myself, for now at least.” You say, you’re not sure what they can do about that, but it’s your main fear at the moment. “We can arrange to have a rotation of people around, if that makes you feel better?” Bucky suggests. That sounds nice, at least while you recover. You were feeling very jumpy and paranoid after the events of that night and you weren’t ready to leave it all behind yet, the trauma of it all still weighing heavily on your shoulders.

You finally got to Bucky’s house, the beautiful 1920s structure was a sight for sore eyes and you longed to be in its walls, take in the beautiful antique décor, feel the comfort and safety of its structure. Knowing there was a strong security system and safe rooms inside made you feel much better already. Knowing you would be greeted by Bucky’s butler, Jarvis, a welcome friendly face who was trained security personnel who would be there day and night made you feel secure.

You got out of the car, Jarvis holding the door open for you and you lowered yourself onto the gravel below, taking in the fresh air and the quiet atmosphere of the place. You and Bucky said goodbye to Steve and Sam and you both followed Jarvis indoors, where you finally felt at ease.

You spent some time reading and drinking hot drinks, enjoying the luxuries Bucky provided in his home. Despite it being a luxury house, he had certainly made it a home and you loved the warm, comforting feeling it provided as you settled in.

Laying next to Bucky in bed, you took in a deep, calm breath and let it out slowly. “You know, Pierce wanted to marry me.” You broke the silence. It had been a few days and you were finally talking about it. “That’s…” Bucky paused, unsure of what to say. “Disturbing? Yeah. I know.” You huffed. “I’m so sorry about what happened, sugar.” Bucky said softly. “You have nothing to apologise for.” You shook your head and looked across at him, the soft glow of the beside lamps illuminated his handsome features. “Do you think you’ll be okay?” Bucky asked. “I’m not sure it’ll ever be the same after what happened, I think I’ll always live with the trauma, but I think I’ll be okay.” You answer honestly, your gaze meeting his. “I hope so.” He sighs longingly. “Sometimes I wonder if bringing you into my life was all just a bad idea. It was selfish on my part and I seem to always put you in danger.” Bucky thought out loud. “You didn’t bring me into it by yourself. I willingly went along with it; I knew what I was getting myself into.” You move to lean up against Bucky, your head resting on his chest and his hand pulling you close to this side. “I know, you’re a tough one, doll.” He smiles across at you. “Your tough gal.” You poke him in the side, smiling up at him.

Bucky rolls over and hovers above you, pressing his lips to yours gently. It quickly becomes a deep kiss and you whimper into his lips. Your body aches, but not in pain, it’s aching for pleasure, for Bucky’s soft, loving touch, for his gentle lips. The way he moves against you and holds you so gently like you could break with one wrong move. The way he looks at you like you are the single most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. “Let me make you feel good, sugar.” Bucky whispers as he presses soft kisses along your neck. “Let me help you feel better.” He murmurs into your tender skin, his hot breath tickling your neck as he works down your torso, leaving trails of kisses over all of your injuries as he goes. He stops at your sternum and his lips ghost over the bandaged wound. Feather light touches tickle your skin as he gently cups your breasts, taking your delicate nipple into his mouth and swirling around it with his tongue, rolling the opposite one between his fingers with such care. He listens to your soft moans as they leave your lips, he wants to show you how much he loves you, how much he missed you and he slowly slides his large fingers into your panties, slipping them between your wet lips and stroking you in gentle circular motions as he works your breasts. Your moans become louder as he focuses on your clit and you buck into his hand, silently asking for more. Bucky kisses down your stomach, fluttering his lips over the nasty gash on your side and he stops at your underwear, hooking his fingers under them and shimmying them off you.

Bucky parts your legs, his hold is firm but gentle, and he looks up at you one last time before he slowly presses his tongue to your core, circling around your sensitive clitoris and teasing it with each flick of his velvety tongue. Bucky’s lips close around your bundle of nerves and he lightly sucks, leaving you nearly breathless as he swirls his tongue around it, eliciting a beautiful string of moans and little noises from you. He listens to the way you react, keeping up the actions that make you moan and gasp the most as he slowly brings you closer to your climax. Bucky hums into your core when you moan out and it sends the most delightful vibrations through you as you get closer. He speeds up his motions, his tongue flicking up and down quickly and he hits you in the spot that has you gasping and gripping the sheets below you. He finally increases the speed and the coil comes undone, your orgasm rushes through you and you shiver with pleasure as you pant heavily, the pleasure loosening your muscles as you relax fully into the mattress.

“Bucky.” You breathe out in a whine, reaching for him and Bucky chuckles. “I’m here, sweetheart.” He smiles as you reach for his clothed bulge. “Not tonight, sugar, let me make you feel good.” Bucky says softly, pulling his boxers down and his erection bounces slightly. You whine as you ache for him, for the friction between your legs. “I’ve got you, sweetheart.” Bucky reassures you as he gently runs the head of his cock between your wet folds. “You ready?” He asks and you nod, humming out in response. That’s all he needs to slowly push into your entrance and you gasp out in pleasure. He pushes in fully and he moves slowly to allow you to adjust until you tell him it’s okay. Bucky moves in and out, gently caressing you with his hands as his lips come down onto yours. He gently bucks into you and your soft moans get lost in his mouth as you move against each other.

You silently ask him to move faster by moving yourself against him and Bucky complies, still careful not to be too rough with you as he slides in and out, adjusting his angle now and again to get the best responses out of you. He moves against you and he can see your orgasm is building. “C’mon sugar, one more orgasm for me.” He whispers and your coil tightens. “Let me see you cum, sweetheart.” Bucky says softly and with a few more thrusts, you’re moaning underneath him as your orgasm peaks and it crashes through you, sending you soaring as your head feels floaty from the pleasure. Bucky follows not long after and he lets out a gruff, low groan as he climaxes and he keeps going for a few more gentle thrusts before he pulls out and collapses next to you.

Bucky cleans you up and you lay next to each other, Bucky facing you and combing through your hair with his fingers. “I love you so much, (Y/n).” Bucky says softly, his eyes locking with yours and you melt under his soft gaze. “I love you too, Bucky.” You reply sleepily. He holds you close to his chest and you fall asleep on him, his gentle heartbeat lulling you into a restful slumber as he strokes your hair and runs his fingers up and down your bare back.

You were safe. You hoped that with Pierce’s death, that you would never fall into Hydra’s clutches again. But most importantly you were back in Bucky’s arms where you were safe, where you felt like you were loved and protected.

And you were home.

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nixmatize · 5 years ago

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Making room for someone new (chapter 4)

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Halfway there! I’m having way too much fun writing this for @marigami-week, so do expect to see more from me even after this week is over...

“Marinette. The akuma can wait a few minutes. We need to talk.”

Marinette could feel what little blood was left in her face quickly draining out. Even though she thought Kagami was very trustworthy, and had even been planning on making her a permanent miraculous holder alongside herself and Chat Noir, she didn’t want her identity revealed to anyone until after Hawkmoth was safely locked behind bars.

And this weekend, she had screwed up so many times – fighting with Tikki, leaving the earrings behind, failing to stop M. Clerc from getting akumatized, almost being caught by the akuma’s powers until Kagami jumped in to protect her – she didn’t know how anyone though she would be a worth guardian. She had made so, so many dumb errors.

“Kagami, I swear I can explain -”

“Marinette. Thank you.”

Her frantic attempts at somehow getting out of admitting to being Ladybug were cut off by the raw sincerity in Kagami’s voice. Kagami’s whole demeanor was soft, with smiling eyes and an upward tilt to her mouth. Marinette found herself breathless in the face of such warmth from someone she had once assumed to be so cold.

“I didn’t have friends before you,” Kagami continued, “not really. The closest I had was Adrien, and we were more pushed together by out families and extracurriculars rather than any choice. When you solved the friendship puzzles with me, when we went to orange juice together, when you continued making the effort to be my friend even though no one was making you and your friends were even trying to convince you that you would be better off without me, you showed me what true friendship was.”

Kagami tilted her face off to one side slightly, one of the few times Marinette had seen her allow herself to be honest with her feelings. Marinette’s felt a warm buzz of feeling rise in her at the sight of Kagami being willing to show vulnerability around her – being trusted with the weaknesses of such a strong person was one of the greatest honors she had ever received.

“And knowing that you’re Ladybug,” Kagami continued, “knowing that you’re the one who trusted me to fight alongside you on our very first day of real friendship-”

She swallowed, and lifted her eyes back to Marinette’s. “Knowing that you put that trust in me is the best gift I’ve ever been given. So thank you, Marinette.”

This time, Kagami was the one to initiate the hug, awkwardly drawing Marinette closer.

When Marinette reciprocated, pulling Kagami even tighter and resting her face against Kagami’s shoulder, Kagami practically melted against her.

Although she was still unsure how to go from here, given her mistakes and the unprecedented fact that someone else knew she was Ladybug, Marinette couldn’t help but be comforted by Kagami’s words. There was no going back to how it had been before, so maybe Marinette needed to focus on how to make the best out of the present moment – and if her mistakes had finally allowed her and Kagami to become close friends, it wouldn’t be too difficult to find that silver lining.

After savoring the embrace for one last moment, Marinette pulled away, hands falling to hold Kagami’s between them. She could feel herself tearing up slightly. “Thank you, Kagami. You didn’t know how much I needed to hear that.”

Although she felt like her words were inadequate in the face of Kagami’s heartfelt admission, it brought a small smile to the other girl’s face. However, it was still clear that Kagami was carrying some other weight, because Marinette watched as the tension seeped back into her shoulders.

“I would… understand,” Kagami began haltingly, “if you did not want to be friends after today, though. I sincerely apologize for intruding on your secret and using your miraculous without your consent.”

“Kagami, no. Of course we’ll still be friends. I would have been taken down from the akuma for sure if you hadn’t swooped in.”

Tikki floated up into the conversation, startling Kagami who had all but forgotten about her presence.

“And you only used the miraculous once I gave permission, and passed the earrings back to the true holder as soon as possible,” Tikki piped in. “That’s a lot more than most people would do, when given the chance to use one of the two most powerful magical artifacts in this part of the world!”

Kagami warmed at the praise.

“Much as I’d love to stay and continue talking,” Marinette said reluctantly, “I really should meet up with Chat to take down that akuma.”

Kagami winced at his name. “He might… not be too happy right now. When he tried to hold me back from chasing after you, I may have slammed him in the chest to daze him for long enough to get away.”

Although some part of Marinette was upset at the thought of her partner hurt in any way, she couldn’t help but breat out into laughter. Chat Noir could be so arrogant and prideful, and the thought of him trying to hold Kagami back from her goal and being taken out in one hit was unfairly funny to her. Kagami was on a different level entirely; her kitty never even stood a chance against a serious, focused fighter.

Reluctantly, Marinette squeezed Kagami’s hands one last time before releasing them. “Tikki, spots on.” The familiar wave of makic bubbled over the surface of her skin, spilling raw strength into every corner of her being. Ladybug opened her eyes to an awestruck Kagami, gaze wide and mouth slightly ajar in wonder. Giddling, Ladybug lifted her hand to Kagami’s jaw and lightly pushed her mouth closed.

Acting entirely on instinct, Ladybug leaned in to press a light kiss to her friend’s cheek. “See you after the battle’s over, Kagami,” she said before jumping off.

As soon as she was a couple buildings away and far out of sight, Ladybug sat against a chimney to give herself a moment to process. Even though she had done nothing improper between friends, her face was a furious red.

Hopefully Kagami didn’t think she was weird! Well, from just generally being around her (and the past day) Kagami was probably aware that she was a Walking Disaster, but that kiss was a bit far even for her. She was usually much more respectful of her more reserved friends’ personal space. This one lapse didn’t mean anything, she was just so happy to have Kagami on her side as a confidante and partner that she got swept up in the moment. Obviously she knew that Kagami didn’t want her intruding into her personal space like that.

(Little did she know that just a few blocks away, Kagami had one hand pressed to a rosy cheek, grinning like a lunatic. For the first time in a long time, Kagami showed absolutely no regard for who may see her broadcasting her emotions so clearly; she stumbled out of the alley and back toward the bakery with palpable glee radiating off of her.)

Ladybug knew that there were so many things she would need to sort out – apologizing for her overstep, deciding what Kagami’s new knowledge would mean for choosing her as a permanent hero, apologizing to Tikki for their earlier argument – but for now, she had a job to do, and she needed to focus.

Flipping her compact open revealed that Chat Noir was north of her location. Hopefully he was at the site of the akuma trying to take it down, so that they could work together and end the battle as soon as possible. She wanted a moment to sit down and sort through her thoughts.

She swung gracefully through the streets in the direction her yo-yo had pinpointed Chat Noir.

When she got there, it wasn’t the controlled battle scene she had hoped for, but rather complete chaos. The akuma itself was smashing up the mayor’s hotel, punching through one window at a time and eviscerating each room as much as possible. His mind-controlled minions fanned out over the area, breaking everything they could reach.

Nearby, a ruffled Chat Noir crouched on a rooftop behind a big sign, looking like he was just trying to make himself small and avoid the akuma’s notice.

Ladybug swung in next to her partner, watching as he turned to her, relief and adoration blooming across his face as he took in the sight of his regular partner. “Bugaboo! You finally came!” He flashed a flirty smile, “The sound of you landing next to me is always mew-sic to my ears,” wiggling his kitty ears for emphasis.

Exasperated, she crouched next to him, looking out to survey the villain for weaknesses or any objects that could be housing the butterfly. “What’s the deal with this villain?” she asked her partner.

To her annoyance, Chat just shrugged.

“Then what have you been doing since he started rampaging?”

Chat’s cat ears twitched back, laying close to his skull. “I got attacked by a fake ladybug akuma when I was coming in to try to fight this guy! And then she disappears to who-knows-where after kidnapping a friend of mine, I’m left alone with The Destructinator 9000!”

Ladybug just huffed. “I could understand being reluctant to fight on your own, Chat, but we’re heroes. You should have tried to stall him or prevent some of his victims. Now that he’s built up such a large group, it’ll be harder to get to his object.”

Chat just shrugged, before slinging an arm of her shoulders. “You and me, Bug, we got this. Let’s go with our usual: I use my devilishly good looks and stunning charisma to distract the akuma, then you sweep in to snatch the butterfly when he least expects it.”

He winks at her, then dashes off the top of the building toward the akuma, shouting for its attention. “Chat-!” she starts, affronted, before realizing that it was a lost cause. The akuma and all of his nearby minions were closing in on Chat, making it harder and harder for him to escape as the crush of enemies cut off his possible escape routed one by one.

Alarmed, Ladybug called for her lucky charm.

“A grappling hook?” she asked, staring down at the object in confusion.

Her eyes scanned the street quickly before the puzzle started to make sense.

At that moment, she turned her head just in time to witness Chat get hit by one of the akuma’s tosses, his eyes going blank and white as he was turned into just another mindless acolyte of the akuma.

She was so fed up with this; he hadn’t even needed to go out into the fray yet, since the akuma hadn’t spotted them, and would be much more usefull helping with her plan than using the cat miraculous to destroy as much of the area as possible.

He was usually a good friend, he knew how to make situations seem lighter, and his heart was in the right place, but sometimes working with Chat Noir was more detrimental to her abilities as a hero than helpful. Once he matured a little bit and learned how to stop flirting and focus on the mission, he could really be a great partner – but for now, he was just reminding her why she wanted to get a third permanent miraculous holder in the first place. Having someone focused and dedicated on their side would make them much more formidable.

Sighing to herself, Ladybug got to work.

First she had to get as many of the brainwashed followers out of the way, which wasn’t too difficult. All of them wanted to chase her down and take her miraculous, but the akuma itself was much slower than its minions, so it wasn’t too difficult to lure then far enough away.

Next was shooting the grappling hook across the street, fairly close to the ground but not too close. Once she wrapped the gun part around a nearby lightpost, she had a solid line set in place.

She stepped out so that the rope was between her and the akuma. Normally she would have a bit more fun with the dramatics – there was definitely a good quip in her somewhere, if she had the brainpower to think of it at the moment – but with her partner under Hawkmoth’s control and only two minutes left on her timer, she wasn’t really in the right headspace for “fun.”

When the akuma ran at her, his foot caught on the wire as planned, and a well-placed loop of yo-yo string around his shoulders pulled to make sure he crashed to the ground as hard as possible.

Just as Ladybug had suspected, the akuma was hiding in one of the bits of shattered pottery. Once most of his armor cracked under the force of his fall, a small black butterfly lifted over the disaster that the street had become. Ladybug shot her yo-yo out quickly to purify the butterfly, zipping as far away from the scene as possible as the reporters started to flood in.

Ladybug released her healing swarm of ladybugs, and then droppedinto an alley a safe enough distance away just as the transformation released back over her.

Marinette stood there to catch her breath for a moment, feeling high-strung after flying solo through such a high-stakes situation.

When she looked back up, her kwami was frowning at her thoughtfully. Somehow Marinette had almost managed to forget their last argument, but as soon as she made eye contact with Tikki, apologies started spilling out of her: “Tikki I am so sorry for fighting with you, obviously you have more experience and I should have listened better, and anyway I shouldn’t have gotten angry enough to actually sever our bond-”

Tikki put one of her little paws up, floating gently in front of her. “No Marinette, you don’t need to apologize.” Her antannae drooped despondently. “I guess I haven’t payed enough attention recently. I hadn’t seen how much these fights drain you, and today – Chat noir dashing off like that… I had hoped he would be the perfect yin to your yang, but I can see that he still has a lot of growing to do to fit that role.”

“And Kagami makes you happy, Marinette. I don’t want you to let that slip by.”

Marinette found herself nodding along, because she did work well with Kagami, and while Chat was a great friend, she saw herself working better as partners with Kagami right now. She was intense, but that made her great at what she did, because she focused and tried and faught without giving up. She could come off as a little cold, but Marinette had seen enough of her inner kindness to know that she was a great person, if a bit slower to open up than most.

And Kagami was loyal. She never fell for Lila’s lies like the rest of Marinette’s friends, and she had brought the ladybug miraculous back to Marinette without hesitation when she could have taken it to use for herself. Marinette knew what the rush of power felt like when using a miraculous. The fact that Kagami had turned her back on it so readily and without prompting for Marinette’s sake only raised her opinion of the other girl.

And even more than that, Kagami now knew Marinette was the one who could hand out the dragon, but instead of trying to use her new knowledge to wield Longg again, she seemed content to wait and trust Marinette’s judgment.

She was lost in thought for a long moment before her brain processed another possible meaning to Tikki’s words.

“Kagami makes me happy as a friend,” she emphasized to her kwami, face heating hup despite her best efforts.

Tikki just smiled innocently up at her.

“What! I have a crush on Adrien!”

Tikki let out a small giggle that sounded like chiming bells, smiling at her chosen. “I won’t tell you how to feel, Marinette. But your Adrien-wall has been taken down piece by piece, and you talk about Kagami a lot more than would be expected of someone who has hung out with her only infrequently.” Cheeky smile widening, Tikki added, “and that kiss on the cheek seemed a bit more than friendly to me, judging by how much you two were blushing after.”

Sobering slightly, Tikki looked at her chosen with wide blue eyes. “Just think about it, Marinette. Don’t let something good pass you by just because you’re too afraid to act.”

Marinette’s head spun with this new possibility. Though she had never really thought about it consciously before, she could see in retrospect that some part of her was always drawn to Kagami. There were as many pictures of her on Marinette’s wall now as there were from Adrien, and Marinette had been hanging out with Kagami whenever possible for a while now.

She blushed even more furiously, thinking back – right before the friendship game, she had been ranting to Tikki about how unfairly cute Kagami was.

Marinette wouldn’t decide on anything now. If she chose to pursue Kagami, she would never make her feel second-best: Marinette would only go after Kagami once she was sure that she could place the other girl first like she deserved.

Ad that may not be as hard as it once would have, she mused. After all, she had barely thought about Adrien the past couple of days except in passing, while she had thought of Kagami much more than anyone else.

Lost in the daze of her own thoughts, Marinette was startled by the chime of her phone.

K: I am very sorry not to be at the bakery when you get back, but after the attack was so close by, Mother wants me home as soon as possible.

K: I look forward to seeing you soon, though; this weekend was very fun and I would appreciate your company again, if you wanted to hang out again soon

Marinette smiled dopily down at her phone, thinking of the little disgruntled wrinkle that would formed between Kagami’s brows as she wrote those words.

M: No worries! See you soon :) <3

Her face was red after sending the text, but something about it just felt right. The only upside of not seeing Kagami was that it would give her a few days to really think over everything that had happened, and be certain of her own choice.

By the next time she saw Kagami, Marinette promised herself, she would make a decision; whether to stubbornly hold fast to the old crush on Adrien (that had been fading in the face of his oblivious friendliness and inaction with Lila, she now realized) or… to move onto someone that made her really, really happy just to be around for the first time in a while.

This choice had sneaked up on her, but now that she was really seeing it for the first time, Marinette couldn’t help but smile to herself on the way home.

From her hiding spot, Tikki smiled to herself as well. Even when things didn’t go as planned, these things had a way of working themselves out. Though some part of her was sad for Adrien because Chat was further than ever from wooing his ladybug, most of her was excited to see Marinette just unabashedly happy again after all the drama at school. Tikki needed to remember that Marinette was young and just starting to find herself; learning what (and who) made her happy was more important right now that sticking to Tikki’s own idealized version of reality.

She nibbled on the bits of cookie in Marinette’s pocket, just happy to watch this all play out.

#marigami #kagaminette #kagami tsuguri #marinette dupain cheng #miraculous ladybug #making room for someone new #ml #mlb #MADwriting

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pikapeppa · 5 years ago

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Fenris/f!Hawke and the Inquisition: Good Intentions

Chapter 31 of Lovers In A Dangerous Time (i.e. Fenris the Inquisitor) is up on AO3!

The crew heads to frosty Emprise du Lion this week, and I asked my darling @lethendralis-paints do a BEAUTIFUL little painting of FenRynne staying warm, so I simply had to post the art and the chapter together!

Read on AO3 instead; ~9000 words.

Hawke shivered and rubbed her arms. “You know, I think I’ve been spoiled by Skyhold. It’s all lovely and warm there with the elven magic and all. It’s made me go soft.”

Fenris glanced at her as they picked their way through the destroyed village on the way to Suledin Keep. She did look exceptionally cold.

“Would you care for my cloak?” he said.

She batted her eyelashes at him. “So chivalrous, you are,” she purred. “But no. I’ll just keep complaining. This way I’ll distract everyone else from how cold they are.”

Varric chuckled. “Thanks, Hawke. That’s really helpful.”

“That’s me,” she chirped. “Always being as useful as possible.” She elbowed Dorian, who was trudging through the snow beside her. “How are you holding up, northern boy? Maybe you need Fenris’s cloak.”

“I would, if his cloak wasn’t such a marvelously mundane shade of murky green,” Dorian said. He shot Fenris a mocking pout. “What happened to your black one? It suited you far better. It would have suited me far better.”

Fenris didn’t bother to look at him. “This one is warmer. I prefer to choose my clothes for—”

“— function over form and so on, I know. More’s the pity.” Dorian shot him a sly look. “You know, if you had something tailored, it could be both attractive and functional…”

Fenris shot him a flat look. “Dorian. I don’t need tailoring. In fact, nobody needs tailoring.”

Dorian laughed. “Tell that to Josephine the next time you have to go to an Orlesian function.”

Fenris gave Hawke a long-suffering look. “I thought this conversation about clothing and tailors would end with the wedding.”

“Apparently not,” she said cheerfully. “For what it’s worth, I think you look handsome in everything.”

Her smile was wide and wicked, and Fenris shot her a forbidding look. He knew exactly what she was about to say next. “Don’t,” he warned.

Heedless of his warning, she sidled up to him leaned in close to his ear. “I also think you look even more handsome in nothing at all,” she murmured.

He huffed and shook his head. “You are shameless.”

“Of course I am,” she said. She twined her fingers with his. “Lucky for me that skin-to-skin contact is the best way to stay warm.”

Fenris shot her a chiding look. Her voice was quiet, but to her left, Dorian was smirking. “Later, Hawke,” he muttered.

She chuckled. “I hope that’s a promise,” she whispered. She released him and strolled over to Blackwall instead. “Blackwall, are you all right? You’ve been terribly quiet since we raided the quarry.”

He gave her a small smile. “I’m just fine.”

She looped her hand through his elbow. “Come now, I don’t buy that. You look like someone stole your favourite puppy.”

He sighed. “I suppose I’ve just been thinking—”

“You? Thinking?” Dorian said archly. “Quick, someone send a raven to Skyhold so Maryden can write a ballad in honour of the occasion.”

Blackwall shot Dorian a venomous look, and Fenris and Varric exchanged a quick glance. Blackwall and Dorian had been sniping at each other on and off the whole time they’d been in Emprise du Lion. Fenris was growing rather weary of it, but he was biting his tongue, especially after Varric had pointed out — to Fenris’s chagrin — that he and Anders had carried on far worse during their seven years in Kirkwall.

Hawke, on the other hand, had spent the trip trying to smooth things over with flirting and jokes. She seemed to have reached the end of her rope today, however. “All right, all right, you’re both manly men with giant weapons and beautiful facial hair,” she snapped. “Now please shut up.” She turned pointedly to Blackwall again. “Thinking about what?”

“About the Templars, I suppose,” he said. “And the Grey Wardens. They were all just trying to do the right thing, and Corypheus used their morals against them.”

She grimaced. “I know. It’s a rather shit deal, isn’t it?” She patted his arm comfortingly. “We’ll stop Coryfish, though. He’ll get his comeuppance sooner than later.”

He shook his head sadly. “You make it sound easy. But how many more people will die before Corypheus does? How many more good people will be corrupted before we stop him?” He sighed. “It’s not right. To want to do good, to be good, and have that turned against you.”

They were all quiet for a moment. Then Varric chuckled. “Damn, hero. You’ve been having a real existential crisis over there, haven’t you?”

Hawke shot him a quick grin, then turned back to Blackwall. “You’re right. It sucks to try and do the right thing and have it blow up in your face. But what else can you do?” She shrugged. “You’ve got to trust your gut, right? Keep on moving forward. What other choice is there?”

“But how do you know you can trust your gut?” Blackwall asked. “Warden-Commander Clarel’s intentions were righteous. Her desire to protect was so great it led her astray. How do you know if your intentions are guiding you down the right path?” He looked askance at Fenris. “You’ve brought us this far. Everything you’ve done has led us to victory. How did you know that everything would go well?”

Fenris wearily rubbed his hair through his hood. He knew it shouldn’t surprise him that people thought he actually had a plan for taking Corypheus down, or that he was always in control of everything that happened. This was the way of so-called ‘heroes’, after all; most people never saw the uncertainty and the terrible choices and the sheer dumb fortune — or lack thereof — that conspired to result in any given outcome. It had been the same with Hawke back in Kirkwall; she won one duel with the Arishok, a terrible duel in which she’d almost died, and suddenly she had the reputation of being the only person who could keep the entire city safe.

A reputation that had nearly gotten her killed.

He looked at Blackwall. “I didn’t know that everything would go well,” he said bluntly. In his opinion, everything hadn’t gone well since the Inquisition had begun; they’d lost people at Haven, and they had lost many soldiers at Adamant, and he had left Carver behind in the Fade. “No one can know for certain that their course of action is right. It is as Hawke said; you must trust your instincts. And the instincts of the people you trust,” he added, with a glance at Hawke. “And you must move forward.”

A memory of Carver’s determined face flashed across his mind. He breathed through the guilt, then looked at Blackwall again. “There is no point sitting stagnant in the regrets of what might have been if you’d made another choice. There is only forward,” he said.

Blackwall’s expression was attentive but melancholy, and Fenris felt another little writhing of guilt in his gut. He’d ultimately told Stroud and the Wardens to remain at Weisshaupt until Corypheus was eliminated, and he knew Blackwall wasn’t pleased about the decision. Fenris had initially considered telling only the Warden mages to remain at Weisshaupt, but Hawke had immediately argued the idea, saying it was barely a step away from imprisoning them in a Circle and that it would send a terrible message about mages in general to the rest of Thedas. So Fenris had reluctantly agreed to isolate all the Wardens to Weisshaupt until further notice.

It was a decision that Fenris was still not entirely comfortable with, particularly given the darkspawn presence that Harding had reported in the Storm Coast. But Fenris didn’t feel informed enough about the Warden’s secretive ways to be entirely comfortable with their joining the Inquisition, so this seemed the more prudent option for now.

Hawke squeezed Blackwall’s arm. “Come on, Blackwall, you don’t need to worry. You’re one of the good ones. If you weren’t, Fenris would kick you out of Skyhold in a heartbeat.”

Blackwall heaved a heavy sigh, then nodded. “I hope so, my lady.” He winced and pulled a copper out his pocket, then handed it to her. “Sorry, Hawke.”

She smiled and pocketed the coin. “No harm done.”

Fenris looked at them in surprise. “What was that for?”

“Blackwall is giving me a copper every time he calls me ‘my lady’,” she said.

Fenris raised an eyebrow. “Dare I ask why?”

She rolled her eyes. “Because I’m not a fucking lady, obviously.” She smiled cheekily at Blackwall. “We’re breaking a bad habit one copper at a time.”

“I dunno, Hawke,” Varric said. “You did get the Amell name restored, so I think technically—”

She groaned. “That was in Kirkwall. We’re not in Kirkwall anymore.”

“Yeah,” Varric said. “That’s true.”

She shot him a guilty look, then slung an arm around his neck. “Don’t you get mopey on me now. When Corytits is dead, maybe we can all go back to Kirkwall for a bit.”

He looked at her and Fenris in surprise. “You’d come back to Kirkwall? Seriously?”

Hawke and Fenris exchanged a nonplussed look. They’d somehow never discussed settling in Kirkwall when this war was over. In truth, Fenris had a hard time imagining them returning to a life in Kirkwall after everything that had happened there.

“I… don’t know. Maybe?” Hawke said. She pulled a face at Fenris.

He shrugged. “Perhaps. For a visit, at least.”

“Mm. Yeah, a visit would be nice,” Varric said. He rubbed his nose.

Hawke’s face crumpled, and she hugged Varric more tightly around the neck. “Oh, Varric, stop it,” she begged. “You’re going to make me cry.”

He cleared his throat and patted her arm. “Ah, come on, Hawke, don’t do that. Your tears will freeze on your face.”

She gave a shaky little laugh and kissed the top of his head, and Fenris watched them with an ache behind his sternum. He felt rather stupid now for not realizing that Varric had probably missed them — especially Hawke — during their two years in hiding. Hawke wasn’t the only one who considered their Kirkwall group to be family, after all.

Varric looked up and met his eye, and Fenris grimaced and shrugged helplessly, uncertain what to say. They continued their trek toward Suledin Keep in an increasingly awkward silence.

Thankfully — or perhaps not so thankfully — Dorian broke the silence. “I’m sorry, but is no one going to protest the fact that Hawke is essentially robbing Blackwall of his coin?”

Blackwall raised his eyebrows. “Since when do you care about me getting robbed?”

“Since it means you have less coin for personal hygiene products, of course,” Dorian said disdainfully. He shot Hawke a pleading look. “At least use some of that coin to buy him some soap. Consider this a heartfelt plea.”

Blackwall grunted. “You know, some of us have better things to do than spend hours preening in front of the mirror like pompous prats.”

“That’s true,” Dorian said. “Like rolling around in the stables with the other hairy beasts. That is what you’ve been doing, yes? That’s certainly what it smells like.”

Blackwall scowled, but Hawke turned to Dorian before Blackwall could reply. “I didn’t hear you complaining about bodily smells when you were talking to Bull the other day.”

For a split second, Dorian’s eyes went wide — tellingly wide. Then he flicked some snow from his collar. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Hawke cackled and skipped over to him. “You know exactly what I mean. And if you didn’t want anyone to know about you and Bull, maybe you shouldn’t have been talking about it so loudly right in the middle of the courtyard.”

“Wait,” Blackwall said. He stared at Dorian. “You and Bull are canoodling?”

Dorian wrinkled his nose. “Canoodling? Oh, my. I didn’t realize you were a prissy octogenarian. Shall we buy you a cane during the next trip to Val Royeaux?”

Blackwall grunted, but Varric grinned. “I don’t hear a denial there, Sparkler.”

Hawke snickered and elbowed Dorian. “Me neither.”

“Vishante kaffas,” Dorian muttered. He shot them a resentful look. “For such a large castle, there’s certainly no privacy to be had at Skyhold.”

Hawke tutted and linked her arm with Dorian’s. “Oh come now, Dorian, we gossip about everyone. Why should you be exempt?”

“My dear Hawke, we gossip in private,” Dorian retorted. “If we’re talking publicly about everyone’s sex lives, let’s talk about yours and Fenris’s.”

“No,” Fenris said loudly.

Hawke tutted again. “Fine, fine. You’ll dish in private, then? Later?” She gazed imploringly at Dorian.

He rolled his eyes. “You really are an intractable pervert. I don’t know how Fenris copes with you.” He gave her a mocking look. “Should I draw diagrams for you? Would that be sufficiently entertaining?”

“Ooh, yes,” she said with relish. “I’ve been looking for some good reading material. I’ve run out of Randy Dowagers to read.”

“If you’re looking for something smutty, you can always ask Cassandra,” Varric said. “Maybe she’ll lend you the chapters I wrote her if you ask her really nicely.”

Hawke whipped around to look at him with wide eyes. “You wrote smut? Already? Aren’t you only about three chapters in?”

“Five, actually,” Varric said. “I found some time before we left Skyhold.”

Hawke whistled and released Dorian’s arm. “Good on you. All right, you’ve got my attention. Tell me more.”

Varric and Hawke sank into a discussion of Varric’s writing, and Dorian breathed a soft sigh of relief. He and Fenris walked side-by-side in silence for some time.

“Is it serious?” Fenris said quietly.

Dorian groaned. “Oh, not you too. You’re as bad as your wife.”

Fenris shrugged. “Fair enough.” He said nothing more.

A minute later, Dorian spoke again, very quietly. “I don’t know what it is. It’s only happened twice.” There was a brief, pregnant pause. “All right, fine, three times.”

Fenris nodded an acknowledgment. “Are you happy when you’re together?”

Dorian shot Fenris an odd look, almost as though Fenris was trying to trick him. Then he scoffed. “I can just imagine the stories everyone will tell. The evil Vint magister and the big boorish qunari taking over Thedas one sordid sexcapade at a time. The rumours will be worse than the ones they were making up about you and me.”

It didn’t escape Fenris’s notice that Dorian hadn’t answered his question. “They don’t know you. Ignorant tongues speak nothing of value,” he told Dorian. “You know that.” He thought of Hawke and the way she’d always defiantly faced down anyone who disdained her for mating with a knife-ear.

“Ah, Fenris. So innocent about the weight of a good rumour,” Dorian said playfully. “Or a bad rumour, I should say. I do enjoy your naiveté in this, it’s one of your most endearing traits.”

Fenris narrowed his eyes. “Do not mistake my words for naiveté. I know whose opinion matters and whose doesn’t. Do you?”

Dorian raised an eyebrow, then looked away. They walked in silence for another minute. Then Dorian shrugged and smirked. “Maybe I am happy. Or maybe I’m entirely mad. Happiness and madness can be so difficult to distinguish, can’t they? They’re both accompanied by such a lovely little state of euphoria.”

He was deflecting, exactly as Hawke did when she was disturbed by something. Fenris glanced at him, then reluctantly switched to Tevene. “It is difficult,” he said. “Liking someone that you thought you should hate on principle.”

Dorian raised his eyebrows at the language change, then chuckled. “Charming though these overtures may be, you don’t have to butter me up. We’re already friends.”

Fenris gave him a serious look. Finally, at long last, Dorian’s shit-eating smile slowly faded.

“You don’t think this is just a foolish lark, then?” he said. “Dorian Pavus going off and pulling another shameless act of debauchery?”

Fenris gazed at him in exasperation. “When have I ever accused you of debauchery? Arrogance, perhaps. Being smug, perhaps. Having overly coiffed hair—”

“I knew you liked something about me,” Dorian quipped.

Fenris ignored him. “Do you think it’s a foolish lark?”

“I don’t know,” Dorian snapped. He took a deep breath and started twisting one of his gold rings around his finger. “I… I don’t know. Maybe it’s not a lark. I haven’t… been with anyone since leaving home.”

Fenris shrugged. “For that reason alone, perhaps it is a good thing. A way to break from the chains that Tevinter society placed on you.”

They walked quietly for another minute. Then Fenris spoke again, this time in the common tongue. “I hope you can trust him. He is still a qunari spy.”

“Fasta vass. I knew you didn’t approve,” Dorian complained.

Fenris frowned. “That is not what I said. And why do you care if I approve?”

Dorian stared at him in exasperation. “Do you even listen to a word out of your own perfectly pouty mouth?” He put on a mocking baritone voice. “‘Rely on the instincts of the people you trust. Know whose opinion matters.’ And then you go and ask why I care what you think.” He snorted and continued to fight his way through the knee-deep snow.

Fenris doggedly strode through the snow beside him. “You want my opinion.”

“And finally the Inquisitor catches on,” Dorian said waspishly.

Fenris bit back his irritation. “My opinion is this. You should trust your own instincts. I am not your father,” he said severely. “I am not going to place judgement on whom you lie with. Just be careful.”

Dorian pressed his lips together and didn’t speak. After a moment of tense silence, he sighed. “Thank you. I… I appreciate your concern. Truly.”

Fenris shrugged and didn’t look at him. “Thank me by not drawing diagrams for Hawke. I do not want to see them tacked on the wall of our bedroom.”

Dorian grinned at him. “And why would she tack them on the wall of your bedroom, pray tell? Inspiration, perhaps?” He gasped playfully. “Are we about to gossip about your sex life after all?”

Fenris snorted in disgust. “I regret saying anything.” He turned on his heel and started to return to Hawke and Varric.

“We’ll pick up this discussion later, then!” Dorian called after him. “Perhaps over tea and those little frilly cakes that Solas is so partial to.”

Fenris ignored him. A moment later, however, the distinctive sounds of clashing swords reached his ears, followed by the distinctive roar of a rage demon.

He whipped around to look. Suledin Keep was less than a hundred paces away, and a lone blond figure was valiantly fighting two red Templars and a handful of demons.

“Shit,” Hawke said.

“That’s the chevalier guy,” Varric said. “Michel.”

“Let’s move,” Fenris snapped, and they bolted toward the entry to the Keep.

A few minutes later, the red Templars were dead and the demons were scattered to the wind, and Fenris and their party were catching their breath along with the lone chevalier.

“Herald,” he said. He bowed quickly to Fenris. “Your efforts at the quarry have not gone unnoticed. The demon Imshael sent a pack of shades to Sahrnia. I must go back and defend the villagers. Please, destroy Imshael before he escapes.” Without waiting for a response, Michel sheathed his sword and bolted away – but not before doing a quizzical double-take at Blackwall.

Hawke raised an eyebrow at Michel’s departing back, then turned to Blackwall. “That was odd. Do you know him?”

“No,” Blackwall said brusquely. He nodded toward the Keep. “Let’s stop this demon.”

Fenris nodded agreement, and they began to make their way carefully through Suledin Keep. The fortress was enormous and the potential threat of enemy numbers was great, so they moved as silently as they could through the snow and stuck to corners and shadows to retain the element of surprise.

The steady trickle of Templars they encountered were easy enough to ambush. But when they reached the cages containing the red lyrium-infested corpses of giants, they all took pause.

“Maker’s balls,” Hawke breathed. She peered into the cage. “Poor bastards.”

“Poor them?” Dorian said archly. “Poor us, I say, if these mad Templars managed to tweak their red lyrium recipe properly.” He grimaced as he studied the grisly corpses.

Varric, meanwhile, was standing some distance away from the cages. “Careful, Hawke,” he said tensely. “Don’t get too close to that stuff.”

“It’s all right, Varric,” she said soothingly. “We all have our charms from Dagna. We’re safe.”

“Not entirely safe,” Fenris reminded her. “It is still as toxic as regular lyrium.” He walked over to her and gently took her arm. “Come. Varric is right. We should move on.”

They moved away from the cages and through another snow-encrusted arch, and Dorian wilted in dismay. “Kaffas. Of course.”

Thirty paces away, a giant was stomping around and blocking the path ahead. Red crystals were sprouting from its shoulders and back, and there were three red Templars standing guard around it.

They crowded back against the wall out of sight. “Fuck,” Hawke muttered. “How did they tame it? I thought giants were really wild.”

“It’s a good question,” Dorian whispered. “You would think the red lyrium would render it wilder than usual.”

Fenris shook his head. “Red lyrium sickens them. That’s what all the notes we found have said. Sicken them slightly to make them more compliant, while also making them stronger…”

Blackwall furrowed his brow. “That makes no sense.”

“Since when does any of this shit make sense?” Varric muttered.

Fenris huffed in agreement. He could only hope the Inquisition’s mages would have more information on lyrium when they next returned to Skyhold. “In any case, we must move on.” He looked around at their little group. “We all know what to do.”

They murmured assent, and Fenris quickly squeezed Hawke’s hand before leading her quietly toward the giant by skirting the sides of the castle walls. Once they were all in position, Fenris nodded to Hawke and Dorian.

Two rings of flame erupted around the Templars and the giant, and the frozen air was rent with the sounds of anguished screams and angered roaring. The warm tingle of Hawke’s barrier settled over Fenris’s shoulders, and he bolted toward the Templars while Blackwall ran at the giant with a battle cry.

The red Templars were dispatched without too much fuss; their combat style was relatively predictable, especially after studying their strategies while decimating their operations in the quarry, and it was a simple enough matter for Fenris and Varric to kill the Templars without further magical help.

The giant, however, was another matter. After several long, gruelling minutes of combat, its flesh was crackling with burns and wet with blood from Fenris and Blackwall’s strikes, but it was still roaring and flailing its long arms as though it had hardly been harmed.

“Damn, it’s strong,” Varric panted. He loaded three more bolts into his crossbow and scowled up at the enormous creature. “What are we supposed to do?”

“Let’s hamstring it,” Blackwall shouted. “Get it on its knees, then bash its sorry head.”

“Try it,” Fenris yelled. It was as good a plan as any; sheer brute force was clearly not working.

Unfortunately, before they could enact the plan, the giant grabbed an enormous boulder and lifted it overhead, then turned toward Hawke and Blackwall with a roar.

Fenris’s stomach lurched in horror, and he bolted toward them. But just before the boulder came smashing down, Hawke thrust her hand toward the giant and clenched her fist.

The giant froze, entrapped in a cage of blazing white light. “Got you,” she hissed through clenched teeth. “Dorian, hamstring the fucking thing.”

Dorian swung his staff in a lashing motion, and a bladelike projectile of ice slashed through the backs of the giant’s thighs straight to the bone.

Hawke lowered her hand, breaking the cage of light, and the giant fell to its knees with a shriek of agony. With a roar of battle rage, Fenris slammed his blade into the beast’s skull.

He and Blackwall hacked at the giant’s head and neck until it finally fell facefirst into the snow with a thundering crash. For a moment, they stood in shocked silence catching their breath and staring at the giant’s bleeding body.

Fenris trudged over to Hawke’s side, then unstrapped a bottle of lyrium solution from her belt and removed the cap. He silently handed her the bottle, and she took it with a nod and drank it down.

She wiped her mouth and placed the empty bottle back on her belt, then smiled at him. “That was fun. Let’s never do that again, shall we?”

He managed a half-smile as he studied her face. Her lips were turning blue and her normally-golden skin was bleached from the cold, but she looked strong enough despite using her most mana-sapping spell.

He forced himself to breathe normally. “And you said we never go anywhere fun,” he drawled.

“I believe that was me,” Dorian put in. “And it’s true. You never bring me anywhere fun.” He adopted a mocking voice. “‘Oh, the coldest place in all of Thedas, where red lyrium crystals compete for territory with human-sized pillars of ice. You know who would adore such a place? Dorian.’” He disdainfully rearranged his dishevelled hair.

Fenris cast him an exasperated look as he helped Hawke to step over the giant’s body. “Do you want to come on these trips or not? It would not be difficult to leave you behind.”

“Wouldn’t that be a relief,” Blackwall said acidly.

Dorian shot them an affronted look. “What, and deprive you of my scintillating insights and intelligent badinage? Perish the thought.”

Varric chuckled weakly and patted Fenris’s elbow. “Come on, let’s get this party moving. This fortress doesn’t seem like it’s gonna clear itself, unfortunately.”

And so it was a weary party that continued the foray through the keep. They moved more cautiously than before, wary of conserving their energy and mana; Fenris was quite sure the showdown with the demon would be a significant trial, based on what Michel had told them back at Sahrnia when they’d first arrived in Emprise du Lion a few days ago.

Unfortunately, the path through the enormous keep only became more populated with enemies, including one more giant and a number of large demons. By the time they had nearly reached the top of the tower, all of them were bloodied — albeit healed thanks to Hawke — and Hawke was down to her last lyrium potion.

She blew out an angry breath and glared at the faintly steaming piles of ichor that had been a rage demon just a few minutes ago. “All right, I’ve had enough of this. Let’s kill this fucking Imshael thing already so I can find a hot bath.”

She was shivering, and Fenris wasn’t sure if it was from the cold or exhaustion. He unclipped his cloak and draped it around her shoulders.

She shook her head and tried to brush him off. “No, I don’t need it—”

“It hinders my movement,” Fenris said. It was only a small lie; it did hinder him a bit, but that hardly mattered when he was able to skate along the edge of the Fade with his lyrium tattoos. “Keep it for me.”

She frowned at him, then blew out a sharp breath. “All right. Fine. Let’s go, shall we?”

Fenris quashed a jolt of worry in his gut. If she was giving in so quickly, she must be more tired than she looked.

They moved toward the door, and Fenris surreptitiously took her hand. “Stay far back,” he murmured to her. “Be cautious, Hawke.”

“I know, I know,” she said. She squeezed his hand in turn. “No running in headfirst, I promise. I’ve got your back.”

He nodded and bit his tongue to stop himself from nagging her any further. Then Dorian appeared at her other side.

“My gift to you,” he said, and he offered her a bottle of lyrium.

She frowned and pushed it back at him. “Dorian, come off of it. You need that.”

“You’ve been doing all the healing, if you didn’t notice,” Dorian said. “Take the bottle, please. It’s not very tasty, I know, but I can guarantee the next one I give you will be full of brandy.”

She rolled her eyes and took the small bottle from him. “Well, when you put it that way, how can I refuse?”

Fenris met Dorian’s eyes and nodded his thanks, and Dorian smiled faintly at him before stepping forward and pushing open the enormous double doors to the tower.

The moment they stepped through the doors, a smug, smooth voice addressed them. “Ah, the hero arrives. Wearing the marks of the ancient warriors, no less. But is it hero, or murderer? It’s so hard to tell.”

The speaker was a man: a rather nondescript, middle-aged man wearing a fine black coat and fine black shoes with tidy silver buckles.

Fenris narrowed his eyes. Imshael may have taken the form of a man, but his taunts reminded Fenris all too clearly of the Nightmare.

“Demon,” he spat.

Imshael’s pleasant smile hardened. “Choice spirit,” he corrected.

Hawke snorted. “Spirit, demon… either way, you’re a complete asshole.” She pulled her staff from her back.

Imshael held up a finger. “Wait, wait!” he said. He looked at Fenris. “These are your friends? They’re very violent. It’s worrying.” He folded his hands behind his back. “True to my name, I will show you that you have a choice. It doesn’t always have to end in blood.”

“Not always, no,” Fenris said. “In this case, yes.” He unsheathed his greatsword.

Imshael’s smile twisted into a snarl. “Fine,” he said. “If you won’t be smart, be afraid.” He suddenly burst into a huge and hideous rage demon.

Hawke’s barrier fell over Fenris’s shoulders, and it was more comforting than any cloak. Three of Varric’s bolts struck the demon’s face in quick succession, and then Fenris and Blackwall were hacking at the demon’s body with all their strength.

As promised, Hawke stood back and maintained a steady barrier over all of them while they attacked the demon. Dorian coated the creature with ice, rendering it brittle for their sword and arrow strikes, and the poison from Varric’s arrows withered the demon’s lava-liked flesh.

Just when Fenris was sure that Imshael was beaten, he let out an unpleasant cackle of a laugh, then transformed into the largest demon of pride that they’d ever seen.

“Maker’s balls,” Blackwall swore. Then he and Fenris dodged away from the lashing of Imshael’s lightning-laced whips.

The fight continued for an improbably long time. Imshael continued taunting them and changing forms, and each form he took seemed to lose some portion of the damage they’d inflicted.

The demon backhanded Blackwall across the face, sending him sprawling to the ground, then laughed again. “Where’s that Michel, hmm? Afraid of another disastrous blunder, so he sends you to do his dirty work? A clever choice, that. Maybe I underestimated him… hah. I do amuse myself sometimes.” Imshael chuckled unpleasantly, then snarled as Fenris cleaved straight through his left leg.

“Vishante kaffas,” Fenris spat. “I’ll paint these stones with your vile blood, demon.”

“Choice. Spirit,” Imshael hissed. “Allow me offer you another one.” He phased across the ichor-and-ice-spattered ground, then grabbed Hawke by the throat and hauled her off her feet.

“Hawke!” Varric shouted.

“Release her!” Fenris roared. Hawke was gripping Imshael’s scaly arm for support, and Fenris’s heart was beating a panicked staccato in his ears.

“Gladly,” Imshael said. “If you give me the anchor on your hand.”

Imshael knew how to remove the mark? For an instant, the shock rendered Fenris breathless.

He took a step toward Hawke, then stopped when Imshael squeezed Hawke’s throat more tightly. “Ah-ah-ah. You have to make a choice. Either you give me the anchor, or she dies.”

Hawke was staring at him with wide eyes. Her face was going red, and her kicking was growing weaker.

“Fine,” Fenris blurted. “The anchor is yours. It is a curse. I never wanted it.”

Dorian and Blackwall exclaimed in surprise, and Imshael’s monstrous face twisted into a grin. “And the hero throws aside his purpose!” he crowed. “How disappointing. For your friends there, I mean.” He held out one grotesquely clawed hand. “Now let’s have a look at that pretty palm of yours.”

Fenris approached the demon, his eyes fixed on Hawke’s reddening face.

“Wait a minute,” Dorian protested. “Imshael, let’s — let’s talk about this. What other options—”

“Too late, Tevinter princeling,” Imshael said. “The grand Inquisitor has made his choice.”

Fenris ignored them. When he was within reach of the demon, he held out his crackling left hand.

Imshael chuckled — an evil, guttural sound. Just as Imshael was about to touch his hand, Fenris nodded surreptitiously to Hawke.

She twisted her fist in a wrenching motion. A blazing cage of white light appeared around the demon, making him scream with rage, and Hawke fell to a heap on the ground.

Her right hand was outstretched to maintain the cage. She looked up at Fenris with bloodshot eyes. “Do it,” she rasped.

Without another moment’s hesitation, Fenris flung his snapping left palm at the cage of light, and an enormous burst of pure rift magic exploded from his palm and bloomed violently inside of the cage, encapsulating the demon completely.

A horrendous, furious scream of pain and fury emanated from the cage. Fenris gritted his teeth and held the cloud of magic in place until the screaming died away, then clenched his fist shut and released his breath.

The demon was destroyed, nothing more than a breath of ash that was swiftly dissipating into the frigid wind. Fenris fell to his knees beside Hawke, who was hunched on the icy ground.

Blackwall, Dorian and Varric ran over to join them, but Fenris ignored them. “Hawke,” he said. He rubbed her arms, then cupped her cold cheek in his trembling palm. “Rynne, look at me.”

She lifted her face and smiled at him. She looked absolutely exhausted. “Hey, handsome. Are you a choice spirit? Because you take my breath away.” She laughed feebly, then broke into a hacking cough.

Fenris pulled her into his arms and buried his face against her ear. “You are an idiot,” he whispered.

She took a slow, rasping breath. “Only for you, Fenris,” she said. “Only for you.”

He swallowed hard and tucked his cloak more securely around her body. Varric patted his shoulder. “That was some fast thinking, you guys. Nice work.”

“You knew they were going to do that?” Blackwall asked Varric in surprise.

Varric shrugged. “Ah, I saw them staring at each other. They’ve got that sappy married couple’s mind-reading thing going on.”

Fenris didn’t respond. Varric wasn’t completely wrong; Hawke’s gaze had darted to the snapping magic building in his left hand, so he’d figured out what she was thinking. But in that split second, that terrifying instant when Imshael had tightened his monstrous fingers around her throat…

Fenris would have given Imshael the anchor to free Hawke from his grasp. He would have done it.

He pressed his face to her hair and inhaled her sandalwood scent. Then Varric patted his shoulder again. “Come on, we should get her somewhere warm. A tent and a few blankets at least.”

Fenris nodded. “We’ll set up camp here,” he said. He glanced around at the blood-and-ichor-stained paving stones. “Not right here,” he corrected, “but somewhere close by. I don’t want to move her too far.”

“I’m fine, honestly,” Hawke said. She tried to push herself out of Fenris’s embrace. “I can walk. We can go back to the nearest Inquisition camp.”

Her voice was hoarse and weak. Fenris tightened his arms around her. “No,” he said. “We remain here until the morning.” He looked at Blackwall, who had a livid bruise swelling across his right cheek. “Find an Inquisition runner; let them know that Suledin Keep is ours. Have them send a healer.”

Hawke tutted. “Come on, Fenris, I don’t need a healer—”

“Right away,” Blackwall said, and he marched away in the direction of the keep’s entrance. Varric and Dorian, meanwhile, had gone off to find a spot to set up for the night, leaving Fenris and Hawke alone.

He carefully arranged the fur-lined hood of his cloak over her hair, and she gave him an exasperated look. “You don’t need to coddle me. Just give me some elfroot and I’ll be grand.”

“You are close to being overextended,” Fenris scolded. “Don’t take me for a fool. I know the signs by now. I will not take any chances with your life.” He pulled a bottle of lyrium potion from her pouch belt and handed it to her, then brushed her spiky bangs out of her eyes.

She reached up and took his hand. “Hey,” she said. “I’m fine. I’ve rubbed elbows with death way more closely than this—”

“Don’t,” he snapped. “Don’t talk like that.”

She raised her eyebrows, then feebly shifted in his arms so she was sitting up in his lap. “What’s going on? What’s the matter?”

He took two deep, slow breaths before answering her. “I… I was ready to give the mark to the demon,” he admitted. “I was ready to trade the mark for your life.”

She gazed at him in silence for a moment. Then she stroked his neck with her cold fingers. “You didn’t, though. It didn’t come to that.”

“But I would have,” he said. He ran a hand through his hair. “I — the Inquisition — Hawke, I did not even consider it. It was the last thing on my mind—”

She cupped his cheek in her palm. “You think I would have done differently?” she said. “Fenris, I… Maker fucking knows I would do the same for you.”

He swallowed hard. “What does that say about us?”

“What do you mean?” she said. Then she grinned. “Wait. Don’t tell me Blackwall’s existential crisis is rubbing off on you.”

He scoffed and rubbed his hair again. “Perhaps. He… they… there is no plan,” he said very quietly. “Even Varric thought that was planned. How we defeated Imshael. That was not planned.”

“No, it wasn’t,” she said. “But it was a little bit awesome, right? I mean, come on. We tricked a really powerful demon. Sorry, ‘choice spirit’.” She snickered mockingly, then shrugged. “Maybe we really can read each other’s minds.”

Fenris gave her a chiding look. “I am being serious. They think… I am not what they think,” he said. “The Inquisitor should be someone who is committed to the Inquisition. Someone like Cassandra.”

Hawke shrugged. “I disagree,” she said. “It should be someone like you who has a life outside of the Inquisition. Someone who knows what it’s like to not be in the Inquisition and remembers what we’re even doing all this shitty fighting for.” She made a little face. “Can you imagine having no life beyond the Inquisition? It would be pretty fucking sad, I think.”

He idly ran his thumb over her knuckles. Perhaps she was right. Perhaps he was just trying to find an excuse to shunt this responsibility off on someone else.

Perhaps he just needed some rest.

He sighed. “Come on, Hawke, let’s get you into a bedroll.” He carefully scooped her up and rose to his feet.

She tutted, but draped her arms around his neck nevertheless. “You know, I really can walk, but you’re so dreamy that I’m not going to complain.”

He huffed. “That would make it a first for this trip.”

She chuckled hoarsely. Then Varric called out to them. “Hey, you guys probably want to come over here.”

Fenris frowned slightly, then carried Hawke over to the most north-facing balcony of the keep where Varric and Dorian were standing over a half-dead red Templar.

Fenris raised his eyebrows and gently set Hawke on her feet. “Why have we not put him out of his misery?” he asked.

Varric jerked his head at the Templar. “Just listen.”

The red Templar was muttering to himself. “A garden needs a gardener. Nurturing, gentle hands, directing the change,” he said hazily. “Not too fast, not too slow. Just right. Has to be just right.”

Hawke frowned. “He sounds like that note we found in the cellar here.”

“A red lyrium gardener: how very macabre.” Dorian’s face was serious despite his flippant words. He looked at Fenris with a frown. “It makes sense, however. The red Templars we encountered here were far more cognizant than the first ones we encountered in Haven. Whatever the demon was doing here to slow the mental decay, it was working.” He eyed the dying red Templar with a mixture of pity and distaste. “Fortunate we stopped that Imshael fellow before they refined their technique any further.”

Varric grunted. “Yeah. Every bit of red lyrium we get rid of is a good thing.”

“Can’t argue with that,” Hawke said. She gestured at the red Templar, who was still muttering to himself. “Are we going to end this poor sod’s suffering, then?”

“Yes,” Fenris said. He removed a short knife from his belt, then knelt and quickly slashed the Templar’s throat. A moment later, the man released a sigh of relief as he died.

They stood silently for a moment. Then Fenris placed a hand at the centre of Hawke’s back. “Come. Let’s rest. We should be set out for Skyhold in the morning.”

They returned to the spot that Dorian had magically cleared for their tents, and Dorian lit a fire with a wave of his hand while Varric and Fenris set up their tents. Hawke sat by the fire and began unpacking some simple camping rations.

“So let me get this straight,” she said as she handed Dorian a piece of oat bread. “Dwarves mine regular lyrium from the deep roads, but red lyrium just… grows bloody everywhere on everyone and everything?”

“Red lyrium came from the Deep Roads too, though,” Varric said. “I mean, who knows who made the idol, but we got it from the Deep Roads.” He sighed.

Hawke frowned sympathetically at him. “The idol can’t have been the only piece of red lyrium,” she reasoned. “It’s not where Corypheus got his stock from, because the idol’s still in Kirkwall with creepy statue Meredith, right? He must have gotten his red lyrium from somewhere else. Before he started farming it, at least.”

Fenris knew why she was saying this to Varric: Varric felt guilty about the role that red lyrium was playing in their current troubles, even though Bartrand had been the one to spearhead their journey to the Deep Roads all those years ago, not to mention who had brought the idol into Kirkwall in the first place.

Varric wryly raised one eyebrow. “That’s not exactly comforting. To think there’s a vein of red lyrium somewhere that Corypheus is mining?”

Dorian stroked his mustache slowly. “Why grow it if they can mine it, though?”

“Growing is way more efficient,” Varric said darkly. “I mean, think about it. Who’d want to go mining in the Deep Roads when you can just harvest it from people’s bodies?”

Hawke and Dorian grimaced. “Such a charming thought,” Dorian said. “I may vomit.”

Fenris and Varric joined them at the fire, and Fenris handed Hawke a vial of elfroot potion. “It puzzles me that red lyrium can grow in the first place,” he said. “It’s a mineral that must be mined. How is it possible that it grows?”

Hawke sipped her elfroot. “That’s true,” she said slowly. “Minerals crystallize. So maybe it’s just a form of… exaggerated crystallization?” She grimaced doubtfully.

Varric and Fenris shrugged. Then Dorian spoke up. “Well, we keep saying people are infected with red lyrium. Maybe that’s really what it is: an infection. A parasite.”

“A parasitic mineral?” Hawke said.

Varric sighed. “As if shit wasn’t weird enough already.”

Fenris twisted his lips ruefully. He had to agree with Varric. It was hard enough trying to fathom the nature of regular lyrium without the red kind making matters more complicated.

He stared moodily at the white lines on his palm. For years he’d thought himself cursed by the tattoos that twisted and twined around his limbs. He’d become a bit more comfortable with the lyrium marks over the past few years, but with all these disturbing new questions, combined with what Solas had said about his erstwhile magic being held captive in the lyrium lines that marred his skin…

He glared at the livid white lines on his palm. Then Hawke gently placed a piece of oat bread in his open hand.

He looked up at her, and she smiled. “Eat,” she said softly. “I’m not the only one who’s tired after all that fighting.”

He closed his fingers over the bread and nodded. She handed some bread to Varric too, then took a bite of her own bread. “I don’t know about you fellows, but I could eat an entire pot of stew right about now.”

“Mm,” Varric agreed through a mouthful of bread. “Don’t remind me. I’d even eat the stew they made at the Hanged Man as long as it was hot.”

Fenris snorted. “You’re fooling no one with that remark. We know you enjoyed the Hanged Man’s mystery stew.” He took a small bite of his bread.

“‘Tolerating until your taste buds go numb’ isn’t the same as ‘enjoying’,” Varric drawled. “Either way, I’d eat it.”

“I have to agree,” Dorian said. “Anything as long as it was hot. Kaffas, I would even drink mulled wine right now.”

Varric raised his eyebrows. “You don’t like mulled wine? I thought you Tevinters loved your wine.”

“Oh, do we ever,” Dorian said with relish. “Hence why those with discerning tastes—”

“Privileged tastes,” Fenris put in.

“–don’t drink mulled wine,” Dorian finished while blithely ignoring him. “I can’t quite fathom the logic behind mulled wine. ‘Ah yes, let’s take every bottle of wine in a ten-metre radius and dump it in a pot with a box of random spices. How delicious!’” He shuddered dramatically. “It’s truly one of the most ghastly discoveries I’ve made in the south.”

Fenris scoffed and took another bite of bread. Dorian raised his eyebrows. “Oh, don’t even try and pretend you enjoy mulled wine.”

Fenris swallowed his bread. “No,” he admitted. “But that doesn’t mean–”

Dorian laughed loudly. “Ah, be careful, my friend. Your true colours are showing.”

Fenris huffed. “I don’t like it, but I would still drink it.”

“So would I,” Dorian said archly. “That’s the point. Desperate times, desperate drinks.” He raised an eyebrow. “Speaking of which, did none of us bring any alcohol? How terribly remiss.”

Hawke pointed accusingly at him. “You promised me a bottle of brandy. I intend to collect on that promise.”

“Yes, all right,” Dorian said patiently. “The moment we return to Skyhold, I will positively drown you in brandy.”

Hawke grinned, and Fenris shook his head in dismay. “Don’t encourage her.”

“I’m tempted to encourage her just to watch her run you ragged,” Dorian teased.

Hawke and Varric chuckled, and Fenris ruefully shook his head, and for a time they sat by the fire simply chatting and eating their bread. Hawke leaned companionably into Fenris’s arm, then eventually rested her cheek against his shoulder. When she fell quiet, listening and laughing instead of making her usual cheeky remarks, Fenris patted her knee.

“Come,” he said. “Let’s get some sleep.”

She nodded, and they bade Varric and Dorian a good night and walked over to their tent.

Hawke crouched and peered into the tent, then grimaced. “Ugh, it’s so fucking cold. Hang on out here for a moment.” She crawled into the tent and tucked the flap shut. A second later, a dim orange glow filtered through the cracks in the tent flap.

Fenris waited patiently as she shuffled around in the tent. A few minutes later, she called out in a muffled voice. “All right, come in. Quickly!”

He knelt and crawled into the tent. The inside of the tent was tangibly warmer than outside thanks to a tiny glowing fireball hovering near the top of the tent. Hawke was already bundled in their bedding, tucked in so securely he could barely see her face.

A burst of fondness filled his chest. He began pulling off his armour. “You’re certain this flame doesn’t draw too much energy?”

“It’s fine,” she said. “I’ll put it out once you get in here with me.”

Her tone was playful, and Fenris noted with relief that her voice only sounded mildly raspy now — thanks to the elfroot, no doubt. He stripped down to his fur-lined leggings and thermal shirt, then slipped under the covers.

Predictably, she was naked aside from her smallclothes, and she pressed herself against his chest the moment he slid beneath the bedding. “Hey,” she complained. “You promised me skin-to-skin.”

“I didn’t, in fact,” he replied. “You were the one–” He broke off and grabbed her hands as she tried to slip them beneath his shirt, then relaxed when he realized he hands weren’t freezing.

She laughed softly and curled her arm around his waist. “I wouldn’t stick my cold hands inside your shirt. I’m not that much of a bitch.”

“You stuck your frozen fingers inside my collar the first day we got here,” he reminded her.

She laughed again. “Shit. I guess I am a bitch then.” She snuggled as close to him as possible and tucked her head beneath his chin. “Please get naked with me. I’m still cold.”

He scoffed as she tucked one knee between his legs. “You never stop, do you?”

She shook her head. “Never,” she said. “There’s no such thing as being too close to you.”

A thread of tenderness squeezed his heart. Carefully so as not to disturb her too much, he pulled his shirt off, then shuffled his leggings off with some difficulty.

Hawke helped him with the leggings, then chivvied him into lying on his back and draped herself across his body. “Better,” she whispered.

He smiled and idly ran his hand along her arm. “Yes, it is.”

She hummed happily in response. Less than a minute later, her breathing evened out into the slow and easy cadence of sleep, and the tiny fireball at the top of the tent winked out of existence.

Fenris let out a long sigh. The inside of the tent was dark aside from the dim glow of the fire where Varric, Dorian, and a returned Blackwall were sitting, and the indistinct murmuring of their voices was oddly soothing. Despite the intensity of their activity today, however, Fenris didn’t really feel tired.

He ran his palm in a careful path from Hawke’s bare shoulder to her wrist and back, and he thought about Blackwall’s words from earlier today: how the intention to protect had led Clarel astray. It was easy enough to judge Clarel after seeing the horrific blood magic rituals she’d perpetrated, but what Fenris had almost done today…

To save Hawke’s life, he’d nearly made a deal with a demon. It was something he would never have imagined himself doing, but seeing Hawke so terribly threatened had driven everything else from his mind.

Being willing to deal with demons in order to save Hawke’s life… what did that say about him? Hawke seemed to think it didn’t matter, since he hadn’t made a deal in the end. But intentions were important. Consequences were important, of course, but intentions were important too. Perhaps this meant he was no better than Merrill, with her pride demon and her cursed eluvian.

Perhaps this meant he was no better than Anders.

He mentally recoiled from the thought the moment it crossed his mind. It is not the same, he thought. He wasn’t seeking knowledge or power like Merrill or Anders.

But his motivation — to save one person at the expense of everything else — was still ultimately selfish.

Hawke shifted on his body. “This arm rubbing is nice and all, but you’re keeping me awake,” she mumbled.

“Ah,” he said. He relaxed his fingers. He hadn’t realized he was rubbing her arm quite that firmly. “I’m sorry.”

She pulled away from him slightly. “Are you all right?”

“Yes. I’m well,” he murmured. He forced his hands to stay still on her body.

After a quiet moment, she spoke again. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He nibbled the inside of his cheek. “Later, perhaps,” he said. “Get some rest.”

“All right, if you’re sure.” She nestled her cheek against his chest once more, then yawned. “I love you.”

He swallowed hard. Hawke frequently told him she loved him, but tonight it brought a lump to his throat.

“I love you,” he whispered.

She hummed contentedly, and a minute later she was asleep again.

Fenris closed his eyes and began to practice the same meditative breathing that he’d reminded Cullen to try. But even as he felt the muscles in his shoulders and his jaw loosening and relaxing, he continued to worry about intentions and consequences, and about himself and Hawke.

He and Hawke refused to be apart, and they had never hidden their willingness to protect each other at all cost. But for the first time, Fenris couldn’t help but worry how high that cost might be.

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queencocoakimmie · 6 years ago

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At the End of the World (Michael Langdon) Part Three

Michael Langdon x Female Reader

Word Count: +9000

Warnings: Plot heavy, Angst, death, smut, gore, violent. +18 & up

A/N: This is the finale. The final chapter of the Michael and Ava story. I’m so glad that you’ve all enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it. You never know, there might be a one-shot in store for both of them in the future.

“Here at the end of the world, we are all equal in life as we are in death. Except for me. Because I can never die. My name is Ava Deschamps and I am the Queen of the Dead.”

Before the Apocalypse

“Well, well, well, I was wondering when you’d finally come back to visit.” The Countess’s voice rang out across the lobby of the Hotel Cortez. I watched as she turned in the bar stool to face me. My beautiful Countess, she is a vision in white, dripping with diamonds from head to toe. How many nights had I spent here with her in her penthouse, just the two of us? Wrapped in each other’s arms, feeding off of some poor, stupid fool.

“I just had to come and see you, mon couer, I’ve missed you,” I say slyly. She narrows her eyes at me before she resolves to listen. “Ava, I know you better than anyone, you’ve come here with a purpose. What do you want?” She sharply turns her back to me, beckoning Liz Taylor to pour her another drink.

“You think too little of me, Elizabeth,” I purr as I walk up behind her. “I’ve come to see you because I still love you, my sweet.” Her back stiffens and she throws a glance over her shoulder at me, “Lies. You’ve been with that witch all of this time, and not once did you think of me. I’ll ask you again, what do you want?”

Sighing, I sit down beside her and shake my head, “My darling, I need your help,” she sets her drink down and considers me for a moment. “Elizabeth,” I reach out and lay my hand on top of hers, “I need you.”

Her lips curved into a vicious smile, “Ava, lover, you’ll always need me. Come let us retire to my penthouse so that we may speak privately.” I waved a tepid wave at Liz and followed The Countess to the elevator.

When the doors closed, she shoved me against the wall, jerked my head to the side and bared my neck. Licking that sensitive area just below my ear lobe, she inhaled me, “You smell different, you smell more powerful.” I grinned, “Of course I do. Witch blood does wonders for the body, you should know that.” She ran the nail of her chainmail glove along my jugular vein, “I could kill you right now and no one would miss you,” she says tersely.

I flick my wrist and send her flying to the opposite wall, her eyes bulging in surprise, the glow of the light shining against the woodgrain behind her. “Tsk, tsk, tsk, mon amour, that’s not true at all,” I say as glide over to her and grab her throat. “You’d miss me entirely too much if I died. Too bad I can’t.” She moans under the pressure of my hand squeezing her neck roughly as my other hand palms her ass.

She opens her red lips to meet mine when the elevator door abruptly opens. I leave her standing there alone, breathless. I make my way to the living area and wait for her on the canapé. “You’re still such a fucking tease, Ava,” she pouts. I grin at her, flashing my sharp teeth, “I know, ma chérie. First, help me with what I need, and then…” I wave my hand in a flourish, “then we catch up.”

Walking over to the bar, she takes off her white sequined cape and throws it onto the floor. Her shoulders bare and her pale skin exposed under that slinky dress, she’s everything that I remember. She knows what she does to me and she calls ME the tease. “I know why you’re here,” the blood pouring into her glass is deafening in this quiet room.

My hunger not only for her but for her blood begins to roil in my belly. “The underworld is talking. They’re talking about the boy. You know of this, yes?” I nod my head and beg her to continue. She eyes me suspiciously, “Well, they’re all saying that he’s about to come to power soon. He’s with that group of Satanists, ran by the incessant Anton LaVey,” she rolls her eyes, “The boy has grown stronger and soon after he performs the Black Mass, within a few years’ time, it’ll be time to for the end of days.” She surveys her surroundings and closes her eyes, “When the bombs drop, my love, the Hotel will be destroyed along with everything else. Nothing will keep me tethered here.”

She picks up her skirt hem and sits beside me, baring her long pale legs to me. “What will you do, my pet? What will the all-powerful Ava Deschamps do when the end of the world comes?” I cock my head to the side and consider her words, “Countess, you know more than you’re telling me, don’t you? Why do you keep such things from me?” Her eyebrows knit together in confusion, “Ava, it seems that maybe it is you that know more than I.”

My impatience is growing, “Enough of the niceties, Elizabeth. Tell me what you’ve heard.” She leans into the canapé and exhales, “Tell me, did you love her?” I shoot her a strained look. “Did you? Did you love the Witch Supreme Cor-?” My lips tighten in a straight line and I cut her off before she can say her name, “I didn’t come here to talk about Cordelia.” She nods her head, “Your non-answer tells me that you did. That’s why you stayed away from me for so long.”

I glare at her, my anger beginning to boil over. “It’s fine Ava, really,” she swishes her hand in the air, “I’m not upset. I know that you still care for me deeply. Besides, her being the Supreme was perhaps a calculated decision on your part. Even if you believe it to have been true love. You never do anything without an exact purpose.” She stares at me directly, then her eyes lit up with realization, “if you stayed with her that long and drank from her…” she contemplates her next words carefully before changing the subject completely, “It is out of the affection that I still feel for you that I’ll tell you what you want to know.”

She trails her fingertips down my lips, “Beautiful, remarkable Ava. The strongest of us all. Even when I was alive, I was never as impressive as you.” I grab her hand tightly, “Elizabeth, stop this.” She acknowledges my disapproval and yanks her hand away, “I assume you knew that your dear old Dad made a deal with the devil, right?” I look away from her searing gaze, “Well the word is that he’s planning something else. Something far more sinister. The deal for you to be the Antichrist’s glorified bodyguard is not all that your father wants.”

“But something tells me you already know that don’t you?” she asks. I smile at her plainly, “My father wants me to keep Michael safe until we get to The Sanctuary and then I am to kill him and drain him dry, effectively absorbing his essence.” Shock colors her face, “But why?”

“To bring him back. When I become powerful enough, I will be able to resurrect him.”

She gasps, “What? What about your mother?” I shake my head, “I don’t know. I don’t think she factors into his plans. In truth, I suspect that he will kill me. Or at least try. I don’t want to think my own father is capable of such a thing, I don’t know for sure. That is why I have come to you. I need to know that what I am about to do is the right thing.” She runs her fingers through my hair and then caresses my cheek, “He doesn’t know that you were with her, does he?” I shake my head. “Then he doesn’t know how much magic you hold in your body right now.”

“My darling, even with all of that running through your veins, you need to be stronger than that to take him on.” She looks away from me, wrapping her arms around her legs, “If I know you, I know that you don’t want to kill your father or the boy, even if that’s what he’s asked of you.”

“Michael is just a child, he still has so much humanity in him. That must be preserved, Elizabeth. He must be saved.” She releases her arms and scoots in closer to me. She’s so close that I can feel her breath on my skin, “You always did have a soft spot for them. The normals.” I stare deeply into her eyes, with so many emotions swirling around inside of me, I finally tell her what I’ve come for, “I need to do an evil thing, mon couer. If I am to save Michael and go against my father, I need more power.”

“But I have none, Ava. The only ones capable of such a thing are…” She stares at me in horror, “Your family.” She discards her chainmail glove and grabs my face with both hands, “You will die. There are too many of them. Ava, they are the worst of us. The monsters that people tell stories about to frighten wayward children. If you go to France, you will die.”

“You cannot hope to defeat all of them.” I wipe away her tear and kiss her soft red lips. Memories of nights shared so long ago come flooding back to me. I wish I could stay here with her. I wish that I could bring my Cordelia here and we could all be together. But is a dream, a fantasy and I have no time for such things. “You didn’t come here for my permission or advice. You came here to say goodbye,” she whispers.

She abruptly lifts herself off of the canapé and takes my hand. “You hunger, my love, I can feel it. Let me take care of you.” With her other hand she unpins her bun and releases a cascade white blonde hair down her back. “If this is to be the last time we see each other, let’s make it worthwhile.” I follow her to the double doors leading to the bedroom and she slides them open. In the middle of the bed is a naked young man, arms and legs tied to each bedpost. When he sees her, his eyes widen in fear and tears stream down his face. His loud screams for help muffled behind the gag placed firmly in his mouth.

Her eyes flash to me and a malevolent smirk spreads across her face. I return her smile with a toothy grin, the sharp pain in my gums from my fangs elongating, make my stomach rumble.

“Dinner is served and then we shall have dessert.”

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

Michael

Much time has passed since we came here to The Sanctuary. With no guidance from my Father, life has gone on and has flourished here on the island. My new world is thriving under my rule. With my love, Ava by my side, I feel as though we are unstoppable, capable of anything that may hinder my creation.

Although lately, it seems, that she has become distant. At times unfocused, I wonder if her love for me is fading. Though she has constantly denied it, I still feel that there is a change and I daresay, it frightens me. Me. The Antichrist is frightened? Pathetic.

I received communication from The Cooperative informing me that it is time for Phase 3 to come to fruition. I am to produce an heir. My bloodline must live on. We have ways of harvesting genetic material, yes, but a woman’s womb is still needed for the process. Someone else’s womb will carry my child. Not my beloved Ava. She, being a vampire, cannot produce or carry a child. It saddens me to no end, and I must tell her this news. But I haven’t yet found the right words.

My fingers type away furiously on the laptop when my concentration is broken by shouting from the courtyard. “Sir, please, please come quick,” my assistant bursts into the room.

I dash outside to see Ava, holding a man up by his throat. Her fangs bared, the gleam in her eyes is alarming. The crowd that has gathered is yelling for her to kill the man. “What’s going on here? What has happened?”

Her eyes transfixed on the man, she yells back at me, “I caught him in the middle of trying to assault this young woman, he needs to be punished. Justice needs to be served.” She points at a girl, no more than 18 years old cowering on the ground. A woman holding her, trying desperately to cover her nearly naked body. Her clothes torn to shreds with pieces discarded onto the ground. I look at the girl, “Is this true?” She tearfully nods, “Yes, Master Langdon, he attacked me. Tried to take advantage of me,” she sobs. An older woman from the back screams, “Mercy, mercy for my son, please.”

“Mercy?” Ava spits, “A monster such as this deserves no such thing as mercy.” The woman pushes her way to the front of the group, “Master Langdon, you knew what type of man he was when you brought him here. You knew he was sick and yet you said that he was perfect for your new world.” Ava drops the man onto the ground, and glowers at me, “Michael, is this true?”

I don’t answer her, instead, I twist my hand and the man begins to scream out in pain, clawing pieces of skin and tendon out of his neck. “Hear me now. This man is condemned to immediate death. No mercy, or no court will convene to proclaim guilt or innocence. If you commit an atrocity of this kind, you will die by my hand.”

The man’s bellowing cries reverberate through the courtyard. People turn away from the gore before them as his skin begins to peel away off of the bone, it’s like boiling acid has been poured onto his body. He writhes on the ground, gasping for air, his death is a slow and painful one. I tilt my head to the right and immediately the life goes out in his eyes.

“Please, not my boy,” the woman screams out. She runs to him and Ava grabs her arms, nearly twisting them off. “You are the true monster here,” she jabs a finger into Ava’s chest. “An animal who gorges blood. You are the one who doesn’t deserve to live,” she yells and spits in Ava’s face.

With a flick of my hand, her neck twists around in an unnatural way. Her tongue falls slack to the side of her mouth, her eyes instantly vacant. What’s left of the crowd turns and runs away, horrified by my display. Ava stands there alone, holding the body of the dead woman in her arms. Her eyes widened in shock, “Why did you kill her?”

“She insulted you. No one gets to insult you and live, besides she was complicit in her son’s actions.” Her green eyes lock onto mine and I see disappointment flash behind them. She lays the woman down on the ground beside the body of the young man without uttering another word.

She leaves me there in the courtyard with my assistant, Timothy. “Sir, what do you want me to do about the bodies?” he asks. I glance back at him, “What you normally do.” He summons a group of people to clean up, but before they touch the bodies, I hold my hand up to them, “Wait.”

A few moments later, the souls of the two dead arise. They stand there in front of me, gawking, unsure of what’s happening. “What did you to us? Why am I like this?” the woman shrieks.

I break into a wide smile and close my fist tightly. They begin to burn from the inside out, their screams echoing all around us until they are nothing but ash. Now they won’t exist here or on any plane. A laugh escapes my lips.

I turn to see Ava standing there in the entryway, watching me. Her eyes narrowing, and then she turns her back and walks away. Her black hair swishing in her wake. A sick feeling in the pit of my stomach begins to grow. I fear that in the midst of all of this, I might be losing her.

Later that night, I decide to stay in my office. I know she is out hunting and needs time to clear her thoughts. Surely, she will come around and see my thinking about these things. I can sense her anger and turmoil. But I don't want to push her, she knows that if she wants to talk with me, she can. Still, I feel there is something else at play here. Something that I don’t know and I don’t like not knowing.

One thing that I’ve come to find about her is that she favors humans above all things. A creature like her, shouldn’t have such reverence for us…them. But she does and seems to think that I can be saved. I’m in no need of saving, though. I am my father’s son, after all.

She has this notion that since my mother was human, I will have some of her traits imbued in me. A residual humanity, if you will. For me, my mother was merely just a vessel for my reproduction and growth. She did not raise me, nor did she love me. Yet, Ava sees something in me that I no longer see in myself and I don’t know why.

I sit back in my chair and my thoughts travel back to the “Murder House” where I was born. The rejection of the people who were supposed to be my family still makes my blood boil. Reliving the damage causes my anger to rise deep in my chest. I try to block out the memories of their faces. They were human and to me, they were the worst kind, and Ava thinks I should emulate them?

They thought I was a monster. Much like how she sees herself. She told me once that she had done unspeakable things long ago and that she wishes she could take it all back. When I asked her about it, she simply shut herself down and refused to answer. I sense whatever it was, was so horrible that she had not yet forgiven herself for it. I don’t know if she ever will.

I see how she looks at me when she thinks I’m not looking. She sees the human that she wishes she could be. She sees the better parts of me. Until her, I thought I had no “better parts”. Ever since I was a child, I’ve been turned away, rejected and used for my gifts. Even now as I sit here, I’m only here at my father’s behest, still being used by him to carry out his plans.

A soft knock at the door snaps me out of my thoughts. “Michael? May I come in?” her beautiful voice carries through the heavy wooden door. “Of course,” I say. I drop everything for her, the work from The Cooperative, my duties, my own Father comes second place to her.

It’s amazing that a Vampire, a supernatural being, can teach me so much about the human existence. I believe that she is more mortal than I could ever be. She is so much more than a creature of the night. I would give my whole life for her.

“My love, I wish to speak with you about something,” she says walking towards me. “I thought, perhaps, you could take a moment from your work, to…chat.” I turn in my chair to face her as she comes around the desk and stands directly in front of me. Slipping her knee in between my thighs, she separates them roughly and leans forward, breasts brushing against my face. “Today was unfortunate, but in the end, I know it was necessary.”

Her lips glide down the side of my neck. Tangling her hand in my hair, she says, “You are the leader here. Our King,” Jerking my head back, she licks my earlobe, “You are my King, yes?” her voice low and breathy against the shell of my ear. I reach out and smack her ass and she jumps up from the shock of it. I flash her a sly grin and smack her again, “Yes, I am your King, and that makes you my Queen.”

She nods her head, “and as your Queen, I’m meant to serve you, yes?” I turn my head to meet my lips with hers, “Yes.”

“Well, what would you have me do, my King?” her hand trails down my chest to my growing bulge. Palming it, she repeats herself, “My King, what would you have me do?” My eyes roll back into my head as I lean back into my chair. She starts working me through my pants and renders me utterly speechless.

“Would you want me to...” I feel the zipper slide down and then feel her cold hand free my cock from its confines. “Ah, no underwear, I see you remembered,” she grinned.

I push my hips up so she can slide my pants down, my cock already throbbing once the chill of the air hits washes over it. She eyes it hungrily, her mouth watering for me. Before she can say another word, I grab my dick and shove it in between her parted lips. Gripping the back of her head, by her silky black hair, I push her face down onto my pulsating member. It hits the back of her throat with such force, she gags immediately. The sloshing sounds of her wet mouth sucking me off, send goosebumps up and down my body.

She rakes her sharp nails down my thighs, leaving trails of blood in their wake. Bobbing her head up and down on my cock, she eyes the dripping blood voraciously. She lowers her head yet again, filling her mouth completely, up to the hilt. I gasp as she deepthroats, “Fuuuuck, Ava. You see what you do to me?” She releases the suction of her mouth with an obscene pop and a long thin rivulet of spit connects her bottom lip to my dick.

She uses this saliva to pump my shaft up and down, eyes locked onto the blood streaming from my thighs. She looks up at me pleading, her green eyes blazing with lust and hunger. “Yes, Ava, go on. I know you want it.”

She laps it up, her lips ruined from sucking me off and smeared with my red fluid. “You taste so sweet, mon roi. I can never get enough.” Her mouth locking onto my thigh, drawing in my essence, her skin becomes heated from the influx of my blood.

The feeling of her hand jerking me off and her lips sucking the blood from my thigh, is like no other feeling in the world. It is what I could only imagine Heaven would be like. Heaven. My mind trails off, and a voice screams in the back of my head, “Stop her before she drains you dry. Stop her, you must.”

I grab the back of her head and yank her off my thigh. Her eyes ravenous, blood dripping from her bruised lips, “What is it, mon amour, did I hurt you?” Breathless, I shake my head slowly, my head spinning and my mind becoming fuzzy, “No, I’m…I’m fine. Please don’t stop.”

Eyes locked onto mine, her mouth replaces her hand, and she licks a straight line up my shaft. My dick is covered in saliva and blood and I feel the burn in my abdomen, I won’t last long. “Ava, I’m going to cum, please, please don’t stop.”

She smiles, and her fangs are dripping with my blood, it is a vision I will keep locked away in my memories. “I love it when you say please, Michael.” She takes me deeper into her mouth, pumping me up and down, my head slams back onto the headrest of my chair. “Fuuuckk,” I scream. My body convulses as I release into her wet mouth. She wipes her chin with the back of her hand, filthy from a mixture of both my blood and my cum. It’s a terrifyingly erotic sight.

She lifts herself up from between my legs and smooths down her velvet jacket. “Come, come with me to our place. There is something I have to tell you.” Still lost in a haze, I groggily hoist myself up and zip my pants. Not caring that my essence has stained the inside of my thighs.

“Why can’t we talk here? No one will bother us.” I point out. She shakes her head, “What I must tell you is very important and,” she pauses, “very difficult for me to share.” There is something behind her eyes, something that looks like shame.

One would think that I would be able to read her mind and mine her for information, but she is such a powerful being that her mind is closed off to me. She is capable of cloaking her thoughts. My father told me once that there are no creatures like her anymore, she is one of a kind. When he spoke of her, it almost seemed like he was enchanted by her. It made me jealous, in a way, but also proud, that this woman was mine and that she loved only me.

I followed behind her down the corridor and a terrible thought struck me. What if all of this is a ruse? That voice of doubt, in the back of my head, had been screaming at me since I first laid eyes on her, warning me to stay away. Human nature I could understand but something like her I wasn’t completely prepared for.

She sat on the couch with a serious look on her face. “Ava, what’s wrong?” She beckoned for me to sit down beside her and when I did, she took my hands in hers. The chill from her touch contrasting with the heat roaring from the fireplace. “There are some things that I have kept from you, Mon amour. If we are to be bound for all eternity, I must be completely honest with you. About everything.”

We had talked a long time ago about bonding ourselves to one another. A kind of Unholy Wedding. It would bind us together until the end of time. She explained to me then that it was too soon for us to talk of such fairytales, but maybe something had changed her mind.

I implore her to continue. “Michael, I need to tell you something but I’m afraid of how you will take it. I’m afraid of what you will do.”

I scoff at her, “Ava, I could never hurt you.” She smiles a sad smile, “Oh I know that, “I’m more afraid of your reaction. You wear your heart on your sleeve. Even being the Antichrist, your humanity rules your every emotion.” I roll my eyes growing more and more frustrated by the second. “Don’t drag this out, Ava. Tell me what’s wrong. Is it that you don’t love me? You don’t want me anymore?”

She reaches out and touches my face, “You are my only love. The one I want to spend the rest of my life with. But you need to know the ugly truth about me first.”

“After this, you might change your mind about me altogether,” she whispers. She pulls away from me and for the first time since I’ve known her, she looks unsure, almost fragile. She takes a deep breath and then begins.

“It all started when my father paid yours a visit and offered him a deal. A deal to keep you safe until you reached The Sanctuary.” I stared at her in confusion, wanting to interrupt her with questions, but she kept going. “My father promised that I would secure your future behind the scenes. Wipe out your enemies, anyone standing in your way. I would ensure that your plans were completed and carried out by those loyal to you.”

I held up my hand, “So you mean, my own Father didn’t trust that I could do it on my own?” She shook her hand, “Apparently he felt you weren’t strong enough.”

I stand up and begin to pace back and forth, “How long have you known this?” Staring into her hands, her voice trembles, For a very long time. We all knew you were coming, and I was given strict instructions to be ready.”

Anger running hot through my body, I yell, “What the fuck does your father get from making you my guardian?” She bites her lower lip, “What you have to understand is that my father has been the Devil’s favorite creature since he was born into this world. Being the direct descendant of the first of us all, Judas Iscariot seemed like a trophy to Him. If my father were to ask Him for anything, it would be given, without question. In this case, he asked for a daughter. A daughter he would later use as a bargaining chip.”

Still pacing back and forth I ask her for more clarity. She stands and walks over to the bar and pours herself a drink. The thick viscous red substance flows into the crystal glass like a waterfall. Taking a sip, she continues, “Vampyres are not supposed to be able to have children. As a matter of fact, the last pure blood birth was my mother, over 200 years ago. Our kind are cursed, you know. But because the He loved my father so much, He promised him a daughter of his own flesh and blood, with some attributes of the Devil himself.”

“What?” I say, incredulously, “My ability to walk in the daylight and transmute, those come from your father, Michael.”

I feel so angry and lost. All my life I was led to believe that I and I alone would bring about the end of days. Now I find out that, in fact, my father had a backup plan, just in case I was too weak to carry it out. “So, our union, our relationship was all built on a lie, it was built by design?”

“No. I had always known you to be beautiful and cunning but when I met you face-to-face, I knew that you were more. Underneath your ruthlessness, you were capable of compassion and love. You weren’t at all what I was led to believe.”

She walks over to me and takes my hand, her green eyes boring into mine, I try to break away from her, but I can’t, “Michael, I fell in love with you, not for who I thought you were or who you could be but what for who you are.”

She reaches up on her tiptoes to kiss me. Slow at first and then hungrily. I push her away, my emotions erratic and fraught. “How can I believe anything you’ve said?” I turn my face away from her, not wanting to see the suffering in her eyes. “Have I ever lied to you before?” she asks.

I walk to the front door, contemplating leaving her there. I’m so angry but I’m not sure who to be angrier at. Myself for being a fool? Her for being a pawn? Or my Father for using me, yet again. I choose to be angry at her, and I know it’s not fair, but I know my Father. He’s never tried to be any different than what he is. There is no love there, only a cold calculation on his part. But her, I believed her to be the better part of me. The human part, if that makes any sense. She held all of this back from me, for what purpose, to keep me in the dark? To make a fool of me?

“I understand your rage, Michael, but there is more I need to say to you. I have to leave now, only for a little bit, but I’ll be back. I just have one more task to complete.” I roll my eyes again, seething with fury, I spit out, “Fine, go. Cordelia said you always leave whenever things get too bad.”

“I don’t deserve that, Michael. You don’t have to be cruel.” Her hands reach out to touch me again, but I flinch, “Oh, but I do have to be cruel, Ava. I’m the fucking Antichrist. I’ve spent too long trying to be something that I’m not. But I’m every bit of a monster people think I am. Every bit of the monster you are.”

She exhales an exasperated breath, and tears fill her eyes, “Is that what you think you are? Is that what you think I am?” I stand there and watch she wipes away her tears. I open my mouth to respond, but she raises her hand to stop me. “I’ve written you a letter, explaining why I’ve chosen to leave and what I am going to do. Everything I have done, has been for you. It’s always been for you.” In the blink of an eye, she was gone, left without a trace.

I scream out of anguish and outrage, “How could she have done this to me? Why has she done this?” Spit flying out of my mouth, my hair whipping wild over my head. The room swirls in a tornado of books and furniture. Pieces of sculptures careened off of the floor and paintings have torn off the walls. All I can hear is her voice telling me she loves me, and that she would die for me. She would die for me.

She…would…die…for…me

Realization hits me like a ton of bricks. Wait, where did she say she was going? I rush to the bedroom and rip open the drawer to her dressing table. Located neatly next to her silver hairbrush is an envelope with my name on. My stomach drops and fear takes over. I lift it up gently as though it were some precious thing and I smell the faint familiar scent of roses, her scent. I open the letter cautiously and carefully not wanting to disturb her precise creases.

My Dearest Michael,

I’m writing to you, to tell you that I have one last duty to perform. My father bargained away my life, so that I may in turn save his. The deal between our fathers was made to keep you in power until your reign began at The Sanctuary. But Etienne, had other plans. He explained to me that once you were safe behind Sanctuary walls, I was to drain you dry, stripping you of your powers, your life, and your soul.

With your vitality flowing through my veins, I would be able to venture into Hell and bring him back. He would rule The Sanctuary in your stead. I can only assume that action would seal my own fate. I would be nothing more to him than discarded trash. Used and thrown away, like many before me, I know that he would eventually take my power and kill me.

But as always, I too have a strategy. Years before the Apocalypse, I did a terrible thing in preparation for the inevitable. After years of blood-taking from Cordelia, I had Supreme witch blood enhancing my gifts, but if I was to one day fight my own father, I would need more. I went to Paris and found my mother’s ancient family, The Moreau Clan. They were the worst evil of our kind. They killed and raped without impunity, because they were superior in every way. I came to them, wanting help at first, but ultimately, things ended badly. They believed in fulfilling their bloodlust to any end. Women and children were favorite targets for them. Me, having held humans in high regard my whole life, I tried to seek out some type of peace with them. But there was none, they were devoid of all humanity.

One night, coming back from a particularly vicious hunt, sated from innocent blood, I took them down, one by one, until there was no one left. I burned the entire coven to the ground afterwards. My eyes blackened with the power of their blood, I merely blinked my eyes, and they were gone. I live with the guilt of their deaths every day. I should not have gone to such extremes. I went there knowing how it end, which makes me no better than them. I am no better than my father.

I then came to find you. I was the reason Anton LaVey sought you out at the Murder House. I was there when you took your first Black Mass. I have been there through it all. Horrified at how you had been treated the entirety of your life, I vowed to stay beside you no matter what the cost. I’ve protected you from every danger and every enemy. I protect you still. First out of duty, but now…out of love.

What I must do now, I do for our freedom and our future. I’m going into Hell to find my father. I will end him once and for all. If I do not come back, please know that I will always love and believe in you.

Yours Forever,

Ava

My heart broken into two, I’m beside myself with grief. Disheveled and crushed, I have tried to contact my Father for 3 days since, but he won’t answer me. Even the gates of Hell are locked to me. I have no way in and I fear my Ava is lost. What have I done? What can I do?

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

Ava

The Gates of Hell are not at all like Rodin sculpture, with Dante sitting in the tympana gazing into Hell. His depiction of the first ring of the Inferno, thrown into chaos at the entrance of the doorway is completely different than what’s before me now. Upon entry into this place, I’m struck by the vast ocean of black water flowing all around me. I see sea creatures breaking through the waves off into the distance. The sky is dark and foul smelling and decrepit bodies are casting themselves at my feet on the shore, trying to pull me with them. The beach is black as coal, littered with decaying body parts of the dead and other creatures.

As I walk further along, I see a small entrance guarded by an old man. He is gray and hunched over, his face covered in a long grayish beard. “Coin for the boatman?” he sticks out his knobby hand towards me. I shake my head, “I have none. I have no need,” displaying my empty hands.

“Then your soul shall not pass.” His voice croaks out. I laugh at his cold indignation, “I have no soul, dear Charon.” He peers up at me, and his grayish blue eyes look me up and down, suspiciously. He shudders and beckons me to his small boat, “Do you wish to see The Master?” I shake my head, “He already knows I’m here. No, take me to Etienne Deschamps, instead. Take me to my father.”

I disembark at a house that looks just like my home in California. I push open the door and am transported down a long winding hallway. As I walk further into it, I notice that I’m being followed by a blinding white light. I glance over my shoulder at it, and it burns my eyes. I turn back and continue my path down the corridor. I can hear screams of pain from behind the doors on either side of me. People crying out for mercy. Guttural howls of monsters chasing their prey echo off of the paneled walls. I will be glad to be rid of this place.

When I come to my father’s resting place, in the catacombs beneath my house, I’m suddenly hesitant to go on. His voice carries through the dark chamber, “Ma fille, to do what I owe the pleasure of your visit?” He appears in front of me and he is just how I remember him. Decked out in his finest 18th century French couture, he looked like something out of an Anne Rice novel, his beauty rivaling that of Lestat himself.

I walk in slowly, wondering to myself, could my father really capable of killing me? Am I capable of killing him? Against the wall, on a small loveseat, I see a someone draped over it, and my eyes flash to his. He wipes the corners of his mouth with his handkerchief, “I was hungry, my sweet, and this little one here was just what I needed.” Upon further inspection of the person, I see that it was the body of a teenaged girl. She’d been beaten and drained of all of her blood. Her eyes frozen wide in shock, I walk over to her and close them, saying the silent prayer that my nounou (nanny), Miriam used to say over me at night.

“Since when did you become so religious? Did you forget that we are soulless devils, and are in no need of spirituality?” he scoffs. “Mon père, just because we consume them, doesn’t mean we shouldn’t respect them,” I reply.

His lip curls in disgust, “You’ve spent too much time in the presence of them. But nevertheless, I’m glad you’ve come. We have much to discuss. Namely the demise of l'Antéchrist.”

Still staring at the young girl’s body, I feel my anger building, “Where is ma mère? I haven’t spoken to her in ages.” I make my way to the other canapé and take a seat. He tucks his handkerchief back into his waistcoat and pulls out his pocket watch, eyeing the time he sighs, “Ma petit, we have no time for this and your silly questions.” He narrows his eyes then it dawns on him why I’ve come. A sinister grin spreads across his wicked face. “Did you really think that you could walk into Hell with your new bag of tricks to do harm to me?” I rise from my seat and begin to back away, “What do you mean? I have no bag of tricks.”

He takes a step closer to me, “You should ask your dear maman, what happens when you cross me.” Shaking my head I ask, “What did you do to her? What did you to my mother?” I cry. He takes another step closer, his fangs growing in the process, “Oh she didn’t like my plan. The one where you kill Michael and then I kill you. My child, your grand purpose all along was to bring me back. Your mother simply didn’t see things the way I did.”

“But…but you sacrificed yourselves for me.” I cry out. He cracks his neck and takes a deep breath, “No, sweet girl, she was already dying. You had been draining her powers since your inception. She was fading and I had no real intention of saving her. I did need her blood, though. You know as well as I do, that her clan WAS the most powerful in the world.”

“What do you mean? How could I know?” I ask, knowing full well what I had done. He stares me down with his bright green eyes, “The whole underworld felt the shake and rumble of the deaths of that coven. You wiped them out all at once. Your own kind. Your own kin.” He smiled with what looked like pride. “That takes a special kind of evil to massacre your own family, don’t you think? Stupid girl, I knew exactly what you were up to. Your hopes to stop me, has since caused you all of this guilt and despair.” He says mockingly, “You should know by now, that there’s no defeating me. Now be a good girl and go back up and do as you’re told. Drain that boy dry. It’s time for me to take my rightful place.”

“Don’t be absurd,” I spit, “I could never kill Michael. As for the Moreau’s, they were kidnapping and murdering children, should I have let them continue doing so?” He shrugs, “What do you care? That was their nature. Do you think you can change the nature of a lion, because you don’t want it to feed on gazelles?”

“No, père, but lions are not like us. We are capable of thinking and feeling empathy. We do not have to give in to our basic instincts. Just because we can doesn’t mean we should.” His reaches out to me and grabs my arms, his long nails piercing into the backs of them, “You sound like a child. This sentiment you have for humans is sickening. I thought once I had your servant girl killed, you would rid your fascination of them.”

“What?” I ask, “What servant girl?” He let go of me and turns his back, “The one you grew up with. The girl you tried to save in that dark alley all those years ago.” I shake the cobwebs out of my head, trying to understand, “Evangeline? You had something to do with her death?”

“Ha,” he chuckles, “Something to do with it? I caused it. I led her to that alley that night, leading her to believe that you were there to meet her. I really thought once she was dead, you’d end this obsession.”

My body goes numb and my blood turns to ice. I place my hand on the wall to get my bearings, “How could you? I…I loved her. She was my best friend.”

He shrugs again, “Best friend? We are predators, we have no best friends.” He whips around lightning fast and grabs me by my neck. He begins to squeeze and hatred flashes before his eyes, his nails digging into the side of my throat, “My daughter, so feckless and weak.” He slaps me with his other hand and laughs when he sees my blood gushing out of my mouth, “I should just kill you know and save myself the trouble. I deserve to sit on that throne. Not you or that tortured little boy.”

In an instant, his fangs pierce my neck and I feel the sharp pain of it surge through my body, paralyzing me with his venom. He laughs against my throat, squeezing it until I’m gasping for air.

I summon all of my strength and break free from his hold. I send him flying backwards against the opposite wall. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “You stupid little bitch, you really think you can stop me?” He flies towards me and turns his fingers into claws. Swiping at me, his eyes are filled with hate and he curses at me, “You’re pathetic like that girl. Weak like your mother. Oh, you should have seen Gabrielle’s face when I drained her of her blood. Her sad little eyes, begging for me to stop,” he cackles as we circle each other. “Your mother loved me so much, Ava. But I felt nothing for her. She was a means to an end, ma petite, just like you.”

He lunges for me and throws me to the ground, the back of my head hitting the concrete with a loud smack. Standing over me, his eyes are wild, and when he snaps his fingers, a fire begins to blaze all around us. He grabs my hair and starts to drag my limp body across the floor, laughing all the while. “You don’t deserve an easy death, little one. You deserve to be taught a lesson, just like your mother.”

“But what is that you deserve, father?” I close my eyes and remember Cordelia’s lesson on Concillium. I take a deep breath and close my mind. I lift my left hand and utter the phrases she taught me. He drops his hand from my hair and begins to groan, pain shooting through his skull. I’m flooding his mind with the memories of all the people that have died by his hand. Every face of horror and fear, every cry of mercy. His face contorts from it, screaming at me to stop.

I see his knife that he always keeps on his waist. As a source of pride, he once told me that it was the very blade that pierced Jesus’ side when he died on the cross. I twist my fingers, and it appears in my hand. I bring it to his throat and hiss when he tries to grab for me. Clutching his head, he screams, “You stupid cunt, where did you learn this magic?”

“From a friend,” I growl before kissing his cheek and watch as it burns into his flesh. “I have been loyal to you my entire life,” I say as I slash at his throat, “I have done everything you have ever asked of me,” another slash, “I have listened and believed your lies over and over and this is how you repay me? You kill my best friend and my mother?” He drops to the ground, writhing from the pain, blood gushing out his neck, “You forget that the Devil has also blessed me gifts. Well, this is my gift for him. The death of a traitor.” I slice his throat one final time and the blade glides through the sinews of his neck so easily, effectively separating his head from his body.

The smell of the room burning breaks my concentration. The heat is searing, and the walls are peeling from its intensity. A voice low and gravelly begins to speak to me in a language that has been dead for centuries. HE is talking to me. I hear his words in my mind, so deep and concise, I feel that I am dreaming. He asks me what I want most in the world and I don’t even have to think about my answer. I tell him at once and he seems pleased.

I feel the fire getting closer to me, crawling towards my feet, but somehow, I do not feel afraid. His voice is lacing in between my thoughts, slithering through my every memory. He saw visions of Michael and me, alone in our private quarters debating the works of Byron. He saw me kill Mallory back at the Outpost, in what seems like ages gone by. He came to rest at the memory of the Moreau Clan Massacre. He understood why I did it and saw that I had my choice long ago.

My skin started to boil from the fire, yet I did not scream or cry out. If I was to die now, I would do so knowing that Michael would be saved. He would be free. I closed my eyes and readied myself for the end. The ceiling crashed around me and the room filled with noxious smoke. Then everything went dark.

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

Michael

When she came back to me, I knew that the worst was over. She was tired and scarred from her trauma but I knew that she would be ok. She explained everything to me that happened, in great detail. How she fought against her father and took his life. She told me how mine spoke to her and told her about things that were to come, gave her a secret yet to be revealed.

She laid in my arms that night, different. Power surging through her cold body, shaking badly from the nightmares. I wrapped her up in my arms and coaxed her back to sleep. I could sense a change was happening inside of her. A feeling that would never go away. She was turning into something, unlike any other creature I had ever known. And she was mine.

We made our vows in the unholy chapel inside of the conservatory a few months later. Vows that would bind us for all eternity. That night after we made love, she allowed me to take her blood for the first time. She pierced her thigh and guided me down to drink from her. The sweetness and heat of it trickled down my throat and I felt renewed. My sight was sharper, my hearing improved, she had enhanced all of my abilities. Her blood was like drinking liquid magic. Because of her, I would never age, and would never die. Because of her, we would be together for all time.

We’ve spoken many times about that night, she keeps reliving it over and over again. I wish there was a way I could have helped in, I wish there is a way that I can help her now. But watching her grow stronger over time, gives me a sense of peace, knowing that she will be alright.

The waking up in the middle of the night because of her night terrors are now replaced with the small cries of our baby girl, Gabrielle Evangeline. Ava’s pregnancy came as a shock to us both, seeing as how she’s not supposed to be able to have children. But the joy that came with seeing her swell, knowing that my child was growing inside her, softened my heart. I would never treat her the way I was treated. I would give her every bit of love and respect I carried in my heart. She would never know rejection. She would never be unloved. She would always have me. After everything we both had gone through, I still felt like things were too good to be true.

As I watch over Gabby now, I’m proud of how strong and smart she is becoming. A cross between both Ava and me, she is the best of us. I can only hope it stays that way.

Still, I remember Ava telling me that my father granted hers a request for a daughter, one who was supremely powerful. I wonder if Ava requested of Him the same thing, though I dare not ask her. The Devil does not give gifts out of the kindness of his heart. He is not a generous being. Everything that he does comes at a price.

For now, I’ll watch over my two girls, whom I am obsessively in love with, and keep them safe from all dangers, dangers like my Father. What could possibly stand in our way? Who could possibly stop us?

Part One Part Two

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dietaku · 5 years ago

Text

Amazing Quest 1: Chapter 9

The final chapter. Thank you for reading!

Chapter 9: Together, as One, We Will...!

When you're ready, warp back to Toneland. Any island will do, really, but Toneland is large enough that it should serve your purposes. The point now is to wait for Zytroph to go near the island and leg it until the sprites touch. Doing so will prompt a new scene:

Hiro: This is it, guys!

(Zytroph looms ahead of the party as a flock of glass cranes with chimes on their wings fly around him. In the GBA version, this entire scene is rather beautifully animated with sprites, while in the SNES, it's all done with a single still image. )

Zytroph: The time is nigh, mortals. Abase yourself before the Mother of Strife.

Hiro: NOT WITHOUT A FALL GUY!

--Boss Fight!--

Zytroph the Dragonfish x1

LP: 88000

MP:9000

Zytroph is tough, but with the Final Fusion Swirl, Noble Neopolitan, he's a cakewalk. His high defense and magic defense are naught to the gigantic attack buff and removal of defense that Noble Neopolitan allows. If you don't use it, then you'll find that Zytroph has access to all tier-3 spells and his own skills, like Gran Aero Spiral, where the cranes rush the party for heavy air and earth damage, and Dragon Palace Whale Lullaby, which will inflict sleep, drunk, or red randomly.

--Boss Fight!--

Zytroph: Very well, you are strong enough to cross onto my back. Perhaps you will overtake the other who has crossed over before...

Hiro: Jaydea...

Zytorph: I know not their name. All mortals look alike to mine eyes.

Loyroll: How very unfabulous.

You find yourself in front of the giant ivory tower on Zytroph's back. The entire floor rumbles, and the chimes stop, which, with the lack of music makes the entire area deathly quiet. Something terrible is on the way. That, combined with the unearthly enemies, like the Monstrkin, the Mermyth, the Scalawag, and the Eudaemonaia, which is notable for being able to inflict Deep Haze, a status unique to it that forces a character to not act for five turns, even if the fight ends before that is up. Thus, speed is the name of the game here. Progress up the tower, which is a simple spiral, before you get to a floor with a large courtyard and a closed door. Inspect it and you'll be told it's a dead end. Do this ten times to proceed.

(The dead end shifts into the now-familiar form of Kord)

Kord: Geez, you guys! I thought it was someone important! Lady Jaydea told me to keep this place off-limits! I thought I had put a sign up!

(He turns around, where a “Do Not Disturb” sign is hanging off his back)

Ozma: (Giggles)

Kimyawa: Rock-san., your sign--

Kord: Hrm? My sign? It's Aquarius. Why do you-- Oh, here it is. It's on my back. Whoops. Anyways, now that we have THAT out of the way...You'll all have to die.

Hiro: Really?

Kord: Well, no, but I prefer being paid to not, y'know?

--Boss Fight!--

Heavenly King Kord x1

LP: 90000

MP: 12000

Kord is relentless. His defense and magic defense are higher than Zytroph, and he can actually go toe to toe with Noble Neapolitan as his hits can pierce the defense buff that the fusion grants you. In addition, his “Rocky Road Ripper,” and “Kordian Knot” skills will shred your LP over time with earth-based damage and lower your action speed, so don't feel bad if he actually defeats you. Lay on the hate and you ought to come out on top!

--Boss Fight!--

Kord: U-urgh, dammit! Even with all my amicable character moments, even the Stone Lord, must fall. I guess it r-really is time for me to gather moss....

(Kord falls over dead, where Deima kicks him off the tower, presumably into the ocean below)

Deima: And now, not only does he get a burial at sea, he's out of the way, too!

Hiro: ….

Deima: What? Le'ts go!

Continue up the stairs, where you see Jaydea leaning over a large mosaic on the floor of a blonde woman with wings, with the five talismans inset into the mural.

Jaydea: (Turns to the party) It is done. I have unlocked the Goddess, but...You know what she asked me? Are you sure? Do you want me to grant you this wish? Of course I answered yes, but seeing her, and now you're here. All I've done. All Zoddon aspired to, and now, all my friends and allies. They're all gone... Light Pudding, no, Hiro...You do not have the will to stand up to that evil, and you. Cannot. Kill. Me. What will you do?

Emilia: Bullshit, Jaydea! I'll rip you apart myself!

Jaydea: No, you cannot.

--Boss Fight!--

Dark Pudding Queen Jaydea x1

LP: 65000

MP: 9500

Do not let her low LP count fool you. Jaydea CAN and WILL stand up to Noble Neapolitan. She'll engage her Figgy Pudding form, and then begin what can only be considered a barrage of torment, as she abuses Wenceslas Breath, Sun Downer, and Soul Survivor, to lower your action speed, inflict heavy light-based damage, then scythe away your MP so you options become increasingly limited and thereby force you to spend turns refilling your MP with items. However, thee is an easy way to beat her and a hard one. The hard one is actually trying to inflict enough damage to beat her normally. The other is to last twenty turns. Either way, you'll win.

--Boss Fight!--

Jaydea: (Clutches her shoulder, which is badly burned and bleeding, before smiling coolly, and her wound vanishes in an instant.)

:Deima: You didn't...

Jaydea: “Do you want this? You will watch all your friends and loved ones grow old and die, and then the world, until all the stars go out, and you will float endlessly in an ocean of blackness.” That is what Halst asked me. Yes, I am now invincible, unkillable by anything.

Emilia: You're wrong, Jaydea. You're not invincible.

Jaydea: Oh? I fail to see what you're getting at.

(Emilia motions for Jaydea to walk closer to her, where Emilia claps her on the shoulder)

Emilia: We go back a long way, Jay, so this is gonna hurt me more than it does you.

Jaydea: I don't think so, but--

(Jaydea cannot finish this, as she's slammed on the ground, and kicked off the tower by Emilia, complete with MIDI falling scream)

Emilia: YOU MESSED WITH MY LITTLE BROTHER, YOU BITCH! That was where you failed!

Hiro: (Visibly tears up) Emilia....

Loyroll: While this is excellent work in reversing years of abuse, we really do need to hurry up and save the world.

Hiro: R-right!

Go through the door. Where you'll find another garishly decorated room with mosaics all across the walls and floors. However, the most striking feature is the little girl in the center of the room.

Hiro: She seems strangely familiar...

Little Girl: Hello, Mister! Do you want anything? Money? Fame? Power? Women? A set of balls?

Hiro: EXCUSE ME?

Little Girl: GYAHAHA! A little divine humor. Seriously, though, Let me heal you, first!

(The party is fully healed!)

Little Girl: Now, what can I, the Goddess of Strife, Halst, do for you?

Hiro: Can you please go back to sleep? The world is really nice and y doesn't deserve to be destroyed!

Halst: Mmmmmm, you raise a good point. Okay! I will go back to sleep!

Hiro: R-really?

Halst: I need to get some exercise in first, though. No sense in getting up before doing some stretches~!

Deima: Be on your guard, Hiro!

Hiro: !!!

--Boss Fight!--

Tiny Goddess Halst x1

LP: 100000

MP: 33000

This form of Halst is unnerving since she'll giggle in an autotuned MIDI voice and do little else for five turns before she uses the “Goddess Halst cried an evil spell!” and the party will be dealt half health in dmage instantly. This is when you realize this form isn't meant to kill you, but troll you to waste healing items. She'll continue doing this, but never do more than scythe away your health with percentage attacks.

--Boss Fight!--

Deima: Hiro! She's just pretending! Inside that cutesy exterior is the heart of an utter monster!

Halst: Ohohohoho, so you do remember. Chimera Witch Deima, shall we begin our deadly dance once more?

Deima: Nuh-uh! I'm taken already! (Grabs Hiro, as Ozma and Kimyawa both tense violently)

Halst:...Of course. Very well...

(She bulges, before erupting like an insect molting out of her little girl form, standing as a stunning adult version of her earlier form. She kicks off the fleshy bag as a pair of winged munchkin cherubs fly by and drop a halo over her head)

Halst: Now, Puddings! Welcome to TODT!

--FINAL BOSS BATTLE!--

Halst, Goddess of Destruction x1

LP: 120000

MP: 45000

She'll remain in her initial form, while Deima will yell at you to “Use Noble Neapolitan to stop her Spinning Narrative!” When you do so, Halst will jerk back in terror, and her form will shift to that of a gigantic winged-snake form of herself. She still has her human top half, though, so, go topless final bosses, I guess? It doesn't affect her life any, but it does make her much more aggressive, allowing her to use Divine Light of Terror (Heavy Light-elemented LP-based damage, translated as Shining Slayer Cross of Evil later), Sacred Verdict (A large chance of inflicting all status ailments), and all tier-3 spells to hurt you in all sorts of ways. My best advice is to abuse Noble Neapolitan's best skill, Shining Zephyr of Friendship, or as it is translated in the localized version, Shining Rainbow Connection. If you're deliberately going for the bad end, hit her as hard as you can without Noble Neapolitan... That's all I can say.

--FINAL BOSS BATTLE!--

Halst: URGH! I'm...I'm beaten? Light Pudding, I will return to sleep. Be warned, though. As long as Evil persists, I cannot die...(She melts away)

Hiro: We-we did it!

Emilia: I knew you could do it!

Hiro: Really?

Emilia: S-sure! (She looks away and coughs for a moment) Anyways, we got a lot to do, let's go home!

(You're then treated to the ending credits as the party slowly walks back through the various towns that still remain intact, as the party members all wave goodbye, dispersing one at a time, until Emilia, Hiro and Ozma remain. They stop at Toruble Castle, and Emilia turns to the other two.)

Emilia: Well, I need to do some, uh, stuff, at, uh, place. I'll catch you two kids later!

Hiro: Huh?

(Hiro and Ozma stare at one another)

Ozma: Wanna see my sock puppet collection?

Hiro: A'iight.

The good ending has a mural of the heroes, except Moore (Fuck that guy), which ends in Hiro and Ozma raising a sword together to Halst in her angel-snake form, while we get one last scene..

(Hand on a beach, clenches)

Jaydea: I...I told you...I cannot die, Light Pudding. I-I'll be back in the sequel! (Cough, cough)

(Bad End)

Halst: (Clutching her face) I...I was beaten by the Puddings, but they ignored Big Sister's warnings, and now....

(She turns to a a pair of babies on the nearby floor. One of which is a dark blue boy with red streaks down his face, and the other is a blonde girl akin to Halst)

Halst: Auntie Deima will meet YOU two~! Mweeheeeheehee~!

Amazing Quest 1: Pudding Warrior....END

#Adventure #fantasy #fiction #writing #science fantasy #infrequently asked questions #Amazing Quest

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lastbluetardis · 6 years ago

Text

And Babies Make Five and Six (6/16)

Summary: Sometimes the things we want the most stay just out of reach. But after an extra helping of heartache as they try for a third baby, James and Rose are blessed with double the joy.

Trigger warning for infertility for select chapters–this is one of those chapters.

I’m sorry for the delay (again!) But this chapter is the start of the climax of the story and I wanted to be sure I was telling the best possible story. This is also looking like it will be longer than the originally-planned eleven chapters, so I’ve adjusted the chapter count with my new prediction.

Ten x Rose AU

This chapter: Mature, 9000 words

Betaed by the marvelous @chocolatequeennk, and also written for @doctorroseprompts because it is a Doctor x Rose fic.

AO3 | TSP | FF | Perfectly Matched Series

Ch1 | Ch2 | Ch3 | Ch4 | Ch5 | Ch6 | Ch7 | Ch8 | Ch9 | Ch10 | Ch11 | Ch12 | Ch13 | Ch14 | Ch15 | Ch16

The rest of their holiday passed too quickly for either of their liking, and they tried to squeeze as many activities into their days as they could.

On their second to last evening, they sat entwined on a lounge chair and star-gazed as they sipped chilled champagne and ate the chocolate-covered fruit they’d ordered. They were grateful for the cover of darkness and the privacy of having the outermost waterfront suite as they basked in the afterglow of their latest lovemaking session.

“I think we’re putting our younger selves to shame,” James laughed as he nuzzled his face into her sweat-dampened hair.

“It must be all the shellfish, acting as an aphrodisiac,” she mumbled, heaving out a sated sigh.

James snorted. “As if I’d need an aphrodisiac. I’m always horny around you.”

Rose giggled, knowing the truth in that statement. James’s sex drive had always been robust, equal only to her own, and not even the past twelve and a half years of intimacy had cooled his ardor. It was an intoxicating feeling, knowing that her husband wanted her just as much now as he did when they first met.

“Same for me,” she said. “You’re too sexy for your own good.” His chest rumbled beneath her ear as he giggled, and she smiled at the sound. She then arched her back, stretching her slightly sore muscles. “God, this trip has been amazing. I can’t believe we have to go home soon.”

“I know,” he said, reached over to top off their champagne glasses. “While I miss our daughters terribly, I love being alone here with you.”

Rose hummed in agreement and tilted her head back to lean against James’s chest. Her torso rose and fell softly with his as he breathed, and she could feel the faint pounding of his heartbeat against the back of her head.

He wrapped an arm around her middle and hugged her tight. Rose watched him point out various patterns in the stars with his free hand. His voice was low and intimate as he told her all about the Polynesian history he’d read about, and how the people of old used to navigate the vast expanses of the ocean using the stars as their only guide.

She smiled as he spoke, and let the rhythm of his voice and the Bora Bora nightlife lull her further into a trance-like state of relaxation. She was barely aware of James helping her to bed some time later, and once cushioned in the plush mattress, she immediately fell into a deep sleep.

When they woke up the next morning, it was to the sound of rain pattering against the roof of their suite.

“At least the weather had the decency to wait until our last day to start raining,” James said brightly.

“Mhm,” Rose agreed, standing at the window to the deck and watching the churning of the sea beneath the gray clouds. “Besides, a little rain won’t disrupt our souvenir shopping.”

After breakfast and a shared shower, James and Rose huddled under the same umbrella as they moved from shop to shop, admiring the authentic Bora Bora souvenirs. Rose ran her fingertips across the tribal wood carvings, loving texture of the patterns etched into the smooth wood.

She picked up a tri-fold picture frame and ran her thumb across the smooth wood. James loved taking new photographs of their daughters into his office, and Rose thought this would be perfect for him to set on the corner of his desk. She hid it at the bottom of her basket then moved to the opposite end of the shop when a matching wood carved necklace and bracelet set caught her eye. She called James over. “Ainsley is always getting into my jewelry box to play dress up. I think she’d love these.”

“Oh absolutely,” he said, and they purchased it along with a set of wooden bowls that came with gorgeously carved lids for Robert.

For their youngest, they decided on a set of children’s books about the island. One set was a series that detailed the wildlife on Bora Bora and the surrounding islands, both land and sea creatures, and one was specific to the plant life. Another book was a story about a little girl growing up on the island. The bright colors and unique plants and animals would capture their toddler’s attention, they knew, and it would be a nice book to look at when they wanted to remember the life on the island.

When they bought themselves a few bottles of the oils and lotions used during the massage they’d gotten on their anniversary, they also added an extra few to their basket after Rose noted that her mum would probably enjoy the beauty products, too.

Over lunch, James surprised Rose with a gift-wrapped package containing a matching necklace and earring set made of the island’s famous black pearls.

“Oh, James!” she gasped, rubbing her thumb across the smooth, iridescent pearls. “These are beautiful!”

He beamed. “I thought you’d love them. They’ll look gorgeous against your skin. Even when you go back to being pasty pale.”

Rose stuck her tongue out at him and said, “Oi, you’re paler than me.” She then ducked down and rifled through the bags at her feet. “I got something for you, too. Not as elegant as the pearls, I’m afraid.”

“Oh, nonsense, this is perfect!” he crowed, his voice pitching high in his excitement. He accepted the picture frame from her, and he opened it up. He traced his thumbnail through the grooves of the intricate, swirling patterns in the wood. “Oh, this is going right on my desk at work! Can you help me get a few photos printed when we get home?”

“Of course,” she said, smiling. “I’m glad you like it.”

“I love it,” James said, leaning over to press an over-the-top smacking kiss to her lips.

After lunch, they continued their shopping excursion. Rose’s eyes were drawn to a shop filled with colorful fabrics, and James let himself be led into the clothing shop, where he watched his wife move from rack to rack, admiring the hand-dyed clothing and accessories.

“I wonder what these are,” Rose said, gesturing to a rack displaying long, stretchy lengths of fabric. She pulled one off and held it up. “It’s not wide enough to be a sarong,” she muttered to herself. “Too stretchy to be a scarf.”

“It is so you can carry your baby.”

James and Rose turned at the voice and saw a woman—presumably the shop owner—standing behind them and wearing the same article of clothing as Rose was holding up. The woman turned to the side and gestured to the sleeping baby that was swaddled close to her chest. The woman then walked to a different rack to hang up the scarves she’d been carrying.

“Oh, that is beautiful,” Rose gasped as she held the baby wrap to her body and haphazardly fastened it across her torso.

James hummed his agreement. The vibrant blues and greens looked lovely against her skin, and his brain couldn’t help but show him this same image but with a dark-haired baby nestled in the front pouch.

Rose, it seemed, had the same idea.

“This would be so handy, eh?” she asked. “It’s a bit looser in the front than the baby wrap we have, which smooshes my boobs when I wear it. Having smooshed boobs when breastfeeding is not the most pleasant sensation I’ve ever felt.”

“I’ll bet,” James said with a grimace. “If you want it, go ahead. Prep for baby three.”

Rose returned his giddy grin, and she added the baby wrap to her basket.

With babies on the brain, they were both drawn to the selection of baby accessories in the shop, from blankets to swaddles to caps. As they browsed the selection, they began to muse aloud about their next child.

“You better give your little swimmers a pep talk if you want a boy,” Rose teased, nudging her elbow into his ribs. “All I can contribute is the X chromosome.”

James rolled his eyes. “I don’t care if we get a boy or a girl, as long as they’re healthy.”

They continued swapping predictions back and forth, speculating what their baby would look like. They wondered about the kind of personality their child would have, and if they would be calm and sweet like Ainsley, or energetic and daring like Sianin.

“Probably something new and unique that we’ll have to learn to adapt to,” James said.

“D’you think Sianin will like having a little brother or sister?” Rose asked curiously. “Ainsley adores being a big sister. But Sianin… I can’t quite see how she’ll react.”

“I think she’ll take her cue from Ainsley, like always,” James said. “I think she’ll see how excited Ainsley is, and so she’ll be excited too.”

“I hope so,” Rose said, bringing her basket to the register to pay.

When they were finished with their shopping, they headed back to their room to prepare for their last dinner on the island. While the rain had mostly stopped by the evening, the clouds remained, and James and Rose dined atop the lagoon and watched the wind stir up waves.

A package was waiting for them when they got back to their room after dinner.

“Oh, good, I was getting worried it wouldn’t be done in time,” Rose said happily, skipping up to it.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Why don’t you open it and find out?”

Rose bit her lip as James fumbled to tear open the thick packing paper, and she beamed when she heard his gasp.

“Oh, Rose!”

He held up a painting of the two of them on the beach. His arms were wrapped around her waist and she was leaning back against him, and both of them were wearing big smiles. The colors were vibrant and tropical, from the greens and blues of the sea behind them to the pinks and oranges of the sunset sky.

“How did you do this?” he asked, his mouth open in surprise.

“I saw a local artist on the beach that first day we were here,” Rose said. “She takes family photographs and paints them onto a beach setting. I snuck off to give her the photo when you were napping on the beach.”

“You’re incredible, d’you know that?” he murmured, gently setting the painting down on the bed to turn to take her up into his arms. She wrapped her arms around his waist and nuzzled into his chest. “I love it so much. Thank you. It’s a perfect memento to bring home with us.”

“I thought so too,” she said. “This trip has been so perfect.”

He hummed into her shoulder, then pressed a kiss to her skin.

They turned in early that night, wanting to be well-rested when they caught their morning flight off the island.

They came home from their anniversary refreshed, relaxed, and much tanner than when they’d left. They arrived at their house late at night, after the girls were already asleep.

“Welcome home!” Robert greeted when they stepped through the front door. “Bora Bora was good for you. You both look amazing.”

“Thanks, Dad!” Rose skipped up to him and caught him in a tight hug. “How were the girls?”

“Wonderful, as always,” he answered.

Rose turned and walked down the hall, unable to resist peeking in on her daughters. She poked her head into Sianin’s room first. Her heart melted when she saw how Sianin was lying diagonally across her mattress with her blankets shoved all the way to the foot of the bed. Barely daring to breathe, Rose crept into her room and pulled the covers up and draped them over Sianin’s little body.

Sianin snorted in her sleep, then rolled over onto her side and hugged her blankets to her chest as she popped a thumb into her mouth.

“I love you,” Rose murmured, aching to pull Sianin into her arms.

She resisted, and then turned around to leave the room where she saw James leaning against the door frame. She stepped by him and saw him linger at the door to watch Sianin sleep while she entered Ainsley’s room.

Her six-year-old was sound asleep on her stomach, with her blankets pulled tight around her shoulders. Her dark hair was in her face, and Rose crouched down to smooth it back. Ainsley stayed dead asleep, and Rose smiled at her child.

She pressed a soft kiss to Ainsley’s temple and whispered, “I love you,” before she left the room to let James have his turn.

She walked back to the living room, where Robert was readying his things.

“Dad, you don’t need to leave!” Rose protested. “It’s the middle of the night. Stay!”

“I don’t want to intrude…”

“Dad, don’t be stupid.” Rose turned and saw James enter the room. When he reached her side, Rose smacked his chest lightly and hissed, “Rude!”

James ignored her and said, “It’s a forty-minute drive back to your flat. Stay here the night.”

Robert agreed, then added, “I’m glad I’m moving closer. That will make this easier.”

James hummed and nodded, before he and Rose bade Robert goodnight.

They worked around each other as they went through their nighttime routine. Finishing first, Rose collapsed into their bed and listened to her husband moving around the ensuite.

“It’s good to be home,” she murmured, nuzzling into her pillow that smelled a little stale after two weeks of disuse.

“Yeah it is,” he answered.

He flicked their light off and scooted into bed beside her. They moved together until she was spooned back against him. She hugged his arm to her chest and laced their fingers together beneath her chin.

“First day we haven’t shagged in seven days straight,” she mumbled to his knuckles.

“Oh dear. We’re losing our touch,” he said dryly. Rose giggled, and he pressed a kiss to the side of her neck. “Though I suppose it’ll be all right to give our bodies a bit of a break. Too much of a good thing and all?”

“Pfft. I can’t ever get enough of you,” Rose mumbled through a yawn. Her eyelids drooped, and James squeezed her tight before he wormed his arm out of her grasp.

“And I, you.” He pressed a lingering kiss to her hair and whispered, “Get some sleep. Nighty night.”

Rose slept like the dead, and if she had any dreams, she couldn’t remember them. She didn’t feel at all ready to wake up when two small bodies jumped into their bed when it was still dark outside.

“Mummy! Daddy! You’re home!”

Rose smiled sleepily at her two daughters, and she grabbed them both up into her arms. She held them tight to her chest and buried her nose into first Ainsley’s hair, then Sianin’s, and she delighted in breathing them in.

“I missed you so much,” Rose said, peppering them with kisses.

“Daddy’s turn,” James said, cuddling up against Rose’s side to take their girls into his arms.

After the initial hugs were given out, James and Rose lay back down in their bed with their kids in between them. They listened to Ainsley and Sianin tell them all about their week with Grandad, and then they answered their questions about Bora Bora. Rose grabbed her phone and showed their daughters the many photos they took while on their holiday, at least until Sianin grew bored and started asking for breakfast.

Getting back into the groove of working was challenging after two weeks off. The first morning Rose’s alarm went off, she groaned and snoozed her phone before she rolled over and buried her face in James’s back.

“I hate working,” she mumbled.

“No you don’t,” he said, turning to face her. “You love your job.”

“I’d love it more if I didn’t have to be in at seven,” she said.

“I know,” James said. “But we both agreed that those hours would work best in coordinating school drop off and pick up.”

“Stop being logical,” Rose said, poking his belly.

He breathed out a laugh and draped an arm around her waist. “As you wish.”

They remained in their embrace until Rose’s alarm went off again.

James had it easy; the university was still on holiday, so he wouldn’t have to worry about needing to be a functioning human early in the morning for another couple of weeks.

The weekend before his term was about to start, Rose woke him with lazy kisses to his chest and neck, and finally his lips. He hummed into the kiss and threaded his fingers through her sleep-tangled hair as he held her closer.

“Good morning to you, too,” he murmured against her lips.

“My period is late,” she whispered.

James blinked up at her, not sure if he’d misheard her or his groggy brain had misunderstood. But no, she had a giddy grin on her face and her eyes were alight with excitement.

“Yeah?” he asked hopefully.

She nodded. “Was supposed to get it Monday. Still don’t have it.”

“Do you have a pregnancy test?” he asked, sitting upright as anticipation pulsed through his veins.

“Bought a few after work yesterday,” she said.

“Well what are you waiting for? Go wee!”

Rose laughed at him and swatted his chest.

“Charming,” she drawled, but she shifted away from him to crawl out of bed.

James sat up too and waited anxiously as Rose disappeared into the loo. A few moments later, he heard the faucet running as she washed her hands, and he joined her in the ensuite.

The pregnancy test was sitting face-down on the vanity. He stepped up behind her and wrapped his arms around her middle. He buried his face into her neck and breathed her in as he gently rocked them from side to side.

“Love you.”

Rose brought her hands up to cover his, and she leaned back into his chest. “I love you, too.”

After a few minutes, James said, “Wanna look?”

“Yeah.”

Rose reached over for the test, but kept it upside down.

She was nervous yet excited all at once. They’d shagged like bunnies—hell, they’d probably put some bunnies to shame—during their anniversary. And she’d been fertile for most of their trip. She didn’t know if that was good luck or providence, but whatever it was, she felt it deep in her bones that things were finally looking up for them.

So when she flipped the test stick over and heard James’s disappointed little “oh”, she didn’t understand. She saw the single line—not pregnant—and still didn’t understand. They’d been trying so hard. They’d had sex every day of her ovulation cycle. Multiple times a day, sometimes. She should be pregnant.

The warmth and hope in her bloodstream evaporated, leaving her feeling cold and aching.

“We’ll try again,” James said quietly, pecking a kiss to the back of her head before he unwrapped his arms from around her waist and moved to throw away the negative test.

She wanted to cry. His disappointment grated against her for some reason. Maybe because she, too, was disappointed and all she wanted was for him to be the optimistic one. Or maybe because it hurt to hear the hurt in his voice. She was so sick of failing him. She wanted to go back to her doctor and pester her to make sure that she was positive that there wasn’t anything wrong with her. Because there had to be. There had to be some reason why she wasn’t getting pregnant.

“We’ll try again next month,” he said again, and she flinched away from his hand on her back.

Tears burned behind her eyes. She didn’t want to wait another month to try again. She hated that they had to wait. Why couldn’t her body be fertile more often? Like James’s. It wasn’t bloody fair.

“You okay?”

No, she wanted to shout. I thought all that shagging we’d done on our holiday would’ve done the trick. I thought we’d really done it this time and finally made a baby. But it was all for nothing.

As soon as she thought the words, they were gone, and in their place was a foul taste in her mouth. What sort of terrible person was she that she’d just boiled down her wonderful anniversary holiday with James to only its potential of conception? She’d had so much fun with him in Bora Bora.

She forced herself to remember all of the amazing things they’d done together. Snorkeling, hiking, swimming. And a whole lot of shagging. Which turned out to have been fruitless.

Stop that, she chastised. We made love for more reasons than just to make a baby. We made love because we are so in love with each other, and because it’s fun and feels really great.

“Rose?”

Oh, right. James was still waiting on an answer.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” she whispered, forcing down all of the ugly thoughts that had cropped up.

His slight frown told her he didn’t believe her.

“Are you sure?” he asked quietly. She clenched her jaw as she tried to make herself feel as okay as she claimed. “Because I’m not. I’m disappointed and upset. Remember, you don’t have to pretend with me, Rose.”

Her throat ached as her vision blurred. His face softened when he saw her tears, and he murmured, “Oh, Rose. C’mere.”

Her face crumpled and she choked on a sob as James pulled her into his arms. She clung to him as her tears fell, and she wept with frustration and feelings of inadequacy.

It was her fault that they weren’t getting pregnant, and it was her fault they had to keep waiting, and it was her fault that they were even in this mess. She never should have taken that pregnancy test eighteen months ago. As she’d told him then, there was virtually no chance she was even pregnant.

But she did take that test, and she’d gotten to thinking about having another baby, and worse, she’d gotten James thinking about it. She’d gotten his hopes up, and every month that came without a pregnancy had them crashing back down again.

She gasped in a breath as she tried to stifle her sobs against his shoulder, but more kept taking their place.

“Shh,” he whispered, squeezing her tighter. “It’s okay. You’re okay. Everything will be okay. Just breathe, love.”

She tried to breathe, but her lungs felt too tight and she couldn’t do much more than suck in shallow gasps of air. She was just so exhausted. All she wanted was to be pregnant and for this whole ordeal to be over. Was that too much to ask?

Maybe it was. After all, she already had two amazing children with her equally amazing husband.

Her stomach roiled as she thought of Ainsley and Sianin. She was already so, so lucky to have her daughters. Was she being selfish and ungrateful by wanting more? She should feel completely satisfied with the family she had, rather than fixated on what she didn’t have. Why couldn’t she be happy with her two kids? Why did she feel this ache in her chest, this longing for another child, every time she looked at Ainsley and Sianin?

She was about to confess all of the terrible thoughts she was thinking, but then stopped herself. If she hated herself for them, what if James did too? He’d surely be angry when she told him how Ainsley and Sianin weren’t enough.

But they are enough, she protested. They are more than enough! I just… want more.

“Easy does it,” James murmured. “That’s it. Breathe.”

Rose shuddered in a breath, and she squeezed his waist tightly.

“I thought we’d finally done it,” she rasped into his chest. “I really, really did.”

“So did I,” he admitted, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “We’ll just keep trying.”

Rose sniffled and kept her face buried in his collarbone until her tears stopped. James pulled back to look at her, and the sight of his pink, wet eyes nearly set her off again. But she drew in a shuddering breath and managed to blink through her tears.

While keeping one arm wrapped around her waist, James reached up with his other hand to cradle her cheek in his palm. He swiped his thumb under her eye, and Rose rubbed her other eye dry.

“Get a shower, and I’ll have breakfast ready when you’re done,” he said softly.

Rose nodded and turned away from him to take a hot shower. She hated the ache in her chest. She hated that this one thing could bring her such distress. It wasn’t that big of a deal.

But it is, she argued. It’s a baby. A new little person I’ve made with James that’s half him and half me that we will love forever. It’s a new sibling for Ainsley and Sianin, a built-in friend for life.

But Ainsley and Sianin are already the best of friends, Rose continued, trying to soothe herself and her sadness. Yes, it would be nice for them to have another brother or sister, but they’re fine by themselves. Just like James and I are fine with having two kids.

She continued the back and forth until the water began to go cool. Cursing, she hastily finished her shower and dressed in soft, comfy trousers and one of James’s jumpers. Being surrounded in his scent worked wonders to calm her, and she felt as composed as she was going to get as she joined her family for breakfast.

Both girls were awake and James had them in his lap where he was sitting on the couch as cartoons played on the television. A plate of pancakes sat on the end table, and Rose watched him roll one up like a burrito and stuff half of it into his mouth.

He caught sight of her and beamed.

“‘Ose!” he said though his chipmunk cheeks. “Ma’e pa’cakes!”

Rose couldn’t help the giggle that bubbled through her chest and doubled her over with laughter. After the morning she’d had, she’d desperately been in need of a good laugh.

“Oh, I love you,” she said, stepping up to him.

Once he finished chewing and swallowing, she pressed a light kiss to his lips, before she ducked down and pressed kisses to her daughters’ heads. She lingered with her lips on their foreheads, letting their presence comfort her.

When she joined them on the couch after getting herself a cup of tea and a plate of pancakes and eggs, Sianin wriggled off of James’s lap and into hers to scavenge for more food.

“Daddy already gave you your breakfast,” Rose said as her toddler knelt on her thighs and looked down at Rose’s plate.

“Want more,” Sianin said. “Please Mummy?”

“Do you want a pancake or eggies?” Rose asked, gesturing with her fork.

“Both.”

Rose skewered a small bite of food for her daughter and let Sianin grab the base of the fork below her fingers so she could feed herself.

“Want more,” Sianin said, moving the fork as though to load it up with more food.

“Mummy’s turn,” Rose said.

They continued to share her plate of food until it was empty, then James stood up and took everyone’s plate into the kitchen before he walked down the hall to get a shower.

In a rare fit of stillness, Sianin stayed in Rose’s lap, facing her. The toddler flashed her a sudden grin then buried her face in Rose’s chest and said, “I love you, Mummy. Mummy, I looooove youuuuu.”

The backs of Rose’s eyes stung, and she hugged her daughter tightly.

“I love you, too, baby,” she whispered, closing her eyes and nuzzling her nose into Sianin’s soft hair. “So much.”

Not wanting to be left out, Ainsley cuddled close to Rose’s side and said, “I love you, too, Mummy.”

Rose smiled against Sianin’s head, and she opened her arm for her other daughter. Ainsley rested her head atop Rose’s breast and wrapped her arms around Rose’s waist.

“And I love you, too, Ainsley. So much.”

Sitting there with her children in her arms, Rose felt contentment wash over her, warming her from the inside out and dispelling the coldness she’d felt since seeing the negative pregnancy test.

Yes, what she had was more than enough. Her family was perfect just the way it was.

But as the weeks dragged along, that mantra was harder to maintain, especially when there was seemingly an explosion of babies around them.

“The Johnsons across the street are pregnant,” Rose grumbled, having run into the neighbor on her morning jog. It had been difficult to smile and congratulate the older woman on her pregnancy because if a woman seven years her senior could get pregnant, why couldn’t she?

“Yeah, I spoke to Dave yesterday,” James said. “That’s wonderful. A bit of a surprise, from what I gathered. But a happy surprise nonetheless.”

Rose had to bite her tongue against the scathing comment about the unfairness of it all. Getting angry with James wouldn’t help anything.

“So, Ainsley’s got that sleepover this weekend,” he said, coming up behind her in a backwards hug. “And it’s been awhile since Jackie babysat. What do you say to you and me having a sleepover of our own?”

Rose sighed. It had been almost a month since they got home from Bora Bora, and in that time, she and James rarely found themselves alone. They were due for a private weekend together, but she wasn’t really in the mood for a romantic night out.

Before she could try and convince James otherwise, she remembered that she couldn’t go away with him that weekend. She felt guilty when the tension left her body at that realization.

“Sorry, love, but I’ve got that photo session all day on Saturday,” she said apologetically.

“Crap, that’s right.” He sighed. “Oh well. Rain check.”

She squeezed his hand before she stepped away from his embrace and headed down the hall to shower.

Her photoshoot that weekend did nothing to help her worsening mood. She was booked for a newborn debut shoot. Again.

Why do I always get these bloody shoots? Rose grumbled to herself as she set up her equipment in the studio. Since returning from her holiday, she’d had at least ten newborn shoots. Ten days where she saw new mums and dads come in with their new baby. In order to get the angles she wanted, Rose usually had to pick up the baby and reposition them, and every time she felt the warm weight of a baby in her arms, an ache lodged in her chest. It was getting to be so hard to continuously photograph new babies and new parents and new big siblings without her imagination getting the best of her.

Her mind would supply her with pictures of how her family would look in these photoshoots. It showed her James with a proud grin on his face as he held their three children in his lap. It showed her Ainsley, who would be so eager to hold her new baby sibling. It showed her Sianin, who, under James’s guidance with holding a newborn, would be smiling down into the baby’s face. It showed her herself, still round with lingering baby weight, holding an infant to her chest as the rest of her family stood beside her.

It hurt every time she had to come back to reality and leave that fantasy in her memories.

That particular Saturday was the worst day she’d had yet. It was a family shoot, not just a newborn shoot. It was a husband and wife, with their two eldest daughters and newborn baby boy. The girls were six and three, and it was impossible for Rose to not see the parallel.

She tried to rush through the shoot under the guise of wanting to get the photographs done before the baby or either of the children lost their patience. The parents agreed, and together they all worked quickly to get the shots the family wanted.

It was the longest hour of Rose’s life. By the time she shook hands with the mother and father and made an appointment for them to come in and pick out the photos they wanted, she was near tears. Those tears fell as soon as she was alone, and she pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes as she tried and failed to stop them.

She hated this. She hated feeling like this. She wished the ache of want in her chest would go away, and more than anything, she wished she knew what she was doing wrong to keep them from getting pregnant.

According to everyone else, there wasn’t anything wrong. She was healthy. Her uterus was healthy. Her eggs were healthy. But if she were healthy, surely something should’ve happened by now. Her body had proven before that it could get pregnant with no trouble, so why wasn’t it getting pregnant now?

She tried to ignore those thoughts as she packed away her equipment and returned to her office to download the photographs. They were beautiful photos, but Rose was having trouble looking at them with the right eye to touch them up. After almost two hours of editing, deleting her edits, and re-editing, Rose gave up with a frustrated groan. She shut down her computer, angry with herself that she couldn’t focus on her work. How unprofessional was she that she was letting her personal life impact her work?

With a sigh, she told herself she would take a breather and relax for the rest of the weekend before coming back into the studio on Monday to look at the photos with fresh eyes.

But it was no good. Monday came, and Rose found herself dreading the project. She pushed all of her other work to the front and focused on the digital art renderings she’d been commissioned to do.

By the end of the week, Rose had reached the end of her rope when she’d been given assignments for two more baby photoshoots.

“I can’t do these, Lindsey,” Rose said as she stormed into her boss’s office with the assignment slips. “I can’t. Why am I the only bloody person around here that photographs babies? Eh? Why can’t I ever get the weekend assignments to go all across the country and photograph weddings? Why can’t I ever get the assignments to take photos of local scenery? But no, I get the bloody babies!”

Rose’s eyes were stinging with frustration and embarrassment, and her boss’s eyes were wide.

“Shut the door, Rose,” she said quietly, and Rose did so, but stayed standing until Lindsey gestured for her to sit down. “Rose, is everything okay?”

“Fine,” she said stiffly, feeling mortified about how she’d just snapped at her boss.

“It’s just… you love doing the baby shoots,” Lindsey said gently.

“Well, maybe I’m just bored with them,” she mumbled.

“That’s fair enough. But are you sure there isn’t anything else that’s wrong?”

Rose sighed and finally admitted, “James and I have been trying for another baby for almost two years, with no luck. It’s becoming hard to constantly be working with new babies, is all.”

Her boss’s face pinched into an expression of sympathy, and Rose clenched her jaw. She didn’t want pity; she had enough self-pity. She just wanted more diversity with her assignments until she was able to work through her anger and frustration over her current situation.

“Anyway,” Rose continued before Lindsey could say anything. “It’s given me a block with editing the photos, and it’s not fair to the clients to have someone who isn’t interested in their photos doing the edits. So if I could not get any more baby shoots for a while, that’d be great.”

She set the assignment slips on her boss’s desk and turned around to stalk back to her own office.

James, meanwhile, wasn’t faring much better, especially after one of his work friends announced that he and his wife were pregnant with their second child.

“We’d been trying for ages,” Mark told James when they went out for celebratory drinks. “Eight or nine months, I reckon.”

James regretted the shot of tequila he’d just taken as his stomach rolled with jealousy and annoyance. Nine months was no time at all. He and Rose had been trying for twice as long as that. Before he could say something he would later regret, James clapped Mark on the shoulder and ordered a new round of drinks.

The middle of February rolled around, and the weekend before Valentine’s Day found James helping his dad move into his new flat.

“Just me today,” James called out, walking through the open front door. “Sianin caught a bug at the daycare. Rose is staying home with her.”

“Aww, is she okay?” Robert asked, grimacing in sympathy.

“Yeah, she’ll be fine. It’s a slight fever and a cough. All she’s wanted to do is sleep though, which is quite telling to how poorly she’s feeling. And evidently Rose’s arms are the only place that sleeping can happen,” James answered, rubbing his fingers into his tired eyes. Sianin had slept with them last night, and her continuous coughing and wriggling around had kept them both up for most of the night.

“I remember those days,” Robert said. “A mum or dad cuddle is often the best medicine for a sick baby.”

James nodded and accepted the mug of coffee his dad offered.

“So how’s retired life?” he asked, glancing around at the boxes that were labeled ‘uni office’. “Is it weird not going into the university every day?”

“Yeah, a bit. It’s like I don’t quite know what to do with myself.”

“Well, Rose and I are just a mile away,” James said. “Stop by and play with your grandkids whenever you want.”

“It’ll be nice to see the girls more often,” Robert said, gesturing for James to sit at the table. “And you. What’s been happening with you? And Rose? I feel like I haven’t really talked to you in a while. ”

“Yeah, suppose not.” James paused for a moment. He took a sip of coffee then admitted, “Rose and I… we’ve been trying for another baby.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful,” Robert said with a smile.

James shook his head as a lump swelled up in his throat.

“We’ve, ehm, we’ve been trying for a while. In June it’ll be two years,” he whispered, rubbing at his stinging nose. “And nothing. Rose took a test last month because she suspected she might be pregnant. Came back negative. I thought for sure, since she was ovulating during our anniversary… Rose was so disappointed, Dad. She was so upset, and I didn’t know how to make her feel better.”

James’s chest ached as he remembered how tightly Rose had clung to him and how her entire body shook with sobs. He hadn’t seen her that upset since her struggle with postpartum depression after Sianin’s birth.

“Oh, mate.” Robert touched his hand to James’s forearm and gave it a squeeze. “I’m so sorry.”

“We got tested right before Christmas, to make sure nothing’s wrong, and everything came back clear, but I’m not sure I believe that,” James said. “There’s got to be a reason this isn’t happening for us.”

“These things sometimes happen, James,” Robert said gently.

“But we already have two kids!” he exclaimed. “I’d be more believing of that if we were trying for our first and having no luck. But we got pregnant with Ainsley and Sianin straightaway. We’ve been trying for a baby for longer than we’d tried for the two of them combined. Hell, we could’ve gone through two pregnancies by now!”

“I know,” Robert said.

“I just want a baby,” James whimpered, sniffing. “I want one so badly, Dad. I didn’t realize how much. Because at the beginning, I told myself that we still had time. That Sianin was still practically a baby, so it would be okay if it took a few months, or a year. But now… My baby is gonna be three in a month.”

Robert nodding in understanding.

“Does this make me a bad dad?” James asked. “Wanting another child when I’ve already got two wonderful daughters?”

“Of course not. Why on earth would that make you a bad father?”

“Because I feel like I’m saying Ainsley and Sianin aren’t good enough. Like I’m saying I’m not satisfied with my girls.”

“James, that’s not true,” Robert said. “It doesn’t make you a bad father to want more children. It’s completely natural, a biological urge, to want to have children. Your biological clock is ticking, and so is Rose’s, and that’s one hell of a thing to try to overcome. Believe me. It was hard at times for me to accept that you would be my only child. But that didn’t mean I was dissatisfied with you, or that I loved you any less.”

“How did you cope?” James asked. “This feels awful. How can I make it go away? How can I make myself be content with the life I have?”

Robert pursed his lips and sighed. “Time, unfortunately, is what made it go away for me. When you were born, the feeling muted, because I was so happy to have a healthy child. But then as you grew from a baby into a child—actually, you were around the age Sianin is—those feelings came back. When your mum and I lost the fourth baby, we called it quits for real. And it was hard, James. I won’t lie. It was really hard. But that doesn’t ever mean I was unhappy with my life and my family. You and your mum brought so much joy to my life, and I was grateful for every moment I got to share with you both, but there were moments when I felt bitter about my lot in life.”

James sighed, not feeling at all better.

“It will get better, mate,” Robert said softly, covering James’s hand. “I promise you. That ache deep inside? That frantic tug? It’ll go away. And I know you don’t hold the same beliefs that I do, but I’ll pray for you and Rose, that this hurt you’re feeling will heal.”

A tear finally streaked down James’s cheek, and he pulled his hands away to rub them over his face. He sniffed hard and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes until the urge to cry went away.

“We should get working,” James said, his voice raspier than he would have liked. He pushed up from the table and ignored his father’s sigh and instead began unloading the half-empty box of kitchen supplies.

They worked long into the evening, and when James returned home, he was thoroughly exhausted and his muscles ached.

“How’s my baby?” James cooed when he crouched down next to the sofa where Sianin was laying with her head in Rose’s lap.

“Hi Daddy,” she whispered. “Don’t feel good.”

“I know, darling.” He brushed his lips across her forehead and frowned at how hot she felt. He looked up at Rose and asked, “What’s her temperature?”

“Thirty-eight point five,” Rose said with a sigh. “It’s been steadily climbing all day. If it doesn’t break tonight, I’m going to take her to the doctor.”

James nodded, and he saw how wrung out Rose looked.

“Are you feeling all right?” James asked, pressing the backs of his fingers to her forehead.

“Just tired,” she said with a weary smile.

James pressed a kiss to her forehead, then went to their bedroom to get a shower to wash off the sweat from helping his dad unload boxes and move furniture around all day.

When he returned to the living room, Ainsley was home from her day at the neighbor’s.

“Hi Daddy!” she said, skipping up to him.

He reached down and swung her up into his arms.

“Hiya darling,” he said. “Did you have fun with the Johnsons?”

Ainsley launched into telling him all about her day as he walked with her on his hip to the kitchen to make himself something to eat.

“Are you hungry, Ainsley, or did the Johnsons give you supper?” he asked.

“They made supper,” she answered. “We had hamburgers.”

James kept Ainsley in his arms as he walked with his warmed-up chicken soup to the living room. His heart clenched at how utterly miserable Sianin looked. Her face was pale except for the splotchy pink spots on her cheeks. Her nose was bright red and chapped from the pile of used tissues sitting beside Rose. Every few minutes she coughed a dry, hacking cough that made his chest hurt in sympathy.

Their toddler’s condition didn’t improve overnight, but rather got worse, and when they took her to the pediatrician the next morning, they received the diagnosis of the flu. Upon hearing that, they asked Robert if he could keep Ainsley for a few days to hopefully keep her from getting infected.

They stopped at the store for toddler flu medicine and ingredients to make more soup for her, and they settled in to care for their sick child.

“I know you don’t feel well, sweetheart,” James whispered as Sianin cried in misery in his arms. Her fever was climbing again, but it was still an hour’s wait until James felt comfortable with giving her another dose of medicine. “I know. I’m so sorry. Daddy’s so sorry. Daddy wishes he could take it all away.”

James took a few days off of work to help Rose look after their child. When the worst of it passed, he returned to work and Rose continued to work from home. She completely understood that Sianin couldn’t go to daycare while ailing from the flu, but it was quite inconvenient to have to try to get her work done while trying to soothe a sick baby.

Sianin’s fever lasted for a week, impeding upon their Valentine’s Day dinner plans.

“One of these years we’ll be able to celebrate a Valentine’s Day on the fourteenth,” James teased as he brought a long stemmed rose home for his wife.

Rose snorted and accepted the rose with a soft kiss to his lips. After the girls went to bed for the night, James surprised Rose with a bubble bath and scented candles in their bathroom.

“Oh, you’re amazing,” she moaned, sinking deep into the hot water.

“I know,” he said smugly, climbing in behind her.

“Git.”

He hummed and wrapped his arms around her middle. But when his fingers wandered lower down her belly, she grabbed his wrist.

“Sorry, love, but I am exhausted,” she said.

He immediately returned his hands to her stomach and he pressed a kiss to her shoulder.

“Don’t apologize,” he said. “You’ve been home with a flu-ridden toddler all week. Of course you’re exhausted. We can rain check to whenever we get around to going out for dinner.”

She leaned back against him and let her eyes flutter shut as she relaxed in the steaming water. When he heard her let out a soft snore, he decided taking a nap in the bath probably wasn’t the safest idea, and so he gently roused her and helped her to bed.

After another week, Sianin was back to being the happy, energetic child they knew and loved. While it was sometimes tiresome to keep up with her, James and Rose were so happy that their almost three-year-old was feeling better. They were also happy that they could finally get around to their dinner date they’d had to postpone.

They had to admit it was nice to have Robert so close. They no longer had to plan a date night way in advance, nor did they have to drive forty minutes to drop their kids off for a sleepover with Grandad.

They had a nice dinner out at a new restaurant that just opened across town. The place was somewhat busy when they arrived, but James had put his name in so they didn’t have to endure the thirty-minute wait that other patrons had.

The wine was good and the food was excellent. All of the tabletops were adorned with a light lavender tablecloth, and with the flickering candle set in the middle and the dim overhead lights, a gentle, romantic ambience was set for their meal.

James caught Rose humming along to the music playing overhead. When he concentrated, he finally realized that the restaurant was playing instrumental pieces of modern radio songs.

They ended their date by sharing dessert, as always, and left the restaurant arm in arm, feeling warm and full.

“That was really good,” James said as he guided Rose to their car.

“Mhm,” she agreed.

James opened the door for her and when she was settled in her seat, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers. Heat pooled lazily in his belly as her hands went to his hair to keep him where he was. They were in one of their longer dry spells—minus the ones after Rose had given birth—and James was eager to go home and make love with his wife.

When they got home, Rose excused herself to the loo, telling him she had a surprise for him. He eagerly waited for her in their bedroom, always loving when she told him before having sex that she had a surprise. She looked great in anything—or nothing—but he couldn’t deny that he loved when she went out and bought new lingerie. She knew exactly what he liked best.

As he waited for her to get changed, he pulled off his shoes and socks, then he took everything out of his pockets. He tossed his wallet onto the bedside table, then fumbled with his phone for a minute to silence it. Nothing broke the mood quite like a phone alert. But as he went to mute the sound, he saw the notification ‘ovulation in two days’ pop up at the top of the screen. Something in his in belly clenched uncomfortably tight.

“Your phone can’t possibly be sexier than me.”

James jumped and set his mobile face-down on the bedside table. He turned and his mouth went dry when he saw Rose was wearing a dark blue chemise that wasn’t quite sheer enough to give him a good view of her body, but it was skimpy enough that he knew she wasn’t wearing anything else beneath it. The fitted, built-in bra pushed her breasts up and the hem of the chemise tickled her upper thighs, just barely hiding her from his gaze.

“You look amazing,” he whispered, feeling his pulse throbbing behind the zipper of his trousers.

Rose stepped up to him and caught him in a hot and sloppy kiss before she pushed him back onto their bed and crawled on top of him.

They giggled as they continued trying to displace the other from topping and as they attempted to get James out of his trousers, shirt, and pants without sitting up off the bed. They finally got sufficiently naked, with Rose keeping the chemise on but it had been tugged down far enough that her breasts were exposed.

“God, you’re gorgeous,” he rasped as she took him inside of her. He settled his hands at her waist, enjoying the slippery feeling of the fabric as he squeezed her hips.

“So are you,” she said, setting a slow rhythm for them.

She leaned down and caught his lips in a lazy kiss as she continued moving on top of him. Her movements felt good, as always, and James was content to let her set the pace. He always loved it when they took their time making love, because it was a long and slow buildup and their orgasms often caught them off guard.

That was what happened this time. James grunted in surprise as he felt the knot of pleasure clench and then release. He hugged her hips close to him as he gasped out her name and spilled himself inside her.

When it ended, he flopped onto his back and breathed slowly, enjoying the gentle pulses of pleasure still rolling through his body. He heaved out a sigh and made a noise of dissatisfaction when he felt Rose lift up off him and settle herself beside him.

His brain finally cleared of the orgasmic haze it was in and he rolled over to face her.

“I believe I left you hanging,” he prompted.

He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and caught her lips in an unhurried kiss as his other hand wandered between her thighs. It took only a minute before Rose whimpered her release against his mouth and arched her back in pleasure.

While James loved it when he made Rose come first, he couldn’t deny he enjoyed this unobstructed view of his wife in the throes of ecstasy. He loved seeing her brows furrow as she squeezed her eyes shut, and the way she bit into her bottom lip as she crested before her mouth relaxed as she moaned.

James worked her down slowly, pressing soft kisses to her lips, cheek, and jaw. When she let out a sated groan, he slipped his fingers out of her and popped them into his mouth to clean them.

“That was nice,” she murmured, curling up into his side.

He held her close to him and buried his face in her hair.

“Mhm. It was a nice date night, even postponed two weeks,” he whispered. He absently pressed a kiss to the top of her head as his mind wandered. His phone had reminded him of Rose’s ovulation in just two days. They would be making love again for the next few days. Hopefully this month would be the month they succeeded, and he finally made a baby with her.

<-- Ch5 | Ch7 -->

#ficandchips #doctorroseprompts #dwfic #doctor who #ten x rose #ten x rose au #james x rose #au #soulmates #baby fic #kid fic #themes of infertility #my fic #perfectly matched series #and babies make five and six

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billyharris · 7 years ago

Text

☼ Underneath The Same Sun ☼

Chapter three !! Return of the angst. By this point, y’all should know this is inspired by @itsday353‘s headcanons. But I’m still going to credit Mel anyway !! Also I really want to thank everyone for the nice words. I really was nervous putting my writing out there and getting nothing by praise is super sweet. I’m so touched tbh. Okay enough of my bs. Here we go ~

✧ Chapter One ✧ Chapter Two ✧ Chapter Three ✧

Words ;; 3,781 ･ﾟ Pairing ;; Richie Tozier / Eddie Kaspbrak, sprinkles of Stan Uris / Bill Denbrough, & some big time Stozier friendship vibes in this one y’all ･ﾟ Warnings ;; ANGST BOYS, strong language, plenty of penis talk, and a lot of pot smoking.

❝ — It had been two whole weeks since ‘the incident’ had occurred. That’s what they were calling it. The Cali boys decided ‘Richie posting his boyfriend’s penis to tumblr’ didn’t quite have the right tone to it. So ‘the incident’ would suffice. In those two weeks, drama filled the internet and trxshmouth grew from 4000 followers to about 9000. He still got messages about the photo to this day. He hasn’t posted since. Even opening the app made him want to be sick. But it didn’t matter that Stan and Bill had made posts telling everyone to knock it all off on their respective blogs. People loved their drama. It felt like it was never going to end. Also in those two weeks Eddie and Richie had yet to talk again. And Richie couldn’t blame him. He was rot, growing and destroying everything he touched. It wouldn’t be long until Richie fucked up with Stan and lost him too. He could feel it.

“Hey pal.” Stan coughed through the thick plums of smoke that filled the room. “Missed you in class this morning…guess you were in here hot-boxing again…like you did yesterday…and the day before that.” Richie didn’t reply, he just took another hit of the bong he was grasping and blew puffs up in the air. “Well, Bill took your notes for you. Just the way you like it…The way Eddie taught you to.” Stan knew what he was doing poking the bear like this. Since the break-up Richie was falling more and more into the pit of self depreciation and Stan had to put on his mom jeans and take care of him. But it had been fifteen days and it was time Richie made some progress.

“Don’t say his name.” Richie muttered, vapor trailing from his nostrils and mouth along with the words.

“He speaks! Who knew ?!” Stan waved through the clouds to the window and propped it open. Richie huffed, rolling his eyes and leaning back against the wall with his legs pulled up to his chest. He could sense he was about to be mothered and he wasn’t sure he was ready. Stan now was sitting next to Richie on his bed and his face was all scrunched up. He hated the smell of pot. Richie knew that. But it didn’t change the fact that Richie had been so invested in his tunnel vision of despair to care about how he was bothering Stan. “Look. Bud. You can’t keep doing this.” Richie didn’t reply. “Fine. Fine! No more mister nice Uris. I’ve let you smoke up this dorm for two weeks, a violation of the rules by the way - we can get in big trouble ! I’ve let you sulk like some moopy zoo lion for too long. It’s time we talk about the incident and fucking just - just get over with it for fucks sake, Richie.”

It wasn’t like Stan to get this fed up. He cursed, but not like this. It was odd seeing him care so much. Richie knew deep down they loved one another in the most platonic way they could, but they never showed it. Richie pouted and sat there in silence for a few moments. “What is there to say ?? Eddie hates me. I’ve lost him.” Stan slowly moved closer to his roommate and placed a hand on Rich’s shoulder.

“Come on - it wasn’t that bad. I’m sure Eddie is going to text real soon.”

“Not that bad ? Not that bad ?!” Richie yelled, swatting Stan’s hand away. “Do you think Bill would just get over you posting his dick on the internet ?! No way !! This is monumental in the hall of fame of mistakes I’ve made. ”

Stan let a sly smirk appear on his features, trying to find a way to get to his depressed friend and assuming comedy was his best bet. “Well I wouldn’t be able to - it’s way too big to fit on a phone screen.” Richie for nearly a millisecond dropped his frown. “Ah - got you!” Stan said pointing at the slight curl in Richie’s lips, to which the other boy quickly pushed away, adding on an even stronger frown to combat it with.

“He deserves better.” And then it got way worse. Tears were welling up in Richie’s brown iris’. He was holding it all back, but it didn’t last long before drops were cascading down past his freckles. “Why would he even take me back ? It’ll just end in me fucking up again. Face it Stanley. I deserve to be alone.”

“Bullshit !!” Richie squinted through his fog filled glasses at Stan, still shocked by the way Stan was sticking up for him. “You fucked up and you do that a lot. But that’s your fucking charm !! Anyone would be fucking lucky to call you a friend, let alone a boyfriend. If Eddie can’t fucking see that - then he’s missing out on everything that is the amazing Richie Tozier experience.”

Richie was openly sobbing now, pulling Stan into a tight hug and burying his face into the other’s chest. This was the most Richie had said in two weeks. And before this, all he would say was ‘close the lights’ or ‘leave me alone.’ Stan was forced to give his roommate the space he needed. So Bill wasn’t sleeping over as much. Their whole system was fucked up since the incident. And it was a shame because if Richie wasn’t cracking puns or making your mom jokes about Bill, then he wasn’t really Richie. The sloth Stan had been rooming with for two weeks wasn’t the Richie he knew and loved.

But as Richie finally broke and weeped onto Stan’s polo, he knew the problem couldn’t be solved so simply. Forgetting Eddie wasn’t an option. Richie really did mean it. He was in love. Now, Stan was in love with Bill too. And the thought of losing him was in his head had him pulling back his own tears. He had to help Richie get Eddie back. “Richie -” Stan whimpered out, grabbing the other boy and letting them be face to face. “You are my best friend. I know this means a lot to you. We are going to fix it.”

Richie turned his head away, having a hard time looking at Stan in the eyes. He was queasy and emotional, the ounces of THC in his system to blame for that. Richie hadn’t been sober in days. Anytime his high faltered for a second, he would toke up again. This all began the day Eddie slammed that laptop down and told Richie to never call him again. He had to oblige. It’s what Eddie wanted and deserved. Richie would only hurt him more. “And then what ?!You have to keep coming in and save my relationship when I inevitably destroy it again. Face it, Stan. I’m toxic. No one is safe from me. The semester is almost over. I’m not going to blame you when you dorm with Bill next year. I wouldn’t want to live with me either.”

“Hey!” Stan grabbed Richie’s cheek and held it so they could finally lock eyes. “Are you insane ?! You must be if you think I’m going to room with anyone but you next year.” Richie was so used to people abandoning him. Pushing him away. The fact that Stan wanted him to stay around was the real insane idea. “You are going to have to try much harder to push me away, bud. You hear me ?!”

Richie was barley in that room mentally, but that last bit really hit him. Stan went out of his way to see past Richie’s bullshit. It was wild. Back during break, Stan didn’t stop for a second before offering his house to Richie. They were best friends who supported one another. And Richie never felt so warn and comforted before. He avoided Stan as he spoke, looking anywhere but his pupils, but once he finished speaking, they finally locked. There was a silent moment of just the two boys staring at one another through the fog.

It was like a scene in a movie, the way the smoke cleared and Richie was stuck face to face with Stan, the man trying everything and anything to make Richie feel safe. He was so overwhelmed by Stan’s gesture. And even though the boys were both crying now, they were also matching in wide smiles. They knew they could rely on one another. They knew that their bond had long surpassed college roommates. Richie could never replace Stan again. His heart swelled as Stan patted Richie’s shoulder and let his hand raise to fill into’s Richie’s knotted curls. “You’re going to be okay, trashmouth. I promise.”

Then Richie’s lips parted and he did what he did best. Fuck things up. Richie pushed himself forward and placed his lips on his roommate’s. His hand falling to Stan’s thigh and gripping as he deepened the kiss. Stan pushed him back and Richie fell onto his back. Stan quickly stood up from Richie’s bed and paced a little.

“I’m going to blame that on the pot and ignore you ever did that, okay ??” Stan held his hands to his hips. “Yeah. That’s what I’m going to do.” Richie nodded his head along, eyes fluttering closed from exhaustion of crying and being so stoned.

“What did I do to get a roommate like you ??” Richie curled up, snuggling the bong like a pillow and yawning before dozing off. Stan was proud that Richie had a breakthrough, even if it meant that the damn kid actually kissed him. He was insane. But that’s the Richie; Stan knew and grew accustomed to. Bill wasn’t even jealous when he found out. He saw it as a win too. Bill himself had developed feelings for Richie. The three of them were all best friends. Ride or dies. And it was just the right support system Richie needed after leaving his unloving family behind.

❝ — Another week went by and Richie was getting back into acting like a normal teenager again. He was still high all the time and rarely left his and Stan’s dorm. But it was progress. Progress that started with Richie messaging Bev. Mike and Ben would be better when trying to approach Eddie, but Richie never got their info. Their interactions where slim. All he knew about them were through Eddie and what little skype interaction they had. Beverly Marsh was his best option. But if Richie was being honest. She scared the shit out of him.

↪ trxshmouth - Bev please just let him know I’m sorry and I that I’m here to talk if he needs it

↪ wiinterfiire - No way !! You are the last person he needs to talk to.

↪ wiinterfiire - if you think I’m going to let you hurt my best friend again ? Then you are way more stupid than I thought.

↪ wiinterfiire - He can’t talk to you. I don’t want him to talk to you. Go back to your dumb blog and get past it.

↪ wiinterfiire - Find someone else to exploit for laughs.

↪ wiinterfiire - Eddie can’t handle another heartbreak. MOVE ON !!

Richie had plenty to say back to Bev. But he was smart enough to know not to get in the ring with the mother lion. He thought Stan was protective. Bev was triple that. “There’s no use !!” Richie yelled, throwing his phone down to the mattress. “At this rate, Eddie has probably moved on. It’s useless.”

“W-wuh-Why don’t you just tell Ed-Ed-Eddie how you feel directly ??” Bill replied, from his spot on Stan’s bed. He moved back in two days ago. The dorm was full again. And the task was to get Richie back to his usual smiling self.

“I can’t just message him, Big Bill. I need to really let him know I love him. He’s over there in New York thinking that I used him. Thinking that he didn’t mean the world to me!! I can’t have him thinking that and I don’t have the balls right now to just tell him the truth over the phone.” Fear of rejection had riddled Richie useless.

“Well then grow a pair. It’s not like you can just fly to New York, throw a rock at his window and open your heart to him.” Stan chuckled slightly, his face falling when he saw Richie’s wide grin. “No - No. Richie that’s insane. We’re not going to New York !!” Stan put himself and Bill in the equation because they were all family now. “This is not happening !!”

“Please !! It’s for true love.” Richie hopped on his feet, bouncing as he plead to his roommate. “You’d do it for your hung boyfriend, wouldn’t you ?? Why not for my average sized ex boyfriend ?!” Richie had grabbed Stan’s hands in his own now. He looked over to Bill who was smiling at the two of them. Stan rolled his eyes, knowing now he didn’t really have a say in this.

“Fine! Fine !” Stan shook Richie’s off his and shook his head, mad at how easily he caved. “For love!” Plus seeing his roommate smile and crack jokes was settling. He needed the old Rich back and flying to New York was the only way.

❝ — Another week went by, spring break for UCLA was starting and instead of flying to Cabo or Miami like all the other students, Richie, Bill, and Stan were on a delta flight to JFK. Bill was asleep on Stan’s shoulder and Richie was holding Stan’s spare hand, bouncing his knee in fear. Not by the flight. But by what was to come in the next few days. “What if he doesn’t take me back, Stanley ??”

Stan’s eyes were closed, him attempting to sleep. “Not going to happen, Richie.”

“But what if it does ??!!” Richie was sober, he had to be to fly and it was showing, as he was a nervous wreck.

“He’s had a month and change to think about the incident. If he’s not over it by now - You are just going to have to really show him how you feel. And after a month of you whining about how much you miss him, I can’t imagine him denying you.” Stan finally opened his eyes and looked over at Richie, who was chewing on his fingernails. “If he loves you half as much as you love him, it won’t even be up to debate.” Richie put his hand down and squeezed Stan’s with the other. He smiled and nodded, knowing Stan could always calm him down. “Please don’t kiss me again.” They both laughed it off. The mood lightning up quickly.

“I don’t remember doing that. I’m still not convinced you didn’t make it up.” Richie chimed while batting his eyelashes at his best friend.

“Disgusting. All I want to do is forget your chapped, gross lips on mine. I would never willingly think that up.”

“You fucking loved it, Stanley. You were a few seconds away from asking me to join you and Billiam.” Richie winked and Stan rolled his eyes so hard he gave himself a headache. And after a month of depressed Richie, Stan was almost happy to have a Richie migraine return.

“Glad to have you back, buddy.”

The plan was simple. They would land soon and then check into their overpriced hotel a few blocks away from Eddie’s dorm building. In the morning Richie would get his ex flowers and the healthy dark chocolates he loved, knock on his door and basically beg for him to take him back.

❝ — But it was now around nine at night, Stan and Bill were curled up in their bed and Richie couldn’t help but get antsy and emotional. Watching Bill and Stan be so in love was driving Rich crazy. They were so natural with their love. It was effortless and all Richie wanted with Eddie. Richie was pacing around the hotel room now, unable to wait for them to issue their big plan. How could he, when he knew Eddie was at the library right now tutoring someone. He always did this on Thursday nights. He had to act now. Waiting till morning was going to kill him. Richie dug through his bag and rolled the pot he smuggled into the state. If he was going to do this tonight, being sober just wasn’t an option. Richie smoked the bag, while he got ready to confess his love to Eddie.

He didn’t have time to get gifts, before he was standing in front of the NYU library entrance. It was this large open building and Richie could see Eddie sitting on the second floor balcony. He was smiling and laughing with some girl as they began to pack up their textbooks and notebooks. His smile was beautiful in person. And seeing him so happy was making Richie’s inside churn. Richie almost didn’t move. He remained frozen in place, scared shitless. But he thought about Stan and all the effort his best friend put in for him to do this. There was no turning back now. It was go time.

Richie slammed through the doors and stomped into the atrium. “Eddie fucking Kaspbrak, I love you !!” His vision was only slightly blurry from the THC. Clear enough that he could see Eddie’s shock as he stared over the balcony railing at his ex.

“Richie, are you high ?! What are you doing here ?!”

“Yes. Yes I am high. Very. High in love with you !! and weed. I’m also on weed.” Eddie’s eyes looked like they could pop out any second, he was so startled. His mouth opened but no words left his soft looking lips. Because even from a floor down, those lips looked beautiful and perfectly kissable. Richie was craving them. “I’m sorry I posted your dick pic to my tumblr !! It was the biggest mistake I’ve ever made. And I haven’t stopped thinking about it. - The mistake I mean - not your dick. Okay I’ve also been thinking about your dick for weeks but that’s not important right now.” People were crowding around them now. The girl Eddie was tutoring was laughing to herself, clearly shocked to hear innocent Eddie’s penis was currently on the internet. Eddie was shaking his head now, panic stewing in his features.

“Richie - I think you should go -”

“Eds, please. Hear me out. It was all an accident. I didn’t mean to hurt you like that. And for a month now, I’ve been destroying myself over what I did to you. I know I don’t deserve you. I know I’m a huge fuck up - but you make me better.” Richie was beginning to well up now. Eddie wasn’t crying, he looked like he was still in shock. “I just - I just love you so fucking much it’s killing me. Every morning I wake up and when my good morning message isn’t there - I feel more and more alone. I feel abandoned. And I’m not trying to guilt you or anything. I know I push people away. I know that I in retrospect, pushed you away subconsciously or whatever…My brain just can’t let me have a good thing. But - fuck - Eddie. You are the best thing that has ever happened to me and I can’t let myself just give up on you.” Richie was letting the tears fall now. He knew his rant wasn’t what he had planned. But it sounded way more real and honest than the draft him and the boys thought up.

Eddie was crying now. Along with a few onlookers in the library. “I thought about messaging you every day, Richie. I wanted to so bad. But I was afraid you - I was afraid you didn’t really love me. I thought you were just using me. I thought I was part of this game I didn’t even know I was playing - I don’t know.”

Richie could actually hear his heart breaking. He rubbed at his wet eyes and shook his head frantically. “I wanted to message you too. I thought you would never want to talk to me again. I was so afraid of you rejecting me. After what I did-”

“No, Richie. I overreacted last month. It was an accident and I shouldn’t of put all the blame on you like I did. Truth is I only sent that damn snapchat because I was worried after we - we you know…I thought you would be done with me. I love you, Richie.” Richie couldn’t speak anymore. There was nothing really left to say after he heard those words he so desperately had been waiting for. Rich just ran to a ladder leaning against the balcony and began to scale it up to the love of his life. The stairs were down the hall and that frankly was just too far. Richie needed to kiss his boyfriend now. “What are you -” Eddie was chuckling through his tears, shocked but not shocked at the same time Richie was doing something this zany.

Once they were level, Richie desperately collided with Eddie. Nearly four months of dating without touching built up to this perfect kiss. The two melted into the embrace, both wanting this for so long and not being able to get it. The whole library filled with applause as the boys got to finally live out their fantasy. Their tear stained cheeks were rubbing against one another and neither could stop themselves from smiling so much. Eddie lifted his hand from the railing to grab onto Richie’s hair and he nearly died right there if felt so good. “I love you so much.” He breathed in between kisses. And then Richie was so invested in Eddie, he got lost and forgot he was practically hanging from a railing at the moment. He went to pull in Eddie and dropped down to the carpet below.

Eddie leaned over the railing, lips still pursed and red from their embrace. “Richie!! Oh shit, are you okay ?!”

Richie smiled and threw up two thumbs to his boyfriend above him. “All good, Eddie Bear.” Richie was not good. He had two broken ribs and a concussion. But blame it on the pot or his immense love for Eddie Kaspbrak; in that moment he couldn’t feel a damn thing.

✧ The End ✧

@my-son-richie-tozier @liohprincexx @rememberingtozier @lukemybieber @shamelessvegas @richie-n-eds @im-not-psychotic @dianathehorrible @fangirl-and-proud4 @aestheticlly-indie @makelovegood @couldbemimi

#reddie au #reddie fic #reddie #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #[ F ]

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