#yeah like i p much only focus on fics and long form but maybe i should post more drabbly things

[pricetagged]

Idk how to label this. Wifehunter John?

The idea of possessive/obsessive John manipulating a situation and stealing a wife for himself struck me, so just coughing the idea up while I sneak away for a coffee before I actually have to start work in 20 mins 💖 entirely unedited, abrupt ending

________

For someone married to his job, he has put quite a bit of thought into what he is looking for in a wife. Namely, that she's already married.

His reasoning is threefold. He can admit to himself, firstly, that it satisfies his need for control. Competency. He's a busy man with a demanding job. Not quite retired yet, no time to build his own from scratch. With this, he gets a wife boxed up and ready-trained. Broken in.

Secondly, the need for control bleeds into his saviour complex. She'll need a shoulder to cry on, someone strong and capable to get her back on her feet. She'll be feeling a little fragile. Needy. Perfect.

And thirdly, it does something wild to his jealous, possessive streak. The idea of taking something precious, of breaking her bond to another man and tying it to him? Delicious. The idea that she used to be someone else's, that he has to imprint himself onto her knowing that in doing so he is erasing the imprint of another man? It has his teeth aching, grinding even as heat rises in his belly. Stirs at him.

The idea swirls lazily in the back of his mind, never quite finding the right time or right partner. He bats at it a few times, lazy cat playing with the notion, seeing how far it can stretch before it snaps. Eyes up pretty things everywhere he goes, glancing down at their left hands just to check, but nothing quite tugs on that string. Until one day it does when he's outfitting the security system at your house.

It's side work. Cash in hand, word of mouth. Something to keep him busy when on mandated leave. Something to keep in mind as his retirement from active duty creeps closer. And your husband is a real piece of work, all blustering braggadocio energy. Young buck, not knowing his place in the herd. Not knowing that he'd be better scratching his antlers off on a tree than going head-to-head with a gristled thing like John.

It's like John's energy, his presence in the house, sends alarm bells ringing in your husband's mind (Be the man. Don't back down. Puff up your chest and strut). And it plays so perfectly into John's hands because your young buck doesn't realise that what he's really doing is fawning. To John. (Look at me, be impressed by me!) He makes his biggest mistake in putting you down in front of him, trying to sidle up to John and create some kind of desperate camaraderie. Ordering you to bring tea to the men at work. Rolling his eyes at your attempts to talk, to ask questions about the work being done. Waving you off so he can stand and watch the proceedings. Like he could supervise. Like he has any clue what he's doing.

Only the promise of the long game keeps John from levelling him with a hard look, from calling him outblike he'd love to.

He hears you both in the in the other room, having swatted the young buck off like a particularly virulent pest. Noisy and bothersome. Not needed - or wanted- in this home. And entirely too stupid to realise that John wasn't being jocular in his dismissal.

You've been scribbling away for the past few days, something occupying your time, keeping you happy and hidden away in the kitchen.

"You're not serious, are you?"

"Well, yes," he hears the slight quaver in your voice before you find your footing. You've got at least a bit of spine. Good. "You said that I should find an occupation. Not just 'laze around the house playing housewife'. This is what I-"

"Oh come on, I didn't mean- You don't think that this is viable, do you?"

"Well... I love gardening. And I'm good at it. And there's no reason that it can't be more accessible for people, especially with the current economic-"

He cuts you off with a scoff. "Dear, just- I don't want you to be disappointed. I think you don't quite understand the time and effort this will take. And you know nothing of marketing, publishing. Why don't you put that away and start on dinner?"

And oh, isn't that delicious. He can taste it now, that idea that has been swirling. It's thick, almost tangible on his tongue. The tension in the house, the bitter lacryma of stifled tears. The slight acidity of words you left unsaid. It has his mouth watering, pupils dilating.

And when he's packing up that evening, tools and materials tucked in to the heavy workman's case, he swings by the kitchen on his way out. Catches the way something is jutting out slightly from the bin, lid slightly askew. When he pulls it out he realises it's some kind of notebook, carefully (lovingly) bound. Pictures pasted, mindmaps and notes and plans scribbled in the margins. Your gardening tips. Kitchen scraps, window boxes, rooftop plots. Urban gardening. It's deeply thoughtful, well researched.

A labour of love, lying in the rubbish.

Sweet, clever little thing. That just won't do.

He leaves your house with a little piece of you tucked away in his toolkit and a nice plan forming. He'll be back, of course, not quite finished with his work. He'd planted a few little links into the system he'd almost installed, projecting not just to the monitor in your home but also in his. Got to keep his eyes on you, keep you safe and cared for in ways that your useless husband can't.

Finding that book was a boon. He'd say it was divinely ordained if he believed in all that. It weighs heavy in his toolbox as he whistles out the door.

Now, how to get you alone and return it to you..

________________

This idea may have been done before? I'm not sure, sorry! I've seen a lot of possessive John floating around. Tagging @stellewriites because I said I would last time, and you've been so encouraging of my nonsense.

Anyway I've got like 4 long-form WIPs that I'm working on, so I may never actually write this one but thought I'd share since that image set I just reblogged made me feral 💖

[fabricated-misslieness]

pairing: chūya nakahara x lazy male reader

req: yes | wc: 1.87k | cw: nsfw, size difference, praise kink, biting, blood, dirty talk, belly bulging | minors dni

anon: Hi! I was hoping I could get a smut for chuuya if you could make it kinda of a part two from the other chuuya fic u have and if u can could u add a size kink and a praise kink if so thank you so much!

a/n: you thought the demon was a himbo, ha!

"You know these don't tend to last long." You send the man pushing you against the wall a wink, making sure he knows you're still top. Chūya chuckles in response.

"I'm prepared for that." Chūya gives you a smirk. You don't know it, but he doesn't mean it. He hopes it is only your sheer amount of power that attracts him to you, but he knows it's not true. He really isn't that keen on having this be a one time thing. He rather it be a long, loving relationship, keep it lasting for as long as he can; if he has to teach you commitment, he will.

You raise an eyebrow for a minute, judging his composure. "Mkay.. good. You need me to lift you, though? You're quite a way down."

Chūya huffs and rolls his eyes. With you, he's heard something along those lines about a million times. He can't control his height and he certainly can't control yours. Jeez, it's as if you were a giant. If you and him stood next to each other, he'd look like a child, not that he was that much taller than a child anyway.

"Oh shut up with that… but yes." As much as he didn't want to admit it, even though it was very clear, he couldn't kiss you from 'all the way down there'.

"Thought so." It's the shit eating grin on your face that makes him regret this. "Hold on to the horns will ya? You'll need the support."

"Doesn't bother ya?" Chūya asks, doing so anyway. They feel rather tough, like how he imagined crocodile scales to feel. Your wings, on the other hand, weren't as he'd imagined them to be. They felt like leather, despite the fact they looked like rubber. He couldn't fathom how hot they'd be in summer.

You shake your head, in turn moving his arms. "Nah. Anyway, what do you think about the fangs?" You momentarily open your mouth wider to show him. "Would you rather I don't bite you or I do?" They're not as sharp as say, a vampire or a werewolf, but they could definitely puncture.

"Maybe test them first?" You know, what he meant was that you bite his finger, or something, not his neck. It definitely stung, but it hadn't punctured. He was sure if you hadn't controlled your strength, he'd bleed. He hissed at the pain. Though it was nothing he couldn't handle, you'd taken him by surprise.

"My bad, precious." That was a new nickname. "What do you think? Did you like it? No judge if you're into it." The mention of a biting link made him think of some past lover with said kink. It sort of made him jealous.

"What if I find your sweet spot? Would that persuade you?" You bite his neck, finding the spot that made him moan. "Knew it. They're usually there." He hated the way you rubbed your past lovers in his face. In time, he'd make you forget. He was sure of that.

"Well?"

"Okay.."

"Would you look at that?" Chūya couldn't focus on anything right now, the pleasure, and pain, was too much. You would pester him for how long he took to adjust for sure. "I'm balls deep in you and I can actually see it." He hadn't registered that first part until now.

He looked down to see his stomach clearly bulging. He laughed at the sight of it. You were really a giant, in more ways than one. It was kind of.. hot though. The size difference was already turning him on, at this point it was a lot.

"Sexy." You remark, licking your lips. If it weren't for your dick, he would want that tongue in him.. again. "Can you even talk right now?"

Chūya chuckles, fixing you with a playful look before pulling you down by the horns. "Of course I can." He whispers in your ear.

"Good." You move the slightest bit, though to him it felt more than that, which urges a moan from his throat. "Although I'd like to see you try when I fuck you with no mercy."

Chūya is flustered to no end, but as the competitive guy he is, he can't just back down, even with your dick inside of him. "Is that what you say to everybody? 'Fuck you with no mercy'? How about 'fuck you 'till you're begging for hell?'"

You smirk, shaking your head to mess with his arms. His hands were surely indented with the pattern of your horns by now. "I'll keep that in mind."

"Are you ready now?" You were going to nag him about the time, just like he'd predicted. "You've been sitting on it for so long you could call it cockwarming. But maybe you're into that, haven't discussed the deets just yet."

"What can I do?" You laugh. "Your dick is big, you said so yourself."

"Then the details. What do you like?"

"P-Praise." He's a little nervous to admit it, what with the fact he acts like a tough cookie. He had to build up some courage for this moment.

You shift a bit as you think about it. All of a sudden, you start moving slowly. It's still quite a bit painful for Chūya, but your praise makes up for it. "You're doing good, baby." Your rough voice along with the way you grip his hips with your claws sends chills down his spine. "Just a bit more."

You chuckle, toying with the idea in your mind. You thrust a bit more, barely even containing yourself with how horny you are, before stopping to ask. "Like that?"

He had bitten his lips to keep his moans from coming out; he'd nearly drawn blood "Yeah, yeah, just like that." If his eyes weren't shut so tightly he'd be so much more flustered by the look you're giving him.

"Think you're ready yet?" The impatience was clear in your voice.

"Mm, yeah."

Your thrusts are slow at first, as a precaution. It was a wonder how you hadn't started going fast, though. You'd been in him for so long without moving that the impatience and anticipation were building up.

"You can go faster now." You smile, but you don't speed up, which confuses him. He was sure you wanted more, so why didn't you give him more?

"How much faster?" It's only now that he realizes it's a cheeky grin. 

Your sultry eyes seem to enchant him, making him unable to think properly; well, that and the thrusting. "I don't know."

"My terms, then." He doesn't like the sound of that. Luckily, you catch onto his uneasy look in time to reassure him, but your words don't do much. "Don't worry, you'll be just fine."

There's no warning after that. Your thrusts are quick and hard, just how you like them though only a little less than normal. After all, you'd gotten from, say, a 1 to a 7. Since when did you start calling your thrusts like a vibrator?

"You're doing good, baby!" He didn't know why, he did but he didn't know now, but he thought you'd sound more sarcastic.

His grip on your horns loosen and his arms feel weak. Just how vulnerable did you make him feel? He couldn't hold back from letting out a loud, high-pitched moan. It caused you to laugh, which he hated since he knew you were about to tease him. "High-pitched, just for me?"

He rolled his eyes at you, maybe a little bit because of pleasure, responding just as quick. "I mean you– oh! Holy shit!" He was interrupted by his own moans.

"What was that you were going to say?"

"Straying from– ah shit! Shit shit shit!" He repeated. That chuckle of yours made him realize you'd been hitting him hard on purpose to tease him. "Straying far from," He stops himself from moaning by biting his lips momentarily. "p-praise here."

You almost pout when he finishes his sentence, but you nod. "Right, sorry, precious~" You basically purr. “You’re taking my cock so well. Are you ready for more?”

“What?” You’d only just changed pace, so why would you- “Ah! Fuck me..” You hadn’t even given him time to answer, and you didn’t mean to either. This pace was the fastest, and roughest, Chūya had ever felt before, and god, did he love it. He could barely even form words, apart from curse words that were oh so familiar. The only thing that left his mouth were moans and he couldn’t even bite his lips.

“Mm, can’t talk anymore?” You weren’t really good at praise, were you? Well, it was new to you, since most of your lovers turned masochists at the sight of you. You didn’t make them, they just did. smug hoe

His arms, tired and a little sore, fall from your horns and grip your wings, which are wrapped around him. It causes you to hiss, but it’s a mere feeling in the back of your head from all the pleasure you’re getting. “Careful with those, darl.” You say with a chuckle. “You can’t break them in your state right now, but they still hurt.”

“S-Sorry.” He manages to say, continuing with moans afterward. They’re high pitched, most of them, as much as he tries to at least make them a little lower. 

“Oh? A word?” Your smirk is as much a nightmare as it is a dream. He wants to punch it off your face but also kiss it off your lips. “Right, right, praise. You take me in so well~” Chūya just barely manages a laugh.

“Ah, fuck!” Chūya shouts. He can feel himself getting closer and closer.

You smirk, moving to his neck, kissing and nipping. Your fangs sting his neck everytime you bite down, but you make sure to control yourself. Though sooner or later you’ll bite him and draw blood, it’s only inevitable.

“Go on, baby. Come loose for me, let me feel your seed on my abs.” You move to his ear, whispering and licking the lobe. 

Your words are what sends him over the edge of bliss. His seed spills all over the both of you, which is a turn on for sure; it moves with his constantly bulging belly. 

You close your eyes when you feel yourself coming closer. Instinctively, you move to his neck, giving him a harsh bite, which makes Chūya groan. You couldn’t control yourself from not biting him, even when his neck is already littered with other marks. Blood drips from the wound, two small holes.

It’s only when you go over the edge that you apologize. You move off of him, pulling him on top of you instead. He snuggles into your body, hissing in pain. “Sorry.” You move your wings to wipe the blood away.

“It’s fine… well, not really, but eh.”

You chuckle, keeping one wing on the wound and the other over the top of you. “I’ll make it up to you later.”

The promise of another time is reassuring, whether it be sexual or not, though he rather it be a date. He likes to know he has a little bit of a chance.

[tintinwrites]

i have loved you too much | Santiago ‘Pope’ Garcia x Fem!Reader | Part One

A/N: You guys liked this idea I think so here you are with part one!! Please remember that Reader ends up pregnant from this one night stand and that’s the focus of this series.

Rating: 18+

Warning: This fic is going to deal with pregnancy in the future, please be aware! Naughty words. P in V sex. One-sided Frankie x Reader. Reader yells Frankie’s name I’m warning you bc I was embarrassed just writing it lol. Pining. Meaningless sex wrap it before you tap it please even if you won’t get pregnant protection is IMPORTANT.

Word count: 3,413, apparently!!

Summary: You’re in love with Frankie and it’s the day of his wedding to a woman who is not you. You and a lonely Santiago find solace in each other.

GIF credit: damerondjarin

Tags: Since this is a series, the taglist is OPEN for those who want to read more rather than me tagging everyone from my general taglist. I don’t want to tag people in a bunch of parts who might not be interested, so let me know if you are!

                                         ---------------------

Frankie always made your heart flutter.

When you were fifteen and it was your first day of high school in a new town, and your first impression of dropping a bunch of papers in the hallway was not so embarrassing when a young boy in a backwards cap rushed to help you pick them up.

When you were seventeen and your prom date walked out with the girl he really wanted to take who happened to be your best friend of two years’ date, and he awkwardly asked if you wanted to dance to stop you from crying.

When you were eighteen and you were clinging onto him as he was about to go off to join the military, and he pressed a kiss to your cheek and promised to send you letters.

When you read every letter as you sat in your dorm, even as you entered your twenties and the letters became few and far between.

And then, when he came home when you were just shy of twenty-eight, you found out that Frankie could make your heart sink, too.

Like when you ran to hug him and he told you he wanted you to meet someone, and he introduced you to his fiancee.

Or when he announced the wedding date would be in a year and a half from that date.

There was also when you were twenty-nine and he asked you to be his ‘best man’, and asked you to help him pick a few things out.

And now here you were, a few days from thirty years old, and seeing Frankie all dressed up in a tux without a hat on his head made your heart flutter and sink at the same time.

How did he do that?

You were sitting on the arm of a chair that Benny was sitting in, your dress matching the ties and pocket squares that he, Frankie, and the other boys were wearing, as you watched a slightly nervous groom who wasn’t used to big celebrations look at himself in the mirror. You’d been introduced to the other men when they came into town to see Frankie and became fast friends with all of them.

“Why’d she have to choose bow ties? I can barely tie a normal tie,” he joked, trying for the third time to figure out how to tie the fabric.

Will seemed to be the only one who knew how to tie it and he gestured for Benny — who’d been fiddling with his for quite a bit now — to walk over so he could help him.

You stood after watching Frankie for a moment longer and stepped between him and the mirror, taking hold of the bowtie so you could do it up for him. “Can’t believe you’re all grown up.”

He chuckled, leaning over a bit as you tied the bow so he could glance at himself in the mirror again.

“I look like a dork, but you know...she’s worth it. Fuck, I love her.” He didn’t notice the way you looked down, fixing a piece of errant hair that fell from the style his wife-to-be wanted most.

“There you go, sweet Frankie.” It was a name you’d called him since you met him because you’d never met anyone as sweet and gentlemanly as him.

Still hadn’t.

And you’d never met anyone as handsome or as funny or…

“I’ve never worn one of these fuckin’ things,” Santiago grumbled, and you turned your attention to where he’d tied his bowtie into a knot.

“Where would you guys be without me and Will?” You bumped your hip into the man in question as you walked by him to go to Santi. “Come on, let me see it now.” You batted his hands away and grimaced at the tight knot, starting to pull at it delicately.

He watched you closely as you fixed the bowtie and, though your eyes were downcast to focus on the work at hand, he’d seen the tears in them. “You doing okay?”

You looked at him in bemusement for a moment and then you realized that he was rather blurry, and you quickly looked back down as his question made your tears threaten to spill.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, just, uh...you know, weddings...so emotional…” You tried to laugh it off with a teary chuckle, hurrying to finish up with the tie so you could step away from him.

He stopped you before you could by pulling his pocket square out and holding it to you.

“Santi, that was perfectly folded!” You’d spent hours with Frankie’s almost wife, helping her with last minute decorations, and the pocket squares needed to be folded in the right design.

She was so nice and you couldn’t blame Frankie for falling for her.

“Sorry, fuck!” Santi hurriedly shoved it back into his breast pocket and did his best to make it look like it did before, but there was no time as the bride’s father knocked on the door to let you all know it was time to head down.

The wedding was being held entirely in a hotel so you left the room you’d booked for changing and headed down to where the ceremony was being held, hooking your arm through Santi’s despite being the best man as there were only two bridesmaids and Frankie requested that his two best friends walk in together.

A hand gently squeezed your side and you looked to see Frankie smiling at you nervously, before he walked down the aisle.

You didn’t think you would be crying again just from walking down the aisle, but all you could think as you looked at the man you loved was that his eyes were looking past you, waiting for the woman he loved.

That woman would never be you.

                                          -----------------------------

You were always able to tell when Frankie was embarrassed.

And, yes, he was a really sweet guy, but slow dancing in front of all the wedding guests was very clearly embarrassing him.

Though his eyes would flutter to his new wife’s face and he’d look all dreamy, a big, dopey smile forming on his lips at the mere sight of her.

She was beautiful and very kind, and she deserved someone as wonderful as Frankie.

You knew that.

You knew you were being ridiculous with your jealousy over this.

Yet there you sat, your chair turned away from the table so you could watch them, half-smiling and half-crying because they were beautiful and Frankie was officially never going to look at you like that.

A hand holding a glass of champagne blocked your vision and you sat up a little straighter, looking up to see Santi standing there with a gentle smile. “You look like you could use a drink.”

“Oh, yeah, weddings always make me emotional…” It was the same excuse as before as you took the glass from him and forced yourself not to down the whole drink in one sip.

“Mm,” he hummed like he didn’t believe you, but he didn’t press as he grabbed the vacant chair next to you and turned it around to sit.

The song ended and the couple kissed each other sweetly, and you were so occupied with staring at Frankie longingly that you didn’t notice Santi watching them with a bit of sadness in his eyes too.

Frankie smiled at you with more giddiness than you’d ever seen as he walked past, and you quickly reached up to swipe away the tear that fell down your cheek.

Not fast enough; Santi regarded you with realization and then sympathy.

He thought for a long moment, then drank the rest of his own glass of champagne and stood up, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “Listen, I, uh...I don’t dance, but you’re really pretty tonight and someone should dance with you.”

“Santi…” The song that was playing was slow and you knew he wasn’t the type, but then he was extending his hand to you and you reluctantly took hold of it.

“No complaining if I step on your toes.” He yanked you towards the dance floor and you laughed as you stumbled into him, letting him guide your hand to his shoulder as his moved to your waist.

There was something about swaying with him that was only working up your emotions more and you were breathing deeply, doing your best not to cry, but a few tears started to fall and Santi quickly pressed your head into him to hide it.

Why did it have to hurt so much? Why couldn’t you just not love him?

You really hoped Santi thought you were just sobbing against him because weddings made you cry.

You forced yourself to calm down so he wouldn’t read much into it, just closing your eyes and letting him lead you in a way that was surprisingly decent considering he didn’t seem like the type to dance.

“You okay? You need to step out of the room for a minute?”

“I’m fine. It’s just—”

“Weddings make you emotional?”

“—yep. Yeah.”

You swayed with him silently for a couple moments, your emotional mind with its unrequited love taking the time to really think of how kind it was for him to dance with you, of what he said when he asked you…

You pulled back to look at him. “Did you mean it?”

“Mean what?” He raised an eyebrow.

“That I’m pretty tonight.”

“I mean, yeah, but you’re pretty every night.”

You stared at him for a moment and then you leaned forward to press your lips to his. He stayed still in shock for maybe two seconds before he was eagerly kissing you back, his hands lowering from your waist to your hips.

You blinked at him slowly when you pulled apart, tilting your head slightly. “Would you like to go up to the hotel room with me?”

“I would love that.” He let you take his hand, noticing that you look around as if to make sure no one was watching before you pulled him out of the reception hall.

The walk to the elevator was quiet, but you were on Santi the moment the doors closed, seeking comfort from your broken heart in his lips.

He could make you forget about this.

Even if it was just for ten minutes or so, you wouldn’t think about Frankie for those ten minutes.

You weren’t thinking of Frankie now.

Or how sweet he looked in his tux.

Or how you would never be his, never know what it was to make love to him or come home to him or have a family with him.

Fuck, you were thinking about him, so you quickly reached between Santi’s legs and cupped him through his pants.

“Shit, baby! We’re almost to the right floor and I’m not gonna be scolded again for using the emergency stop for this.” He smirked at your raised eyebrow, but pushed you into the hallway as the doors opened.

The hotel was the first door to the right of the elevator and you had the keycard on you since you were the ‘best man’, sliding it through before pushing open the door as the man behind you hurried you in.

He barely kicked the door shut and then you were kissing again, hands roaming all over each other in search of buttons and zippers to undress each other as fast as possible.

Your dress loosened and was falling off your shoulders when Santi pulled the zipper down, and he sneaked his hands under the fabric both to push it down and to grope your breasts.

You stepped out of your dress, only in panties now since the style didn’t really allow for a bra, and you pulled away with a teasing smile as Santi reached for your breasts with a groan, making your way towards the bed.

The clothes Frankie had worn to the hotel before changing into his tux were on the bed and you paused when your eyes landed on them, thinking of how it wasn’t him you were going to bed with and now it never would be.

Santi opened his mouth to ask you why you stopped, only to see the clothes and know immediately that this had something to do with the way you were staring at Frankie and crying at the reception; he was no idiot, and the more pieces he put together, the more he realized that you thought of him as more than a friend.

He could tell you would probably cry again if you looked at the clothes for too long, so he reached over and shoved them right off the bed.

You blinked, looked over at him, and then let out a laugh before wrapping your arms around him and pressing your lips to his.

He wrapped one arm around you and let his fingers roam over your bare back as he guided you closer to the bed, watching you flop down when the mattress touched the back of your knees.

His bowtie was undone and his tux jacket was unbuttoned by you when you were entering the room, and he quickly took them both off and then started on unbuttoning his shirt. “Your tits are probably the nicest I’ve ever seen.”

“I can tell by just looking at your stupid, beautiful face that I’m going to enjoy the rest.” Your eyes followed his movements until he was letting his shirt fall off his shoulders, showing off a torso that was decently toned from his work.

“Wait until you meet Santiago Jr.” He was sexy enough that naming his penis didn’t make you want to run, laying there with lust in your eyes as you watched him open up his pants.

“Oh,” you gasped out when you saw him spring free, barely acknowledging his lack of underwear as you sat up to admire him.

You’d been with a few men, but you could admit that you’d never seen a dick quite as pleasing as Santi’s; dicks were not pretty and his was...well, it was nice, and you might’ve wanted it in your mouth if you weren’t just trying to forget somebody else.

“I showed you mine…” He cocked an eyebrow, stepping forward at the invitation of your opening legs and slowly running his hands up your thighs, teasing along the hem of your underwear before he started to tug it down.

He groaned at the sight of your pussy and immediately moved between your legs so he could kiss along your inner thighs, but you quickly grabbed onto his hair to pull his head up.

You just shook your head slightly because you wanted to be fucked even though the idea of Santi eating you out was tempting, and you gently guided him up until his hips were nestled between your legs.

Maybe you weren’t letting him use his mouth on you, but he still moved his hand so he could stroke over your clit, wanting to be certain you were wet enough to take him before he tried to put his cock inside you.

You were decently wet just from kissing and thinking about having sex with him, so he merely stroked you until you were squirming and moaning underneath him before he took hold of his cock.

He pressed his tip against your entrance and looked at you for your consent, slowly pushing forward when you nodded and letting his head drop with a moan at the way your cunt stretched to accommodate him. You took every fucking inch like you were made for him and he was able to enter you almost to the hilt, his hips jerking as he let out a low moan.

His cock filled you so well that you were moaning along with him, one of your hands moving to play with and tug at the hair at the nape of his neck which only turned him on more.

“Fuck,” he panted, laughing softly and leaning down to kiss you.

“I know.” You pressed a few kisses to his lips as you enjoyed being full and he enjoyed something so tight hugging around him, then you bucked your hips. “Move for me. Please, Santi.”

“You don’t have to ask me twice.” He pulled his hips back and then thrust forward again, doing that a few times as you moaned your approval before he found a rhythm that allowed him to rock into you smoothly.

Your legs tightened around his hips as he fucked into you, and you moved your hands so your fingers ran through his curls, ruffling them up a bit when you tugged on them.

This only made him groan and move even faster into you, the springs in the bed started to creak a bit the harder he fucked you.

He was grunting and panting and you were practically mewling each time he’d fuck against your G spot, but one of your hands slid down between your legs to touch yourself.

“Hell no.” He growled, shoving your hand away to replace it with his own so you wouldn’t have to pleasure yourself, rubbing circles on your clit.

Now as Santi was practically pounding into you and offering your clit the stimulation that you needed, your moans were growing into loud cries of ecstasy, your hands moving to press your nails into his shoulders.

Santi only moved his hips harder and faster as he sought out his own orgasm, grunting and groaning with every thrust back into your wet, tight pussy.

You knew that you were going to come by the way your clit tingled and your cunt fluttered around his cock and you could tell that he knew too as he moaned, his fingers keeping their movements on your clit consistent so he could push you into your climax.

You clenched down tight around him before your walls started pulsating on his cock and you screamed out, “Frankie!”

His hips stuttered and he stared down at you for a brief moment, but he didn’t want to embarrass you by making it awkward, and he knew he was just so you could forget about Frankie anyway, and he was so close to coming that he didn’t really care.

He continued thrusting into you as he lost a bit of that rhythm, pushing himself as far inside you as he could go as he came with a loud groan.

The only sound was your panting as he collapsed on top of you and nuzzled against your neck.

You tapped on his arm and he rolled off you, watching as you slid out of bed, redressing like his cum wasn’t still dripping out of you.

“Thanks, Santi. That was...really great,” you said as you pulled your panties on, then you walked over to the door where you put your dress on and stepped into your shoes before you paused, looking over your shoulder. “I’m sorry about the—”

“It’s fine.” He quickly waved off your apology for saying Frankie’s name, but it was still a little awkward, so he moved out of bed to redress himself.

He looked up when he heard the door open and shut, not certain what emotion it was that made him almost sad at how quick and detached that was; maybe the same emotion that made him look at Frankie and his wife with jealousy even though it was thanks to his bouncing from woman to woman that kept him from finding that happiness.

Not that it mattered, really, because he knew this was just a quick fuck and that you had eyes for somebody else, and he couldn’t really say he’d ever thought of you beyond friendship and sex. It wasn’t the fact that it was you that was making him sad, just the fact that this was all he was ever going to be.

You walked away from the hotel room with tears falling down your cheeks because you would never be with Frankie, and you might’ve forgotten about him for a few minutes, but you still said his name as you were having sex with another man.

You enjoyed yourself and you knew being distracted by Santi was only going to make you forget about longing for Frankie for those few minutes, and now you were right back to wanting him as much as you did before. Santi was just a moment of solace. Nothing more than that.

[inawickedlittletown]

Panic (5.01 reaction fic)

Summary: The aftermath of Eddie’s panic attack. 

Notes: Spoilers for S5 premiere. Pre-Buddie.

Read on Ao3

-

Panic attack. 

The words sat heavy on his tongue, heavy on his body which went stiff earlier as his whole chest started feeling tight and the world spun. His heartbeat had been in his ears muffling everything else. 

Eddie didn’t panic. He was solid under pressure. He was a first responder. He had been an army medic. Panic was not something that he felt, it wasn’t something that had a place in his life and yet the doctor staring at him with a knowing but kind look was telling him he had a panic attack and there was Chistopher sitting next to Ana and a twisty clenching feeling started and faded all at once. 

Why was Christopher there? Why was his son there and telling the doctor that Eddie had been shot? Why had Ana let him—

Weirdly the other thing that popped into his head was, why hadn’t anyone called Buck. 

It was there, a question ready to be asked but then he was looking at Ana again. A line had formed between her eyebrows and she looked like maybe she was panicking. So, he didn’t ask. He didn’t ask even though it would have made everything easier to have Buck there. 

When he was finally allowed to go with orders to take it easy and not get stressed out, Eddie just nodded and he decided it was probably a good thing Buck didn’t know because then work would include Buck following him around worried and distracted because Eddie had been weak and he freaked out over nothing. 

Eddie had no idea how he got Ana to leave once they got back to his house. It wasn’t like she ever spent the night anyway, not when Christopher was there, but she looked shaken up and Eddie just didn’t want to deal with that. Ana didn’t push him. She didn’t demand that he needed her to help him and Eddie couldn’t help his relief. 

Putting Christopher to bed was an ordeal because his kid was smart — and he had been present for everything that happened unnecessarily — and so it was a whole conversation and reassurances but Eddie was home and he was okay and Christopher was okay too. 

It had been months since Buck went back home. Months since Eddie’s couch had been vacated and things had gone back to normal. Back then, a part of Eddie had been counting down the days until Buck had finally gone home. And the small part that missed him in the days after he left had faded into nothing. Somehow, it was back. Because Eddie had been in the hospital and no one had let Buck know and Buck wasn’t hovering and worried and pretending that the couch was comfortable. 

He didn’t sleep for a long time and pretended that in that time when he wasn’t sleeping he wasn’t thinking about the moments before the panic attack. 

Christopher had been trying on suits. His boy was getting so big. And he knows what it had looked like what with Ana making him try on a suit too and being the ideal girlfriend like always. And with Christopher there, why couldn’t it look like they were a family. Like it was their son and not just his and Eddie couldn’t...didn’t want it. 

Even lying there in his bed it was...it was wrong. Ana couldn’t be that...she didn’t have any right to step into Shannon’s shoes or to fill that role for Christopher. It was not at all what Eddie had intended when he started to date. He thought that he would be putting himself out there and that he needed to move on and yet it was all starting to feel like he was getting stuck in something he hadn’t wanted in the first place. 

—

Eddie didn’t tell Buck, not even when they had a bit of downtime at the start of their shift, or when they were dealing with actual heart attacks that were only too reminiscent of the night before and that for a split second made him relieve that moment at the store when everything had gone topsy turvy. The fear of it happening again was somehow worse. 

Buck kept a close eye on him, closer even when that doctor had to notice Eddie and suddenly Buck knew something was up and he wasn’t letting it go. The hard part was dealing with the relief he felt because Buck knew something, that was quickly followed by not wanting to actually say it outloud. 

Panic attack. He had a panic attack. 

All he could tell Buck was that he didn’t have a heart attack and Buck just looked at him like saying that wasn’t enough. It wasn’t. But how did he admit that he was in a store buying his son a suit and then he was on his back in the middle of a store out of it and freaking out because...because of Ana. Because of Ana and Shannon.

He was supposed to be past Shannon, past losing her and past Christopher’s loss. He was supposed to have moved on...because wasn’t that the point? 

He and Ana, they were solid. Things between them were great. Christopher liked her and Eddie loved spending time with her. Eddie wasn’t in love with her, but they hadn’t been dating all that long and Eddie had a child to consider before he let himself get too deep. 

Doctor Salazar had mentioned changes in his life, underlying stressors, but Eddie had never let the things that happened to him get to him like that. 

They had just been through a pandemic, and Eddie had fallen down a well and still in those moments when his life was flashing before his eyes, he hadn’t panicked. And he’d been shot, but in the few parts of that that he remembered, Eddie’s biggest concern was seeing Buck covered in blood because he needed Buck to be okay because Eddie had been shot and Christopher needed to have Buck. 

After Chim and Hen took over, Eddie bolted, getting away from Buck who looked like he was ready to press for questions. He ran into Doctor Salazar. 

“Eddie. Mr. Diaz, are you alright?” 

“I’m fine,” Eddie grounded out and he was. He was fine. 

“I hope so,” she said. 

“Where do you need help?” Eddie asked. He needed to be useful somehow, to keep his mind on the job except in the next moment all the lights went out. 

The generator didn’t kick in. 

It was easy to fall back into the work mode, following Bobby’s orders and having something to do. They made it outside when they saw what had shaken the whole building. It wouldn’t take much for the helicopter to crash. 

“Are you really okay?” Buck asked as they made it up to the roof. 

“Yes, Buck. I’m good. I’m fine.”

Buck didn’t bring up again. They had to work and work quick. The whole thing had to be precise and yet Eddie couldn’t shake the thought of why he could be so calm while doing that and not while—

Eddie focused on the work. 

—

Dodging Buck was hard in the middle of a blackout when they needed to stick close together. Their work kept them busy, but Buck kept trying to do more than his own share as if Eddie really did need to take it easy. He didn’t.

“Nothing is wrong with me,” Eddie insisted. 

“Something is up,” Buck said. “Maybe you don’t want to talk about it, but something happened.”

Eddie didn’t respond. 

Buck squeezed his shoulder. His blue eyes were kind and warm and worried and Eddie wanted to explain everything because Buck wouldn’t judge and because Eddie needed him. 

“Buck—”

Chim shouted for help and Buck rushed off. Eddie sighed, and suddenly he was frustrated that he couldn’t talk to Buck and that he couldn’t explain it. Why had no one called Buck the day before? Yeah, Ana was there with him, but it was Buck who was his emergency contact and it was Buck that he’d needed there. 

It was later, when they were getting supplies back on the truck that Eddie found Buck, grabbing his arm. Blue eyes found his. Buck didn’t say anything, he didn’t push. He waited. 

“I didn’t have a heart attack,” Eddie said. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath. “I had a panic attack.” 

“A panic attack,” Buck repeated, frown marring his forehead. “Why? Is it...is it because of the shooting? Did something...did something happen yesterday? Something set you off?” 

His words were coming out fast, so quick that Eddie could barely process one question before there was another and the only thing that Eddie could focus on was Buck’s concern. How he’d moved closer to Eddie even though they had already been in each other’s space. 

“No. Not the shooting. I — I don’t know what...the doctor said maybe something changed recently or that I’m stressed somehow and, Buck, I just don’t know.” He dropped his head, staring down at the ground. 

Eddie was surprised when Buck’s hand gripped his arm. He looked up. “When did it happen? What were you doing?” 

“We were getting a suit for Christopher for the christening. He was excited at first, but he didn’t like anything he tried on. Ana had me try on things too so she was the one picking things out for Christopher and then the salesman, he thought—” 

He couldn’t say it. Just thinking about it was making it hard to think and hard to breathe. He closed his eyes, willing all of that to go away except that it didn’t. 

Buck’s hand gripped his arm tighter and then Buck let go, rubbing up and down instead.

“Eddie,” Buck said. “Eddie, look at me.” 

Eddie opened his eyes and things were blurry, but the world wasn’t spinning. 

“Focus on your senses. What do you see? Hear? Touch? Smell?” 

It was a distraction, but Eddie let himself get distracted. What did he see? A blurry Buck. When he blinked, blue eyes. He heard sirens and the voices of Bobby and Hen and Chim. His hand reached out and Buck’s was there, fingers slipping together. Strong hands, lightly callused and warm. Buck smelled sweaty, but it wasn’t unpleasant. 

“There you go, you’re okay. You’re okay,” Buck said. 

“How?” Eddie whispered. 

Buck’s lips quirked and he did that thing where he looked away out of some weird bashfulness. 

“Everything I’ve been through, you don’t think I know what a panic attack feels like?”

“Oh,” Eddie said. 

“Yeah,” Buck said. 

They didn’t get to keep talking, being pulled into the truck because there was another call and they were nearest to it. 

He and Buck sat side by side, not saying a word. But Buck knew. Eddie had told him and everything was fine, more than fine. Their knees were pressed together and even though Buck was busy on his phone, Eddie knew that his best friend was there for him. 

—

“It was because the salesman thought she was his mom,” Buck said. 

He was careful with his words, Eddie could tell from the way that Buck spoke slowly and kept a close watch of him. Eddie gave a sharp nod. 

“Oh, Eddie,” Buck said. 

“She’s not...she’s not pushing to be that, you know? Ana isn’t trying to be that for him and yet I can’t—”

They were at Buck’s apartment. Carla had Christopher and Eddie had talked to him on the phone earlier, but he was in bed now and Carla didn’t mind staying for a bit longer. Nights like these didn’t happen much anymore where it was just Buck and Eddie on their own. No Chris. No Ana. No Taylor. 

“I’m supposed to be meeting her family,” Eddie said. “And I keep saying it means nothing, but doesn’t it? But, Buck, I just want everything to stay how it is.” 

He closed his eyes and felt a weird bubble of relief, so different from panic and from anxiety taking over because that was the thing, wasn’t it? They had been going along and then one day Ana was telling him her sister had a baby. Eddie hadn’t even known she had a sister until that moment, or that her sister had a baby. 

Ana told Christopher too, explained that she was going to be the godmother and got him all excited about meeting the baby and going to a christening because Christopher had never been to one before. 

Ana had never even asked, just assumed that of course Eddie and Chris would go with her and be there even if it meant that he would be meeting her whole family for the first time. They had been dating for months, it was only natural that Ana would bring her boyfriend to something like that. But Eddie couldn’t. He wasn’t ready. 

“She’s smart and she’s pretty and Chris likes her. I like her.”

“But,” Buck said. 

“But I panic when someone thinks she’s Chris’ mom,” Eddie said and even him saying it outloud made something churn in his gut. 

—

It took him a few more days to talk to Ana. First because school was starting back up and she was busy, but Eddie had long shifts too and there was just no time. 

“You don’t want to go with me to the christening,” Ana said. 

“I don’t think we’re at the meet the parents stage,” Eddie said. “It’s too much pressure. On us, on Christopher.” 

She shook her head, scoffing. “Eddie, where is this coming from? You agreed to go with me. I’ve already told my mom and my sister. They’re expecting you. They’re expecting Christopher.” 

“You never asked me,” Eddie said, getting the words out even though his chest was tightening again and Ana was still talking but Eddie couldn’t focus. He pressed his nails into the palm of his hand, focusing on that instead of everything else. 

“But, Edmundo, they’re expecting you. You can’t make me look bad like this, and we even got Chris his suit already. He’ll look so cute.” 

“He said he feels weird in it,” Eddie said. “I was going to return it.” 

“Eddie, come on,” Ana said. 

He could hear his heartbeat in his ears. Nothing was spinning yet or making him feel dizzy and Ana was in front of him, frowning and clearly upset but Eddie should have wanted to help her clam down or explain what he was feeling, but all he wanted was to get away. Couldn’t she see the way that he was tensing up and how nothing felt right? 

“You’ll look so handsome in your suit and I picked out this dress that will drive you crazy. We’ll look so good together. My family is going to love you. They’re going to love Christopher,” Ana said. “It’s all they’ve ever wanted for me. To find someone like you. It’s our next step, Eddie. It’s been months, and with Chris I know we’ve taken it slow, but isn’t it time?”

Eddie pulled back. He tried to focus his senses. Smell. Hearing. Touch. Someone was cutting their lawn outside and he focused on that, thought about what the freshly cut grass would smell like if he stepped outside or opened a window. Ana’s hand small and soft touched his forearm and Eddie jumped back, startled. 

“Eddie,” Ana said.

“I can’t. I can’t,” Eddie said. 

Eddie heard his front door open. Christopher’s voice carried to them followed by Buck’s and then they were there. Chris chattering on about the ice cream Buck had let him have at the park. Eddie tried to smile, but Buck seemed to catch on that they had stepped in the middle of something. 

“Hey, Chris, how about you go set up the legos you were telling me about? I can’t wait to see them. I’ll be in your room in a moment.” 

Christopher beamed at Buck and then he ran off and Eddie let out a breath. 

“You look...are you okay, Eddie?” 

Buck didn’t even look at Ana. His sole focus was Eddie and Eddie suddenly felt calm again. He felt like everything might actually be okay. 

“I think I should go,” Ana said. 

Eddie made the effort to walk her out. Ordinarily, he would have kissed her goodbye, but he hesitated and Ana’s looked hurt and upset. 

“I’m sorry,” Eddie said. 

“Yeah. Me too. I’ve been fooling myself thinking this would ever go anywhere when you’re so resistant to all of it. Maybe...maybe we need some time.”

Eddie nodded, not sure that he could respond in any other way and then she was gone. Eddie stood at his door for a long time, until Buck was there to fetch him, leading him back inside. Buck didn’t ask about it, he just took Eddie to Christopher’s room and Eddie watched as Buck played with Chris. He felt okay. He felt like he didn’t want to be anywhere else. 

When Buck turned his head and looked directly at him, Eddie couldn’t help but feel warmth travel through him. 

It should be that easy with Ana, his mind supplied. 

“Dad, come look,” Christopher said, all crooked glasses and big grin. 

Eddie dropped to the ground to join them, paying attention to Christopher as he explained something. He felt Buck’s hand come to rest on his, squeezing gently. It would all be okay. 

[stardustedangel]

Kisses Are Now Essential

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pairing || steve rogers x fem!reader

word count || 1.7k

summary || you missed halloween and weren’t able to carve pumpkins, so you ask stevie if he can still do it with you. it doesn’t turn out exactly how you thought it would

warnings || fluffy, a little blood

author’s note || this is a little day after halloween fic :) i hope you like it <3 ; do not repost my work

*gif does not belong to me*

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“Nat, please! Please do it with me,” you begged Natasha as she was sitting on the couch reading, not sparing you a glance.

Natasha had her legs crossed and flipped another page of her book, “Nope.” She popped the ‘p’ and continued to not look at you.

“Please! I already asked Tony and Bruce, but they’d rather be in the lab. I asked Clint and he just flat out told me no. I would ask Thor, but clearly, he’s not here. And I asked Sam, but even he said no and he never does,” you pouted at Natasha and proceeded to grab her arm, shaking it to get her to look at you.

“Ask Buck.”

“Bucky’s kinda scary,” you mumbled out softly. There was one person you really wanted to ask, but you were way too nervous for that.

“Then go ask Steve.” Welp, that’s that one person.

“He’s even scarier,” you whined and threw your hands up in frustration. You would rather not go up to Steve and make a fool out of yourself by talking to him.

“Is he scary, or is it the idea of him saying no,” she asked with raised brows and a small, barely even noticeable, smirk.

“Both,” you huffed out. You got up off the floor from your groveling and narrowed your eyes at Natasha. “Can you please, please just do it with me and save me the embarrassment?”

“Sorry, babes, but I just want to relax for the day. And I promise that Steve will say yes if you just ask. He seriously will.”

You were truly contemplating her words and decided to just ask Steve. The worst he could say was no, and even though that would probably sting a little, you know that you’d get over it quickly. So you took a deep breath and tried to push your anxieties away as you mumbled out to Natasha that you were going to go find him.

“Good luck,” Natasha called out to your retreating figure in a sing-songy voice. You didn’t even bother turning around. You were more focused on shaking out your nerves before finding Steve.

You went looking throughout the compound until you found Steve in the gym. You quietly walked in seeing Steve doing pull-ups. You froze and really took in the sight in front of you. With every pull and lift, Steve’s biceps contracted and that was such a sight to see. Sometimes his shirt would even ride up a little bit and you could see the exposed skin of his waistline. Steve then looked up at you with a small quirk to his lips seeing that your eyes were trained lower. It was only when he fully released himself from the pullup bar that you then made eye contact.

Steve went to stand in front of you and it was that moment when you realized that this was a horrible idea. Your request was so stupid that you weren’t even sure Steve would take you seriously. You needed to suck it up though and ask him. Once you got an answer the anxiety would hopefully fade away.

“Hey, doll,” your heart hammered at the nickname he always called you, “did you need something from me?”

You got your shot. Let’s take it.

“I was just wondering if you wanted to carve pumpkins with me,” you spoke out quietly and turned your gaze to the floor. “We had a mission on Halloween so we couldn’t yesterday, but will you do it? With me?” Your bottom lip was pulled between your teeth out of worry and you looked at Steve with hopeful, doe eyes that made him melt.

He brought his hand up to your mouth gently pulling your bottom lip to get you to stop biting it. Your request was too adorable to say no to. In all honesty, you could’ve asked him for anything and he would’ve said yes. It was you after all. Steve’s hand returned to his side and gave you a sweet smile.

“Of course I will, doll. Let me just shower, alright?”

Your previously worried look was replaced by a beaming smile that made Steve’s soft smile widen too because of how infectious your smile was. “Yeah, that sounds good! I already have all the stuff so you can meet me in the kitchen after you’re done.”

“Okay. I’ll see you in a little.” Steve chuckled at your retreating form and the cute little wave you gave to him before you were finally gone. He shook his head fondly at the thought of you and proceeded to grab his stuff, quickly heading to his room to get ready.

Once you rounded the corner, small giggles escaped your mouth from all the excitement that you suddenly couldn’t contain. You felt all your worries diminish and all the stress lifted from your shoulders. That went a thousand times better than you ever thought. You’d have to remember to thank Natasha later and obviously hear an ‘I told you so’ from her, but that’d be worth it.

You sat on one of the kitchen stools, everything you both would need already on the counter. You pulled out your phone to waste some time before Steve came down. It wasn’t too long after when you heard the padding of feet head towards you. You looked up at Steve wearing some grey sweats and a white shirt. He looked so cute and comfy that you wanted to just wrap your arms around him. Steve noticed that you were out of it again tilted his head down at you in a teasing way until your wandering eyes met his.

“What are you thinking about thinking about in that pretty head of yours, doll?”

You looked away sheepishly and waved him off. You told him to sit beside you and your face became flushed with how close the two of you were. Steve took notice of this and proceeded to get closer, enjoying how beet red you got. You tried to ignore him for the most part. You passed him his pumpkin and the set of knives that you got specifically for this.

“Here’s your pumpkin, Stevie. Let’s get started,” you excitedly clapped and quickly prepared to cut into your pumpkin. Your hands were shaking with excitement and Steve grabbed one to calm it down.

“Calm down, doll. We’ve got the whole day,” he released your hand and got a knife to start to cut the top off of the pumpkin.

Him doing that only made your hand shake more. You wished it could’ve soothed you to be calm, but being around Steve always makes you nervous. The only time you're ever really able to put away all the nerves is on missions, and this sure as hell isn’t a mission.

Steve saw that your hands were still shaking and was getting nervous that you’d hurt yourself. “Please be careful with the knife, doll.”

“Don’t worry, Stevie. I’m fine.”

You both got the tops of your pumpkins cut off and the insides gutted. While you both were doing you were talking about any and everything and exchanging laughs. You wish that you would’ve had the courage to ask Steve to hangout earlier because it was clear that you both were very much into each other.

“What are you gonna do for yours,” Steve asked after he finished wiping the pumpkin off of his hands. He leaned his head onto his palm and looked over at you.

“Maybe just a classic jack-o’-lantern face? I’m not the most creative,” you chuckled.

Steve chuckled with you, “I think I’ll follow your lead with that.”

You drew out your face and got ready to cut. The shaking of your hands wasn’t as bad as before, but it was still bad enough that Steve had his worries. He tried to shake his head of worry as he refocused on his pumpkin.

You slowly started to carve the face of your pumpkin, but then Steve distracted you. Not with anything he did, just by his presence. You loved being around Steve and having him this close to you was intoxicating. You observed the way his eyebrows furrowed while easily cutting into the pumpkin. You watched him for a few seconds, not paying attention to anything else around you.

Steve felt your gaze on him for the first few seconds and looked back at you too abruptly, and too quickly for you that it startled you. You got so shocked that your knife quickly fell out of your hand and because it was your instinct to grab it, mid-air might I add, you effectively cut into your palm. Shallow, but enough to draw blood and hurt.

You yelped and quickly jumped out of your chair, rushing towards the kitchen sink. Steve quickly followed you and grabbed your hand to place under cold water. He felt like it was his fault that he startled you causing you to cut your palm.

Your eyebrows were furrowed and your eyes were closed while you cringed at the stinging sensation. Steve wanted to kiss the furrow away, but right now he needed to focus on the task at hand.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N. Are you okay? Stupid question, nevermind. Let’s just get you cleaned up, okay,” Steve tumbled over his words and you finally opened his eyes when he took your hand out from under the faucet. He grabbed the kitchen towel and wrapped it around your hand applying pressure. The pain was so slowly fading just from the close contact and attention of Steve.

“Steve, look at me.” His face was still twisted in guilt that you knew he shouldn’t be carrying. He wouldn’t even look at you and was solely focused on your hand.

“Stevie,” you placed your other palm on his cheek getting him to look at you, “I’m fine, and it was my fault so don’t blame yourself.

Steve sighed and looked at you with unsure eyes, “I just feel like I messed up this one thing you’ve really been wanting to do. I’m sure it wasn’t enjoyable at all, now.”

“It was,” you said before leaning towards his lip and giving him a soft peck, “because you did it with me.”

Pink rushed to Steve’s cheeks and he looked away from your gaze shyly before he got a little more serious. “Thank you, doll, but we need to get this stitched up now, and then maybe we can finish the pumpkins if you still want to.”

Steve started to lead you to medical, “I do! With your help cutting, of course.”

“Of course, doll.”

“And kisses. That’s now very essential for pumpkin carving.”

“Kisses,” Steve looked back at you teasingly, “you got yourself a deal, sweetheart.”

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taglist || @cloudystevie @donutloverxo @kyrarose16

(send me an ask if you want to be added <3)

[radabom]

Midnight Kisses (+18)

Hey you! Yeah, you, that person who is 18+ and wants to get fucked by Nadia! Here’s a NSFW fic (sitting at a little less than 2500 words) in which you (or the apprentice, or MC, or whatever) have quite the intense dream regarding the Countess. Upon waking up from its intensity, Nadia turns out to be awake too, and more than willing to help you out with those intense feelings the dream has left you with.

No gendered terms are used for the apprentice, and no warnings are needed that I could think of. There isn’t much of a d/s dynamic, but Nadia does do quite a bit of teasing, some praising, and the apprentice does some begging as well.

Without further adieu, enjoy below the cut!

Every touch that her phantom gave to me did nothing short of light up my arousal. I wasn't sure where I was, only being surrounded by an empty space of reds and purples as the alluring figure before me continued purring praise into my ear between each thrust of her hips. Her lips trailed up and down my body, each mark heating me up more, as if her very lipstick was dripping aphrodisiac. It kept building, my echo-y moans bouncing around the colors surrounding us.

"Nadia..." I could help but murmur out. More kisses peppering my burning neck, more thrusts and praise, and more tender touches across my body.

"O-ohh... Nadia..." My moans grew louder, the colors around us shifting and fluctuating as if to match the heat surrounding us.

"N-Nadia! I'm gonna-" I breathed out, feeling the pressure within me reach a bursting point. The colors around us began to shake violently, until a sea of burning reds and sensual purples came crashing down on our forms.

I found myself waking up suddenly, turned away from the partner I shared a bed with. My cheeks, no, my entire face fiercely burned with arousal, and I couldn't help but begin to notice the wetness soaking my underwear as my senses came back to reality. It was all just a dream then, I began to think to myself, A really arousing dream... A shifting behind me alerted me to Nadia's presence; from the sound of it, she didn't seem to be asleep anymore either.

"Have you finally awoken from your little fantasy, darling?" Nadia's voice asked from behind me. She didn't even sound tired, as if she had been awake for some time.

"I-I... Did I wake you? Sorry..." I muttered out, my nerves still too alight from the sensations the dream gave me to even think to turn and face her.

Nadia let out a lighthearted chuckle, rustling the satin sheets as she shifted her position. "I will admit, I was sleeping quite peacefully until I felt you shifting out of my grasp. You were thrashing a bit, at first I feared you were being plagued by a nightmare." Nadia stated, placing her hand on my shoulder and pulling ever so slightly to get me to face her. I breathed in deeply before turning around, but I couldn't get myself to make eye contact with her. The memories of the dream made me fear that the mere sight of her confident gaze would make me indescribably desperate for her touch.

"It didn't take me too long to realize, however," she paused, a hand lightly gripping my chin and pushing upwards so I could see the true intensity of her gaze, "you weren't thrashing in fear, no. You were letting out little whimpers, then a few moans, until you began calling for me." I could feel my face heating up even more so, a mixture of embarrassment and arousal prickling my skin. The soft glow of the moon through our curtains helped me see the devilish smirk that grew on her face before coming in close, leaving a soft kiss on my forehead.

"I could only assume, then, that whatever visions you were seeing were of a much more... intimate nature than what I had thought." Nadia's words were emphasized with a light hand tracing my outer thigh, the mere sensation of her skin on mine making me bite my lip to control my urges. Her other hand came up to cup my cheek as she gazed deeply into my own eyes, as if trying to see into my very being. "Am I wrong?" She asked, her hand going up past my thigh to rest on my hips.

"Well, no... The dream was very... stimulating, so to speak. Sorry that it made me wake you up..." I trailed off bashfully. Nadia only responded by bringing herself even closer to me, our faces mere inches apart, and planting a deep kiss on my lips. It didn't have a hunger to it, not yet, but it almost felt as if she was holding herself back.

"You have no reason to apologize, my dearest. I'm actually quite glad your thrashing woke me up. After all, I wouldn't be able to see you in such a desperate state if I had stayed in my own dream." Nadia's words took on a more mischievous tone with her teasing, her hands now lightly tracing patterns onto my stomach and arms. Nothing sexual, nothing intense, but her touch alone kept me in this state of desire.

"Desperate? I'm not desperate!" I argued, trying to hide the shaking in my voice.

"Oh, truly? Then surely you won't mind if I..." Nadia's lips were on my neck, ending her sentence, nibbling and sucking on one small spot as if to prove her point. I couldn't help but let out a very needy whimper, even surprising myself at its intensity. Nadia withdrew with a low, sultry giggle, eyeing me up and down as she continued moving her hands ever so slightly on me. "My! I thought you said you weren't desperate? That sound you just made makes me think otherwise." Oh, she was definitely teasing now, I could hear it in her voice. Always so mischievous when she wanted to toy with me, not that I minded much.

"I, well, okay. The dream was pretty... intense... so maybe I'm a bit worked up." I muttered out, fidgeting with the edges of my pillow as she regarded me with a deeply satisfied smirk.

"I could already tell by your whimpers and deep blushes," Nadia's hands moved to lay on my chest, one wrapped around to my back to keep us close, "I just wanted to hear you say it."

"Nadia!" I exclaimed, her mischevous grin only growing deeper at my flustered attitude.

"What? I do enjoy hearing you say what you want; your body language doesn't give away everything, though my intuition tend to give me a pretty good idea." One more kiss, quite a bit longer this time, punctuated her sentence. She didn't completely withdraw however, keeping her face right in front of mine as her eyes gazed into mine. If anyone else were to see her, they wouldn't be able to tell how much she was controlling herself from jumping onto me that moment. I could see the little glints of arousal in her eyes though, a bit of her own body language that I've become pretty good at reading myself.

"I suppose we should try and continue our rest, then," Nadia began, her tone disinterested at the idea, "or... Perhaps I might be able to assist you with those leftover feelings your dream has given you?" With the intensity her gaze had on me, I knew she was far from sarcasm.

"You don't have to, Nadia. It's not that big of a deal..." Both of her hands came up to cup my cheeks, less gently this time, to attach my focus onto her and her words.

"It's not a question of necessity or obligation, sweetness. It's a question on whether you'd like me to pleasure you. After all, I wouldn't want you to have issues going back to sleep, and surely in this state it would take you quite a while to calm down."

The offer alone made my heart jump into my throat from excitement. "Yes! P-please." I enthused, much more excitable than I thought it would sound. Nadia's eyebrow cocked up at my pleading before she took me into one more kiss, this one now seeping with the hunger she was holding back.

Withdrawing for a breath, Nadia muttered out a low "very good, darling" into my neck before peppering it with long, soft kisses. Her body language, her voice, her words all told me how lustful she was for me, but her touches and kisses were so slow and lazy, drawn out and teasing. Even at my heightened state, each slow smooch and quick nibble she gave egged my feelings on more.

"T-taking your sweet time, huh?" I asked lightheartedly. Nadia responded with a harsh bite to my collarbone, sucking on the skin as I let out a high-pitched moan. She covered the forming bruising in another kiss before trailing more soft kisses across my collarbone.

"There's something satisfying in lazy touches, especially when in such a lazy atmosphere such as this," Nadia's hands began teasing at the bottom of my night shirt, perfect nails grazing right at my belly button. "I could go quick, letting go of all urges to wind you up slowly with my phantom touches and slow, deep kisses across your body. But where would be the fun in that?" One of her hands came up to pull my shirt's collar down a bit, giving her access to plant a kiss the center of my chest.

"What if I- mmh- what if I want to go fast? What if these little touches aren't enough?" I questioned, almost pleadingly between every sound she was eliciting from me.

"From your reactions so far, and from just how wound up you were from your dream, I would say these light touches are more than enough. If I go too quickly," Nadia gripped the edge of my shirt, looking at me for permission before my enthusiastic nod allowed her to take it off of me, "I fear you may have your release too soon. I wouldn't want to risk losing any enjoyment for either of us, after all, the ride is much more fun the the destination."

She began peppering my chest with feather-light kisses before they grew in intensity. She nipped lightly at the skin before surprising me with another harsh bite, and another kiss to soothe over its pain. "Your little moans and whimpers are quite intense! Did your dream truly arouse you to such an extent?" Nadia teased between more wet kisses that trailed down to my stomach. I could only moan out in response at another, more playful nip she gave.

"I swear Nadia, I feel l-like I could explode at any moment..." I eked out, feeling her hands slide to my waist. Her head left it's spot from my stomach, coming back up to level with my own as her hands glided gently across my sleepwear's waistband.

"Hmm, I have been enjoying all these kisses and bites you've been taking so well. Perhaps, if you'd be so willing to allow me, I might just have to remove the rest of your clothing and have my way with you, ever so slowly?"

"Yes please! I want t-to feel you, please." I begged out, all sense of restraint in my voice gone at the prospect of finally having her where I crave her.

"My my, and with all this begging, you must really know what you want!" Nadia began peppering my face with affectionate kisses, her fingers on my waistband beginning to tease at its edge before slowly pulling it down, leaving only my underwear between us.

"I think jumping straight into your release would still be no fun..." Nadia teased, one of her fingers beginning to slowly rub down the length of my underwear. The touch was light, and if I hadn't been so worked up already it wouldn't make me feel a thing. But as it was now, I couldn't stop another desperate whimper from coming out at her touch. Every stroke up and down was slow and intimate, and each time she went back down I could feel her fingers pushing in the slightest bit more.

"Nadia... You always tease so m-much!" I muttered, small jumps decorating my words from the stimulation.

"Well I do need to have my own bit of fun; you're little jumps and whimpers are so wonderful to hear. They make me want nothing more than to keep up this lazy little pace." A nice, gentle kiss pecked my neck, nothing like her previous bites and markings. "If you really wish for my most intimate touch, then, now is as good a time as any." Nadia's hands were quick to shed the last bit of clothing on me, returning to their ministrations with the same light touches from before.

"I could touch you like this all night, my lovely little dreamer. All these firm touches, never quite enough to push you over the edge." As she spoke, her fingers found their way a bit farther down until she was teasingly circling my hole. "I suppose if I really wish to see you become undone, I'll have to give in to your desperate whines and pleadings."

No sooner did she make that proclamation, a finger already wet from myself slid into me, curling as Nadia began to slowly move it in and out. My body let out shutters of pleasure, every inch of my skin burning with lust for her touch.

"Quite wet, aren't you? There was no resistance at all against my fingers. You must really be craving my touch." Another finger slid in, adding to the pressure that's been slowly building within me since I awoke. Nadia kept the slow speed though; every movement she made inside of me as intimate and gentle as the kisses she continued to lazily pepper my face and neck in.

"Aahh, Nadi-" My whimper grew into a lustful groan as she began going deeper, yet still at a glacial pace. "P-please, faster..." I begged, heart beating in my ears.

"Ah ah ah, remember? This is supposed to be soft, lazy- not fast and intense. I know how to make it a bit better, though..." One more finger joined the other two as they teased at my entrance once more, light tracings circling around and around. Before I could beg once more, Nadia began entering me with long, deep, toe-curling strokes. Even if they weren't fast, the sensation alone of Nadia's curled fingers so deep in me set my entire body alight with desire.

"Nadia! I'm-" I cried out between each deep stroke. It didn't take long before the pressure at the pit of my stomach burst, making me release all of my pent-up desire in a series of squeal-y moans. I could feel my body clenching hard around Nadia's fingers, until eventually the rush of it all slowed down and all I could focus on was catching my breath.

"So good, taking my fingers like that." Nadia purred into my ear before sealing the fun with a sweet kiss on my lips. "Now, care to join me for a midnight bath so we can clean you up?" I smiled at her, nodding wordlessly as my brain still scrambled to bring me back to the real world.

"Yeah, that sounds nice..."

[queenof-literature]

A Sick Wild Child - Chapter 10

Chapter 10 - Cold

Aaaand we're back! Sorry for the long wait, college is wack.

Uhh big angst warning for this chapter. I can't really tell if this is angstier than the rest of the chapters? But the warning is there.

As I said earlier, I am going to be rewriting this fic as I add to it. Nothing major will change, but I kinda cringe a little when I read back on it because I feel like my style has developed more as I've written.

Ao3 Link:

I hope y'all enjoy!

The rustling of the leaves above were the loudest sound Warriors heard outside camp. Between the soft snores of his companions, the distant flowing stream, and the cackling of the fire, perhaps he should have let himself relax, if only a little. Being as rigid as a board would do no one any good if monsters came, yet Warriors could not force himself to relax. Strained eyes jumped between the other Links, the world outside their overhang, and the only other two not resting.

Whatever allowed Wild to be semi-coherent hours ago had faded as night went on, stuttering chest still rising and falling roughly. 

Twilight hadn’t left Wild’s side, still holding tightly to the boy’s clammy hand. Warriors let out a sigh, trying to force some tension from his shoulders as he stood, slowly making his way over. 

“You need to get some sleep.” Warriors settled next to him, still keeping a sharp ear out for potential monsters. He had made the mistake of letting down his guard, and he wouldn’t do it again.

“I’ll sleep after your watch.” Twilight was lying, and they both knew it.

“You make fun of Time for taking on too much, but you’re the same damn way.” Warriors huffed.

“Pot, meet kettle.” Twilight snarked and Warriors rolled his eyes at yet another dumb country metaphor. “Besides, be careful what you say, Old Man is probably listening.”

“It’d be hard not to with how loud you two are.” A voice said from Time’s bedroll.

“Sorry, Time.” Warriors and Twilight spoke in unison, chuckling lightly when they heard a tired sigh and grumbling.

“Any signs of Wild waking up again?” Warriors nodded towards Wild’s restless form, keeping his voice far lower.

“Nah. I wouldn’t be so worried if he was getting some actual sleep.” As if sensing his name Wild shifted once again, letting out unidentifiable croaks and murmurs. Twilight stroked his thumb across the back of Wild’s pale hand in an attempt to soothe him once more.

“Yeah…” Warriors spoke awkwardly. “The worst will be over soon, then he’ll be able to start healing. Hylia knows Legend and Hyrule are going to shove a rainbow of potions down his gullet when he can handle it.” Warriors joked, feeling success at the small chuckle he received from the other young man.

“I know he’ll be okay, but…” Twilight trailed off, looking down once more at his protege

“Yeah, it’s hard to see him like this.” Warriors nodded.

“Well yeah but I’m worried for what comes after.” Twilight’s eyes still hadn’t met his.

“What do you mean?”

“When he comes to, how much of these nightmares is he going to remember? Some are fake, but his brain is already… addled.” Twilight said for lack of a better word.

“You’re worried about the memories.” Warriors understood now.

“Yeah. He doesn’t remember anything besides a few memories, I’m worried the real ones will mix with the fake ones and just confuse him more.” Warriors hadn’t even thought of that.

“He’ll be okay once he’s aware enough to talk them through, that’s always seemed to help him in the past.” Warriors reassured, clamping a head on his companion’s shoulder. “I know there’s a lot in the air right now, but we need to focus on the now. We’ll deal with the future when we get there.”

“Yeah, you’re right. Thanks War.” Twilight smiled at his companion, finallying meeting his eyes. Both settled in against the wall, taking comfort in the other’s presence. 

~

Cold, scared, confused. Fear struck his heart when he felt the familiar emotions, among others he couldn’t name. His lungs spasmed, and he felt himself cough roughly. Drowning… was he drowning? He didn’t feel wet, water meant drowning… right? Something warm and gentle slid across his hand and he shivered. What was touching him? Was it bad?

No… cold was bad, warm was good, or so he thinks. Yes that seems right. And what was touching him was warm so he could trust it. Yeah, that logic made sense.

Something was wrong though, he shouldn’t be feeling this way. This wasn’t normal. He tried to open his eyes. Wait, when did those get there? He had a body, and bodies had names. Did he have a name? Whatever was blocking his eyes refused to budge, or perhaps it wasn’t even trying. He felt his ears flicker when a noise drew close to him, and the warmth caressing his hand paused. No, don’t stop! He cried out, or he thought he did.

The warmth moved from his hand, allowing the cold to flood back, and he tried to cry out, he wanted to be warm he didn’t want to be cold. He relaxed once more when the warmth moved under his eye, under his eye… his cheek. The hand pushed into the skin of his cheek softly, and he tried to focus on what he heard above him, but he couldn’t push down his panic. What was his name? Everyone had a name, what was his name?

The warmth, which he now recognized as a hand, pushed his cheek with more intent, the noises growing louder. But he couldn’t focus on that, he could only focus on the empty space where his name, his very identity should be. What was his name? Everything would be okay if he could just remember his damn name-

“Wild?” A voice echoed above him, snapping him back from his spiral. Wild… that didn’t sound quite right, but it certainly didn’t sound wrong, and he clinged to it. Wild, Wild, Wild. That was him! 

“Wild?” Another voice asked, and Wild was sure it was a different one. The hand patted his cheek, and Wild felt his nose scrunch. He didn’t like that.

 “Wild? Are you awake? Can you open your eyes?” Wild’s ears perked at the tone, an odd mix of hope and concern. Now out of his spiral, Wild tried once more to open his eyes. Shutting them tightly once more when light assaulted his vision. He felt his head being turned, vertigo crashing into him, only relaxing when his nose brushed against something slightly course but soft.

“Try again.” The voice coaxed. Wild was skeptical, but did as he was told. With great strength, Wild peeled open his eyes. Even after his eyelids revealed the world around him he couldn’t see right away, it took a while for his vision to clear, yet the voice never grew impatient. He felt heat to his back, and it felt like a fire. Maybe that’s what was so bright. After the fuzziness finally faded, Wild could see he was facing a chest, but it looked odd. There was something missing around the shoulders...

“There he is.” The other voice proclaimed quietly.

“How are you feeling, Cub?” Wild felt the chest he was facing vibrate as the person spoke. Cub… cub.

“Tw’ligh?” Wild slurred, wincing at the dryness of his throat.

“Yeah, Cub.” Wild looked up at the face above him, who looked positively elated for some reason. Wild finally realized why the man looked so off, the usual pelt wrapped around his shoulders was gone. Wild glanced around, eyes slow and fluttering. After looking down he finally realized it was covering him instead. 

Wild tried to blink away the fog. That wasn’t right, this was Twilight’s pelt. Oh no, did Wild steal it? That wasn’t very nice…   

“Wild?” The other voice washed over him once more, and Wild realized it had probably been a while since he had responded.

“War?” Wild recognized the bright blue scarf, and the eyes that matched. The fog was slowly receding from his mind, but annoyingly stuck around the edges.

“That’s me.” Warriors confirmed with a fond smirk. “How are ya feeling?”

Wild didn’t know how to answer that. Everything hurt, his muscles felt heavy and useless, his head pounded, his throat was on fire… worst of all…

“Cold.” Wild rasped, trying to bury his face into the chest beside him, enjoying the rumble he felt and the sound of a fond chuckle.

“Sorry, Wild. Your fever hasn’t broken yet, we can’t let you get too hot.” Twilight really did sound sorry, but that doesn’t sound right. Fever means hot.

“Cold.” Wild stressed again, his small movement sending a spike of pain around his ribs. ���Hurts.” Wild whimpered at the aches and pain that surrounded his body, especially his ribs. 

“I know, Cub. It’ll get better soon.” Twilight promised.

“How?” How did he know that? Wild didn’t understand. Goddesses, it felt like he was dying-

Wild froze at that thought. No, no Twilight would tell him. Twilight wouldn’t be so happy, he wouldn’t. The conversation continued as Wild’s world was crashing down on him.

“Your fever hasn’t broken, but it is getting cooler.” An optimistic voice continued, not noticing his panic. Why were they so calm? Wild was dying, he was dying! He felt his breaths get more labored, only sending further panic shooting through him. No, he needed to breathe, breathing meant life and Wild was alive he wasn’t dead he was alive-

“-we’ll fix it, Wild, I promise.” Wild tuned in once more and his heart lurched. Fix it? No, no , no, nononono. 

“N-no!” Wild cried out, trying to sit up.

“Woah!” Warriors bolted forward to keep Wild from agitating his illness further. They just got water in his system, they didn't want him to throw it back up now.

“Tw-i. Don’t. P-please don’t.” Wild pleaded.

“Don’t what? Cub we’re not going to do anything.” Twilight’s voice tried to be calm, but the underlying panic only sent Wild further into his spiral. Twilight knew and he was hiding it! The shrine… not the shrine.

“Na- the shrine. P-please. Anythin’ but the shrine. Just let me go.” Wild begged, coughing roughly at the end. Twilight felt his chest grow cold and his stomach drop. ‘Let me go’, ‘No more shrine’, Twilight felt lightheaded. He knew what it meant. Let me die. 

“No, no Cub, you’re not hurt. Not badly, you’ll recover.” Twilight tried to reassure but Wild was too far gone.

“Hey, hey.” Wild felt a different pair of hands on his cheeks, calloused from constant swordsmanship, but impossibly gentle. “Calm down.” Warriors soothed, brushing aside Wild’s bangs. No! He didn’t understand. He couldn’t do it, not again. He couldn’t wake up with nothing but a name he didn’t recognize, cold, hungry, scared, alone. 

“No shrine, nothing like that. We’re staying right here.” Warriors comforted. Wild shook his head, ignoring the nausea it brought. They didn’t understand, he would forget again. He would forget again. Zelda, the Champions, Riju, Teba, Yunobo, Sidon, the Links. All of them.

“Wild.” Twilight’s voice was soft, but stern, demanding Wild’s attention. “Wild look at me.” A hand took his chin, and he was met with dark blue eyes swirling with intense emotions, half of which Wild couldn’t name. “We’re staying right here. We’re nowhere near the shrine. You’re just sick, you’ll get better, on your own.” Twilight specified, rambling in the hopes that Wild would finally understand. Twilight felt his chest loosen when Wild calmed down slightly. 

Twilight wouldn’t lie about that, Wild could trust him. 

“No shrine?” Wild confirmed.

“No shrine.” Twilight put on his most reassuring smile, covering his turmoil at Wild’s earlier words.

“Never. Promise.” Wild demanded in the most stern tone he could muster, and judging by Twilight’s shaky smirk he didn’t do a very good job. 

“I promise, Cub.”

“Yeah, Hylia knows we wouldn’t even know how to work it- ouch! What it’s true.” Wild tried to laugh at the indignant noise, but all that came out was a coughing fit. He still didn’t understand what was going on, but there was no rush or panic or shouting. It wasn’t like the first time. There were no lasers, or carnage, or desperate screaming.

“Okay, that’s enough.” Twilight deemed after Wild’s fit had passed. “You need more rest.” Wild shook his head. He wanted to stay here, away from the things he sees when he closes his eyes. It was nice here, the fog was finally parting and if he went to sleep it would surround him again.

“Yes, Wild.” Wild heard Warriors laugh at Twi’s exasperated tone.

“No.” Wild commanded, well aware of how much he sounded like a petulant child.

“Wild, we’ll be right here. You need sleep. Real sleep.” Wild shook his head again.

“I’d be careful. Mama bear is ready to knock you out.” Warriors teased, yelping when Twilight used his free arm to smack his shoulder.

“Wild, I swear to Hylia, you are going to sleep.” Twilight threatened. Wild huffed. Fine. Wild lifted a shaky and weak hand from under the pelt, pausing to rest the limb above the covers. Slowly he lifted his left hand, barely reaching his target. He swatted uselessly at Twilight’s chest, trying to find a grip. Finally he managed to snag onto the older’s tunic, just above his heart.

“What are you doing?” Twilight chuckled, all ire forgotten at the Cub’s clumsy actions. This would be the hard part. Wild prepped himself, before putting all his strength into his left arm and pulling himself up as far as possible. Even the simple motion of pulling himself up was like climbing a mountain, all his stamina depleted by the time he put his plan into action as his ribs jolted and burned. His world twisted and swirled as dizziness washed over him, his head feeling light and his eyes watering.

“Wild!” Twilight yelped in surprise, hopefully not waking the camp. Automatically his arms flew around Wild to catch the boy now cradled to his chest. “What the hell are you doing?” Twilight asked again, far more bafflement and scolding in his tone. Wild stubbornly shoved his head into the crook of Twilight’s neck, breathing hard. Nausea surrounded him and his aching muscles cramped and twitched. Twilight winced as Wild coughed directly into his throat. Good things this wasn’t contagious.

“You can’t do that! You can’t push your body like that!” Twilight scolded, his words contradicted his actions as he rubbed soothing circles into Wild’s back.

“I mean, you could have asked.” Warriors agreed, smirking at the scene before him now that Wild seemed to be recovering from his little stunt.

“Stay.” Wild demanded, gripping Twilight’s shirt as the other was cradled to his own chest uselessly. His body had no more energy left to spare and he relied completely on Twilight to keep him from falling.

“I’m right here.” Twilight’s exasperated tone morphed more into confusion. Twilight wasn’t getting it. He was warm. Wild was so cold, and he wanted to be warm. Even if that meant soaking up heat from Twilight like a lizard did on a sunny rock.

“Warm.” Wild’s lips twisted into a crooked smile, not aware enough to try and make both the scarred and unscarred sides of his face match. Warriors didn’t even hide his fond grin at the cheesy sight before him, and Twilight’s shocked face was certainly a bonus.

“Wild your fever.” Twilight chided nervously, attempting to gently get Wild away from his body heat. Even being in his lap was pushing it, Hyrule told him to be careful before he went to bed.

“Warm.” Wild huffed, annoyed at Twilight moving too much. Twilight glared at the muffled laugh he heard from Warriors. ‘Help me!’ Twilight mouthed, glaring at him as the other just shrugged and smirked. Jackass. Twilight supposed it would be okay for a little bit, but… just until Wild fell asleep. Besides, Twilight couldn’t bring himself to push Wild off with the dopey and lopsided the grin the younger had. Instead Twilight tucked the covers and pelt around him, knowing he made the right choice when Wild sighed happily and burrowed further. It was the most content he had seen Wild in days, and if Hyrule found out Twilight had disobeyed his instructions and kicked his ass, it’d be worth it.

“We can watch his fever. Let him have this.” Warriors confirmed the voice in his head, and Twilight relaxed at the fact someone else agreed, allowing himself to lean against the wall to better support Wild’s weight.

“Yeah, I don’t wanna move him.” Wild made a noise that Twilight could only interpret as agreement, and tried not to laugh and disturb the boy curled into him. 

“He can understand what we’re saying… that has to be progress, right?” Warriors questioned.

“Yeah, but at this point his fever breaking is the best we can hope for.” Twilight responded as he felt Wild succumb to sleep once more. Twilight didn’t want to admit how worried he was that his fever would never break. He knew that Wild would get better, really he did. But Hylia what Wild had said… what would Twilight do if he had the option. If Wild was dying in his arms and he had a choice. If he had a choice between Wild living with no memories, waking up with them all gone, probably long dead, alone and scared. Or letting Wild, his cub, die. Both options almost sent Twilight over the edge of despair just picturing it.

“Stop.” Warriors scolded, eyes peering into him. Twilight snapped out of his thoughts and glanced back in surprise. “I know what you’re dwelling on. Stop it. It won’t help anything.” Warriors’ tone was harsh, but his eyes were compassionate.

“I know but-”

“No buts. It won’t come to that.”

“You don’t know that.” Twilight’s voice cracked ever so slightly. Warriors sighed, of course he didn’t. Of course Twilight wasn’t the only one who thought at night about where this quest could lead.

“None of us do. But focusing on what-ifs, especially insanely specific ones, doesn’t help it just makes us all suffer. All of us, Twilight.” Warriors stressed, relieved at Twilight’s eyes widening, knowing he had gotten through. The words were harsh, but Twilight never listened when it was just his health on the line. He needed to know that watching him go through that hurt, just as it hurt them when one of the other Links were in a pit of anger and hurt.

“You’re right. I’m sorry.” Twilight squeezed Wild, needing to feel his heartbeat against his own. He focused on the breaths he felt against his neck. They were shallow and rough but they were there.

“Don’t be, I get it.” Warriors assured. “But let's face it if we think about everything that could happen on this crazy fucking quest we’ll be here for weeks.”

“Yeah…” Twilight shifted, ensuring Wild didn’t have too much pressure on his ribs.

“I’ll watch his fever, you need to rest.” Warriors commanded softly.

“You know that’s not happening.” Twilight glared.

“I didn’t ask you to sleep, I asked you to rest. You need it.” Warriors raised a challenging eyebrow, turning concerned when Twilight just nodded.

“Yeah… okay. Just make sure he doesn’t get too hot.” Twilight leaned his head against the rock, shushing Wild when he mumbled and huffed as his pillow moved. Warriors reached over and placed his hand on the cub’s forehead. 

“It’s fine for now.” Warriors smiled, happy the raging fever had dulled, even a little.

Both Warriors and Twilight quieted, and Twilight allowed himself to simply breathe as Warriors kept a sharp eye on the world around them.

 ~~~

Wild is on a mission and no one shall stop him.

Thank you all for reading! I'll update the summary when I rewrite a chapter so you all know.

And thank you all again so much for the support. I love every comment, and I’m so glad so many people enjoy this story!

[engagemachine]

How would J react if Taylor swore infront/at him?

May 22nd: New update

Anon, I’ve been thinking about this ask for daaaaays. Had to write a fic. This is just part one (turned out a lot longer than I thought it would be--wrote it in one sitting) and I’ll post part two as soon as it’s done!

FYI: This takes place early on in Burn, probably sometime around chapter two, so Taylor is back in high school. 

---

It’s still snowing outside when Taylor slides into her seat for third period English. She loves the overlarge windows in here, stretching along almost the entire wall of the left-hand side of the classroom. Black windowpanes showcase the little fountain in the courtyard, the stone benches seated around it, and the long, winding sidewalk where each senior from the class of 2002 got to lay down a single handprint in the cement to commemorate their pending graduation. Taylor thinks she would’ve liked that, to immortalize a piece of herself in that way, inscribing her name inside her handprint. Taylor B. It intrigued her, the thought of someone walking over her handprint years later, wondering who Taylor B was, what she was like, where she was now.

The fountain is frozen over, and the courtyard is blanketed in a thick layer of snow, still untouched. She wonders what it says about her that she often fantasizes about being the first one to run out and ruin it, leave her footprints behind, crunch through snow that is knee-deep, that no one else has sullied yet. There’s something about being the first person to disrupt the beauty of nature. Like stepping on a fallen dead leaf, the satisfaction of hearing it crackle beneath your feet. Or jumping into a still lake, watching the ripples that fan out across the water as you break through to the surface. Like leaving footprints in the sand at the beach, only to have them rinsed away by the incoming tide moments later. It’s a temporary disruption—and perhaps that’s the appeal.

Taylor settles into her seat and takes out her books. The classroom is unusually bright, the sky outside milky and pale as the snow piles up, falling softly in great big clumps. Mrs. Herndan leaves the lights off because they don’t need them.  

Everyone is a little more animated than usual. If it keeps snowing like this, they might call it a half day and get to go home early. Taylor hopes that happens, that way she can order take-out and hang out with Mr. J. Maybe they can watch a movie together—something scary, so she has an excuse to cuddle up next to him, if he’ll let her. She’s been testing the boundaries of affection he’s willing to allow her to bestow, and recently she’s been surprised by how much she’s been able to get away with. Just last week she fell asleep next to him on the couch with her head on his shoulder—totally by accident—and he didn’t even move her. Just let her sleep there like that until she woke up, his hand heavy on her thigh, right above her knee, at which point she jumped up, all groggy and still rubbing the sleep from her eyes. She swore up and down that she was sorry, she’d never do it again. She was so afraid he’d be mad, but he just looked at her kind of funny, like he was trying not to laugh, and she blushed furiously and hurried off to her room.

Class is kind of boring, and it’s hard to focus when everyone seems just as distracted as she is. Mrs. Herndan has to stop her lesson twice just to tell everyone to be quiet and put their phones away. Taylor is snapped to attention each time she does. She didn’t even realize she had been staring at the window.

When the bell rings, Mrs. Herndan shouts out their homework assignment for the weekend, but it’s mostly lost to the din of jostling bodies and excited chatter of weekend plans as everyone fights to get through the door at once. Whatever. She’ll just have check the syllabus when she gets home. They’re reading Romeo and Juliet and it’s really hard to understand. Maybe she can find a way to rent a movie of it from the library—there’s supposed to be a version with Leonardo DiCaprio, she thinks. Maybe that’ll help. Sometimes she wants to ask Mr. J for help—and in the past she has, like when she had to make that volcano for science class, and he knew exactly what to do—but Romeo and Juliet is way too embarrassing. All those thees and thous, the declarations of love. Like she could ever ask Mr. J to interpret that for her, not without dying from embarrassment first.

She gets twenty minutes into her next class before they finally call it on the overhead speakers—school is closed. She smiles to herself as she packs up her books, already imagining herself curled up on the couch with her sketchbook and a cup of hot cocoa. She should still have some marshmallows left over—as long as Mr. J hasn’t eaten them all. He’s always eating her snacks. Sometimes, in a moment of pure frustration upon stumbling onto an empty bag or box of secret snacks she had stashed away specifically for herself, she tells him to buy his own snacks, but he always counters with, I did buy these, giving her a pointed look, and, yeah, he kinda did. It’s his money, after all. Not like she could buy any of this stuff without him.

She’s pulling the rest of her books from her locker and shoving them into her backpack when she feels a tap on her shoulder from behind. She turns around to face Jennifer Bartlett—from her geometry class—who is holds out a pink envelope decked in glitter and little metallic hearts.

“You’re inviiiiited,” she sings, thrusting the card into Taylor’s hands. Taylor blinks at her.

“Me?” she asks. Clearly this is some kind of mistake. Maybe a joke.

“It’s a sleepover, so bring a sleeping bag, okay? And like, don’t tell your mom or whatever, but my parents won’t be there, so make sure you just get dropped off in the driveway and none of your parents try to come inside.”

“Oh,” she says, her mind still swirling from the invite. A sleepover. “Okay.” She forces her gaping mouth shut, quickly nods, tries not to look too overeager. “Okay,” she says again, a little cooler, smiling a little. “I’ll totally be there.”

“Great!”

Jennifer bounds off down the hallway, joining a group of giggling girls waiting for her at the end, and Taylor looks down at the envelope in her hand, her name on it and everything. Taylor B.

She bites her lip and smiles.  

--

Taylor can’t get home fast enough.

The bus takes forever, and they have to divert into South Side because of an accident near Paramount Park.

When she finally hops off the school bus and bounds for home, perhaps she takes off a little faster than she should. One moment her backpack is bouncing behind her as she races down the sidewalk, and the next, she’s spread-eagled and lying flat on her back, staring up at the gray sky as snow drifts down in soft little clumps around her. Oof. That hurt. She didn’t hit her head—thankfully—but she managed to scrape her cheek on the icy pile of snow packed into a miniature wall along the edges of the sidewalk. She thinks her cheek might be bleeding.

She doesn’t know what’s more embarrassing: the fact that she fell, or that the bus driver didn’t stop to help.

She winces as she gets up, wipes the blood from her cheek, brushes the ice and snow from her hands, wipes her palms on her jeans. The bus hisses as it pulls away, and Taylor’s cheeks burn. Maybe no one saw?

Her right leg kind of hurts, and she hobbles the rest of the way home, her excitement not dampened as she crashes through the front door, making it halfway through the kitchen before she remembers to shimmy out of her wet boots. Her socks are wet—there was a lot of slush on the sidewalks the closer she got to home—and her feet leave little wet prints on the kitchen floor before she gets to the carpet. 

“Mr. J!”

He’s not in the living room, and he’s not in his bedroom, either, when she throws open the door and scans the bed, his empty desk. She frowns, pokes her head around the doorframe to her own bedroom. Not there, either.

“Mr. J?” She goes back to the beginning of the hallway, knocks eagerly on the closed bathroom door. She can see yellow light bleeding out from the crack beneath the door, doesn’t know how she missed that before. “Mr. J, you’ll never guess what happened at school today!” She waits a beat for him to say something—a grunt, even, some form of acknowledgement that he hears her, she’d take anything—but when she’s met with silence, she barrels on. “I got invited to a slumber party!” she gushes. She has both palms pressed flat against the door, is bouncing on the balls of her feet. “I ran all the way home to tell you, I can’t believe it!” she squeals. “It’s this Friday so we have to go to the store A-S-A-P so I can get a sleeping bag, okay? I mean—if it’s okay with you that I can go. But I’m sure it will be because I really want to go and I’ve never been to a sleepover before.” She sighs, taking a breath. He still hasn’t said anything, so she turns her back to the door and leans against it. He has to come out eventually. “And you won’t even have to worry about dropping me off because I can just take the bus, okay? I looked up Jennifer’s address at the library at school and I already wrote down how to get there, so I won’t get lost! Oh, and maybe I should get new PJs, too? And do you think that—”

The door is jerked open so suddenly she doesn’t have time to react, and she’s falling backwards before she can catch herself, straight into Mr. J’s chest.

He’s holding her underneath her arms, and she tilts her head back to look up at him—upside down—as he looks down at her. His greasepaint’s bright. Fresh-applied. She can smell its gummy texture.

She smiles up at him, a little unsure. A little frightened. His eyes are so dark. “Jeeze,” she says, lightly, trying to dissolve the tension. “You have to give me a warning, Mr. J.” She tries to laugh a little, but it comes out stilted, and the look he pins her with makes the smile slip right off her face.

“Maybe I would if I could get a word in,” he replies. He gets his arms behind her and pushes her off him. Taylor’s cheeks burn as she stumbles a few feet into the kitchen. She knows she talks a lot when she’s excited. She’s like a faucet that won’t turn off.

“Sorry,” she murmurs. She keeps her head low, a little afraid to meet his eyes. He’s in a bad mood—but she’s determined to go to this party either way, and she won’t stop prodding until he says yes. She glances up for just a second to catch the narrowing of his eyes, and then his hand is reaching out, closing around her jaw in a way that makes her flinch, pulling her towards him.

“What’s this?” he says. His eyes on her skin burn, and it makes the cut on her cheek throb in memory.

“It’s nothing,” she says, annoyed, maybe a little embarrassed. She doesn’t want to have to tell him that she slipped and fell. Also, can they please get back to talking about her slumber party? She impatiently reaches up and pries his hand off her—he lets her. She ventures a few steps back, watching him, and her back hits the counter with a thud. “But about the party—it’s okay if I go, right?”

He ignores her question in favor of taking a few lumbering steps closer—towering over her—and his fingers around her jaw are much softer this time when he takes it in his hand, tilts her head to the side so the cut on her cheek winks at him in the light that streaks out from the bathroom.

He sounds almost curious when he asks, “Did someone hit you?”

His question feels like a gut-punch. She looks up at him, eyes widening in surprise for a moment, and then her gaze narrows, and she’s a little more forceful this time when she pries his hand off her jaw.

“No,” she snaps. She can’t believe he thinks she got bullied. “I’m not a loser. I know how to fight back if I have to,” she scowls.  

He looks at her for a long moment, his eyes hard and calculating, but she makes a point to meet his stare head on. She’s not going to flinch away. After a beat, he grins a little—some secret smile, like he’s in on some joke she’s not privy to.

“Of course you do,” he says.

“So can I go to the slumber party or not?”

Mr. J raises his eyebrows as he thinks about it. “Dunno,” he says, “I seem to recall your last little, uh, party, didn’t end so hot. Maybe you remember,” he muses, leaning down low, so their faces are level, “—or maybe you don’t, since you were high as a fucking kite.”

Taylor balks at him—he never curses, at least not around her—and she can’t help the way her mouth parts in shock. She can feel the threads of hope she’d been clinging to rapidly slipping out of her hands.

Truthfully, there’s not a lot she remembers from that night. Just a bonfire and a stranger’s half-remembered bedroom. The weight of a body she hadn’t wanted, a frisson of fear, electric as it sizzled down her spine, and then fumbling down the stairs, out the front door. Nobody had even cared. And then the frigid moon, the icy bite of wind on her cheeks. She remembers Mr. J, at some point, and waking up in that old airplane hangar, where she’d promptly puked her guts out over the side of the couch. The rest of that night is a blur. It’s probably better that way.

“It’s not—” she stops. Tries to find her footing around the right set of words. She just wants this so badly. It’s her one opportunity to fit in. To make friends. To be somebody. She wants so desperately to try and explain it to him, make him understand how badly she needs this—but somehow she knows he won’t get it. He doesn’t care about fitting in, or being liked—he’s the most unliked person in all of Gotham. Maybe even the whole world.

“It won’t be like that this time,” she assures. “There won’t be any boys there. I promise. It’s just a girl party. And I promise I’ll be really, really good and come straight home after.”

Mr. J’s eyes are dark as he watches her plead her case, and she takes the opportunity to stick out her bottom lip and put on an exaggerated pout. “Pretty please?” she says. “With lots of sugar on top?”

The corner of his mouth curls into a grin. “Okay, baby doll. Since you asked so nicely.”

“Eeep!” She squeals in excitement, immediately perking up, diving forward to throw her arms around his waist. She gives him a squeeze and he surprises her by patting her back. Once. Twice. His display of affection makes her cheeks warm, and she squeezes him a little tighter, happy to bask in the moment. “Thank you, Mr. J.”

--

Taylor buys a new set of jammies and a sleeping bag. She even spends the whole day prior reading about sleepovers, Googling at the library, getting more and more excited. She wonders if they’ll do face masks, or have a pillow fight, or watch a romantic movie, or paint each other’s nails? 

She goes to Mr. J to model her new PJs for him, a yellow top with tiny blue flowers, with little matching shorts and a scalloped hem. She is bouncing around his bedroom—she had a Red Bull earlier for the first time ever, and whoa—and she does a cartwheel on the bed once she has his attention, collapsing into a heap on the floor because she misjudged the distance. She giggles, and then uses the bed to pull herself up while she prances around the room and chatters about her slumber party. She has a little notepad she found in a drawer in the kitchen, and after a few minutes, she flops back on his bed, holding the notepad above her face. She’s making a list of all the stuff she might need to bring. She read online that sometimes you should bring snacks. 

“Hey Mr. J, cookies or chips?” she asks.

She turns to lay on her side, facing him, where he’s seated in his desk chair and has spun around to watch her, his fingers drumming against the armrests. His eyes are dark—but he doesn’t give her an answer. 

She scowls at his lack of participation, and redirects her attention back to her list, tapping her pencil against her lips.

“Hmm… sometimes cookies have peanut butter, even if they say don’t, and I know lots of people have peanut allergies, sooooo… I’ll go with chips,” she decides, resolute. Her tongue pokes out when she makes a careful, neat checkmark next to the word chips.

She crawls off the bed and skips around the room for a little while longer, clutching her notepad, chattering to herself, mostly. She plays with the books on the bookshelf, all the little knickknacks left behind by the previous owner, rearranging them while she talks, musing about how cool this party’s gonna be, how many friends she’s gonna make. It’s gonna be great.

She lays down on the floor to make some snow-angels on the carpet, flapping her arms and legs slowly, staring up at the ceiling, feeling her energy start to wane. She asks Mr. J if he thinks she should wear her regular clothes to the party, or if she should come dressed in her PJs? And doesn’t he think they’re really pretty? And her sleeping bag comes with a built-in pillow, and isn’t that super cool?

She jolts awake when a pair of arms slip underneath her, hoisting her up, off the floor. She must have fallen asleep.

She frantically blinks the sleep back from her eyes. It’s dark, and she can’t see. “What day is it?” she asks, panicked, her voice cracking. “Is it tomorrow yet? Did I miss the party?”

“Shhh.” Mr. J carries her the short distance to his bed, lowers her to the mattress even as she wraps her arms around his neck, refusing to be put down. She doesn’t even have the forethought to marvel over the fact that he’s just put her in his bed, that she’s lying down on his pillow, or that the covers smell like him. 

“But did I miss it? Is it over?”

She thinks she can hear a smirk in his voice when he says, “No, baby doll, you didn’t miss it. Time to sleep.”

He peels her arms away from his neck, and this time she lets him. She sinks into the mattress, and sinks quickly back into sleep. 

[bunnys-beetlejuice-blog]

dings a rinky triangle right next to your head Hi guys, it's fic time! I actually put this up last night but I'm telling you right now. It's had a few hours to cool, like a pie out of the oven, but made of words. This chapter will actually contain mentions of ssssself harm, so viewer beware, i guess.

His world stays dark, even though he knows he’s opened his eyes. He tries to understand that, brain feeling foggy. He must be somewhere dark. He’s laying on his back. He can hear muffled voices, maybe, over him? He’s under something. He lays there, listening, but he’s too tired to even try to understand, and the voices are too muffled to be anything recognizable. Maybe, if he really strains, he can hear a familiar voice, or someone who sounds like his baby sister, but the only word he manages to understand is “invisible.”

He falls back into a restless sleep.

The next time he’s able to shake exhaustion from his mind, he tries to sit up. It’s easier than he thought it might be. This time, more aware of himself, his body feeling less destroyed, he actually tries to understand where he is. It feels like he’s laying in dirt, or under dirt, in a mountain of it, the usual soft scent of freshly turned earth overpowering. It still hurts to move, but he forces himself to, clawing upwards, through the dirt, until he reaches a wooden plank, which he goes through, like he’s not even there.

It’s a box, containing something foul smelling. A coffin… he’s inside a coffin. Juno buried him below a pine box, in someone else’s grave. The inside of it stinks, like decay and chemicals, and he doesn’t stop to take in whoever this used to be, just pushes up, and out, until he emerges from the ground like a zombie, like Night of the Living Dead. The ground around him is grown over with grass, and he grabs at it, using it as much as he can, as he crawls from someone’s grave, until finally, he pulls himself free from the earth, and lays there, taking breaths he doesn’t need, to clear the smell of the body from his nose. His suit and trench coat are filthy, but that barely registers, at this point. There are more important things to worry about, like getting home- He sits up, catches sight of the gravestone.

Emily Deetz Devoted Wife, Beloved Mother “Whom Most We Love Reach First the Golden Gate, Leaving Us Desolate”

He stares at the etching on the stone, and feels something in his mind snap, like a rubber band stretched too tight. He’s seeing the world through a fisheye lens, his vision distorted, blurry, as he tries to understand exactly what just happened. Juno made him crawl out of his own mother’s grave. The body he still reeks of was Emily’s. He sits there, a long time, not feeling much of anything, only able to stare, replaying that memory, over and over, and the only thing that makes him move is the sudden realization of what grass over a grave could mean. Emily’s been buried long enough for it to grow. How long has it been since he’s been home? He does his best to push this fun new trauma down, as far as it will go. He’s got to get back to his family. What’s left of it, he thinks, humorlessly.

He stands, off balance, and wipes some of the dust and dirt from his face, and finds that, annoyingly, his glamour has slipped, and it refuses to reapply. Maybe he’s too drained, though he’s not sure how he’s going to get back home, clearly looking as deranged as he must. He’s too exhausted to teleport, and he wanders around the cemetery, avoiding the few people there as much as he can, as the sun dips low, and vanishes. At least by that point he can force his teeth and ears to resemble normal human’s. The moss and eyes, well, he’s too worn down to care. So he’ll look like an extra grubby hobo, he thinks. That’ll have to be his new look, for now.

He reaches a gate, and leans on it, and then falls through it, and blinks, confused. He’s never been intangible by accident, before. Usually it takes concentration to make his solid form incorporeal. He stands, straightens out his suit collar, adjusts his sleeves, fiddles with his tie, as he thinks. There’s got to be someone around here who can call his family for him, or at the very least, a cab. The cemetery is growing darker, and his attention is drawn to the far off flicker of candles. He feels a pull, and he approaches, taking in what he sees.

It’s a group of five teenagers with an Ouija board. Predictable. He snorts, and expects that sound to alert the kids to his presence, but they don’t even turn to see what the noise could be. He steps closer, until he’s fully illuminated by the glowing ring of candles around them, and he tries to be friendly. “Hey, just a normal livin’ adult human man, in a cemetery, at night, approachin’ a group of children. You kids wanna be helpful an’ call me a cab?” BJ tries, but he’s ignored. The kids don’t even look in his direction. He remembers being a snot nosed teen, but this is a bit much. His blood boils, and he leans down, claps his hands in one of the teen’s faces, and she responds to that, but not in the way he wants. “I think I just felt a cold spot!” she tells her friends. “In front of my face, just now!” “Calm down with that,” a red haired girl shoots her a look. “We haven’t even started yet, and you’re already having a spiritual experience. Yeah, right.” “No you guys, really!”

“Lookit me,” he interrupts them. The children continue to squabble. His gut clenches. “Look at me!” he demands, storming to the center of the circle, and kicking at their stupid board game. His boot goes through it. They don’t react. Why would they, he realizes, sinking to sit on top of the board.

He’s invisible.

He tries to recall everything Juno had said, as he’d struggled to keep conscious, while impaled. Loneliness. Invisibility, being at the command of the living. Being… forgotten. No, no, NO- His impending freak out is stymied when he feels hands go through him, and he shoots up, hovering over the board game, as the teens below him react. “Oh my god, total cold spot! Should we like, make a note of that?” “Come on, come on, let’s start, while there’s still someone or something here!”

The five teens lean forward, each placing fingers on the planchette. “Is there anyone here?” one of them asks.

Betelgeuse stares, and feels a tug, again, clearly coming from the board. He knows some demons use these things to play with their food, before they eat, so he gives it a go, and floats over the game, head down, feet in the air, like he’s diving underwater. Maybe these kids can actually help him. He pushes the planchette with one finger, to land on “Yes.”

“Did you do that?” one boy asks, and the group devolves into the kids blaming each other, and he rakes his hands down his face, and tries to move the planchette, again, but they’re too busy squabbling, they’re not touching it anymore. Fuck, this is frustrating. He’s never wanted a group of teenagers to drop dead as badly as he does right now. Finally, they put their hands back on the pointer, and ask another question. “Are you friendly?”

This time, he pushes the planchette to spell, instead. “S-U-R-E.” “That doesn’t instill a lot of confidence,” the redhead from before mutters. “What do you want?” He nudges the pointer along, painstakingly slow. “H-O-M-E.” “You want to go home?” “YES.”

“For fuck sake, yes,” he groans, and then perks as one asks, “How can we help you?” Well… he’s not actually sure. He squints, trying and failing to recall everything Juno had said. How is he supposed to work with this curse thing, when he doesn’t know the rules? He digs his hands in his pockets, frustrated, and then blinks, because there’s what feels like a business card there, one that he doesn’t remember. He pulls the paper from his pocket, studies it.

BEETLEJUICE BEETLEJUICE BEETLEJUICE

He remembers the way Juno had chanted his name, before he’d lost consciousness. That must be it, then. His name is his burden.

“M-Y-N-A-M-E-T-H-R-E-E-T-I-M-E-S”

“Oh, wait, wait, guys, I’ve heard of this,” one of the girls gasps. “Demonic entities, they have you do things in threes, to mock the trinity, you know, father, son, and holy ghost. It’s a demon thing! We might be talking to a non-human spirit!” “That means we can’t trust it, right?” A boy asks, and they all look uneasy. He steers the planchette around the board, desperate. “W-A-N-N-A-H-O-M-E-P-L-Z.” The redhead wrinkles her nose. “Do demons use chat speak?” she asks, glancing around the group.

“O-H-M-Y-G-O-D-U-K-I-D-S-A-R-E-K-I-L-L-I-N-M-E.”

“I’m not afraid. Tell us your name, spirit!” a boy calls, and he gives the planchette a push, intent on spelling it. The pointer doesn’t move. “Come the fuck on!” he growls, but it doesn’t matter how much strength he puts into the action, he can’t move the dinky plastic piece to spell out his name.

“Spirit? You there?”

“F-U-C-K,” he spells out, in a rage, because this is pointless, he’s too exhausted and sore to think of how to make this work, and he just wants to go home, and see what’s left of his family. He growls again, and then snuffs all the candles in the circle, all at once, causing the kids to scream, and scramble, and that, at least, forces a rictus grin from him. He’s always enjoyed the sounds of terror. He leaves the children tripping over themselves in the dark, and decides he’s going to have to make his way home the old fashioned way- floating. At least he doesn’t have to walk, he supposes, tucking his legs under himself, and he floats invisibly out of the cemetery, and down the sidewalk, trying to focus on how good it will be to see Lydia and Charles, and not on how they won’t see him, and especially not on how every part of him, physically, emotionally, mentally, is hurting. read the rest over here~ If you're totally lost, I find starting at the beginning of something often makes the middle of something make better sense. So you can start at the very beginning right HERE

[occasionally-writing]

Christmas Is Better With You

A/N: Hey guys! This was a commission request from the lovely @onetine, who wanted a cute and fluffy mingkit fanfic! I went a bit longer than I thought I would with this but it’s because I was inspired and I wanted the fic to be perfect for ya! Anyways, thanks so much for commissioning me and if anyone else wants to commission me, feel free to send me a message <3 Thanks so much and I hope you and everyone else who reads this enjoys the fanfic! <3

Summary: Kit and Ming get together to go Christmas shopping for some supplies to put on Kit’s tree in his dorm. After they get everything, the two go back to Kit’s dorm and work together to make Kit’s tree beautiful...with some cute disasters of course. 

Word Count: 3698

“When you said you wanted to go out to get some stuff for the tree...I did not think you meant coming here…” Kit grumbled as he weaved around the endless crowd of people who seemed like they were shopping for the upcoming holiday. Letting out a hum as he easily maneuvered around the endless crowd of people, Ming made sure not to lose his boyfriend, his hand reaching out and taking Kit’s wrist in a gentle grasp. Tensing briefly at the touch, Kit peered around him before he sighed, relaxing in Ming’s hold since he knew that it was the only way they wouldn’t lose each other in the filled mall. “This place is packed and I really hate being smashed close together like this.”

“I’m sorry P’Kit...I didn’t think it would be this busy. Let’s just get the things we need and then we can leave, okay?” Ming apologized, shooting Kit an apologetic grin, a slight shine of guilt prickling in his eyes that had Kit sighing and shaking Ming’s grip off so he could take his hand instead. Nodding softly to Ming’s sincere apology, Kit stumbled closer to his boyfriend when someone bumped into him from behind, almost causing Kit to trip if it wasn’t for Ming holding onto him. “Look! There’s the store! Hang on tight to me, yeah?”

Rolling his eyes at the smirk Ming had on his face as he said this, Kit kicked his leg lightly and tried to hide the smile that was threatening to slip onto his lips when the sound of Ming’s cackle reached past the hustle and bustle of the noise around them. Holding Kit close, Ming helped his boyfriend across the busy pathway and not even a moment longer, Kit found himself in front of the seasonal shop that always opened when it came close to the holiday season. Keeping his fingers threaded through Ming’s, Kit pulled his younger boyfriend inside, letting go of Ming so that the other could grab a cart. 

“Come on. If I remember correctly, the ornaments, garland and some string lights should be near the back, along with the star...I don’t remember if I still have the old one so let’s just get a new one to be sure,” Kit mumbled, going over a list of what they need in his head, unaware of the compassionate look Ming was giving him. Taking the cart from Ming, Kit pushed it towards the back, Ming stuck to his side even as the younger male let his gaze off Kit, taking in the colorful lights and glittering decorations around them. “There they are...Ming? Ming!”

“S-sorry! Got distracted. What color ornaments should we get?” Ming chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck as Kit glared at him slightly for losing focus. Easing the stern furrow of his brows, Kit sighed and parked the cart to the side, the two of them quickly looking through all the packs of round and funny shaped ornaments. Picking out two packs that had fifty ornaments in each, the colors bright and sparkling with glitter as Ming placed them carefully in the cart. Not having to wait long to find the garland, Ming kept his soft gaze on Kit as his boyfriend looked over all the garland. “How about we get the gold and silver one with the bells? And maybe...the red and white one with the candy canes?”

“Sure...you only want two or should we get one more?” Humming at his question, Ming stepped next to Kit and looked over the display, both of them agreeing on a third string of garland that was bright green and sparkly with little decals of holly hanging off of it. Tossing them in the cart, Kit watched as Ming excitingly strolled towards the boxes of string lights that were on a display. Pushing the cart towards him, Kit helped his boyfriend pick out the color of lights he thought would look good with the stuff they had in the cart. “How about we go for some rainbow lights? We already have a shit ton of colorful bulbs and garland.”

Nodding very much like an excited dog, Ming picked out two boxes of lights as Kit strolled towards the display that held the tree toppers. Listening to Ming placing the boxes of lights into the cart, Kit tried not to jump as arms wrapped around his waist and a chin was placed on his head as Ming appeared behind him, not shy with being affectionate in public. Stomping on his foot, obviously not using his full strength since all Ming did was flinch, Kit tried to ignore the way his cheeks flushed red as they looked over the stars, the colors varying from gold to silver and even ones with all the colors from the rainbow. Straightening up when he noticed a pretty good sized gold star that had little details of silver on it, the gold glitter making it shine bright in the fluorescent lights the store had on their ceiling. 

“Let’s get that one!” Ming pointed out, practically leaning on Kit as he reached up and plucked the star off the hook it was displayed on. Letting out a grunt as most of Ming’s weight was on him, Kit shoved him off once he was sure Ming was steady on his feet and wouldn’t bump into anything if he stumbled. Chuckling at the flustered expression Kit wore on his face, Ming gently placed the star in the cart and waited for Kit to compose himself, obviously not taking long as he strolled up to the cart and peered inside. “I think we got everything. Is everything here that was on your mental checklist?”

“Let’s see...ornaments, garland, lights and a star...Yeah. I think we got everything…” Kit muttered, taking in everything in their cart as Ming nodded, placing his hand on Kit’s neck to massage the slight tension he could feel there. Leaning into his touch slightly, Kit double checked everything before he hummed, reaching up so he could squeeze Ming’s hand softly, turning his attention to pushing the cart so they could check out and finally get out of the packed mall. “Come on. It’s getting late and I really don’t want to be here when this place gets busier.”

Chuckling at the sullen tone of Kit’s voice, Ming followed his boyfriend quietly as Kit made his way towards the front, Kit not minding the way his boyfriend’s attention seemed to fade once again, his eyes on all the lights glowing and creating a festive air around them. Not having to wait long in the line, Ming took the job of putting everything on the counter for the cashier to scan while Kit pulled out his card and paid for everything. Giving a wai to the kind woman, Ming took the bags and strolled out of the store with Kit, standing near while Kit pushed the cart back in its place. Shyly taking Ming’s free hand since they both noticed how busy it truly got, Kit stayed close to his side as Ming carefully led them around the bustling crowd. 

“God, sometimes I hate the holiday season,” Kit grumbled once they finally reached the entrance of the mall, both of them quickly making their way out of the warm building and into the chilly night, the sun long gone from the sky despite it being in the sky when they first arrived to the mall. Keeping close to the heavy warmth Ming gave off as a shiver racketed his form. Wrapping an arm around Kit’s waist and holding him close, Ming shuffled them towards the older boy’s car. Opening the trunk with a shivering hand, Kit tried to hide a grumble when Ming ushered him into the driver’s seat so that he could get warm. Placing the bags in the trunk, Ming closed the door and quickly took his place in the passenger seat. “Get your seatbelt on so we can get out of here.”

“Yes, P’Kit,” Ming replied as he buckled himself in, flashing Kit a smile that caused his boyfriend to grumble and look away with a small blush staining his cheeks. Carefully pulling out of the parking spot, Kit didn’t say a word even when Ming turned on the radio, the sound of Christmas music filling the once quiet car as it gave them something to listen to on their way back to Kit’s dorm. “You have candy canes, right? No tree is complete without them.”

Letting out a snort as he made a noise of affirmation, Kit kept his eyes on the road until they pulled into their university, Kit following the well known road towards the dorms for the med students. Parking in a free spot, Kit turned off the car and waited for Ming to stop dancing in his seat to the song that was currently playing on the radio. Noticing the look Kit was giving him, Ming snickered and turned it off, flashing his boyfriend a grin as he got out. Rolling his eyes, yet a fond sparkle shining in them, Kit slid out of the car and let out a breath, watching as the mist of his breath fogged in the cold night air. Hearing the bags rustling before the trunk was closed, Kit turned his attention to Ming who appeared next to him, seeming like he was ready to get in the warmth of Kit’s dorm room. 

“Ready?” Kit asked, arching a brow at the quick nods Ming gave him. Shaking his head in amusement, Kit strolled forward as he rubbed his hands together, warming them as Ming stayed hot on his heels. Both boys letting out a sigh as the wonderful heat of the dormitory brushed over them as they entered, Ming shuffled closer to Kit but stayed quiet, both of them quickly making their way up the stairs to the floor Kit lived on. “Finally home. You can set the bag on my bed. We can do the lights first and then the garland. The ornaments can go after both of those things are on and then we can put the star up. Okay?” 

“You got it!” Ming chuckled, pressing a quick kiss to Kit’s hair before he shot inside, avoiding the kick that Kit playfully aimed towards his knees. Closing the door behind him and shaking his head when he noticed the way Ming had kicked off his shoes when he entered, Kit toed off his own and neatly placed them towards the wall, doing the same with Ming’s while he was at it. Hearing the sound of Ming ruffling through the paper bags, Kit strolled further into his room and just watched the way his boyfriend looked over the items and put them in order of which Kit had said that had to go on the tree first. “Are we going to order takeout while we do the tree?”

“Sure. We can decorate the tree while we wait for the food to be delivered. Do you want to make the call or should I?” Kit asked as he sat on the bed, looking over the items as Ming hummed in thought. Noticing Ming pull out his phone, Kit already knew the answer to his question so while his boyfriend ordered from the place they both loved to go, Kit began to open the boxes of lights and pull the tags off the garland and the star. Vaguely taking notice the way Ming placed his phone back in his pocket, Kit turned his attention to him as Ming picked up the lights. “How long did they say until the food arrived?”

“They said thirty minutes to forty five minutes. That’s not too long of a wait and who knows, we might finish the tree in that time!” Ming thought out loud, unrolling the lights so that the two prongs could easily fit in the socket and they still had enough wire to wrap the lights around the tree. Nodding as he set a timer on his phone to go off when the delivery would arrive, Kit pushed himself off the bed and grabbed the other end of the lights as Ming plugged them in, the dim room being lit up by a bright hue of rainbow lights. Staring at Kit as the lights casted a glow among his features, Ming couldn’t help the small smile that rose on his lips as he observed his boyfriend. “Beautiful.”

Sputtering out a lame response that had Ming cackling as his cheeks flamed up, Kit huffed and aimed a kick at his boyfriend, who took it in stride as he continued to cackle. Deciding to get to work, Kit softly roped the lights around the bottom and middle of the tree, pausing when the lights stopped. Pulling the second round of lights from the second box, Ming plugged the prongs into the open socket on the first string of lights and continued to rope them around the upper half of the tree, not stopping until the lights were wrapped around the top of the tree securely. 

Stepping back to see how the tree looked so far, Kit nudged Ming as his boyfriend brushed past him to choose one of the three strings of garland that had bought when they were at the mall. Not noticing the way Ming stepped behind him as he continued to eye the tree, Kit gasped as one of the ropes of garland was suddenly wrapped around him and Ming’s chest was pressed flush against his back. Turning in his boyfriend’s hold, being slightly careful since he didn’t want to accidentally break the garland, Kit stared into Ming’s eyes and muttered something about him being really brave.

“Sorry P’Kit, I couldn’t help myself. You just look really beautiful with the way these lights glow on you,” Ming whispered, pressing his forehead against Kit’s as he admitted to what has been on his mind since they started. Holding his breath as he was forced to hear what Ming had to say, Kit cleared his throat as his face grew warm for like the millionth time that day yet he couldn’t help but appreciate the words his boyfriend spewed out. Swallowing the lump in his throat, Kit nodded shyly and bit back a grin when Ming nuzzled their noses together. Keeping his gaze locked on Kit’s, Ming found himself inching forward until their lips brushed, both his and his boyfriend’s eyes fluttering shut. Pulling away after a moment, Ming smiled softly and pressed a last kiss to Kit’s forehead before he helped Kit out of the garland he had trapped him in earlier. “We should really finish the tree, huh?”

“Y-yeah...put that on the top of the tree, I’ll grab some more garland and wrap it around the bottom. Whoever’s done first can wrap the last rope around the middle of the tree,” Kit explained, his voice unmistakingly a bit high but if Ming had noticed it, he didn’t say anything as he nodded and got to work, wrapping the gold and silver bell garland around the top of the tree. Unrolling the green holly garland, Kit got to work with wrapping it around the bottom of the tree as Ming finished his first, circling around Kit as he worked to grab the last of the garland. Standing back up as he finished, Kit took a step back and watched as Ming finished up with the candy cane garland, wrapping it neatly around the middle. “Make sure it’s even, Ming.”

Letting out a sound to show he was listening, Ming carefully fixed any funny looking spots before he stood up, shuffling back next to Kit as they both examined the tree. Finding it satisfactory, Kit turned towards their remaining supplies and picked up one of the containers that were holding the colorful ornaments that they had picked out, letting Ming choose the other container. Hearing Ming mumble about it being too quiet, Kit snorted as his boyfriend put on a Christmas playlist, the once quiet room being filled with the cheerful sound of Christmas music. 

Working in silence as they listened to the music playing, Kit yelped when a sparkly bulb was suddenly tossed at him and the sound of Ming’s laughter met his ears. Glaring at his chuckling other half, Kit narrowed his eyes as a smirk rose on his lips. Noticing the shift in the air, Ming paused his teasing laughter and gasped as he was pelted with more than one ornament. Staring each other down with ornaments in each hand, the once peaceful atmosphere was interrupted as an all out war broke out, ornaments being whipped across the room as the two cackled and tried to hit each other playfully. Making more of a mess than when they first started, the couple landed back first on the carpet, their panting mixing in with the current Christmas song that was playing on Ming’s phone. 

“Truce?” Ming breathed out, throwing his head back so he could meet Kit’s eyes, who was still trying to catch his breath. Nodding as he agreed to the truce, the two stared at each other until their laughter broke free, the cheerful sound lighting up the room as they cackled. Sitting up when the sound of someone knocking on the door caught his attention, Kit turned his attention towards Ming, who sat up as well and looked around the room, biting back another snicker when he noticed the mess they made with the ornaments. “That must be the food. I didn’t hear your alarm go off.”

“I’ll get it. Start cleaning up the ornaments so we can hang them on the tree,” Kit ordered as he pushed himself off the floor and disappeared towards the door, his wallet in his hand so he could pay for their food. Letting out a breath, Ming did as Kit said and began to gather the wayward bulbs, neatly placing them in their containers so it could be easier for them to pull out and hang. Hearing the door shut, Ming caught the scent of soup that made his mouth water before Kit entered the room, the bags in his arms as he bumped shoulders with Ming on his way into the kitchen. “Let’s finish up the tree so we can finally relax and eat.”

Giving a playful salute to his boyfriend as Kit entered the room again, Ming began to delicately hang the ornaments, Kit doing the same as he let Ming handle the top of the tree since he couldn’t really reach it very well. Not too long after they started, the two finished and stepped back, examining the tree as Kit gave it a thumbs up. Picking up the star, Kit held it close as he looked over the gold and silver details the star held, along with the little white lights it had on the inside. Noticing how enticed Kit was with the star, Ming grinned and moved towards him, taking Kit into his arms and lifting him easily, Kit letting out a surprised yelp as he clung to Ming’s shoulders. 

“You’re lucky I like you,” Kit grumbled as Ming snickered, bringing his boyfriend close to the tree so he could put the star on top. Easing it onto the top point of the tree, Kit made sure it was secure before he grabbed the last two prongs from the top lights and plugged it in, the star lighting up as soon as it was connected. Wrapping his arms around Ming’s shoulders as he was done, Kit felt himself sliding down as Ming placed him back on his feet, his arms never leaving Kit’s waist as they stood close together. Staring into Ming’s eyes as the lights made them sparkle, Kit let out a soft sigh and buried his face in Ming’s shoulder, tightening his arms around his boyfriend’s neck as he shuffled closer. Nuzzling his face into Kit’s hair, Ming hugged him tightly before Kit pulled back. “Dinner’s waiting...we shouldn’t let it get cold.”

“I’ll get our things. Sit down on the couch and maybe search for some Christmas specials to watch?” Ming questioned, rubbing his thumbs softly across Kit’s hips, grinning when Kit nodded and released him from his hold. Pressing one last kiss to Kit’s hair, Ming grabbed his phone and turned off the music, walking towards the kitchen so he could get their food. Watching Ming leave, Kit licked his lips and took a deep breath, rubbing the back of his neck as he glanced at the tree, letting a soft smile rise on his lips as he noticed how good they truly did. Making himself comfortable on the couch, Kit turned on the television and searched for some specials, deciding quickly on Rudolph The Red-Nosed Reindeer. “Oh! I like this special! Awesome choice, P’Kit!”

Rolling his eyes at the childlike excitement in Ming’s voice as he appeared back in the living area of his dorm, Kit carefully took the bowl of soup that his boyfriend offered him, holding it close to his chest as Ming slowly sat down next to him, shuffling close until they were properly cuddled together, the warmth of each other and the soup warming them to their cores. Letting out a sigh as he settled close to Ming, Kit sipped some of his soup and kept his eyes on the show, letting himself relax as Ming snuggled closer, not leaving an inch of space between them. Finishing their soups, Ming placed the bowls into each other and left them on the coffee table, choosing to wash them later as he pulled Kit in close. Letting Ming pull him closer until he was practically in his boyfriend’s lap, Kit felt himself grow boneless as he too cuddled closer to Ming’s warmth. Smiling softly as another kiss was placed to his hair, Kit laced their hands together before the room grew quiet, both their attentions sticking to the Christmas special, the soft feeling of a thumb rubbing gently circles against his own making Kit’s lips lift up in a soft smile as the two finally relaxed for the night.

[happybeeps-nat]

Finnpoe Week 2020 - day 1: high school AU and/or meet the parents

an event by the lovely @finnpoeevents

Love is Bigger

Finn knew he couldn't ever meet Poe's mother in this life. But, well, this wasn't exactly life, was it?

Rating: teen and up audiences Warning: major character death Words: 2155 Characters: Poe Dameron, Finn (Star Wars), Shara Bey Tags: Meet the Family, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Light Angst, Fluff, Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, That's Not How The Force Works, but i dont care, Freeform, Finnpoe week 2020, i swear this is a rather happy fic, Afterlife            

Read on AO3

Black One was burning, smoking, hurtling toward the ground at a speed Finn could not keep up with from where he was watching. But he didn’t need to keep track as he heard Poe through the comm link in his ear, heard Poe’s voice above all the cries and screams and explosions. Poe’s voice overshadowing death around him.

“Finn? Finn, I love you, okay?” the frantic, shaking voice came, anchoring Finn in the present, pulling his attention from the pain that seemed to overtake his whole body. “Finn, you’re okay. I’m sorry I-” Static kept Finn from understanding what Poe said. “- love you.”

“I love you, too, Poe,” Finn rasped.

“You’re okay, Finn. We’re okay, it won’t be long,” Poe promised.

Vaguely, distantly, Finn realised Poe’s voice was wavering, shaking, like he was scared. That made sense, everyone would be scared if they were crashing down to certain death. He didn’t want Poe to be scared, though. He never wanted Poe to be scared. A selfish part of him was glad that they could die together, win this war together, but he still didn’t want Poe to be scared.

“Poe,” he said, rasped, he wasn’t sure he had a voice.

“Yeah? I’m here, buddy.”

Not much longer, Finn thought, as he managed to blink and focus on Black One again.

“Me too,” he said, but again, not much longer. He couldn’t feel his limbs. But the pain was gone. And was his eyesight. He was tired and he couldn’t see, so he closed his eyes. There, much better. Now he could sleep. Finally get some sleep again, he was so tired.

Poe was speaking again, saying something, sounding frantic and breathing fast, too fast, more than Finn. Right, breathing, that was a good idea. But it was hard. Too much effort.

The last thing Finn heard was an explosion that sounded distinctively different to every other crash around him. Accompanied by Poe’s voice. And then complete and utter silence.

*

Finn woke with a gasp. Or he tried to, but his lungs wouldn’t fill with air. Turned out they didn’t need to because he was fine without air. That was curious.

He opened his eyes and saw a world that seemed to be taken out of a children’s book. One that made them believe in a land where only peace existed and everything was made of light. But the light didn’t blind you, it merely showed you the way and that you were welcome to stay.

Never before had he seen such a place. It was… magical. There were trees around him and the grass underneath him was soft but glistening and glittering with silver light. Not golden but silver and green and peaceful.

Still, his first instinct was to mistrust this sudden peacefulness. Where was he, how did he get here? Why did it feel so right to be here? And where was Poe?

Poe. Finn looked down to check for his wounds he knew had to be there, but they weren’t. His clothes were pristine like they never were, there was no time in war for laundry days, but there he was. Clean, unwounded, at ease, only mildly confused because everything within him screamed that this was right, this was real, this was not a dream and he was okay and that this was-

“The Netherworld of the Force,” a voice came from behind him. Finn was on his feet just a second later and turned around to the voice. There was a woman looking at him, giving him a soft smile that seemed vaguely familiar. She was drenched in the silvery-green light of the shining forest and seemed not at all confused about his being here.

“Sorry?”

Her smile got impossibly softer, patient. “That is where we are. Some people call it the afterlife, but this is the name I know.”

“Afterlife,” Finn repeated, thoughts racing in a distinctively slow manner - and how did that work? “That means… I died?”

“You did,” the women said, not at all perturbed by that.

Finn looked around. Surely, if he was here, everyone else must follow soon. But there was no one else around. “Where are the others?” Where is Poe?

Now the woman’s expression turned sad, but no less patient. “I’m sorry, Finn, I don’t know.”

He had so many questions, and with every answer he got, they seemed to double. But the woman… Finn had seen her before, he was absolutely sure, but he could not say where. Or when. Had he killed her once? But then, why would she be smiling? Questions upon questions upon questions. Could you get a headache in the afterlife?

“I’m sorry,” he sighed after a while. “How do you know my name? Is that an afterlife thing or have we met or-” did I kill you after all? Are my questions stupid? Where is Poe?

Her smile widened and she took a step toward him. “Finn. I know you. I felt you. I could not wait to finally meet you.” She took her hands in his and Finn was surprised to find them warm. “You do not know me, though. You know my son, Poe. And my friends and my husband. I am Shara Bey, and I’m really happy to meet you.”

Finn’s eyes widened. Shara Bey? Rebel hero Shara Bey? Poe’s mother?

“You must have so many questions,” she laughed, and it was then that Finn recognised her. The eyes, the smile, the laugh, the confidence with which she carried herself. Her beautiful face and curly hair. This woman could only be Poe’s mother.

Finn didn’t know what to say, so he only squeezed her hands. It was curious to know you could still squeeze hands in the afterlife. Right, death. That happened. Also, yes, you could get a headache in the afterlife.

“Can I hug you?” he asked because usually, he would have gotten a hug from Poe by now with everything going on, but Poe was not here, and this was not usual, and he just really wanted a hug.

Shara smiled at him with a softness in her eyes that Finn had only seen in the way Leia had looked at Poe. Leia - was she here as well? Before he could ask, though, Shara had opened her arms and tugged him in the way Poe had done so often, but this was warmer. Finn knew he had died what felt like ten minutes ago, he was in a world he didn’t know and Poe was not around and he was completely out of his depth here, but still he was not scared. Like there was something in the air, something in the way the light shone around him that told him everything was going to be alright. And then there was Shara’s hug that felt like home and Finn was inclined to actually believe that maybe for once, everything would be alright.

They sat down in the grass because Finn didn’t want to move. He couldn’t possibly understand how this realm worked, but if he was here and Poe had crashed not far from him, there was a small chance Poe could also be here. Not only here in this realm but also here in close proximity.

And if there was one thing Finn did know above all those questions still circling in his head, it was that he did not want to spend eternity in the afterlife without Poe. So they stayed and Shara told him everything she knew about the Netherworld of the Force while Finn watched the air above them move and sparkle with little particles of light.

He found he enjoyed listening to Shara almost as much as he did with Poe. She, too, had a faint Yavinic accent that made her voice melodious and beautiful and really, if he were to spend the rest of time here, at least he had company he enjoyed.

“I am happy my son found you, dear,” Shara said.

Finn was touched by that but the thought of Poe made him look around again and scan the trees made of light again, searching for movement, searching for Poe. Wishing for Poe. “I hope he will again,” he said at last.

Shara smiled. “He will.”

“How do you know?”

“I know my son. He is stubborn and in love. That is a dangerous mix not even the Force can handle. He will find his way to you,” she said with a tone of finality.

And Finn was inclined to believe her. He wanted to believe her.

“Tell me more about my son,” she pleaded and Finn did, for both their sakes. The smile on Shara’s face warmed his heart and he was sure the same smile could be found on his lips as well.

They traded a story for a story, Poe as a toddler for Poe as a mutineer, Poe as a baby for Poe when he first kissed Finn, Poe as a five year-old stubborn saviour of a stray droid for Poe as a reckless, wonderful, heroic pilot saving the day and the Resistance and the Galaxy as per usual.

“He comes just after his mother,” she said with a laugh.

Finn nodded. “That’s what Kes used to say, yeah.”

Shara got quiet then, thoughtful, sad, and Finn wondered what he had said, what he had done wrong. But it was the same kind of thoughtful sadness he had seen in Kes when they talked about Shara. So maybe it was their thing. He was certain that if he had to spend years and years without Poe by his side, he would have that same gaze. And he really didn’t want that to happen.

They spent a few moments in silence then and Finn resorted to watching the air moving above them, not ready to close his eyes against this beautiful world just yet. That was just his luck, because movement caught his eyes, a figure was stumbling their way through the forest, leaning on the trees as they went, confused, disoriented, just on the brink of panic, as it seemed - which was remarkable since Finn didn’t think it possible to experience negative emotions in here.

He squinted his eyes, trying to make out the form that was slowly coming closer, stumbling backwards before taking two steps forward again. The way they carried themselves, the way their hair was mussed and all over the place, the way they seemed to be talking to themselves…

Poe! Before he knew it, Finn got up and ran towards the figure.

“Poe!” he called. The figure turned and looked at Finn, and sure enough, it was Poe.

“Finn,” he breathed, confusion so obvious in his face. His eyes were wide, he was shaking, stumbling, trying to make his way to him.

“I’ve got you,” Finn said, catching him and pulling Poe against himself. Poe was here. Poe was here with him, Poe was safe. Confused, scared, but safe with him. “I’ve got you,” Finn mumbled again, kissing the side of his face.

“Finn,” was all Poe said, burying his face against Finn’s neck and breathing him in. “What- why- How? Where are we? What is happening? I thought you- I- we? I’m… Finn?”

Finn ran a hand through Poe’s hair in a manner that always used to calm both of them down. After a while, Poe stopped trembling and seemed calmer. “Come with me, we will explain everything, okay?”

Poe looked up. “We?”

“Well,” Finn smiled, shy all of a sudden. “I sort of met someone.”

Poe frowned but then his eyes went somewhere over Finn’s shoulder and his eyes widened, his jaw fell in shock and utterly overwhelmed surprise. He took a tentative step forward and then froze, still clinging to Finn’s hand.

“Mama?”

Shara stood there, tears in her eyes, looking at her son with a look in her eyes Finn did not have the words to describe.

“Hello, sunshine,” she said, and before the words were out of her mouth, Poe had let go of Finn’s hand and ran towards her on unsteady but stubborn legs until he could throw her arms around her.

“Hi, mama,” Poe said and didn’t ask any questions for a while, just stood there with his arms wrapped around his mother for the first time since he was a little kid.

Later, much later, though time was not a real concept in this realm, Shara explained them what she knew. Why Poe could possibly be here with them even though he didn’t have the Force.

“The Force likes to bring balance and keep it. It does not separate what belongs together. And you two so clearly do. Not even the Force can separate that.”

She smiled at them and Finn’s heart melted at that, but there was still a hint of sadness there that only disappeared one day when a certain Kes Dameron made his way through the forest.

[foxyninjabear]

A Hacker’s Tale - Chapter 4

[CHAPTER 1] [PREVIOUS CHAPTER]

(Also available on Ao3 and Wattpad!)

WARNING! WARNING! WARNING!: This fic is rated as PG-14+, so read at your own risk! There’s swearsies, suggestive references, and LOTS of blood and gore! Be aware!

________________________________________________

Lucky

At first, he thought it was all a dream.

Lucky felt himself starting to wake up, his closed eyelids heavy and his head pounding with a massive headache. 

“Nggh...” 

He let out a tired whine, and lifted his hands to cover his face. He thought it was some nightmare that he had. How the mission started to go horribly wrong, how the man named Xisuma was revealed to be a terrifying hacker, how even Nightingale couldn’t stop him… 

At least he was still in the Hive, right?

Lucky figured that he might as well get out of bed; he had to get his equipment started up. So he wiggled out of the covers and rolled onto his other side-

And unexpectedly rolled off the bed and crashed onto the floor with a harsh THUNK.

“GAH!!” The blonde cried out in pain as he landed flat on his back. Not again… He needed to stop doing that. Or just become better coordinated overall. He pressed his hands against the dirty tile to push himself up-

Wait, tile?

He lifted his slightly blurry vision up to meet his immediate surroundings. Even though he couldn't see clearly, he didn't recognize anything. His floor wasn't carpeted, his walls weren't painted grey, and it wasn't supposed to be so bright.

As Lucky got to his feet, he rubbed his eyes and blinked a few times. Maybe he was seeing things… But still, nothing changed. 

So it wasn't a dream after all.

He was in what appeared to be a hastily thrown together bedroom. It was pretty bare; a bed and a small nightstand were the only pieces of furniture to be seen, both shoved into a corner. It almost appeared as if it were one of the storage rooms in that bunker he and the rest of the byte explored-

A scary realization suddenly fell upon Lucky. He was all alone in that room… and there was no sign of anybody. Sakura, Nix, Grey, Nightingale...

And Jazz. He had to find Jazz.

He scrambled over to the iron door and grabbed the handle. But once he tried to turn it, it didn't budge.

"Oh nononono…" Lucky muttered to himself, and he jiggled the handle harder. It still refused to turn and open the door. “Please open…! Please…!” Maybe it was just stuck… he couldn't have it be locked. He needed to find the others. 

He kept trying and trying to turn the handle for what seemed like ages, but no matter how hard he twisted and pulled, the door wouldn't open. Before he knew it, he couldn't even keep his grip anymore, because his hands were shaking and sweating so much. The door was obviously locked… how was he going to get out now?

His mind began to race and panic at the possibilities of where Jazz might have been, or the rest of the team for that matter. But then a thought popped into his head, and he suddenly felt extremely stupid; he could just teleport out of there!

The hacker took a step back from the door, before closing his eyes in order to focus. He concentrated on activating a teleportation hack, waiting for that familiar buzzing in his chest to start…

Only nothing happened.

Lucky opened his eyes, confused. Why wasn't it working? Maybe he was too tired to teleport… perhaps a ghost hack would be easier on him. He could just pass through the door instead of teleporting past it. So he pressed his hands against the cold metal and began to focus again, waiting to feel his body become light as a feather and phase through the iron barrier…

But again, nothing happened. Not even the slightest hint of progress. 

A sinking feeling began to form in the pit of his stomach. What happened to his hacks? He didn't feel drained or fatigued; he felt totally normal. They should have been working-

It was the sound of distant voices and footsteps that made him freeze in place.

At first, they were barely noticeable, just as unimportant as the dust floating in the air or the faint dirty footprints scattered around the tile. But once he realized they were there, he couldn't forget that they were present. Although he didn't recognize them, he could tell there two; a man and a woman.

And they were getting closer by the second.

Lucky felt his heart start to pound against his ribcage. What was he going to do?! He was stuck in that little room! He whipped his head around and only saw two things; the nightstand and the bed.

He would have to make do.

He ran over towards the cot and quickly got onto his stomach, before sliding himself underneath as far as he could. For once, he was happy that he was tiny. Now he had a place to hide. Sure, it seemed somewhat childish, but he wasn't given much to work with in the first place.

The voices continued to echo and bounce off the corridor's walls, and Lucky edged himself further under the bed as they got closer. He could hear his heart pounding in his ears, panicked thoughts buzzing in his mind. Every single one of his senses was in absolute overdrive as he tried to identify the two people talking.

He almost shrieked when the iron door to his room opened, and he saw two pairs of feet walk in. One person was wearing a pair of striped knee high socks and sneakers, probably the woman. The other, however, was familiar; sleek, almost robotic steel boots, painted a bright shade of yellow.

It was Biffa. The one Jazz had shot down. It had to be him.

"You… sure this is the right room?" The woman asked, obviously confused at how nobody appeared to be in the cell-like chamber.

The man's voice sounded after. "This is the one X said to go to…" His stanced shifted, a soft mechanical whirr sounding as he did so. "He couldn't have escaped, right? The door was locked. And Xisuma took his powers away, like the others."

Lucky shrunk further under the bed, further away from the two W.E.S. operatives. He silently begged that they’d stop looking and just leave. Maybe they would think that he was in a different room. Or that he escaped. Just as long as they were convinced that he wasn’t there.

But what did he mean by ‘Xisuma took his powers away’? He probably meant his hacks, and the grim realization of that statement explained why he couldn’t use them, and also hinted to the fact that the rest of the byte could no longer hack either. But how could Xisuma take away their powers? He wasn’t Ecryptos!

A moment of agonizing silence ensued. But then, Lucky saw the woman take a small step towards where he was hiding.

“I...think he’s under the bed, Biffa…” She said.

The blonde's heart stopped at her few words.

"What? You sure?" Biffa questioned.

"I think I see him, yeah…" She assured. "You mind helping me move it?"

“Not at all.”

The cyborg and the woman then stepped towards the bed and bent their knees. To Lucky’s horror, the two managed to lift it up with ease and lean it against the other wall. Now he was completely exposed.

“S-stay away…!” The blonde scooted back into a corner, pressing himself against the wall. He was even more horrified when he saw what Cleo looked like. Her freckled skin was greenish blue and sickly, her eyes were faded. There were even exposed bits of bones and rotting flesh, especially along her lower torso; half of her ribcage could be seen, partially hidden by the ragged crop top she wore. It was as if she had crawled out of the ground, out of the grave…

Like she was a zombie. 

So many questions ran through his head, but he didn't have the chance to process the situation before he was pulled up off the floor by the woman and her colleague. “W-wait, please!” He begged. “P-please, no!!”

“C’mon, blondie,” Cleo replied, leading him out the door and down the long hallway with Biffa. “You and your friends got a lot of explaining to do.” A slight bit of venom dripped from the words of her last sentence.

Lucky tried his hardest to keep up with the people escorting him. He didn’t want to be dragged around like a ragdoll the entire time. But he couldn’t help but trip over his feet every now and then, only to be pulled back up by Biffa and Cleo. It wasn’t long before he felt his breathing quicken as he stumbled and scrambled around. Not another panic attack, not here-

He had to distance himself. Find a safe place inside his head. Something to focus on and escape into the depths of his mind. His blue gaze flickered to Cleo for a moment, before it went back to the floor. Thinking about how she looked like an undead creature sounded good enough.

She was obviously not a full on zombie, like the ones that crawled out from the darkness of caves or the ones that spawned in the dead of night. She was definitely sentient. The only way he could think of her looking like that was that her code must have been altered at some point in her life.

As far as his knowledge stretched, people were either born with their code abnormal, or were involved in some sort of event that changed it, whether accidental or intentional. The former was the most common way, for altering a living being’s code was more than risky; it was potentially lethal. Most who had their code altered wouldn’t even survive such a change, and even if they did, it was said to be an excruciatingly painful experience, physically, mentally, and emotionally. They never made it out alive without some sort of permanent trauma or physical change.

Thankfully for him (and pretty much everyone in the Shadowbyte Army), he was born with altered code, altered enough to where he could learn how to change the code around him. Ecryptos wasn’t willing to put anyone, especially the children taken into his care and guidance, through something as horrific as having their code altered and tweaked. If a potential recruit’s code wasn’t viable, then they would be released for their cooperation. It was a win-win for everyone!

So if his logic and knowledge was correct, Lucky could presume that Cleo could also be a hacker. The knowledge of Xisuma being a powerful hacker was scary enough; if she could also alter code, who knows what she would do.

The trio turned into another hallway, and new voices could be heard. Some were recognizable, others were completely new. Soon Lucky and the two others flanking him passed by a massive window that peered into a large room, and he felt his stomach twist and churn as he looked inside. Several people were sprawled out on beds, badly beaten and covered in bandages. There was Doc, who had his broken arm in a sling, False, who had a massive ice pack on her head, and several others. An older, bearded man in a plain white lab coat could be seen darting around, tending to the many injured.

But one person immediately caught Lucky's attention. In one of the beds, there was someone covered almost head to toe in gauze, to cover extensive and brutal injuries. Slight patches of ruby red scales could be seen through the bandages, stained with green blood. Creeper blood. He knew he recognized him… Python? Python. Python was his name, right?

Just the mere sight of what state the creeper was in made him feel the urge to barf where he stood. Half of his head was wrapped in the white gauze, with one of his eyes seemingly bleeding underneath. One of his arms was in a makeshift cast and sling. And... oh gosh, his leg was missing-

Lucky lost sight of the red creeper as soon as he gained it. But it wasn't like he could get his image out of his mind easily. It was all he could focus on as he continued to be escorted down the hall. How he barely even looked alive, how much trauma he had received from the battle. Maybe it was from the R.O.S.A. explosion? He could only mentally argue and debate with himself for what the cause was. 

He didn’t know how far Cleo and Biffa had taken him. The constant twisting and turning through the countless halls made his head spin. However, before he knew it, they had arrived in one final stretch of hallway, where several figures stood, all of them men.

Two of the men he didn't recognize. One of them was a man with long brown hair tied back into a ponytail, a pair of sunglasses rested on the bridge of his nose. Another was a taller blonde who obviously had altered code, due to his eyes being nothing but pools of dark crimson. And...

Xisuma. Xisuma stood in the hallway, arms crossed and stance strong, chatting with the two men. Lucky’s blood went cold at the mere sight of him. What was he going to do? Was he going to hurt him?!

All of a sudden, the nearby door burst open, and a man with unruly brown hair and a cybernetic eye stumbled out, clutching his nose and cursing out loud. Lucky soon recognized him as another one of the potential threats that he identified before leaving the Hive. Iskall85. 

“God damnit, ow!” Iskall cursed out. Once he took away his hand from his face, Lucky saw that his nose was crooked and gushing blood. Immediately, he became concerned, more for his own safety than Iskall’s health.

The man with crimson eyes, on the other hand, definitely showed concern for the brunette, and he rushed over to help him stay on his feet.  “Woah, Iskall, what happened?!” He asked.

Iskall leaned against the wall and spat out blood, spraying crimson droplets onto the grey tile. "She headbutted me and broke my damn nose!" He growled, glaring back at the door where he came from.

A muffled female voice sounded from inside the room. Coda's voice. "That's cuz ya fuckin' deserved it, asshole!"

In an odd way, Lucky hearing somebody he knew was comforting. Even if he thought she was absolutely terrifying, he was more than happy that she was on his side.

But as quickly as he saw Iskall exiting the room, the brunette and the red-eyed blonde reentered, and came back out a moment later with their arms wrapped around Coda’s. Her wrists were restrained with green translucent cuffs, similar to the ones Lucky could make. No, exactly like the ones he could make. The only difference was the color.

“Aw, ya didn’t send the cute one back in to get me?~” She whined, sticking out her bottom lip. Her lips then formed into a flirtatious grin as her dark eyes locked on one of the people in the hallway; the brunette man with the red shirt and the sunglasses. “Yo! Red delicious!”

The man didn’t say anything at first, but the moment Coda finished speaking, he glanced down at his shirt and realized that she was talking to him. His face flared up bright red, and he began to visibly sweat. “Wh...wha…?” He struggled to make any full sentences, let alone words as he tugged on his shirt collar.

The creeper fell silent at his reaction, but soon her eyes filled with shining mischief. “Oh ho ho, so you’re a blushy one, huh?” Her sharp-toothed grin grew wider, so wide at it almost seemed too big to fit on her face. “This is gonna be fun!~”

Iskall’s mouth bent into a harsh frown, his bloodstained teeth gritted. “Oh no you don’t!” He then began to pull her down the hallway, the blonde next to him doing the same. “C’mon, you’re coming with us!”

Coda’s smile disappeared, and her entire demeanor changed in an instant. As if it was all a facade to hide what was really going on inside her head. She locked her obsidian gaze on Lucky as the two men started to roughly drag her down the hall. “Don’t give in, techie!” She called out, struggling against the green cuffs around her wrists. “Don’t give in! Keep your fuckin’ mouth shut, gottit?!” 

Lucky felt like a deer in the headlights. He was frozen in place, his feet glued to the floor. What did Coda mean by ‘don’t give in’...?!

Before he could mentally come up with an answer, Xisuma then spoke up. “Cleo, Biffa, you know the drill. Come on.” He then stepped through the entrance to the room, and Cleo and Biffa dragged Lucky inside with them.

Lucky's eyes darted around the room. Like his own 'bedroom', it appeared to be arranged in a hurry. A pair of dusty folding chairs and a table were the only pieces of any sort of furniture in the small space. A small splatter of blood stained the tile floor, slightly smeared from a footprint. He could easily presume who that was from.

"Sit down," Xisuma said, leading the timid blonde to one of the chairs. He followed the command instantly, shakily taking a seat, and felt somewhat relieved as the powerful hacker began to walk away towards his two W.E.S. coworkers. But it soon transformed back into fear as he heard Cleo speak again.

“Aren’t you going to restrain him? With the cuff things you can make?” She questioned, gesturing to a now even more terrified Lucky.

Xisuma shook his head. “He hasn’t been violent, Cleo. And even if he was, I honestly doubt he could harm anyone.”

Biffa tapped his chin. “You have a fair point...” He started, before glancing over at the blonde. “But are you sure that’s a smart decision, X? It could all be an act.”

X gave a nod to the cyborg. “Yes, I’m sure. And if something happens, we’ll be right outside.”

The zombie shifted her dull green gaze to his terrified figure. She pursed her lips, as if trying to form an argument against her colleague’s decision. But before long, she let out a small sigh. “Alright then... if you say so.”

“Great.“ Xisuma said, and he gestured to the door. “Cub will be here in a few minutes, so we can leave him as he is. C’mon.” He then opened the door again, letting Cleo and Biffa walk through, and keeping his gaze on Lucky the whole time, only breaking it as he walked out of the room himself.

Lucky remained glued to the chair, even as Xisuma closed the door behind him and his two companions. He was too scared to make a single move. His frightened eyes darted around the now empty room, mind racing at what was going to happen to him. Where was Jazz when he needed him?! 

A shiver went up his spine, and he wrapped his arms around himself as his teeth chattered. The room was freezing! Even if he was underground, the hallway was much warmer than in there. But the temperature was the least of his worries. He was more concerned with what was going to happen to him, and even more so with where his brother was. He had already seen Coda… there had to be others, right?

After what felt like long hours of dreadful silence, so much so that his ears rang, the iron door opened with a long creak. Lucky jumped and snapped his head towards the entrance, and he was greeted with a taller man in a white lab coat. It was the man he had seen before, treating the many wounded. A large folder packed with papers, a pen, and a clipboard were gripped in his hands. It was obvious that he hadn’t slept in awhile, given the distinct, dark bags hanging under his bloodshot eyes. It made sense; from what Lucky had briefly seen, he was the only one able to give medical treatment to serious wounds and injuries.

The man rubbed his eyes as he shut the door behind him. “Hey,” He said, walking towards the chair opposite of Lucky and sitting down. “I have a few questions for you, alright?”

The blonde remained silent. He avoided meeting the other’s gaze, and couldn’t help but fidget in his seat. So this was an interrogation of some sort? Or something like it?

“I’m Cub,” The man said calmly, introducing himself and catching Lucky off guard. “What’s your name?”

Lucky kept quiet. Why was this guy being so… nice? And relaxed? Sure, he seemed tired, but he was pretty certain that it wouldn’t mean that he would give him leeway. Did he have some other ideas in store to get intel out of him? Something much more violent?!

“Are you gonna say anything?” Cub asked. “You’ve gotta have a name, huh?”

The blonde hung his head low. He felt so ashamed that he was giving in so quickly… but the thought of having information forced out of him was overwhelmingly scary. However, a thought then formed in his mind… perhaps he didn’t have to tell the whole story. “...y...you can call me Profit.” He mumbled out his code name.

“Profit?”

“Y-yes…”

Cub gave a nod and clicked his pen. “Alright, Profit…” He made a note on his piece of paper, before opening the file. "Now, first off, I want you to tell me who each of these people are. Names, descriptions, everything." He then pulled out a stack of papers and laid them out on the table. They were photographs of most of his teammates.

Lucky shifted his eyes to the collection of pictures. Most of them weren’t the best quality; he could assume that Cub (or somebody else) had thrown them all together in a hurry. Either that, or the ones being photographed weren’t exactly cooperative. He could immediately assume the latter with the picture of Coda; she was flipping off the camera and sneering at the photographer behind it. 

He didn't want to give his colleagues identities away. He couldn't! He needed to be quiet...

But what would be the cost of his decision? Him staying in that room for hours on end? The operatives of W.E.S. threatening him? Or having the possibility of them using even harsher tactics to get him to talk?!

Too scared to keep his mouth shut, Lucky shamefully began to identify his colleagues in the photos. But like he did with himself, he only used their code names; he at least had a bit of dignity to spare. 

Cub seemingly grew more and more intrigued with every word the blonde said. He scribbled illegible notes on his clipboard, almost filling up the entire first piece of paper once the hacker was done pointing out who was who.

It grew even worse when Cub asked Lucky to tell him what had actually happened. Their plans, their motive; he wanted to know it all, down to the last detail. And Lucky gave it to him, his feeling of shame growing with each word he spat out and every minute that passed. 

But even somebody as timid as Lucky had some sliver of courage in him.

“Alright…” Cub wrote down a few more notes. At this point, he had filled another two sheets of paper. “And what happened after you, Zero, and Nightingale retreated?”

“W...we tried to get reinforcements…” Lucky whimpered. “But Nightingale couldn’t contact-"

He forced himself to stop talking. He said too much. He was willing to give up his team members' names, but he couldn't let Cub know about any others! Not to mention the whole Army!

“Contact who?” The older man asked. “Did you guys try to get in touch with reinforcements?”

Lucky stayed quiet.

“Profit… who did you try and contact?” Cub repeated.

Lucky bit the inside of his cheek, before letting out a sigh of defeat. “...the Shadowbyte Army…” He muttered.

Cub raised an eyebrow at his response. “The… Shadowbyte Army?”

Lucky nodded. “Y-yes… W-well, more of our main base of operations...”

The man scribbled down more on the paper. “So there are more of you? More hackers?” 

“Mhmm…”

“How many?”

The blonde shrugged. “I-I don't know…” He admitted, glancing away. He could never keep track of the amount of people that would call him for assistance or information while they were out on missions. 

"Is there anything else you can tell me? About this 'Army'?"

Lucky remained silent. He had to keep his mouth shut. For him and for the others. He had already given away so much information… why did he have to be such a-

“Well… I guess that’s it for us, then.”

Wait, what?

Cub then gathered up the photos on the table and put them back in his folder before standing. “You’ve actually been a good deal of help.” To Lucky’s surprise, he gave a small smile. “Thank you for that, Profit.”

The blonde was stunned at how the interrogation went. He wasn’t even threatened. All he did was tell the events of what happened and identify his colleagues… Except for one. The most important one of them all. At least to him, anyway.

Jazz. 

Why wouldn’t the W.E.S. operatives have his photograph? Or even mention him at all? They had brought up everyone else...

Lucky needed an answer, and fast. He had to know where his brother was. So just as he saw Cub grasp the door handle, he sprang up from his seat. “W-wait!”

The man stopped and looked over his shoulder. “Hmm?” His fingers slid off the metal knob, a hint of curiosity to his voice. “You have something else to say?”

Lucky nodded. “Y-yeah… er, well, more of a question,” He began, before clearing his throat to speak. "Wh...where's Riff…?"

A look of confusion spread across his interrogator's face. “Riff...?”

“Y-yeah, Riff...” Lucky repeated. “H-he… he’s tall, has blue hair, blue eyes.” After a moment of quiet, he gulped. “L...looks like me, too…?”

Cub’s silence continued for a second as his brows furrowed. But it was quickly replaced with an expression of shock and… something else. Sadness? Guilt? Remorse? The blonde couldn’t tell.

“Uhh…” The grey-bearded man sounded uneasy as he opened the folder once again. “We did have one from your group…” He cleared his throat. “Die from his injuries in the battle. We tried to save him, but… we got there too late. We haven’t been able to make a positive identification, but from the description you gave, so far it sounds like him.”

Lucky felt his heart drop at the man’s words. One from his group? Killed? He had to be lying, right? Of course he was lying… they were the enemy. That’s what they did. They lied.

“And if you want to, there’s a picture of him in the file.” Cub’s next words made the blonde’s heart stop completely. He wasn’t lying. “You sound like you knew him well enough to make an official identification.”

Lucky’s mind raced. Should he agree? Was it really Jazz? There was a chance it wasn’t; maybe he was still alive. Maybe they just didn’t get his picture yet. The thought of not knowing was unbearable. So, taking a deep breath, he nodded. “Sh-show me.”

The older man nodded in return, not saying a word. He pinched the edge of a paper in his folder and carefully slid it out. But then he hesitated, his tired eyes glanced back between the blonde and the photo. A solemn expression passed over his face for just a moment, before he held out the picture for the blonde to take.

The moment Lucky grasped the photograph and flipped it over, he felt is stomach twist as he saw a sickly, still man laid out on a table, everything from the shoulders down covered with a sheet. He had never seen a dead body before, but it was somewhat like what he expected. His lips were blue, his skin was drained of any color or life, his hair was caked in dried blood from the disturbingly deep gash on his head.

But what stood out to him were his eyes. They were dead eyes. What used to be a bright shade of blue was now dull and clouded over with decay. And they were wide open, staring right back at him. Almost as if they knew exactly who he was...

It was Jazz. Dead.

“Profit…?” Cub asked, though his words didn’t stick into Lucky’s mind. “Is it Riff?”

The blonde’s response was, at first, nothing. He was too overwhelmed by shock to say anything. Involuntary squeaks sounded from his throat once he actually wanted to try and speak.

The older man’s mouth bent into a frown, and he gave a small nod back. “I’ll...put this away now,” He took the photograph of Jazz out of Lucky’s hands and brought it back into his folder. “If… if it makes you feel any better, I don’t think he suffered for long…”

Lucky barely heard him speak. His mind buzzed with panic, and felt his hands and feet and lips go numb as his breathing got faster. His stomach churned at the image now burned into his brain. Jazz's lifeless body, all pale and beaten and cold… He wanted to throw up.

“Profit…?”

Lucky didn’t care about Cub’s words. Eyes wide and now on the verge of tears, he tried to wobble his way over to the chair, only to immediately collapse to the floor the moment he took a step, and fully started to break down. He felt like there was a massive anvil being pressed against his chest and he couldn’t get it off. He couldn’t breathe-

“Profit, Profit, hey!”

The blonde suddenly felt two hands on his shoulders. Cub’s. But he didn’t want him touching him. He didn’t even want to be in the same room as him. The very moment Cub came in contact with him, an overwhelming feeling of terror filled his chest, and he felt like he had no other way to release it except to scream at the top of his lungs.

“GET AWAY FROM ME!!” He shoved the man’s arms away as hard as he could. “YOU LET MY BROTHER DIE! YOU COULD HAVE SAVED HIM!” Hot tears streamed down his cheeks and blurred his vision, but he didn’t care. He just wanted it to be over. To have this all be a dream. Jazz was his whole world… he couldn’t lose him. He couldn’t.

All Lucky heard from Cub was silence. Of course he wasn’t saying anything… he didn’t care about him one bit. He only cared about his other colleagues. The ones that didn’t have to raise and protect a younger brother from the age of four. The ones that weren't the guardian of the only family they had left.

The blonde soon felt that sudden panic in him transform into an immense sadness, and he looked back up at the man in the lab coat. “W-why didn’t you save him…?” He cried. “Why…?!”

Cub’s eyes were wide, and he was back on his feet. His mouth open and closed as he tried to speak, but nothing understandable could be heard. After what seemed like several long moments, he sputtered out a few words. “He...he was your brother…?”

Lucky couldn't respond. He was too busy sobbing and panicking on the floor. Jazz was dead. Dead. And he was never coming back. 

...and Cub could have done something to prevent that.

The blonde was overwhelmed with all of the emotions going through him. Sorrow, terror, sadness… and now, to his own surprise, rage. A fiery hatred for Cub sparked and spread like wildfire through his body. He lifted his teary gaze to him, burning red anger shining in his blue eyes.

The man in the lab coat still had a shocked expression on his face. "P...Profit…" He began. "I-"

"SHUT UP!"

Lucky didn't want to hear him speak. He hated Cub. Rage was the only thing consuming his mind. And he had to let it out, to let it escape. So he then screamed and charged at Cub, his weak fists flying. 

It was his fault that Jazz was dead. All his fault. If he had waited to heal his friends and went to treat Jazz sooner, he would have lived!

He didn't stop screaming in anger and trying to punch Cub, even as he heard the door burst open behind him and felt two sets of arms roughly grab him and drag him out of the makeshift interrogation room. He could see who had taken a hold of him out of the corners of his eyes; the brunette man that Coda had flirted with, and the red-eyed blonde that had dragged her away with the help of Iskall.

"LET ME GO!!" Lucky screeched and squirmed, eyes locked on a slightly battered and bruised Cub as he came out into the hallway, a worried Xisuma by his side. “You’re a MURDERER!” He cried out at Cub, catching his attention. “A COWARD!”

He kept screaming and struggling as he was dragged further away, long after he lost sight of the source of his anger. Before he knew it, he was shoved into another room and locked inside; his bedroom. Right where his day of hell started.

Lucky scrambled to his feet and pounded on the iron door with all his might. "LET ME OUT!!" He peered through the small window, and saw the two men that threw him back in his room. The blonde was set on walking away, but to Lucky's surprise, the brunette kept looking back and stopping.

The man with crimson eyes soon rested a hand on his colleague's shoulder. ��Ren, just leave him… he needs his space.” He said, gesturing his head in the direction of where they came from.

The brunette opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. After a moment, he let out an audible sigh, glanced back at Lucky, and nodded, before following his friend back down the hallway.

Lucky's eyes widened. "Wait, HEY!" He cried out, starting to bang on the door again. "COME BACK HERE!" But soon his arms grew weary, and before he knew it, he had to lean his back against the door to rest.

He stood there, trying to catch his breath and absorb what had happened in the span of those five or so minutes. He had gotten thrown back in his dusty cell, he had managed to land a few punches on Cub, he gave away information to the enemy-

And Jazz was dead. Jazz was dead. Dead… And now Lucky was all alone.

With that last thought, Lucky finally broke. Before he knew it, he had slid down to the floor, buried his face in his knees, and began to sob. Loud, angry, distraught sobs. "Wh-why is this happening…?" He cried to himself and sniffed. "Why is this happening…?!" 

The only answer he got was a grim silence. And it was all he needed to know that this wasn’t a nightmare he could wake up from.

~~~~~

Lucky lost track of how many hours had passed since he heard of Jazz’s death. His eyes were red, sore, and puffy from the countless tears he had shed. He had managed to get up off the floor and crawl into his bed some time before, but he hadn't moved since then.

Not that he wanted to, anyway.

In that time, he had tried distancing himself from his surroundings. He tried to imagine a happy place, somewhere he felt safe. He felt safe back at the Hive, back in his bunker, back with Jazz. Maybe he could just imagine he was just away on a trip-

It was the sound of his door opening that brought him back to reality. Who was it now…?

“Uhh… hey.” 

Lucky recognized the familiar voice. It was one of the men that had to drag him back to his cell. What was his name again? Ren? Ren would have to do. He didn’t have to will to speak up and ask, let alone turn himself over to face him.

After a moment of silence, Ren cleared his throat. “I...I brought you some food. In case you were hungry.” He offered.

Lucky refused to move from his bed. Even though he was hungry, he didn’t have an appetite. The image of his dead brother’s face was the only thing consuming his thoughts.

A long moment of tense silence passed before Ren spoke again. “I’ll… just leave this here, then.” The sound of his footsteps approached the distraught blonde, followed by a couple soft clinks as something was set on the nightstand. The smell of warm food wafted into his nose, and another series of footfalls could be heard moving away from him soon afterwards.

Just as Lucky thought Ren was going to leave, however, his voice sounded one more time. “And… I’m sorry.” He said, catching him slightly off guard. “About your brother…”

The blonde didn't respond, but he couldn't help but shift slightly and wrap the blanket further around himself. He was sorry? Why? Ren didn't even know him… he didn't have to give condolences. Was this just another way to try and get inside his head?

He figured that his silence was enough to drive the man away, for a long creak and a soft click could be heard. Ren had locked his door and left. Finally, he could grieve in peace…

But the thought of somebody, especially an enemy, seemingly concerned for him after such a tragedy made Lucky feel extremely conflicted. He made him something to eat, gave his apologies… why would he do that?

After awhile, the smell of the food became too tempting to pass up, and he rolled onto his other side to see what was there. On the nightstand was a tray of food; a baked potato, bread, and a glass of water. Nothing fancy, but hey, it was something. 

He threw his blankets off of him and sat up, his feet hanging over the edge of the bed. It was at that moment that he noticed he wasn’t given a fork or a knife; just a spoon. It made sense though. He figured that nobody wanted him getting a hold of anything sharp.

Setting the tray on his lap, he scooped up some of the potatoes with his spoon and ate it. It was actually pretty tasty, despite it now being somewhat cold. But he didn’t really care. Before he knew it, he had scarfed down the whole entire meal, and realized just how long it had been since he had eaten anything.

Lucky grasped the edges of the empty tray and set it back on his nightstand, before climbing back under the covers of his bed. Maybe now that he ate something, he could finally fall asleep...

But every time he shut his eyes, he saw Jazz’s lifeless eyes staring right back at him.

~~~~~

“Profit? You awake?”

Lucky was still for a moment. He hadn’t been able to doze off in the entire time he had been alone. All he could do was stare at the wall, his thoughts being his only company. It's not that he wasn't tired; it was that he was too tired to fall asleep.

He rolled over onto his other side, craning his neck to the door. Ren was there, standing in the doorframe. At least it wasn't Cub or Xisuma.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Ren said, and he gave a small smile as he saw the empty tray on the nightstand. “Was the food alright?”

Lucky nodded, staying under his covers. “Mhmm…”

“Good, good.” Ren sounded genuinely pleased at his response. He cleared his throat. “Erm, anyway, Xisuma wants me to take you somewhere. He said that you might need it… given what happened.”

The blonde was silent for a moment. Did he have to move? His bed was so warm… But if Xisuma wanted him to do something, he figured he might as well listen. What did he have to lose?

Sighing, he lifted the covers off of him and slid off the bed. He sighed, rubbing his eyes and dragging his feet across the floor.

Ren frowned a bit. “You get any sleep?”

Lucky answered with his silence.

"I'll… take that as a no, then."

The brunette let the Lucky out of his room and closed the door, before slowly leading him down the winding hallways. Maybe it was more to not get too far ahead; Lucky was practically half asleep, too drained to be up and about.

The young soldier didn't bother to pay attention to what Ren was saying or where he was taking him. Part of him felt numb, but the other half somehow kept on going. It was a strange feeling… he didn't like it. At all.

But he accepted the fact that this would be his new reality. One where he was no longer the person he used to be.

He barely noticed when Ren had finally stopped in front of a door. Several familiar muffled voices could be heard chattering away inside. And when Ren opened the door to let him in, he saw who it was...

It was the rest of the byte. If it could even be called that anymore, anyway. It could only officially be called a byte if there were eight members… now there were only seven, including him. But the sight of familiar faces was somewhat comforting.

"I'll be right outside, alright?" Ren said to Lucky. 

Lucky gave a small nod back. The brunette smiled, before exiting the room and locking the door, leaving Lucky facing his six other teammates. He took a breath, and made his way to them. At least it wasn’t any of the other W.E.S. members.

The first one to speak was Sakura. She looked up at him, a deep sadness in her dark brown eyes. "We heard what happened to Jazz…" She said solemnly. "I'm so, so sorry, Lucky." Before he could respond, however, she wrapped her arms around him in a hug.

Lucky was surprised at the sudden embrace, but after a moment he took to process it, he accepted it nonetheless. He tightly wrapped his arms around Sakura, realizing how much he needed a hug. He had the desperate urge and want to cry, but no tears fell from his eyes. Maybe he had run out…

The blonde then felt a hand on his shoulder as he let go of the brunette. “Lucky.”

It was Nightingale. But this time, he was too overwhelmed by sadness to be nervous. He glanced up at his superior, eyes dull. “Yes ma’am…?”

“You know that Jazz was very proud of you, no?”

Lucky blinked. “Y...yeah…”

To his surprise, an almost unnoticeable smile started to tug at the corners of her lips, but soon straightened out. “Good,” She said. “Know that none of this is your fault, understand? It could have been any one of us that died.”

The blonde hung his head a bit. “I know, ma’am…” He knew it wasn’t his fault. His blame was set on Cub and his colleagues. They refused to help him until they were done with treating their wounded. And yet they were playing the innocent card. Maybe Nightingale and the others didn’t know what he knew…

“Your brother was a very brave man,” The woman continued. “One that I’m honored to have fought alongside.”

“Glorious in life, eternal in death.” Synth spoke up, stating the Shadowbyte Army’s famous motto.

Nightingale nodded. “Exactly. He lived as a glorious warrior, and now he will be remembered for many years to come.”

Many of the others gave some sort of a response in agreement, whether it be a simple nod or a word. But even if they were small, Lucky felt his heart lift. Jazz would be remembered fondly… as a fine soldier and brother.

Nightingale then removed her hand from his shoulder before speaking again. “But now we need to stay strong. More than ever. For Jazz’s sake.”

Lucky, as much as he knew he already failed that order, nodded anyway. "Yes ma'am…" He shifted his stance a bit, and winced as he felt something inside his boot rub against his ankle. Did he get a rock stuck in there somehow? He moved his foot again. The object was smooth, cold, and hard. Like metal.

Metal.

A sudden memory popped into his mind, and his eyes went wide. He still had the gun he had grabbed tucked inside his boot. How?

“Lucky?” Synth’s voice pierced his conscience, making him flinch a bit. “You in there?”

Lucky was still in shock at what he had discovered. “U-uhh…” As nervous as he was with everyone’s eyes now trained on him, he knew he had to say something. So he went down on one knee, stuck his hand down his boot, and, like a magician with a rabbit and a hat, yanked his pistol out. “I...I-I still have my gun…”

Coda’s eyes widened as he stood up. “Wait techie, you got a gun too? When the fuck did ya grab that?!”

Lucky shrunk back a bit at Coda’s voice loudening. “B-before we left the Hive… I didn’t use it though…” His voice trailed off as he realized one small but important detail she had dropped into her sentence. “...w-what do you mean by ‘you too’?”

The creeper grinned. “They might’ve taken away our hacks and main weapons…” She then knelt onto one knee and pulled up the hem of her pant leg. Tucked inside her boot was a sleek black and red pistol, just like Lucky’s. “But those fuckers didn’t bother to pat us down.”

Sakura’s eyes lit up with hope. “Does that mean we have a chance of going home?” She asked, leaning closer to the green-scaled woman.

“You know it, baby!” Coda answered confidently. "We're home free-"

Synth then spoke, cutting off his friend. "Don't get ahead of yourself, Coda," He said, lowering his voice slightly. "It won't work if you're screaming from the rooftops about it. And we need to make a plan."

“He’s right,” Grey replied. Nix nodded alongside him. “We need to be smart about this. This might be our only shot out of here.”

“Agreed.” Nightingale added. “We have one chance. There’s no margin for error.”

As the conversation buzzed around him, Lucky retreated back into his mind and gazed at the pistol in his hands. A chance at escape? It was wholeheartedly possible. He could go home to Fort Oblivion, go back to his bunker, with all of his high tech gear and a legitimate excuse to not leave-

But this time, he wouldn't have an older brother to turn to when he needed it.

Dark thoughts clouded Lucky's mind. Why should he bother? What was the point of leaving now? Jazz was his whole entire world, the only family he ever had, and now he was dead… 

Maybe he could escape in a different way. Escape that hellhole and reunite with his brother. Put that gun against his head and fire it for the first and last time in his life. 

Was it cowardly? Yes. Desperate? Most definitely. Stupid? Yup. But did he care? 

Not one single bit.

[advernia]

fic: push me off a bridge (to catch me as i fall)

— war was never the best place to realize that trust was a very long free fall, but they had to start somewhere. (or: five times the jack of hearts receives treatment from alice the second, and all that happens in between.) || ao3 ver.

features: au!kyle’s route where kyle/mc is platonic, a hella slow burn edgar/mc development, more details of the war that you probably didn’t sign up for, and a! named! mc!

1: this is ridiculously long (14+k!?) but if you’re up for it, there’s post-reading notes here! (･∀･○)

There's a nice, narrow slash on his face; diagonally marking what many a mouth has called a remarkable young man's handsome features. 

They're just staring at him for some reason and if he were, well, someone like a certain beauty-marked-pretty-boy-who-happened-to-be-his-superior; he'd be threatening both of them to do their jobs or else. But he's not that someone, he's different and quite eccentrically so, as demonstrated by him simply smiling back at the doctor and assistant's pointing stares and asking the most inappropriate question at the moment.

"Is there something on my face?" Edgar asks, tone cheery.

"Nope," Kyle replies, an eyebrow raised. "It's just... Okay, wow, nice cut you got there. When's the last time you actually came here for treatment? Actual treatment."

"Hm... I can't recall. But I certainly don't visit the infirmary as often as my unit does."

A snort. "Yeah, that'll be the day. Ever wonder why they spend a lot of time here in the first place?"

"To visit the oh-so-talented Seven of Hearts and bask in his medical talent?"

"... Are you going to treat him or not?" Alice the Second pipes in, a frown directed to her boss. "Because if you won't, I will."

Kyle swivels his chair around to gawk her. "... You sure you want to?"

"But why not? It's the reason why Edgar came here in the first place, right?"

"It's hard to tell with someone like him, but yeah, probably. But the main issue here is that."

The doctor points to the not-so-elephant in the room, the Jack of Hearts' once-flawless left cheek.

"If you're going to treat him, it's gonna be an up-close-and-personal thing," Kyle says, ominous voice at odds with the growing grin on his lips. "Can you take it?"

Edgar jumps into the conversation, smile still present. "I'm not one for having people at close distances, but I imagine having you treat me is better than identifying what Kyle might have drunk last night, Alice."

"That's what he said, lucky you! So, are - "

"Oh, hush, you two," she huffs, making her way to a cabinet with brisk steps. She plucks out a bottle and a bag of cotton off a shelf, then makes a beeline for the sink. "I'm treating you, Edgar, because you're in an infirmary and you're injured. And if I have to be up-close-and-personal, it's because the injury is on his cheek, Kyle. That's all there is!"

She's muttering a couple of other things they can't hear as she's filling a basin with water, so Kyle takes this opportunity to slide his chair closer to where Edgar sat, whisper unnecessarily conspiratorial as he says:

"Her ears turned red."

"Yes, very much like your hair."

The two share glances before laughing.

.

.

.

Alice, much to his amusement and also a bit of dismay, does not end up getting 'up-close-and-personal' with him at all - rather than sitting directly in front of each other (because that's what Kyle does to his patients), she chooses to move her chair to his left side, all her attention set on the injury without the feeling of the patient staring at her while she works.

Maybe he should start giving her a little more credit.

"Edgar?" she says as she dabs a damp cotton lightly on his cheek, "How did you get this injury in the first place?"

"Do you really want to know?"

"If you don't mind telling me, then yes."

He chuckles as the cotton slowly traces its way upwards to his cheekbone.

"Well then. How about a little exchange?"

"Exchange? What do you mean?"

"I tell you how I got this cut in the first place... but in return," he angles his head sideways a bit so that he could meet her gaze, "You have to tell me your real name."

Her arm freezes, and the cotton stops touching his face.

.

.

.

And that was the first time Alice the Second treated the Jack of Hearts.

                                        "Lady Idike!"

She turns her around to the sound of her name, a frantic yell of help right by the tent's entrance - someone's struggling carrying his comrade on his back, his face strained with grime and sweat. She rises to her feet, eyes searching for any vacant space before rushing over to the new patients, leading them over to an area by the upper left side of the tent.

"Gently, now," she ushers as the soldier kneels down slowly to lower his friend's body on a cot. "What happened?"

A deep breath. "... We encountered the Three of Spades' squad by the streets of the Upper Central Quarter, and... I got careless, didn't see a trap coming right for me. This guy here, he... p-pu-p-ushed me... just in time, a-a-an-and..."

Tears began forming at the edge of weary eyes as he tried to continue, but any more words were drowned out by broken sobs. Idike sets a hand on the man's shoulder, squeezing lightly.

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees someone approach from her right.

"You did good, getting you and your buddy back here," Kyle says as he walked over to the sobbing soldier with a kind smile on his face. "Got any wounds?"

"... O-on-only b-br-r-bruises an-and sc-scrapes, sir..."

"Got it - we'll be with you in a sec, so sit tight. Idike, what about him?"

She nods and runs over to the cot, fingers immediately heading towards the unconscious patient's left hip and thigh; a visible mix of damp blood, broken flesh, and torn cloth combined. Clearing out a bit of the mess and pressing down gently, two of her fingertips come across light pricks, causing her to pull her hand away. Kyle clicks his tongue at her reaction, moving beside her to check the damage himself.

"Caltrops," he mutters.

"Cal... what?"

"Something like tiny metal spikes. See those things stuck on the soles of his boots? Caltrops. There's some hanging by his pants too, tricky things."

"Are they lethal?"

"Assuming they didn't hit something vital or that they weren't coated in poison, then no. They're annoyingly sharp, though."

Idike sucks in a deep breath, taking in one last glimpse of the gaping wound before turning to face Kyle.

"What do we need?"

.

.

.

"My, my. What do we have here?"

With a raise of his hand, his troop trailing behind him stops moving, hands swiftly finding the hilts of their swords and bodies shifting to a defensive stance. Without the noise of boots crunching on leaves and dirt, the forest surrounding them was tranquil - inviting, even, as the near setting sun tried to dye every lick of green with its reds, yellows, and oranges.

A few seconds pass. He lowers his hand, but none of them relax.

A few more, until -

- a dagger, seemingly materializing out from nowhere, flies straight and true for his cheek.

The Jack of Hearts smiles, drawing his saber from its scabbard in a split second to parry - a sharp clang echoes throughout the forest, and the threat falls defeated on the ground. With a few steps forward and a quick bend of his knees, he takes the weapon into his other hand.

"Do be careful," there's a lilt in his voice as he speaks rather loudly to the wilderness. "Alice treated this same cheek not too long ago - I'd hate to return to her and have her do it all over again."

Winds rustling the leaves of the trees answer, but there's a strange energy that comes with it, something similar to the sensation when magic would come to play: the air tingles with a prickling charge, filling one's lungs with a sense of alertness and unshakable jitter. Without warning, he throws the dagger upwards, towards the high branches of the large oak tree just a few meters ahead.

It doesn't come back nor does it make a sound of hitting a mark, but in its stead someone drops down from the tree, two feet gracefully landing on the ground.

The tension doesn't fade.

"Ten of Spades, Seth Hyde," Edgar waves, as if greeting an old friend. "Nice weather we're having, aren't we?"

Seth scoffs, a hand reaching for one of the daggers set on his hip - though there's a notable lack of expression on his face, every bit of his posture screams of a threatening aura waiting to be released on a moment's notice.

"... What did you do to her?" he asks, voice an unnerving low. 

"Nothing that concerns you," Edgar shrugs, and Seth watches as his lips curl into a teasing - teasing! - smile.

"Though I believe a better question is... what did she do to me?"

.

.

.

It's been... four days? Or had it been three? Perhaps she lost count.

All she knew these days was to focus. This was no London confectionery anymore, with all its flours, sugars, fruits and honey.

"Scalpel," a quick command, accompanied by an open hand held out towards her. She nods, picking out the tool carefully from a metal tray and handing it over.

There were no preparation periods, baking hours, timetables, opening and closing times, or rush hours.

"Forceps," the scalpel returns to her with its blade drenched in scarlet. Idike sets it aside and pulls out the next tool, placing it on Kyle's palm.

This was no warm bakery, open kitchen, or pleasant shop.

"Caltrop extracted," Kyle mutters as he glares at the object held upright by the forceps: it's a small thing with four sharp teeth, decorated with blood and pieces of skin. She stares at it, glimmering under the light of the tent's magic crystal lamp.

This was life and death, and she willingly chose to be part of it.

.

.

.

Someone charges at him with a rapier held up high in the air, almost like a guillotine. A shame that it doesn't meet its intended mark though: Edgar parries the strike halfway down, watches as his opponent's eyes grow wide as saucers at the sudden impact, then delivers a smack right to the chest and two well-aimed jabs to make the man crumple to his knees along with his weapon.

From his left, someone not an ally rushes towards him presumably armed with a blade as well, and from his blind side; a set of throwing knives come for him like bullets.

What a pickle.

The knives are faster, but it only takes the swift motion of sinking down onto to his haunches to avoid them completely. The lunging soldier however was now just paces away from impaling his forehead, but he takes advantage of his position to aim for the underside of his enemy's outstretched arm; gloved hand reaching out to grab the forearm with a grip tight enough to cause a loud scream of pain and the release of the sword, followed by barreling upwards - his opponent starts to lose his balance in response to the motion and Edgar uses it, dropping his saber for a moment to fully grab the man's arm and throw him effortlessly over his shoulder.

A pained groan escapes the poor soldier's lips before he lays limp on the ground, unconscious. Edgar leaves him there and picks up his weapon, calm countenance at odds with the persisting sounds of battle ringing loudly in the forest.

He glances at the path forward, obscured by leaves but unable to completely hide the traces of freshly unearthed soil underneath the foliage.

Meanwhile, the sun was sinking down the horizon, beckoning the night to pour itself out on the sky.

"A pity, Ten of Spades. But it was quite fun while it lasted."

Turning on his heel, the Jack of Hearts set out to reconvene with his troop.

.

.

.

"... and since there was sufficient evidence found that the area had been already laid on with various traps, the King postponed the advancement to Black Army territory through the forests."

Kyle hums absentmindedly as he was stitching up a patient's shoulder. "Smart move - glad he didn't decide to order someone to just get rid of the traps using magic."

Zero shakes his head. "Inefficient and costly. We still have a good amount of magic crystals in our inventory, but it's wiser to use them for a better time."

"I know. Still, a better time, huh?" cutting the excess thread with a scissor, Kyle lets out a heavy sigh. "The only 'better time' I can think of is you lot giving me and my assistant a break."

The doctor gestures to the whole of the medical tent, nearly full with lines of cots and miserable men: there were a spare few that were up and about, doing their best to look after the needs of the others; but the rest were either unconscious or groaning where they lay. The Ace of Hearts' lips drew a taut line, the mixing smells of pungent disinfectant and coppery blood dancing strongly about his nostrils.

"... Is Idike okay? Seeing all this."

Kyle snorts. "Of course not - bet she still cries a little bit inside each time someone's carried here, and that's fine by me. But what's important is she hasn't been running away from this: it's been three whole days since we've set up here, and so far she's been giving every single one her all."

"I see... where is she now?"

"Ordered her to take a breather. Should be having dinner or something."

.

.

.

Contrary to what Kyle ordered her to do, no, she wasn't having dinner at the moment.

Not taking a breather, either.

She's dragging someone by the hand to their shared tent instead, mind and body working on adrenaline or reflex at this point: make some light by using a magic crystal and hanging it on a lamp, seat or make the patient comfortable, gather some basic tools and place them on a tray beside where you'd sit, then evaluate the patient's condition as calmly as possible.

And it's only when she's seated herself in front of her patient does she realizes who -

"Oh," she says, the word coming out of her mouth even before she knew it.

.

.

.

Usual Red Army procedure dictates that after their given missions, the Chosen Thirteen (save for the Seven on some occasions) would gather in the commander's tent to report the results of the day's operations. The gathering, facilitated by the Queen, required that all information and notable observations should be accounted for; down even to the most minuscule detail. Once all was said and done, the Jack would narrate a summary of all the reports given and from there, the strategy planning would begin.

The King would finalize the orders once everyone came to an understanding and agreement of the current situation and objectives, then they were promptly dismissed.

Rinse, repeat. Whatever the Thirteen chose to do after the gatherings was completely up to them, unless they had orders.

Edgar didn't have any tasks assigned that night, so he chose to have a brief rest by the river just a short walk from the encampment. But on his way there, he runs into her - Alice the Second with all her loosely plaited honey-colored hair, bags growing under her eyes, and the apron she wore over her dress stained with suspicious splotches.

It gets interesting when she points out that the glove of his right hand had a tear on it, and even before he has a chance to explain himself, she already closed the distance in between them and took his right hand into hers, raising it up for her to check.

But in all honesty, never would've he imagined that she would actually drag him all the way to her tent.

.

.

.

"You know Alice, were I someone else, I would've taken this as an invitation."

"An invitation for what?"

"I wonder. Oh, assume this instead: the lone young woman of an army inviting a man to her quarters in the middle of the night... what do you suppose people would think if they were to witness such a scene?"

Silence - her eyes, the most innocent of blues, blink once, twice, thrice -

- all of a sudden they widen, her cheeks bloom with color, and then -

"A-a-ah-ahhh! I-it-it wasn't intentional! I saw an injury on your hand, and - "

"Yes, yes - I understand. Believe me, I do. But you realize that you could've brought me to the medical tent instead?"

Edgar simply watches as Idike's lips quiver defiantly, but it's short-lived as she expresses her surrender by burying her face into her hands, mumbling incoherent as she shook her head back and forth repeatedly; loose strands of hair dancing about.

He chuckles, bringing a hand to his mouth.

Perhaps I took it too far?

.

.

.

The wound on the back of his hand is a single slash, just in need of some disinfectant and a little ointment for good measure. She tends to it like going through the motions of every day she's dealt with ever since she begged Kyle to bring her along to the front lines: fingers deft and gentle, movements precise and prudent, pace not slow but steady.

She finished applying the ointment when he speaks, breaking the silence that hung in between them.

"Alice," Edgar lowers his head in a bow that has her blinking rapidly again as she sets the bottle of ointment down on a tray, "allow me to sincerely apologize for teasing you." 

"No, no! You don't have to bow - I too, have to apologize since I... um, overreacted. You were trying to warn me for being careless, so... thank you, Edgar."

Idike gives him a small smile when he raises his head to look at her again, and as her eyes meets his she's reminded of how difficult it was to decipher what he was thinking about when he stares at her with such a blank expression on his face.

Then again, Edgar was difficult as he was strange; an enigmatic character whose great idea of a peace offering was caramel corn. The memory makes her smile a bit brighter as she looks away to take his ripped glove from another tray, along with a needle and a small white spool.

"That isn't necessary, Alice," he tells her when she starts threading the needle. "Fortunately, I have a spare set of gloves with me."

"Good," she hums, but she began to sew anyway. "... Say, Edgar?"

"Yes?"

"How did you get that injury in the first place?"

.

.

.

It's a rehash of their previous conversation, save for the fact that this time, he asks her the same question for a good reason.

"Do you really want to know?"

"I do, but does that mean you'll ask for my name again?"

A wry smile plays on his lips - they'd go off topic, but he could humor her for now. "Would you tell me if I asked it of you this time?"

She laughs, but no response follows. Oh, how he wished that her attention was set elsewhere rather than her needlework: with a head tilted downwards, he couldn't see the entirety of her face - she was ever so honest with her emotions, and being unable to see whatever expression crossing her features right now was unfortunate.

"... How did you know?" she asks after a short while, sewing coming to a halt. "About my name, I mean."

Gingerly she looks up a bit and he can finally see her eyes, blues tinged with confusion and perhaps some doubt - similar to when she studied him the day he gave her caramel corn, grip on the paper bag a little tight.  

"I suppose there's no harm in telling you. Do you recall how you introduced yourself to the King and Queen of Spades the night you arrived here?"

"To Ray and Sirius?" she blinks before mulling it over for a few seconds. "... I just told them my name?"

"'You can call me' were the words you added with it. Quite an unusual way for a lady to introduce herself, unless doing so was common in the Land of Reason."

"That was your only clue?" she fully raised her head, now openly gaping at him. "Huh...? But wait, I haven't run into you yet that time, so how did you..."

Edgar brings a finger up and holds it against his grinning lips.

"Your reaction when I first asked you back in the infirmary confirmed it - I have to admit, you're surprisingly more cautious than you appear, to the extent that you're unwilling to give away your real name and make us settle for a fake one instead."

"What the - it's nothing like that!" she exclaims, fingers clutching onto her apron. He falls quiet as he waits for her to continue, watching as her lips drew themselves into a frown and her eyes waver with evident hurt and regret.

But why regret? He's the one suddenly backing her to a corner over something as simple as a name - she had some right to be cross with him and he certainly didn't mind (he'd been wondering if someone like her was even capable of being angry); but the fact still remains that she didn't deny his words. The ongoing silence wasn't helping her case any further, either. 

Three seconds.

Four.

Five.

Then finally her mouth opens, hesitant.

"... If you've noticed that one detail..." she says, voice small, "... Does that mean you've been suspicious of me ever since?"

Edgar's smile grew thin.

Yes, he ought to give her a little more credit.

"Secrets, whether minor or major, can be such incriminatory things... don't you agree?"

Idike holds her breath.

.

.

.

"Before I forget, Alice."

With the mood heavy and possibly going nowhere at this point, he decides to take his leave, smoothly rising from his seat.

"The Ten of Spades, Seth Hyde," he doesn't miss how her shoulders jump upon hearing the name, "your friend - was the reason for my injury. Ah, but don't you worry - he still lives. I haven't the slightest clue about his unit, however."

She breathes in deeply, he's walking away. Shifting the tent's flap aside, the biting night air greets him, and he looks over his shoulder - she hasn't moved, nor does she turn his way. In the end it seems that he still won't be getting an answer, but perhaps he could try some other time instead.

If she even wants to see him after this, that is.

"Thank you for the treatment, and I hope you enjoy the rest of your evening."

With that, Edgar leaves.

Idike sits in silence, staring at the half-mended glove on her lap.

.

.

.

And that was the second time Alice the Second treated the Jack of Hearts.

                                        The instant the King of Hearts fully steps into the medical tent; the overpowering stench of blood assaults his nose.

It's a different warpath inside the seemingly wide space, its four corners occupied with wounded men and the aftermath of their treatment stored away in sacks set on the corner nearest to the tent's entrance. Fluttering about the meager spaces left in between cots and the area itself were only a handful of people tending to the chaos: mobile soldiers with what looked like minor wounds, the Seven of Hearts, and also Alice the Second.

Lancelot walks over to where the doctor stood, a white coat back facing him.

"Kyle."

Said person turns around, and Lancelot's face contorts itself instinctively into a glare.

"Huh - Lance?" Kyle frowns, a syringe at the ready in his right hand. "It's past midnight - skipping out on sleep again?"

"I can say the same to you, so you're not one to talk. Put that away for a moment."

A shrug, but the syringe is set aside on the nearby trolley. "As you can see, you've made more than enough work for me already. So hurry it up, what do you need?"

"You can work while you talk. I need a summary of today's report."

"Got no more time to read the whole thing?"

"Unfortunately, I don't. Rest assured, I'll still take the written report before I leave."

"Must be tough being a man of war," Kyle mumbles as he starts to lay out small napkins on one side of the trolley. "A hundred eighty-seven dropped by injured, twenty-five lying down with major wounds. Fourteen were initially in critical condition - used some magic crystals to help with the pain and lull 'em to sleep after treatment, but they're better off going back to headquarters."

"Causes of injury?"

"Majority's still the usual sword or bullet," nimble hands begin pulling out contents from the medicine bottles, then settle an assorted amount of them on top of the napkins. "But some guys under our Six ran into the Three of Spades' squad by the Upper Central Quarter - they plant and throw caltrops, imagine that. Then the Nine of Spades wreaked havoc with his bow and arrow: considering the statements of his victims, I assume the arrowheads were dipped in a herb formula that causes temporary muscle paralysis - made sure to tell our Four about that, since his troop took the brunt of it. Did he mention that in the gathering?"

Lancelot nods, then his eyes narrow. "... Are there casualties?"

Kyle pauses, his hands frozen in place.

The gap of silence is filled in by cries, bemoaning, and frustrated yells.

"... Got our first one an hour ago. Blood loss and an infection too far gone - risked his neck for a new recruit."

Lancelot follows Kyle's line of gaze, to a cot set almost by the center of the tent: a white sheet's laid over it as a shroud and by the foot of the cot wails a soldier; head downcast, on his knees, and a tightly woven fist repeatedly pounding the ground. Alice the Second comes running over to the man's side, hands reaching out to stop him from hurting himself any further.

Both King and doctor soundlessly watched as she did her best to help the man get up on his feet, despite the crack in her voice and her cheeks tear-stained still.

.

.

.

"This place is preposterous!"

"How so, dear Queen?"

"Do you have holes for eyes? Did you not see the houses we passed by? They have thatched roofs, for goodness sake, and even without the aid of a magic crystal; you could clearly see that those hardly look properly reinforced! This whole area with its closely linked houses is simply a disaster waiting to happen if fire was to be put in the equation!"

Edgar snickers as Jonah continued to ramble on about (in his words) the 'baffling and questionable quality of life' of Black Army territory. True enough, the simple wood or stone houses did pale in comparison to the usual brick or marble homes found in Red territory; but perhaps that could be attributed mainly to the primary livelihood differences of the territories: while Black territory soil was kind and bountiful to agriculture, Red territory grounds were a trove of abundant mineral deposits open for exploration.

"Now, now. I'm sure that if the people of this village wanted to, they could improve their homes any time they wish. It just so happens that they willingly chose to devote their time to their livelihoods - quite impressive of them, don't you think?"

Jonah scowls. "First and foremost, if they had all the time to care for their finely plowed fields and well-structured barns, then they should also have half a mind to keep themselves safe. What use do these fields serve if their cultivator isn't present? What happens to domesticated animals without their owners to feed and guide them?"

Edgar claps his hands softly for a few seconds. "Such touching passion. If you're that concerned, why not bring it up with the Black Army leaders? I'm sure their Queen would also be willing to listen."

If glares could burn through skin, then Edgar was sure that his head should be going through spontaneous combustion at this point.

"Remind me again, why are you here?" Jonah stops walking, raising his lantern a bit higher to survey their current location. It was probably a few hours before dawn, but the dark of the night still wore itself thick around the mountain village. "The King specifically ordered your unit to survey and secure the waterways of the Civic Center that are also linked to those that flow through Black territory, correct?"

"Right you are. I've already dispatched my unit accordingly to do the task as we speak - however, the King expressed interest in villages, such as this one, which are far off from Black territory proper but closer to the Central Quarter. It was agreed upon that occupying these areas immediately would be of best interest, lest the enemy uses them as vantage points." 

"That's the reason why my unit is here in the first place," an exasperated sigh, followed by a stern tone. "Admit it; you decided to come along, uninvited, because - "

Jonah abruptly holds his scolding, glower redirected at the darkness just ahead. With no one talking, the only sounds around were the faint chirping of crickets and the winds rustling through grass and straw roofs.

According to an earlier reconnaissance report, the Black Army ordered the evacuation and relocation of the civilian areas under their jurisdiction before the war started.

Two days ago, a number of scouts confirmed that the Black Army villages closest to the Red Army encampment were deserted.

Hours before he and his unit made their way to the village, watchmen claimed to have seen not a single trace of movement around the perimeter, even with the aid of magic crystals.

"Queen Jonah," a soldier whispers after a few seconds have passed, "Your orders."

Fixing himself into a defensive stance, Jonah tosses his lantern away from him - it lands with a dull thunk on a patch of grass, and his fingers slowly reached for the hilt of his sword.

"Discard your lanterns and draw your blades. We have company."

.

.

.

Day four without a single drop of alcohol. How quaint.

Here he was abstaining, but both Armies showed no interest in giving up the war just yet - the proof of all that was clearly evident in every corner of the medical tent, and also adding to that were a new group of potential patients barging themselves into said tent.

"Seriously? It ain't even morning yet," Kyle mutters under his breath. Beside him, Idike smiles weakly.

One of the men run towards the doctor and assistant, white uniform dirty and cap in tatters on his head. Still, he has enough energy to salute and speak in a booming voice that probably everyone in the vicinity hears, whether they wanted to or not. "Sir Seven, Alice the Second!"

"It's great that you still got some pep, so drop the formalities." a lopsided grin makes its way to Kyle's lips, then he gestures to the new arrivals. "What happened?"

"We, the Eight of Hearts' unit, had a run-in with the Jack of Spades and his troop in our attempt to occupy one of the Black Army villages present in the upper quadrant," the soldier relays - Idike's eyes widen, but she says nothing. "In the midst of battle, Ace Zero and his unit came to our aid, pushing the enemy back and allowing the wounded from our side to withdraw! The skirmish still continues as we speak!"

"Jack of Spades, huh... he leads a sword-based unit. Anyone in critical condition?"

"No, sire! Er, I mean, none! I think! Oh, wait! One of us took a heavy blow from the Jack himself, sir!"

"He's our priority then - gotta pity a guy who gets hit by that claymore," Kyle motions the soldier to lead the way and he complies, doing another salute before turning on his heel. 

Kyle's already taken a few steps forward when it dawns on him that something - no, someone's missing. When he looks behind him he sees his assistant standing still, head downcast and hands tightly held together. Wisps of her hair that escaped her plait shield her face from his view, but he finds it relieving to see that neither her shoulders nor her knees were shaking.

The sight of her makes his expression turn wry - really, she could stand strong for days then become incredibly fragile just as fast; and that's exactly why he refused to let her near the front lines in the first place. She was kind, too kind for a war, and the fact that she had spent a considerable amount of time with both Armies didn't make this any easier for her.

Weeks ago the Black Army took her in when the Red Army saw her as a threat.

Now, she was willingly tending to Red Army soldiers, the sworn enemies of the same Black Army who called her a friend.

He walks back to where she stood and when he's close enough, he reaches out to take hold her shoulders.

"Hey," he says. Idike looks up at him.

"Oh - " her voice is a shadow of her usual self, the blue of her eyes waver with a flurry of emotions. Worry. Fear. Grief. Frustration. Exhaustion. All that a scrambling mess in one girl.

"Hey," he repeats, hands moving upwards to pinch her cheeks. She yelps in protest, face contorting even further.

"Owww!" she whines, the pain springing life back into her voice. "Kyle, what are you - "

"We have fourteen new patients lined up."

Her eyes widen, she stops squirming. Satisfied, he lets go of her cheeks and stuffs his hands into the pockets of his white coat.

"And supposedly, one of them's in bad shape. Think you can help me out?"

He keeps his gaze on her steady, she stares back. There's still some uncertainty flickering around the edges of her eyes, but her irises are filling in with the usual clarity of a blue sky, and that's what he - and the patients inside the tent - needed from her right now.

And eventually - thankfully - she nods, eyes not leaving his.

"I will," she says.

.

.

.

Right: a swoosh in the air, just seconds released, aim most likely for his left thigh or knee. A quick shift of his leg to the other direction, and an arrow materializes from the darkness and pierces the ground where his leg used to be. A brief look into the arrow's position suggests that the source is at an elevated position, possibly in -

Behind: heavy footsteps, grass crunching loudly; suggestive of someone rushing and most likely with a weapon. A twist of his torso, a raise of his saber up to his shoulder while he keeps his lower body steady to maintain balance; and clang! He comes face to face with his attacker and their short sword, strength shaky and current stance leaving them wide open. So what he does is to keep his right leg grounded as he lifts up his left; body pivoting smoothly as he delivers a heavy kick to his opponent's side.

The man screams in agony, leading to a loose grip on the sword and a wavering focus: the perfect opportunity to land a finishing blow through a series of rapid slices for disarming, a few sure steps forward, and - crack! - a knifehand strike lands on his opponent's neck.

Not wasting any time, he dives to the nearest place for cover, that being what looked like a small house. Back flat against the wall, he watches as the place where he once stood was again struck and with arrows this time, one hitting a discarded lantern and effectively snuffing the light of its magic crystal and the other two narrowly missing the body of the soldier he just defeated.

Jonah clicks his tongue.

Another light source gone. Dealing with ranged units in the dark can be so tiresome.

"Our morning got off to a good start, don't you agree?"

"Wha - "

Jonah whirls around to see Edgar leaning against the same wall and nonchalantly holding a bow and arrow in his hands, though his focus was more on the latter.

"Ah, yes. Our good doctor really is sharp, isn't he? The tip was dipped in a formula."

"Why you little - do you realize that this is hardly the time to be impressed!?"

"On the contrary," Edgar smiled as he raised the bow up to his shoulder height and nocked the arrow, "I think it's highly appropriate."

And with a sudden burst of speed; the Jack of Hearts ran out from his hiding place, aimed high, and released his hold on the arrow - he doesn't see how far it goes but seconds later there's a cry of pain and the loud rustling of leaves nearby, followed by something wooden and something heavy falling to the ground.

Jonah steps out from behind the wall, a dainty eyebrow raised. "That man better not be dead."

"How morbid of you," Edgar says as he casually discards the bow, then draws his saber. "A little paralysis doesn't cause immediate death, Jonah."

"But a sharp or faulty aim can. Enough of this - we ought to regroup with - "

"Men! Aim for the Queen and Jack of Hearts!"

The pair stood still as two groups hastily approached them from both sides - swords at the ready, they silently watched as they were encircled by what looked like an angry mob of soldiers all dressed in the same black uniform, the gleam of their weapons made seemingly eerie by a lone lantern paces away from Jonah's feet.

"Oh? Did the Nine of Spades have this much swordsmen under him?"

"Hmph. A trivial matter - they can call all the reinforcements they want, but their numbers mean nothing against the Queen of Hearts."

"Ever so dependable," Edgar grins as the soldiers begin to inch forward in unison. "But it's bad to keep all the fun to yourself, you know."

.

.

.

"Hey there. Can you hear me?"

The man lying on the cot lets out a groan as he awkwardly nodded - there's a gash across his chest reaching down to his stomach, looking loud and angry and all vibrantly red with spilled blood. Kyle inspects the injury without so much as batting an eye, stooping down a bit to get a closer look.

"Looks bad, but we can manage." he mumbles after a few moments, then he turns to Idike waiting behind him. "Get rid of his clothes and wipe the chest area clean."

"Alright," she steps forward to stand over where Kyle stood, gazing at what she needed to work with. First, she needed to get the patient out of that thick jacket - if she couldn't move his arms much, she could just go with cutting through the cloth instead even if it would take a little more effort on her part. Next, she had no other way around the shirt so she should cut it out, which meant that a clean replacement had to be ready after treatment. Lastly, since the blood was a bit messy, she needed to prepare two towels to make sure everything would be wiped down.

Her fingers are about to reach out when the soldier speaks, voice raspy yet firm -

"Don't touch me."

She stops, Kyle stops too. He's just nearby and getting the disinfectant ready, but he heard those three words - and the rest that would follow - loud and clear all over the din in the tent.

"Are you going to finish the work of the Jack of Spades? Part of your little Black Army family?" there's sardonic laughter - it goes on for a while, doing absolutely nothing to diffuse a palpable tension, then it's replaced by an angry growl. "I won't allow you, Alice - I definitely- "

"...op that."

Kyle looks over his shoulder. She said something, didn't she? Did she reach her limit? Was she going to cry, or -

"What did you - "

"Stop that," Idike repeats, high-pitched voice struggling not to shout but it doesn't mask the sheer emotion in her words that practically hiss themselves through her teeth. "I don't care if you don't like me, don't trust me, or if you think that I'm a Black Army spy! But don't you think for a second that I'm going to leave you here to bleed just because you said so!"

"How dare you - "

"How dare you! Do you think that your suspicion of me will mean anything when you end up dead!? Does it matter more to you than your own life!?"

The soldier lets out a gasp. Idike takes in a deep breath but she holds her tongue as she gets to work, lithe fingers unbuttoning the jacket with fervor.

Ah, she really needed those scissors.

"... You can doubt me all you want," she says, voice still struggling to keep itself leveled as she stared at the soldier straight in the eye, "But please do make sure to live through this, first."

And with that Idike stalks away, murmuring something about scissors, a shirt, and some towels. Kyle watches her go, lips quirking themselves into a smile, something like pride gleaming onto his expression.

Behind him, he hears a something like a whimper - then a sniffle.

"You heard the lady," Kyle chuckles, plucking out a bottle of salve from a trolley. "Glad to know I'm not the only one she gets angry at."

.

.

.

The Nine of Spades' specialty was archery - a rough approximate of men under his command was at least forty to fifty: half of them were trained in the art of archery, while the rest were trained swordsmanship or the art of wielding longer weapons like polearms in order to protect and keep enemies away from their ranged half. A group with good range.

The Seven of Spades on the other hand had probably around sixty to eighty men in his troop, and their weapon of choice were either blades or axes. When disarmed, the troop had no problem engaging opponents head on with their fists and legs. Quite appropriate, seeing that the Seven of Spades was rather bulky himself. A unit of great brawn.

Now, the Queen of Hearts had a total of a hundred and forty-five men under his command; all rigorously trained to be versatile in both melee and ranged weaponry, and also capable of manipulating magic to their advantage when deemed necessary. However, given that occupation of a village only required a minimum dispatch for convenience, that grand number was reduced to thirty at the moment.

Thirty, plus two Chosen.

Against two units with also possibly reduced numbers, but nonetheless still an advantage combined with knowing the general territory and geography better.

"Perhaps my uninvited appearance was a stroke of luck," Edgar muttered, sparing a glance upwards. Dawn was finally painting the sky... which meant that they were taking longer than expected.

"For once, I agree with you," Jonah huffed as he picked up a broken javelin off the ground - without bothering to aim he throws it ahead of him, and the sharp end pierces an opponent's thigh. The man shouts as his knees buckle, and one of Jonah's soldiers takes the opportunity to knock the man out. "Dealing with the Nine of Spades' flimsy unit would be easier if not for their annoying arrows!"

"If the whole or even half the unit of the Seven of Spades is in attendance, then we may have a problem," Edgar shrugs as two men, unarmed but with eagerly raised fists, rush at him at the same time: it only takes a sweep to the side, a swift kick to the back of the knees, and a single arc strike with his saber - to make his enemies fall face flat on some grass. "We can make do with our numbers granted that we avoid any major injury or arrow, but our endurance will be put to the test at this rate."

Jonah says nothing, but his narrowed gaze flickers to the pouch secured on his belt.

Edgar, of course, had already taken that into account - magic could dramatically alter their odds, but it was hard to tell whether the time was right to use it. While they knew their opponents, they couldn't say the same for their numbers; or their equipment. The Black Army had a limited supply of magic crystals, but what were the chances that the Nine or Seven of Spades' squads had crystals with them? Then there was also the issue of -

"Qu-Q-Qu-Queen Jonah!"

The two turn their heads to an ally running towards their direction, cap missing and face pale.

Jonah's brows furrowed as he stared at his subordinate: parts of his uniform and his face was stained with something dark, resembling soot - 

And it's also then that Edgar catches a trace of movement from the corner of his eye, from the grove leading to a forest near the village: a glimpse of black cloth, flutter akin to a robe - 

"My Queen, several houses have been set on fire!"

.

.

.

"Y'know, he was that same guy who didn't want you anywhere near his wound back then."

"Oh... Back when I just started as your assistant?"

"Yup. Good times, huh?"

A smile touches Idike's lips, hands taking hold of another sheet hanging on the clothesline. Oh, how she missed the feeling of warm sunshine on her skin and winds playing with her hair - stepping out of the medical tent for a bit to get the laundered cloths was a good choice.

Kyle also seemed to enjoy the brief respite, seeing as he was busying himself with stretching his arms and rotating his neck.

"Is he okay? It's good that none of his vitals were hit, but he lost a lot of blood..."

"Don't worry about it. He'll get better in time - even if your outburst made him go all emotional."

She goes quiet, fingers focused on folding the sheet in her hands. It's all well and good that her words actually meant something to that soldier, but in turn -

Are you going to finish the work of the Jack of Spades?

- those spiteful words haven't left her mind, either.

Part of your little Black Army family?

A frustrated sigh escapes her, but she quickly tries to swallow it down and settle for refolding the sheet instead - there's the crunching of grass behind her as she spreads out the whole sheet once more, and then suddenly she feels the weight of a warm hand on top of her head.

Idike stops.

"Hey, you should be the one reassuring me or something." Kyle says - he takes a step forward to stand beside her, his hand still on her head.

"About what?" she asks, breathing in the smell of crisp cotton in the air.

"About them, your folks back at the Black Army. That they'll be alright. You of all people should know how strong they are, yeah?"

Silence falls in between them, pregnant yet comfortable until she lets out a soft laugh; her shoulders drooping and hands shaking.

Yes, she knew, even if she only spent a few days with them, even if she only got to properly talking to five of their Chosen. She had a feeling that no matter how much Fenrir Godspeed, the Ace of Spades, wanted to test out his guns; he would never kill in cold blood or allow himself to be killed in turn. She believed that despite how feminine Seth Hyde, the Ten of Spades, appeared and acted; he possessed as much or even more strength than his rank required and demanded of him. She's aware that even Luka Clemence, the Jack of Spades, so quiet and aloof; strapped his heavy claymore constantly on his back and it definitely wasn't just for show. She witnessed herself that Sirius Oswald, Queen of Spades, dared not carry a weapon; but instead offered every spare second of his time and tactical ability for the pure benefit of the Black Army.

And she understood - if only just a little - how much Ray Blackwell, King of Spades, treasured the boundless freedom in a peaceful every day.

She still believed in them - even if she wasn't fighting with them.

"... I know," she whispers, words carried by the winds. She turns her head to face Kyle, lips easing themselves into a wry grin. "After all, they're the ones giving us so much work."

He stares at her, at the blue of eyes - before breaking into laughter and ruffling her hair.

.

.

.

Kyle, as punishment for ruining her already mussed up hair; ends up helping her gather the remaining pieces of cloths on the clothesline, folding them, and putting each piece neatly inside the large basket she brought out from the medical tent. It's only then does she discover that he can't fold a measly towel without fumbling around with it, but after some grumbling attempts he gets better - he's folding towel number five when she stops and stares at the next piece of fabric she had to take down from the line.

A pristine white glove.

Gingerly she frees the small thing from a clothespin and takes it into her hands, cradling it as if fragile: a finger traces over the surface where a tear used to be, now nowhere to be seen thanks to tiny stitches patching it shut.

Secrets, whether minor or major, can be such incriminatory things... don't you agree?

After a little more staring she raises her head and speaks, her voice a little louder for Kyle - the first person of the Red Army she exchanged a normal look with, the first person of the Red Army she had come to genuinely respect - to hear.

I want to believe in them, too.

"Say, Kyle?"

"Yeah?"

"What if I told you that," she pauses to look at him before continuing, "Idike isn't my name?"

He tears his gaze away from towel number five to find her figure amidst and across all the fluttering whites, an eyebrow raised.

"... What, it isn't?"

She smiles a bit. "It's a nickname."

"Is it, now?" he blinks. The winds continue to blow softly; playing around with the sheets, the ends of his coat, and the strands of her honey-blonde hair. 

"Let's hear it, then. Your full, real name."

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.

.

From afar, his eyes follow the movements of her lips as she articulates the syllables of her name.

Her full name, figures. Does the Black Army even know that she was going by her nickname? Why was she telling him this now? Was it common for Land of Reason folk to give out their nicknames first before their names proper after some time had passed? Or was it really her intention to keep her name a secret from the moment she fell into Cradle?

Her earnest, almost relieved expression on her face told him otherwise, though - she's watching him with clear eyes, as if waiting.

So he rolls those same syllables on his tongue, the letters coming out steady and unsure on his mouth. He says it once -

"... That's right," she nods.

- repeats it again -

"Yes?"

- tries thrice -

"... Kyle. Are you making fun of me?"

She's openly frowning at him in an instant, the solemnity gone from her expression just like that, and he can't help but snort. 

"I'll stick to Idike," he says, turning his head back to towel number five. Darned long piece of cotton. "Shorter. Less complicated. Is that why you go by your nickname instead?"

"... Admittedly, yes. It is a bit hard to say, isn't it? Even I had a hard time saying it when I was a child and most of my friends thought so, too. Now that I think about it, that's probably why it grew to be a habit of mine to introduce myself with my nickname."

"Huh. Your name isn't that bad. But y'know, since you were so serious earlier... I was starting to think that your name must be something complicated or embarrassing to the point that you'd keep it a secret."

"Hey!"

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.

.

"It's a good thing we found someone to carry that basket of yours, huh?"

"... Kyle. The clotheslines are just behind the med tent - we could've carried the basket back ourselves!"

"Carry something that heavy? You're stronger than I thought! You exercise regularly?"

"What the - no! And you're exaggerating, a basket of cloths isn't that heavy!"

"Hey, that isn't good. You should exercise regularly, or else you'll get fat."

"You're missing the point!"

Kyle chuckles, watching Idike puffing out her cheeks like a little kid not taken seriously - they're only steps away from going back inside the medical tent when a clamor reaches their ears and makes them stop where they stand, both of them instinctively looking for the source of the noise.

"Did something happen?" she mumbles. Kyle shrugs in response, but he does squint his eyes to try to see what's ahead of them: the reinforced wooden walls surrounding the garrison, red banners swaying in the breeze, soldiers moving about, and -

"... horses."

Three of them, to be exact: pretty white stallions, as prim and regal as the Red Army uniform, getting larger and clearer as they approach. Idike squints and she sees them too, a hum of awe leaving her lips.

"Where do you think they're going?"

"Nice question. They're moving pretty quick, so maybe to the commander's tent. But they can also be heading - "

The horses still spur forward, sound of hooves hitting the earth starting to reach their ears. So far not showing signs of swerving to the left, therefore not heading to the center of the camp.

There's only one more place where soldiers would hurry to in times of war.

" - towards us."

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.

.

"A good morning to you both," Edgar greets doctor and assistant oh-so-casually as he dismounts, like there weren't two unconscious men strapped to the back of his horse. The two soldiers who rode alongside him dismount as well, also revealing someone unconscious laying on their horse's back. Idike winces as she goes over to them, asking what happened with a brow creased by obvious worry.

Kyle sniffs the air and frowns - it gets deeper when he studies Edgar and his companions: parts of their uniforms, particularly their sleeves, caps, and boots were far from clean. They looked like they decided to spend some time rolling around in a fireplace. "You lot smell like smoke. Was your mission to set something on fire?"

"You wound me. I wouldn't dream of using such a brazen tactic if the great risks applied to our side as well. Sadly, the opponent didn't share the same sentiment."

"The opponent?"

Edgar smiles but says nothing more. Instead, he gets to removing the straps that held the men secure on his horse.

"These are men under our Queen that suffered from severe burns. That, combined with either a round of beatings, mauls from an axe, or arrow shots; courtesy of the Seven and Nine of Spades' units. I performed some amount of first aid with the help of magic crystals before bringing them here, and I'm sure you can handle the rest."

"Will do," Kyle watches as Idike ran up a nearby group of soldiers, presumably to get help in carrying the injured to the tent. It takes a few seconds of talking and gestures but she comes out successful, a group of able-bodies heading their way. "Still, you look pretty shabby yourself - sure that you ain't hiding a couple of burns?"

Edgar snorts - two soldiers approach him, saluting and offering to carry the unconscious to the medical tent in his stead. Nodding, he moves aside and lets them.

"I believe those words are meant for Jonah - he's the one who rushed towards a row of burning houses to save his men, I'll have you know. He also adamantly insisted that I bring them back to you - it's a good thing I decided to procure and hide away some horses beforehand."

"Heh. Cunning as ever, our Jack; as noble as ever, our Queen. Are you heading back to wherever you came from?"

"Along with reinforcements, yes. I believe Jonah has the situation under control by now, but there's much work that needs to be resolved."

"... Resolved, huh? That's a funny way to put it," Kyle shrugs, about to walk away. "Well, whatever. Just make sure to drag yourselves back here when you're done - and don't even think about skipping out on treatment, you hear me?"

.

.

.

With Kyle heading back to the medical tent Edgar stops to adjust his gloves, mismatched palettes splattered with shades of unsavory colors: earthy browns, crushed greens, murky reds, charcoal black. There was little to no trace of its pure white glory, but that was hardly anything new to him at this point.

They weren't damaged today, though. Not a single hole, tear, or rip.

Hm. Would she have noticed again if there were?

The thought escapes him just as fast as it crosses his mind, causing him to shake his head. As he told Kyle, there was still work to resolve and also things he needed to investigate; which meant he had no time to dawdle. Regaining his focus, he's about to mount himself on his horse when -

"Edgar!"

The call rings loud in his ears, echoing like the chime of a bell: there's no waver of hesitation, tremble of nervousness, or shake of anger.

It's just her and her clear voice, calling out his name.

So he turns around, smile at the ready, words planned out and ready to leave his lips once he'd see her face, but -

- it all comes to a halt when something damp touches his forehead.

His shoulders jolt slightly, surprised at the cool sensation but he doesn't pull himself away. It dawns on him that she's wiping his face with what looked like her handkerchief; the white square patterned with daffodils tracing his forehead, the curve of his cheeks, the lines of his jaw, and even the tip of his chin.

It happens all so fast and gentle, such well-practiced motions on her part.

And when she pulls away, hand holding a soiled handkerchief to her chest, she tells him:

"Be careful."

Their gazes lock together - steady and unafraid, jade meeting blue.

.

.

.

And that was the third time Alice the Second treated the Jack of Hearts.

                                        "Jonah informed me that you joined him without warning on his mission."

Ah, here we go.

Keeping his smile calm, Edgar stood still under his King's scrutiny. With the two of them only left in the commander's tent and with those eyes blue as ice highlighted eerily by the lamps, the air suddenly felt quite heavy.

"That, I did."

"Your help in subjugating the Seven and Nine of Spades' troops was greatly appreciated. But explain yourself."

Lancelot Kingsley leaned back on his chair, but by no means did his imposing tone or aura lighten.

"Do allow me to address my insubordination first - if you find it fitting to punish me immediately, then I shall gladly accept and reflect on my actions." Edgar bows low, eyes set on the ground. "On the other hand, my King, if were to explain my actions; I believe it's because I've been finding our current advantage over the Black Army rather odd."

"Odd, you say... Do you find it so surprising that we've been emerging victorious on each encounter we have with the enemy?"

"Nothing of the sort. In fact, it's the expected outcome even before the war began." Edgar raises his head with a shrug, the smile on his lips still present. "But considering the recent reports of the Chosen and the village conquest the Queen and I experienced... I can't help but think that there's a third party meddling, or, should I say... assisting our cause in the most peculiar manner."

There's a brief pause, poignant yet also brimming with the tension of a challenge. 

Edgar lets it sit very still, simmer a little further, then speaks up again.

"Or it may be a result of incredible chance," he says, adapting a lighter tone. "Whatever the case, I find it quite unsettling and insulting, as well. We certainly aren't so weak or foolish to require such aid; it's like our army's capabilities are sorely underestimated. And in addition to that... we also have Alice the Second as our trump card, do we not?"

Lancelot's eyes narrow ever so slightly.

.

.

.

There weren't much sheets today, but there were a hefty amount of towels.

Wiping her hands on her apron, she rises from her laundry spot; a quaint area by the riverbank with a patch of soft grass to sit on and with a comfortable arm's reach to the river's waters without the need to bend excessively. Stretching her arms upward, she finds herself staring up at the sky.

It's dark, but beautifully cluttered and lightened with stars. Sign of another day gone - four about to turn to five days of a war still raging.

Her arms eventually fall to her sides and she picks up her laundry basket, keeping her grip tight on the handle. Even if her nighttime laundry duties were something like her brief respite away from the medical tent, she couldn't - no, she didn't allow herself to stay out for too long.

If she did, she's not so sure that she could return calm and smiling like Kyle could always do.

If I have another outburst, I'm not so sure I can stop myself again.

So instead, she distracts herself with thoughts of work as she makes her way to the back of the medical tent and to the clotheslines: after hanging up laundry, she might as well head to the mess hall and grab some dinner for herself and Kyle, and also for the volunteers helping them out if the portions can fit in the basket. After dinner, check the condition of the critically wounded, see if they needed anything like bandages to be changed. Speaking of bandages, were there still enough of those going around in trolleys of the tent? When was the last time they restocked? She'd better ask when she gets back.

The list gets long, longer, and so on and so forth; and her feet have the urge to pick up the pace, until -

... Hm?

.

.

.

"Off with only a warning... how gracious."

If you insist looking for your... third party, then so be it. But remember where you stand, Edgar - you have your own duties to fulfill in this war. One misstep, and you might as well be at the mercy of your so-called chance.

So he's been granted permission to investigate, given that it doesn't interfere with his missions and that he proceeds with caution. The King doesn't address the idea of there being an actual third party, but the lack of confirmation or denial might as well mean that it was plausible... and that he was aware of its existence, himself.

As for Alice... her ability still serves to be of use to us, so it would do well to keep her close. She is, as you say, a trump card in this war... and it's important to keep our advantages hidden until the time is right. 

Simply put, the King was protecting her and if Edgar were to wager a guess, it wasn't in fear of the Black Army taking her back. If the King really saw her to be the advantage that she was, he still would've brought her to the front lines; but not with the freedom to continue her duties as the doctor's assistant.

For were she still the same person that she was two and a half weeks ago, Alice would've jumped at any chance of escape.

But at a drop of a hat, she changed. To army that gave her nothing but grief upon her arrival in Cradle, to the men who drew their swords at her and threatened to end her life, to those that kept her on the edge for days with their wary looks, and even to him who took her away from the Black Army by force... she chose to extend her hands to each and every one of them with a newfound purpose simply on her mind.

To help them.

To keep them alive.

It hardly made any sense, and in all honesty there little to no things that could leave him so vexed in a short amount of time.

How does she do it?

Was there truly a person in the world who was that tolerant?

How was it possible to turn obvious distrust into genuine kindness so quickly, without fear of betrayal?

.

.

.

"... Edgar?"

Ah - he's aware that just by thinking about an individual cannot summon said person like magic, but when he looks up he really sees her in the flesh, standing in front of him and holding a filled laundry basket in both hands. Her apron has added splotches on it with each new color just as equally suspicious as the older ones, honey-blonde hair still a haphazard plait now resting on her shoulder, and the new tickling smell of soap wafting from her figure presumably a result from doing laundry.

There are still bags overstaying their welcome under her eyes, but what he studies is the curious glint in them when she asks:

"... Can I help you with that?"

.

.

.

One minute ago they're enfolded by silence and a cool night's breeze, then the next she's suddenly laughing quietly to herself, features softened by a kind smile.

"Really. Are we going to keep meeting like this?"

He matches her smile, keeping his bare arm still outstretched.

"I hope not. I'd like to experience a day where I take care of you, for a change."

Idike chuckles, starting to wrap a bandage around his left forearm. To be fair, if her eyes weren't drawn to the light coming from his lantern as she was making her way back to the medical tent, they wouldn't be in this situation. But they were, and not so far away she saw the Jack of Hearts sitting cross-legged under a large tree, stripped of his long coat and the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbows. Curious, it was only when she stepped a bit closer did she realize what he was doing.

He was doing his own first aid and from the looks of it, he was already halfway done.

Now she sat beside him on the grass, helping him with the finishing touches.

"Do you really mean that?"

"Certainly. I still intend to make a good effort on becoming your friend, if you recall."

"Even if you don't trust me?"

His eyes widen for a fraction of a second. The bandage continues to wrap itself around his skin with her guidance, coiling like a snake.

Two seconds.

Three.

"... Say, Edgar? Is it alright if you listen to me for a bit?"

"... Of course."

She hums for a bit, keeping her eyes trained on the bruises on his arm, on the bandage she was trying to secure.

"When Kyle took me in as his assistant... I took up his offer for the wrong reasons. At first, I only saw working by his side as a guarantee for my safety in Red Army headquarters, and maybe my first patients understood that, too - when I began helping out in the infirmary, there were some soldiers that gave me odd looks but said nothing; then there was also this one person who refused my help outright, claiming that I'd poison him there and then."

Ah, yes - the soldier from our Eight's unit, Edgar muses, but doesn't say. The day that the Seven of Hearts declared Alice the Second as his assistant did cause quite the commotion in the barracks.

"I wasn't offended, really - I felt nervous since he was glaring at me, sure, but in the end being Kyle's assistant was my decision so I treated him anyway. I figured that all those pointed looks and that accusation was justified considering who I was to this world, and that I was with the Black Army at the start."

"... That is, until I forced you to come with me."

His comment prompts her to flash him a wry smile before continuing. The bruises are now hidden under strips of white.

"I wasn't angry or hurt, so I just took in all their suspicion. Besides, I couldn't find it in myself to turn a blind eye on someone who was injured - I may have made my decision to become Kyle's assistant for my own sake, but I wanted to help people in need... that much was genuine. I wanted to save lives."

A brief pause. When she speaks again, her voice shakes slightly.

"... So earlier this morning, when that same soldier who accused me refused my help again, and went as far as saying I'd kill him since he was already in such bad shape... something in me just... snapped."

A dry laugh escapes her - it's a heavy mix of frustration and anger and he could tell that it was still a bit raw; that those two feelings still took hold and grew root in her somewhere, not dissipating in the slightest.

So even the benevolent can feel such profound emotion.

"I... tried my best not to yell at him, even if I wanted to. I had so much, so much to say to him. About me. About the Black Army. About him being so stupid for rejecting help. About our patients in the medical tent, about how they all wanted to recover and live. About how Kyle and I and all the volunteers were giving our all every single day just to look out for everyone."

The bandage is now wrapped securely on his forearm, and she ties it nicely despite her fingers quivering.

"... I... I hardly said any of those, in the end. But when I got some time to clear my head... I wish I could've said something else from the start. Something I was reminded of... just this morning, too."

She stops moving, eyes still downcast. Her fingers still hold his wrist, her warmth mingling with his skin.

"... And what would that be?" he asks.

Idike goes quiet again, so he listens to her breathing as he waits.

A heavy inhale by the nose, a quiet sigh through her mouth.

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.

.

"You know - "

Her voice has found itself again and it has turned itself into a solemn whisper, dainty fingertips of her free hand now tracing over his bandaged forearm then to the exposed flesh of his wrist; his skin tingling at the light drag of her nails on them.

" - I can't heal you if you're dead."

She speaks the obvious, but of a topic that someone of her disposition most likely wouldn't talk about often, much less willingly mention unless -

Ah, he mouths.

.

.

.

Such was the effect of death.

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.

.

The night continued to stretch on, tainting the sky pitch black but adding it with stars, bountiful and twinkling.

"... Edgar."

"... Yes, Alice?"

"Why do you allow me to treat you?"

No actual reason - but perhaps out of personal interest.

"Because you willingly offered your aid."

That was true as well - she approached him with all her honest intentions clearly written on her face, and he accepted it.

"Even if you don't trust me?"

Ah... Is that what it looks like to you?

"You seem to be mistaken. I never claimed to be suspicious of you."

Being extremely cautious around a young woman with a revolutionary ability but with a heart of gold hardly seemed necessary.

"But - you noticed I kept my name a secret, and I thought - "

If you were thinking that I thought you to be dangerous or something similar because of that, then you've misunderstood me completely.

"I apologize if my approach to you that night felt like an interrogation. But if anything else, your reactions made it very clear to me... you had your own reasons for doing so, correct? It gave me little reason to prod further or fault you for it."

Although if she was affected this much by his parting words, then it's a sign that she's learned that secrecy wasn't to be taken so lightly in times of war - how funny that he; the Jack of Hearts, would be the one to teach her that.

She seemed to have heard enough, her fingers finally releasing his wrist to fall back on her lap. Again, he finds himself wishing that he could see her face - she had used him, in some sense, to air out the pent-up emotions she's been holding in for heavens know how long. Did her moment of catharsis make her feel any better? Was his input or presence of enough use? What change would this conversation bring about in her? Would it be for the best, or for worse?

Was there a smile or a pained expression on her features?

Really, what was going through her mind right now?

.

.

.

Slowly, he finds himself reaching out a hand to her.

.

.

.

And that was the fourth time Alice the Second treated the Jack of Hearts.

                                        "Enemy squadrons spotted ahead! The Queen and Ace of Spades appear to be at the helm!"

Their King isn't present...? Zero narrowed his eyes, focusing on the silhouettes that became clearer on the other side of the Black Bridge as they approached. True to what was announced, he could only see the ever so composed figure of Queen of Spades and the oddly colored shock of hair known only to the Ace of Spades; their mounts a few steps ahead from the group trailing behind them.

"Well now - to have their Queen out on the field... perhaps their King is out on much urgent business?"

Zero glances at Edgar - there's a smile playing on the oddball's lips as usual, but years of grudging acquaintanceship helped interpret that a little further: the man was grinning, and that meant Edgar Bright was most likely in good spirits - may mercy find the poor souls unfortunate enough to cross blades with the demon today. 

That aside, having Sirius Oswald on the front lines was unusual. Would an actual negotiation be held on this Bridge, or was the Black Army plotting something else?

The soldiers started to murmur among themselves, but then the clear cut voice of their King resonated among their ranks.

"It hardly matters if the King of Spades has business somewhere else - Red Army, I expect all of you to stand your ground. We are here for a negotiation as they requested, and if this happens to a pretense... I see no reason why we shouldn't retaliate in response: it will also serve as a good lesson for a King who seems to forget his Army's position as it stands in this war."

Zero felt a chill run up his spine. Speeches from the King, where charisma and callousness would mix, were really something else to the ears.

"May glory run crimson through our veins," Lancelot recited.

"May glory run crimson through our veins," came Zero's and the Red Army's reply, perhaps loud enough for the incoming Black Army to hear. 

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.

.

It happens in quick steps, like a practiced dance as they were to meet the Black Army halfway through the bridge:

First, it starts with Zero's horse unable to stay still for a second: he manages to calm it down, and from the corner of his eye he sees Edgar resolving the same problem as well -

Second, the winds that kept on blowing around the bridge suddenly died down, Black Army banners finally staying still on their poles: this would not be unusual if the air didn't feel so thin all of a sudden too, making breathing a little harder than it should be -

Third, the air simply isn't thin anymore: a tingling charge, prompting hair to stand on end and filling one with a sense of alertness and jitters, starts to creep in as Zero breathes and it downright makes him feel sick to his stomach with familiarity -

Fourth, everyone seems to get the feeling that something's wrong: from the right end of the bridge the King of Hearts abruptly orders his soldiers to stop, and from the left end Zero hears the Queen of Spades shouting a similar command, but -

Fifth: the pavement they are on literally starts crumbling. No one sees why it happens but it just does; starting from the center of the bridge then spreading quickly from the sides, the road breaking into cracks then growing to fissures then gaps in all directions and it just goes on; wider and larger and faster and it doesn't just stop for anyone and the cracking sounds continue to grow louder and stronger -

And in all the chaos of crumbling rocks, neighing horses, and astonished and panicked screaming; the Ace and Jack of Hearts turn around, concerns on one thought and one thought alone -

"King Lancelot!"

.

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.

.

.

"Do you recognize them?"

"Yes. This person is from Sirius' unit, while these three are under Fenrir."

Kyle lets out a sigh, staring at the four odd men out in the medical tent. No one would dare do anything to them in this place, but still -

"I still can't believe it," Idike's brow furrows as she wipes the forehead of the one she claimed to be under the Queen of Spades, "How could something as grand like the Black Bridge collapse? You don't suppose it's the work of..."

She trails off to shoot him with a knowing look, and he shrugs in response.

"Making a bridge like that collapse isn't a feat an army can even do on short notice. It's definitely a possibility."

But if they're willing to pull off something this big without a care of the aftermath, it's either this whole thing was a display of power or a warning.

Kyle lets out another sigh, shifting his gaze towards her instead: the headstrong bottomless appetite confectioner turned temporary doctor's assistant for a month, also known as Alice the Second.

His sort-of drinking buddy.

His sort-of student in the medical practice.

His assistant.

When he calls out her name - her real name - her head snaps to face him immediately, only to find him walking his way to the tent's entrance. He parts the cloth with the back of his hand, and a cool night's wind flows into the tent.

"Got a second?" Kyle asks as he looks at her over his shoulder, faint moonlight streaming down his feet. "We need to talk."

.

.

.

.

.

"Zero! Look up! There's a floating marshmallow in the sky!"

"... One more ridiculous comment out of you, and I'm seriously going to abandon your corpse in this forest."

Edgar chuckled. It's a good thing his back was leaning on Zero's own to help his body stabilize itself - riding a horse backward was turning out to be a fun experience.

"How rude, Zero. I'm in perfect health, yet you call me a corpse? As your mentor, I'm dreadfully hurt..."

"You're a corpse in a different sense of the word," Zero mutters, keeping himself focused on maneuvering his horse around the dark forest path. "And what part of you is in perfect health right now? You fell off a collapsing bridge alongside an incredible amount of rubble down a twenty-meter lake - if I didn't know better, I wouldn't have guessed that you survived. "

"How touching. But yes, despite a head injury and a number of unfortunate scrapes, I live to tell the tale: my first time utilizing the precautionary magic crystals each Red soldier is given before battle, for the sake of saving myself from an unexpected situation. It's amazing how I suddenly regained consciousness, lying face flat on some shore."

"... King Lancelot says his thanks. If we didn't react the way we did, he wouldn't had enough time to compose himself."

"Oh...? Did he use magic to resolve things?"

"... He did. He also apologizes for being unable to reach you in time."

Edgar hums, closing his eyes. He didn't mind not being rescued, but what bothered him was in the end; the Beautiful Beast still saved the day with his magic: it's not the outcome Edgar would've wanted for his King, but it's the outcome he would've expected of from his King.

Surely the man knew that his powers were linked to his lifespan but there he goes once more, ignoring all that in favor for doing a noble deed.

"Kyle is going to throw a fit once he hears that our King used magic again."

"If he can even find King Lancelot, that is." Zero says, grip tightening on the reins. "After settling the bridge incident, issuing additional orders, and assigning my unit to search for possible survivors like you; he's nowhere to be found."

"Oh dear. Did he look terrible or as stoic as ever?"

"You shouldn't use those words to describe your commander. But those who last saw him said he looked awfully pale."

Edgar didn't have anything else to say after that.

.

.

.

.

.

When he opens his eyes, he sees the sky, maybe. All black and white and hazy. Kind of like his mind at the moment.

His eyes are struggling, too. But he can still see the floating marshmallow.

It's oddly shaped though. It's circular, sort of tiny. Coin-sized. Far up and away.

Oh.

"Am I dead?" Edgar says, voice low and serious. He felt the jump of Zero's shoulders as soon as he spoke.

"... And here I thought you'd be sleeping until we made it back. So much for peace and quiet."

"Zero. Am I dead?"

"Get a grip. You're alive."

"But you called me a corpse earlier."

"What are you, suddenly five years old? I didn't mean it literally."

"Ah. So that means I can still be healed."

"Kyle and Idike will do their best once I get you to them."

"But the marshmallow must've taken her away already."

"... What nonsense are you going on about now?"

Zero waits for a reply, but it doesn't come.

.

.

.

.

.

It's Kyle who first notices Zero enter the medical tent - a casual hey followed by a query about the bridge incident is about to leave his mouth but once he sees the Ace, the first thing he blurts out instead is:

"What is that, a sack of potatoes?"

"You're insulting potatoes," Zero answers flatly - he was effortlessly carrying the unconscious Edgar on one shoulder, face not showing a single sign of strain. "Do you have an empty cot right now?"

"Yeah, take your pick - " Kyle points to several areas of the tent in rapid succession, then he squints at Edgar. "Wow. Never thought I'd really see the day. You really sure this is our Jack of Hearts and not a sack of potatoes?"

"You're the doctor, you tell me," Zero starts moving towards the nearest cot, and Kyle follows. "Not sure if it's everything, but Edgar told me he has a head injury and scrapes - he managed to survive the whole fall by using all the magic crystals he had."

"Just like some of his guys from his unit did, huh? He must've taught them well on how to use their magic crystals."

"But I doubt Edgar taught them to risk their own lives to try and save him."

"Aw, but look on the bright side," Kyle grins as Zero sets Edgar's body carefully on the cot. "There are people around willing to help out our Gentle Demon - isn't that a good thing?"

.

.

.

.

.

Too bright.

That's what his eyes are trying to say, but he opts to force them open anyway. Eyelids still heavy, all he can manage now is to make them flutter slowly - it's a start.

Strong smells of disinfectant and blood flood his nose each time he breathes, which meant that Zero successfully delivered him to the medical tent and he didn't even notice. That head injury might've been worse than he initially thought. How many hours have passed? How long had he been asleep? Was it still night or was it already midnight - or past midnight?

"... Oh? Waking up?"

Among the various voices and noises in the tent, his ears could pick out that one languid voice, just nearby.

Kyle.

"... It's due to surprise," Edgar manages to say, his throat a bit dry. "I can't seem to smell not a single whiff of alcohol on you, how tragic."

Eyes starting to regain their focus, he manages to see Kyle's face looking down at him with a lopsided grin. 

"Sheesh. Just woke up and you've already got something smart to say. Can't we get a thank you instead?"

Edgar laughs softly. "... That seems lacking though. Do you accept caramel corn as thanks?"

Kyle immediately scowls. "You and your awful food preferences. What kind of thanks is junk food, anyway?"

Before Edgar could answer with a compelling narration on the value of junk food, another voice pipes up, light and distinct.

"I'll have it if you don't want it, Kyle."

... Did he hear right?

He blinks once, twice, thrice; and there she is in the flesh, entering his line of vision: a young woman with honey-blonde hair, blue eyes, a smile on her lips.

Oh.

"Hello there, stranger," Alice the Second says.

.

.

.

.

.

With the doctor shuffling himself away to attend to another patient, Idike remains by Edgar's side. When he manages to sit up, she hands him a cup of warm water.

"How are we feeling? Does anything still hurt?"

He shakes his head, draining the cup in a few gulps before handing it back to her.

"... Today is the night of the full moon."

"I know," she replies casually, taking the cup back in her hands. "The view from here was gorgeous, too. Is the moon always that pretty, wherever you are in Cradle?"

"I've never given it much thought."

"Really? That's a shame."

She pulls up the chair next to the cot and sits, setting the empty cup on a nearby trolley. He's watching, waiting, and when she looks at him; she's smiling again.

"I didn't go back. To the Land of Reason, I mean."

"I can see that."

"Kyle tried to talk me out of it, saying that I should go back to my peaceful world. You know how he hates people foolish enough to throw away their own lives? If I went back, I told him that it would be the same as abandoning those same lives and others I might be able to save - like yours, for instance."

He blinks for a moment upon hearing her last statement.

"That's noble of you. But surely you know that means seeing this war - no matter what the outcome - to the very end."

"I can do it. I will do it. It'll be tough, but I'll push through - I have to."

Resolution makes her eyes shine, beautiful in its utmost clarity. He's drawn to the sight, semblance of a response forgotten.

"Oh! By the way, I never thanked you that night we talked."

"... You don't need to. I was merely listening to your thoughts."

"That may be true, but it helped me a lot. So... thank you, Edgar. And I'm glad you're safe."

She beams at him with a smile reminiscent of warm sunshine on skin, and he's lost in it even further when she adds:

"Welcome back."

.

.

.

.

.

"... Alice."

It slips out of his mouth even before he realizes it: she's about to leave, chair neatly set aside and feet ready to go elsewhere, but she stops to the sound of his voice calling. She peers at him curiously, and it dawns on him that he's made a mistake.

This isn't like me at all.

"... I realized that you still haven't told me something," Edgar says slowly, as if carefully listening to his own words as well.

A tilt of the head to the side, a series of blinks. "I haven't?"

He nods, then it hits him.

"Your name."

They go quiet for a few seconds. Her face is blank; he studies her with a half-serious expression. 

When she laughs, he finds himself staring again.

"I can't believe," her features soften with obvious amusement, "that you're so hung up over a nickname."

So it's a nickname. 

"Am I?" he eases his lips into the usual smile. "I've always believed that the first step to making friends is to tell them your name."

"... ike."

Whatever she said escaped her lips a little too fast and far too soft for his liking, drowned out by the din in the tent.

"Sorry, what did you say?"

Alice - Idike - laughs again, and somehow it manages to echo in his ears loudly than any other sound present in the medical tent. Smiling, she leans over to him a bit, raising a cupped hand to shield her lips from prying eyes, like a child would do when spilling out their secrets.

"My name, good sir, is..."

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30 days remained before the next full moon...

[thewincestgospel]

Someone sent me this...

Hi, do you have any recommendations for weecest fics? Long, plotty ones? Your recs are some of the best. Thank you for your service. ♡

And I was like

But then life kept happening and I had to put it to the side and I was like....

But then I finally got some time and I started composing my list but then I accidentally posted it before I was done then it wouldn't let me save it to queue so I could finish it so I had to copy it, delete it and start again. Then it wouldn’t save on my cell or tablet after two days of trying I said fuck it and just waited until I got back home (I travel for work) to do it off my laptop.

So so sorry to the Anon who sent me this request.

I hope the long list makes up for my tardiness.

Weecest Recs

All the Way by  BenLMoore   A family court orders that Sam and Dean be separated because they're too close. These people don't realize, there's no keeping the Winchesters boys apart.              

And I Have Asked to Be Where No Storms Come by candle_beck Family is the first to break your heart.

The Ballad of the Invisible Boy  by dollylux   This is a story of adolescence. This is a love letter for the slow burn, for Led Zeppelin, for the 90s. This is the first of two sets of stories about how Sam and Dean didn’t fall in love. They never had to. It was always there, this desperation between them, like a real, breathing thing. When they came together, it was inevitable. As sure as continents colliding, as the phases of the moon and the life and death of stars. This isn’t a love story, but it’s a story of love.              

Birthday  by   helena_s_renn, Helenas_bitch, orphan_account     Sam turns fifteen two weeks after Dean ended their relationship. In order to celebrate Sam's birthday, Dean decides to get him laid – with a girl.        

Crown and Anchor Me (or let me sail away) by Sena Sam Winchester is fifteen years old, at yet another new high school in yet another state, he doesn’t get along with his distant, distracted father, he’s figuring out that he likes guys just as much as he likes girls, his clothes never fit and his limbs ache at the joint ever since his growth spurt started, he has to study for the PSAT and, oh yeah, he’s a little bit in love with his brother, Dean, who’s taken a break from hunting monsters to work at a local garage for minimum wage.

Crush by BewareTheIdes15 Dean looks at him different now, Sam just can't figure out what the difference is.

Everlong by Lux Aeterna  Sam and Dean’s feelings come to a head a year before Sam leaves for college. They struggle with the implications and complications of their relationship, but no matter where they go or what they do, it’s impossible to forget.

The Good Days  by  Danceswithfiends 'His stomach jumps at these small glimpses of Dean, and he tries to push it down, but thoughts of Dean bending him over in the back seat of the car flood his brain anyway. Sam swallows heavily and looks away, trying to focus intently on the road. If this doesn’t stop soon, Sam is going to go absolutely nuts.'The sexcapades of Sam and Dean's relationship in its early days and the days that follow.    

Hard-Won Inches by BewareTheIdes Dean’s developed this thing lately where he likes to touch Sam’s mouth while he has the amulet in there, fingers tracing so gently it almost tickles, around the little pouty spot where the cord disappears between Sam’s lips. It’s kind of weird, but probably not weirder than the fact that Sam’s ten and still sucks on his brother’s necklace to go to sleep at night.

A History of Love  by lyryk (s_k) When Sam is sixteen, he’s gotten pretty good at hiding what he’s been feeling for his brother for the last couple of years. But the most dangerous thing is not Dean finding out how Sam feels—it’s what happens when their father finds out.

The Hottest Days  by WevyrDove John is away on a hunting trip when Sam experiences his first heat cycle. Dean panics and makes Sam lock himself up in his room in a desperate attempt to keep temptation at bay.

Incubus by Ithiel_Dragon, virtualpersonal   Sam and Dean are left alone in Georgia in the middle of the summer while John is away on a hunt, and unfortunately the brothers haven't been getting along lately.  Sam's moodiness, and Dean's temper (not to mention his crush on his own brother) are not helping matters.  Things get even more complicated when Dean is attacked by an Incubus.              

A Life Made of Nights by BewareTheIdes Dean’s always loved Sammy more than anything, but what happens when brotherly love turns into something more? (A timeline of Sam and Dean’s relationship, starting from the time Sam’s a baby)

Lonely Harmonies  by Linden Dean maybe gets why John insists on separate beds, these days. 

More Than A Taste By BewareTheIdes After school, Dean finds out what Sam had to say about walking in on him

Never Again by made.of.bees   Dean walks in on Sam having some alone time and decides there are better things to do than leave. Sam freaks out but makes the best of the situation. After all, it's just one time, right? As long as it doesn't become a habit or anything...

Of Hot Showers and Female Intuitions by  cyndrarae  Sam‘s journey through teenage angst and sexual experimentation leads him to an irrefutable truth… he loves his big brother more than he should.

One Love, One Bond  by  RudexAndxNotxGinger   Sam and Dean have a special relationship. And it all started when Sam hit puberty.     

The Only Thing By BewareTheIdes  Ok, look, there’s not a delicate way to say it; Sammy sucks Dean’s nipples.  

P A R A D I S E (Born to Die!Verse) This story follows the lives of two young brothers as they try to make it in a dark world. After an overdose threatens to tear them apart forever, Sam and Dean vow to never leave each other's side again and hit the open roads of the American West to live fast and free together. They fight and fuck like every day could be their last because one day it just might be.

Plausible Deniability by BewareTheIdes Dean get a little freaked out about his relationship with Sam, and a whole lot freaked out when calling it off gets Sam interested in some other guy.

Sam’s First Love by  JAYJEN11   Dean was Sam’s superhero, his protector, he taught him everything. It only made sense Sam loved him but then he thinks he fell in love with him and Dean had taught him everything else so why not this too? This is not a love story. This is real life and sometimes real life sux.

Sam Liking Boys (And Dean)  by  stuck_as_sarah Titles pretty self-explanatory, just weecest thats pretty much a pwp. 

Sammy's Rule by Sammy_Rae22   John Winchester leaves his 12 and 16 year old sons for a hunt. While he is away Sam gets closer and closer to his brother, till he has to form a rule to control himself. That rule is to NEVER look at his brother like he is some sex lord. But what happens when things start to get a little out of control?                            

Sequelae  by candlejill After annihilating the boundaries between them, Sam and Dean both struggle to accept the change in their relationship. With Dean battling his guilt and Sam counting down the days until he’s able to put hunting in his past, they attempt to salvage what is left of their brotherly bond.

Note: Sequel to Situational Machismo

Situational Machismo by  candlejill  While on a hunt, Sam and John are hit with a mysterious spell causing them to switch bodies. Sam is devastated at the repercussions that could affect his future. The Winchesters are left with the monumental task of figuring out how to change back. Dean, previously believed to be unaffected, begins to have new troubling thoughts towards his brother causing him to think that maybe he did not escape the spell untouched after all.

Note: There is no sexual relationship between Sam and Dean while Sam is in John's body.

So It Goes by  jenajasper Dean would always remember the first time               

Teen Antichrist Master List by smallcaps Crack!AU teen antichrist Sammy has horns and a tail…and a hammer!  Dean keeps his hands to himself.  Barely.

A Thousand Miles to Get There  by  alakewood   Dean's not quite sure when it happened, but somewhere along the line he and Sam started messing around – it started with chaste kisses and graduated to more physical expressions of their desire. And, at some point, he fell in love with his little brother. Now, while on a cross-country roadtrip with his family, in the deceptive privacy of their RV, Dean has to prove to Sam that going away to college isn't going to change how he feels.              

The Time Traveler’s Brother by AmyPond45 Dean’s life is turned upside down the night his mother dies. But that’s also the night a mysterious grown-up version of Dean’s brother first appears in his life. While Dean grows up, “Old Sam” is often there, especially when Dean’s father isn’t. As Dean learns what the future holds, he begins to question everything his father has taught him about who he is and what he is supposed to become. Can Dean find a way to save his little brother from his own future?

To The Edge and Over   by   paperstorm, slf630   Here’s the thing. Dean’s mostly perfect in Sam’s eyes. He’s beautiful inside and out – cocky, charming, brave, fiercely loyal, flawed and stubborn and annoying and amazing – and Sam’s so stupidly in love with him it isn’t even close to funny. And there’s no way in hell Dean can ever know.     

Two-Headed Boy  by dollylux Sam's life from sixteen to twenty-two years old. This is a story of the last days of innocence during a sweltering Southern summer when Sam is so in love with his brother, he can barely stand his touch. It's the pain between them through lies, through jealousy, through seeing each other with someone else. Theirs is a story of leaving and Stanford, of Dean feeling lost and Sam nearly losing himself without his brother. It's fire and reunion and a love never lost - ever-present and no longer deniable.

Under the Blanket by Colette_Capricious   Sam is relentless when he wants something. Dean is helpless in the face of Sam’s desires and this thing that is building between them. It can’t happen, it won’t happen. It’s wrong. But why isn’t John doing anything to stop it? Could there actually be something on this earth than John Winchester is afraid to face?  

Verses Like Yours and Mine by rivers_bend   Sam/Dean are regular brothers – no demon, no hunting, Mary’s alive – who fall in love with each other.  

[batgirl-87]

Close Encounters {In The Prefect Bath}

Summary:  Breaking curses to find her brother and save Penny’s little sister, as well as the entire school, facing off against an evil cult (are there any non-evil cults?), Prefect and Quidditch Captaincy responsibilities, and all the other side quests to help her friends – all while studying for her O.W.L.s – has got Keira quite stressed to say the least. She attempts to escape to the Prefect Bath to de-stress, unbeknownst to her that it’s already occupied. Brotherly teasing ensues.

Word Count: 4,268

Genre: Humor?

Warnings: Nudity mention (it is a bath!), Sensory Overload, Playful tormenting of Charlie

Note: I don’t believe it’s ever exactly explained how the Prefect Bathroom works (since Harry was nervous about being caught in it 4th year) and while a bathroom should clearly be locked while occupied, especially in a school (especially in a school with hormonal teens =p) it is only used by a small handful of students who maybe have a schedule or some sort of code or something to signal they’re using the bath and just respect that?

Anyway, having it locked while occupied would defeat the whole idea for this fic! So possibly not canon? But for fun (because this is supposed to be a funny story) let’s say the Prefect Bath door unlocks for anyone who knows the password regardless if someone is inside or not. Or they forgot to lock the door – that is very plausible.

I just started Year 5 so some things that occur during the year may be left out.

*Things have been edited to reflect new information in regards to Charlie’s bathing habits and more rumors going around about Charlie, Bill, and MC spending so much time in the Prefect Bath together*

Soundtrack Suggestion: *Kill Bill Sirens* 

Curse-Breaker.

Prefect.

O.W.L.s.

Quidditch Captain.

Beatrice was trapped in a painting. Penny was a mess, understandably, because of it. Charlie got swindled by a shady dealer and had his hopes shattered with an Acromantula egg. Bill was graduating. New Professor Rakepick had her constantly on edge with all her tests. The sinister threats of the cloaked cult were looming. She had to get her Marauder’s Map. She had to get Penny’s sister out of that portrait. She had to keep her friends safe and stop this cult. She had to find her brother. She also had to win the next Quidditch match or she’d never hear the end of it from Andre.

Don’t even get her started on the upcoming Ball.

The weight of everything could be crushing at times. Sometimes it could be hard to sleep or eat or even concentrate and focus on homework, in class, what her friends were saying… anything.

Sometimes everything just felt like it was too much. Everything was looming over her and time was running out. There was impending doom. There was too much to do. Too much studying, too many people counting on her, too much noise.

She wanted everything to stop. Time needed to stop. All the noise needed to stop. The hurricane of thoughts in her mind, her friends talking and laughing about whatever Billingsley had done now, Penny crying over her sister, the chatting of other students, the lecturing from Professors, the clinking of silverware and plates and glasses in the Great Hall, the shushing from Madam Pince, the scratching of quills on parchment – everything could become so amplified as they competed with one another inharmoniously, spinning and closing in around her. Seats became hard and uncomfortable, the sun was harsher, blinding, burning. Her shirt and tie were too tight and cutting off oxygen.

Sometimes she found it hard to breathe.

Everything could become inconceivably overwhelming.

~*~*~*~

Keira hurried down the hallway as she struggled to breathe, her heart pounding in her chest. This wasn’t the first time this had happened, but with each year at Hogwarts this overwhelming sensation seemed to become more frequent. Before she had become Prefect and Quidditch Captain she had responded to these sudden overwhelming moments by leaping into the Black Lake or flipping herself into the courtyard fountain – both much to the disapproval of the Professors.

Perhaps it was because of her mother’s Undine genes, but water always calmed and soothed Keira. Just being near a lake or a river brought her a sense of peace. She would take hours in the shower or bath if she could. The Slytherin Common Room was a real place of sanctuary for her. And when she felt this overwhelmed with everything going on in her life and around her, the only thing that helped her quiet everything down was submerging herself in water.

Fortunately, now she was a Prefect and Quidditch Captain which meant she had access to the large and ornate Prefect’s Bathroom. No more dunking herself into the courtyard fountain! Well, maybe just for fun and old time’s sake… But at least she could not get in trouble by the Professors for using the Prefect Bath and she could spend as long as she needed in the water.

Keira shoved past a couple students walking opposite down the hallway as she made her way to the Prefect’s Bathroom. She quickly uttered the password before barging into the massive, luxurious bathroom. In one fluid motion she slipped her bag off her shoulder and tossed it aside, along with her wand and uniform cardigan, and kicked off her shoes before plunging into the large pool-like bathtub.

Instant relief struck her as soon as she felt the warm water against her skin. The deeper she sank the calmer she felt. The cacophony of noises dulled to a silence. Her frenzied thoughts dissipated and her mind was clear.

She finally felt at peace.

She floated in the still water, relaxing as it cradled her. However, after a moment of gaining some serenity, she was able to think more clearly.

Why was the bath already filled up? She just leapt into an already full bath without touching any faucets or casting any spell… Now that she thought about it she was pretty sure there were bubbles floating on top of the water before she dove in.

Oh no…

Keira slowly swam back to the surface and peeked over the water’s surface, her eyes meeting the surprised and quizzical blue ones of a familiar Gryffindor.

“…Hey…”

Keira poked the rest of her head out of the water to reply just as awkwardly.

“Uh…hey…”

Keira treaded water as she and the eldest Weasley continued to stare at each other, possibly both processing the current situation.

“…You okay,” Bill finally asked in his usual older brother tone.

“Yeah,” Keira replied with a nod of her head.

“Are you sure? Because you just stormed in here and tried to drown yourself,” Bill pointed out.

“I wasn’t trying to drown myself,” Keira informed him matter-of-factly.

“You were down there for like five minutes. I almost went and got you. Thought I’d have to give you CPR.”

“It was not five minutes,” Keira replied, rolling her eyes.

“Slight exaggeration,” Bill said with a shrug.

Thank Merlin the person she intruded upon taking a bath was the ever chill – except when it came to his N.E.W.T.s – Bill Weasley. Anyone else and this would be a very awkward and uncomfortable situation very fast. Bill, however, remained casually lounged against the side of the bath, his arms propped up on the edge of the pool-like tub.

“Well I’m fine now. Thank you for your concern,” Keira told him, keeping her informative tone.

“Is this like when you jumped into the fountain,” Bill asked curiously, a teasing smirk playing on his lips.

Keira’s expression, however, was not amused. “I- that was- I don’t-… Yeah, I guess it is,” she finally relented.

Bill’s smirk only grew at her stammering defense which ended up failing. “I’m going to miss watching you fling yourself into the fountain,” he admitted. “Maybe I should talk to Dumbledore about taking away your Prefect privilege of this bathroom so you have to go back to that.”

“Shut up!” Keira playfully glared at him as she splashed some water at the Head Boy. Amazingly, they somehow forgot they were currently in a bathroom, one of them naked in a bath, and proceeded to have a casual chat as they would anywhere else. All thanks to Bill’s natural chill personality. Also thanks to Bill’s natural big brother personality, Keira was in a much better mood than she was earlier.

Bill chuckled as he blocked water from going into his eyes with one arm as he turned his head. “What? It’s very amusing,” he informed her.

Keira rolled her eyes and shook her head slightly before looking away as if avoiding eye contact would hide the smile creeping onto her face from him.

“So, feeling overwhelming stressed again,” Bill asked causing Keira to look back over at him. Somehow seeing his bare torso didn’t alert her to the fact that he was naked in the bath right now.

“Guess you could say that,” Keira muttered, hating to admit it to anyone. She didn’t want anyone to know how much she struggled with everything she had to deal with. “But I’m feeling much better now,” she assured quickly.

“Well a nice hot bath will do wonders,” Bill agreed.

“Is that what you’re doing? Trying to relax from stressing out about your N.E.W.T.s?” Despite them both acknowledging that fact he was taking a bath right now, that bit of information didn’t deter their casual vibe.

This was a perfect example of their relationship. They were very close and comfortable with each other. Maybe too comfortable…

“Yeah… I just really need to do well on them. I don’t want to ruin my chances at becoming a Curse-Breaker.”

Keira couldn’t help but scoff. “Please, Will, you’re going to become a Curse-Breaker. You’re smart, and brave, and you have Rakepick helping you. You’ll be fine.”

Bill stared at the Slytherin girl a moment, his expression unreadable, before a small smile formed on his face. “Thanks… You know, I’m usually the one who gives the encouraging pep talk.”

“I know, you’re the surrogate big brother. You’re there for everyone. But someone has to be there for you, too.”

“And that someone is you,” Bill asked with a small teasing smirk but his eyes shone with appreciation.

“Yes, it is,” Keira answered confidently with a nod of her head. Bill smiled gratefully at her.

“The bloody hell is this?!”

Keira and Bill quickly looked over as the cry of shock and betrayal echoed throughout the bathroom.

Charlie stood next to the pool-like bath starring at the scene before him in horror.

“Hey, Char-“ Bill began to greet before his brother cut him off with quite the piercing glare, uncharacteristic of the normally sweet Weasley.

“Don’t ‘hey Charlie’ me all casual because you’re just “so cool.” The bloody hell is going on here,” he demanded at his brother, motioning to his older brother and the Slytherin girl currently sharing a bath together. The same girl that a few months ago he realized he had feelings for, with the help of his older brother so Bill knew how he felt! How could his brother do this to him?!

Despite his younger brother currently glaring daggers at him, Bill remained ever calm and unfazed. “Just enjoying a nice hot bath. It’s quite relaxing. You should join us,” he offered, fighting back a smirk. As an older brother it was his job to torment his younger siblings, right?

“Wha- Join you?! You-You-You’re naked,” Charlie pointed out, practically in a shriek.

For some reason, when Charlie said, or rather shouted, it, it finally clicked for Keira. “You’re naked?”

Bill turned back to look at her before shrugging. “I’m in the bath.”

Welp, that made sense…

The fact that neither of them seemed to care at all that they were having a bath together while Bill was naked drove Charlie absolutely mad.

“You just – You’re just sitting in the bath together, naked, grinning at each other –“

“We’re not both naked,” Bill pointed out, interrupting Charlie’s angry ranting, causing Charlie to pause only to glare more intensely at his brother. Do not try him, William!

Keira, meanwhile, glanced down at her now soaking wet clothes. Whoops… Well that was true. Clearly it was a good thing she didn’t completely strip down before leaping into the water or else this whole situation would be a lot different.

“And there are bubbles,” Bill continued, ignoring his brother’s glaring. Possibly enjoying provoking his brother and getting him all hot and bothered. It was rare to see the two eldest Weasley’s angry and riled up and as the oldest brother Bill may get some pleasure from torturing his younger siblings.

“Speaking of which, you may want to move those ones over a bit,” Keira spoke up, motioning to a mound of bubbles floating in front of Bill.

“Oh, thanks,” Bill said, reaching over to gently move the bubbles per her instructions as Charlie let out a frustrated groan. A small smirk spread across both Bill and Keira’s faces as they fought back laughter. “And I know what you’re going to say next,” he started before Charlie could start up again. “Keira’s wearing a white shirt that’s now sopping wet so she might as well be naked but I can assure you I have maintained eye contact this entire time! I’m a gentleman.” Don’t make him out as some creep! Their mum raised them right!

“Hey,” Keira cried out, offended as if somehow this was her fault! Okay, maybe it was… not the point!

Charlie let out another cry of agony.

He swore he saw them share a look – a knowing look with a sly smirk – as if they were both in on it, both messing with him. Which they were. But that just made it worse. They were close. All they had to do was share a look and they seemed to know what the other was thinking. They worked well together even when it was just messing with others like him. They had each other’s backs, supported each other.

They were partners.

“Well I better get out before I get all pruney,” Bill said as he began to lift himself out of the water.

“NO!” Charlie’s shout echoed throughout the bathroom causing Bill to freeze. “You just stay right where you are!”

Bill tried to fight a smirk as he sunk back into the water, watching his younger brother on the verge of pulling his hair out. “Seriously, Charlie, you should get in here. You’re clearly in need of a relaxing soak.” His older brother’s fake concern only caused Charlie to glare harsher at him.

“Okay, okay,” Keira started in a calm voice, trying to ease the stressed out Gryffindor Seeker. “I’m going to get out.” As she made her way over to the edge of the tub Charlie, being a chivalrous gentleman as well since, again, their mum raised them right, grabbed a towel and held it open for her, keeping his eyes firmly on his brother. When Keira assured him he didn’t have to avert his gaze since she wasn’t the naked one there, Charlie replied that he was just making sure his brother didn’t look at her since he claimed to be such the gentleman himself. Bill just smirked at his brother.

Keira hoisted herself out of the tub and stepped into the towel Charlie held out for her. He helped her wrap the towel around her, his gaze softening.

“Why don’t you yell at her? She’s the one who intruded on my bath,” Bill pointed out. “Probably just wanted to see me naked,” he added with a smirk, causing his brother to throw him a disgusted look.

“Please, if I wanted to see you naked I wouldn’t have to surprise you in the bath. I’m always surprised when you do wear clothes,” Keira retorted.

“When you have the body of an Adonis it’s a sin to have it covered up all the time,” Bill informed them before looking offended as Charlie scoffed and rolled his eyes. “You’re just jealous,” Bill claimed before moving once again to hoist himself out of the pool-like bath.

“I said stay right there,” Charlie commanded again, and once again causing his older brother to pause before sinking back into the water.

“Are you using your Prefect voice on me?”

“It’s more like his Quidditch Captain voice,” Keira corrected, throwing Charlie a small smirk. Bill watched his younger brother smile sheepishly and smirked himself as he watched a tinge of pink spread across the Seeker’s face.

And as a true older brother, Bill of course had to continue his teasing. “I had no idea you had such a problem with nudity. Must make changing in the Quidditch changing room very awkward for you.”

“I don’t have a problem with it, I have a problem with yours,” Charlie informed him.

“Oh, because I make you feel insecure about your body?”

“You do not make me feel insecure,” Charlie assured with a mocking chuckle.

“It’s okay, completely understandable. Must be hard for you and Percy and the Twins and Ron when your older brother is the best looking in the family,” Bill continued.

“You spend all your time worrying about your hair. I play Quidditch –“

“Oh, so you think you’re more fit than me?”

“I don’t think it, I’m saying it.”

“Oh yeah? Prove it,” Bill challenged with a smirk, his little brother falling into his trap easily.

“Wha-what,” Charlie stammered, clearing his throat, clearly caught off guard by his older brother’s dare.

“You heard me, prove it,” Bill repeated, his devilish smirk growing as he watched his brother with a mischief glint in his eyes. Charlie shifted uneasily as he glanced at the Slytherin girl next to him. Keira had kept herself busy while the two brothers bickered, removing her soaking wet socks before slipping her shoes back on as she enjoyed the brother’s taunting – it reminded her of her and her own brother so it brought her some sort of comfort. And while she remained oblivious to Charlie’s nervous glance, Bill noticed it and it just fueled his mischievous older brother nature. “Oh… I see… You don’t want Keira to see you naked.”

Charlie’s eyes widened as he felt heat rising to his face – he wasn’t sure if it was from embarrassment of anger – before he narrowed his eyes at his brother. Why must he torture him so? Wasn’t it bad enough he had to walk in to find them together in the bath?!

Keira’s head popped up as well when she heard her name, glancing between the two brothers curiously.

“I – I don’t – she doesn’t – I…I…” Charlie had no idea how to respond, stammering unintelligibly. He was so angry at his brother right now putting him in this awkward situation he couldn’t even form coherent sentences! He was going to kill Bill! *insert Kill Bill sirens here*

“You don’t want her to compare your body to mine. Makes sense, seeing how –“

“Stop calling yourself an Adonis,” Charlie shouted in annoyance.

“You’re the one who said you’re more fit than I am. So, let’s see it,” Bill challenged again. “You don’t have to get completely naked, since you clearly have a problem with nudity.”

“I don’t –“

“Knew it. This is why you bathe with your clothes on –“

“It’s a co-ed bathroom with people barging in all the time,” Charlie argued.

“So…like at home,” Bill reasoned.

Charlie huffed and threw the Slytherin another nervous glance. Oh what she must think of him now…

“Do you sing in the bathroom here like you do at home,” Bill asked his brother curiously. Charlie could feel his face growing warmer.

“You sing? I didn’t know you sang!” Keira appeared very excited about this new information.

“Well I uh…” Charlie started sheepishly before Bill answered for him.

“I guess you could call it singing… I wouldn’t but…” Bill teased with a shrug.

“Sing better than you,” Charlie retorted at his brother.

“Fine, you sing better. I look better,” Bill replied with a small smirk.

“You do not look better,” Charlie sighed, rolling his eyes. It had been a lifetime of this, he swore.  

“Then why do you not want to be naked in front of other people,” Bill continued. “Again, that must make it awkward changing for Quidditch –“

“I don’t have a problem dressing in the Quidditch changing room,” Charlie sighed exasperatedly. How long would this conversation go on?

“So you just have a problem being naked in front of women then,” Bill suggested with a smirk, motioning to Keira, causing Charlie’s face to once again heat up – and once again he wasn’t sure if it was from embarrassment or anger.

Charlie nervously glanced at the Slytherin out of the corner of his eye as she peered up at him curiously, his towel still draped over her shoulders. “I uh… I… I don’t want to make Ady uncomfortable so…”

“I’m not uncomfortable,” Keira assured promptly. Bill motioned to the girl as he watched his brother with a cheeky grin. See! She wasn’t uncomfortable! “If it makes you feel more comfortable I can take off my clothes,” Keira offered, reaching up to unbutton her top.

“NO!” Charlie’s hands quickly shot up to catch hers before she could even undo one button – those Seeker skills gave him some fast reflexes. Keira froze and glanced at their hands briefly before looking up at him. A rosiness spread across his cheeks once again as her eyes met his. “No. You don’t have to do that,” he told her, much more calmly this time. He could hear his brother snickering and if she wasn’t there he would leap into that bath and pummel his brother to a bloody pulp.

And he knew she was teasing him just like his brother was but he could never be mad at her for it. He knew she enjoyed teasing her friends and messing with them was her weird way of showing affection. And if his brother wasn’t there he would tease her right back. Of course, when they got into their playful banter around others, particularly Bill, they just got informed it was flirting and supposed sexual tension. Which, after his recent revelation of his feelings, maybe it was?

“Charlie, you’re never going to get a girlfriend if you panic over even the slightest bit of flesh showing,” Bill informed him. Normally Bill never teased Charlie over his relationship status and dating, well aware Charlie had much less interest in dating than the rest of his siblings which they all seemed to understand and accept; however, with Charlie’s newly found awareness of his feelings towards their female Slytherin friend, Bill had begun to, obviously, tease his little brother about it because that’s what older brothers were for.

“I’m being respectful,” Charlie hissed at his brother.

“She’s the one who offered! And she said she wasn’t uncomfortable,” Bill pointed out. Charlie made a frustrated noise that almost sounded like a growl before turning to argue back at his brother.

As the two brothers resumed their bickering, Keira watched them, quite amused, as she gathered up her things. She used Charlie’s towel to squeeze out some water from her hair before folding it back up and slinging her bag over her shoulder.

“Stop trying to turn this back on me when you’re the one who was taking a bath with Keira!”

“It wasn’t like we planned it. And honestly everything was fine until you barged I here ranting and raving like you’re off your trolley.”

“Oh really? How do you think mum would react if I told her what I walked in to see here today,” Charlie challenged Bill with a smug smirk.

“I think she’ll forget all about it and shift her focus onto you when I tell her you’re insecure with your body,” Bill replied.

“I’m not insecure –“

“I know mum, it’s really sad. He can’t even bathe naked. I think he’s going to need all the reassurance and unconditional love from his mum to help him gain some confidence. He keeps comparing himself to me and that’s just not fair –“

“Oh, bugger off!”

“She’ll be too busy stroking your freshly cut hair and telling you how you’re her handsome boy to care about who I’m taking a bath with,” Bill informed him with a smirk.

“Now it just sounds like you’re jealous that mum loves me more,” Charlie retaliated with a smirk.

“Yeah, let’s see how smug you are when mum’s the one joining you in the bath.”

Charlie looked horrified for a moment before quickly sputtering out an angry retort. “I play Quidditch, what the hell do you do all day besides brush your hair a thousand times?! You don’t do anything to stay in shape!”

“I know, it’s all natural. It’s a gift,” Bill replied in fake humility. Charlie groaned out in frustration. How did nothing faze this guy?! It was so frustrating to argue with someone who never got upset.

“Oh shut up you two,” Keira suddenly interrupted, walking over to hand Charlie his towel back. “We all know I’m more fit than both of you.” She thanked Charlie for lending her his towel and apologized for the dampness which he of course assured her was no problem. “And don’t let Will’s delusions of grandeur get to you. You have nothing to be insecure about,” she assured Charlie.

“What delusion? It’s just fact,” Bill replied with a shrug. However, Charlie didn’t hear his brother, fortunately, too heartened by Keira’s words – much better hearing them from her instead of his mum. Instead of hearing his brother’s unrelenting confidence, all he heard was that Keira thought he was fit. Not Bill. Him.

“Don’t drown each other,” Keira instructed as she turned to leave the Prefect’s Bathroom, much calmer than how she entered.

“So I’ll see you Friday for our next bath,” Bill called to her.

“Eight o’clock, sharp,” Keira called back over her shoulder.

“May I suggest wearing less clothing,” Bill started, Keira well aware he was only saying that to torture Charlie more because he normally would never say anything like that to her. And if there was more to that statement she would never know. As she opened the door to leave the Prefect’s Bathroom, Keira heard a loud yell and a large splash behind her as, she assumed, Charlie, finally unable to take it any longer, leapt at his older brother in the bath where, again she assumed, a brotherly brawl commenced. Instead of being a witness to either, or both, of them meeting their watery grave, Keira closed the bathroom door behind her and headed innocently and casually down the hallway.

As she made her way down the hall, away from the Prefect’s Bath, the trail of water she left behind her caused by her soaking wet clothes earned her some very strange looks but she paid them no mind. This story spreading throughout Hogwarts was hardly anything to be concerned about when the Hogwarts’ rumour mill finds out that she, Bill, and Charlie were once again in the Prefect’s Bath together, this time emerging sopping wet. If there were speculations about the three of them going into the Forbidden Forest and Prefect’s Bathroom before, this moment should really stir up some interesting, scandalous gossip.

~*~*~*~*~

A/N: Just a funny idea I had that I quickly typed up (then had to go back and edit some things with newly learned information in regards to Charlie’s bathing habits and that JamCity is aware we all determined that Hogwarts had to be swirling with rumours of the three of them always doing things togethers =p Hope it flows well with the additions). 

Did I have fun torturing Charlie? Yeah, a bit... I love the Weasley family and the relationship between siblings and I love writing these sibling dynamics. And while this was a dumb little idea I had purely for fun and humour, besides the brotherly dynamics, I love demonstrating the relationship between my MC and Bill more. So chill, so accepting, so close, great partners who work together - Keira has probably seen him naked more times than she can count in their like at school and in Egypt and she is completely unfazed by it. 

So hope you enjoyed, hope you laughed. Don’t feel bad if you snickered at poor Charlie being tormented =p Thank you for reading! Feel free to reblog and comment! I love hearing from you guys =)

My Hogwarts Mystery Masterlist

Tag List: @sly-vixen-up2nogood @arnyan @sungoddessra @cinnamoncam @bexeris @urban-eagle @tatlikar @thatbritishcanadiangirl 

(Think that is all? Let me know if you’d like to be added or removed from the tag list or if I accidentally forgot you - sorry. It’s been awhile since I’ve posted a fic... because I have a lot of WIPs but I finally finished one woo!)

[occasionalfics]

into you // p. 14

main masterlist | steve masterlist | taglist | ko-fi | playlist | ao3 | p. 13 | p. 15

Summary: Just as Steve begins to wonder why he’s been sent on a mission well below his pay grade, a mysterious, unscented woman steps in and does his job for him. He’s immediately drawn into her allure, and he needs to know who she is, why she’s on a mission to take out some of the city’s most powerful alphas, and why he can’t get her off his mind.

A/N: I feel like there’s a pattern of villains in my fics just kind of making threats and not actually causing harm and like maybe I’m just too soft for that? Does anyone mind?

Also I 100% forgot to post this yesterday? Maybe that means you’ll get ch 15 sooner than you expected? We’ll see. But we’re almost done so...just bear with me, even though I keep breaking your hearts!

Warnings: Violence, blood (a little bit), reader’s in terrible shape and Steve is ALL OVER the place with his self-loathing. So that’s cool.

Word: 3,878

“Man, you have got to stop this fascination you have with Nazi prisoners,” Tony says as they board the quinjet. Steve knows it’s a misguided joke, just like most of his “jokes” about Bucky, but something about it really sticks at Steve.

All he does is glare and move to the far back corner of the jet.

It doesn’t help that his distress call from the night before bore no fruit. He was right in that he only got a few hours of sleep before the team was ready to head out, but the fact that he woke up with nothing useful form (Y/N) only soured his mood.

He’s not mad at her. He can’t blame her at all. He is genuinely infuriated with himself, might never come back from that, knows how dramatic he’s being and doesn’t give a flying fuck.

As Sam takes a seat next to him, he circles back to wondering what the hell Ophelia could want. If she’s not with Hydra anymore, then she’s running this illegal operation of hitmen herself, for her own reasons. He doesn’t want to know what those reasons are, but he knows he needs to find out.

If he’s ever going to feel like a competent alpha again, if he’s ever going to feel confident in his protection of (Y/N), he has to know what he’s going up against, how he can take it down.

--

Viper’s got herself quite a nice office building. Steve can’t fathom how she gets actual murder business done in a pristine, glass-covered, asymmetric building like this. But he doesn’t really care; he climbs the stairs two at a time, listening to Sam’s whisper-screams in his comm because he’s going too fast.

If he goes in without any backup, he could die. He may as well have come alone.

So Steve slows, despite every alpha instinct in him telling him to get in there - wherever there is - and save (Y/N).

He hits the sixth floor before he picks up on her scent. Not her smell. Her scent. Ocean and jasmine, mixed in perfect harmony, pulling him along up another flight and another, getting stronger the higher up he goes. He’s sure everyone else picks up on the scent too, but he’s the only one that really knows its her.

Even though she’d spent more than a week in the tower with no suppressants in her system, none of them know it’s her. Tony’s craftsmanship made sure that no lingering scents could follow anyone they weren’t meant to follow. Every apartment has its own air conditioning and filtration system on top of a soundproof setting, because the last thing the tower needs is one heat setting off every heat.

So Steve pushes his finger into his ear and says, loudly, “She’s here. Probably eleventh or twelfth floor.”

His teammates caution him to go slowly, proceed with caution, wait for one of them god damn it! But he doesn’t. Can’t actually hear them through the single-minded haze in his brain. All he can see is the hurt look on (Y/N)’s face when he told her to get out of his apartment, the cut over her eyebrow from the night before. All he can hear is the frantic speeding of her heart as she looks him in the eye and cowers, because he’d never used his power as an alpha over her before that.

He continues to ignore the team as he steps up onto the twelfth floor landing, where the scent is strongest, and knows just how much he hates himself. Not because of some romantic idea that he’s hurt the woman he loves and can somehow make it better, but that he’s hurt her for no reason at all. And that she’s in danger because he hurt her, because she had nowhere else to go but right into the arms of the Viper.

Viper, who smells of lemongrass and eucalyptus, who stinks up the whole floor to the point that Steve has to fight his own brain to focus on seaspray and jasmine.

He takes a deep breathe, kicks in the door to the twelfth floor, and marches into an empty hallway. Steve pauses, listening closely down both ends of the corridor, but there is nothing. He pulls the comm out of his ear, lets it hang around his neck, and focuses.

Very faintly, if he closes his eyes, there’s a small thumping somewhere. It’s slow and steady, and it turns his blood cold. It’s too slow.

Above it, the only sound is a second heartbeat, stronger and more sinister in its pattern. He hates how overpowering she is, how clearly she displays her alpha traits. He hates it most of all because all he wants is to find (Y/N), to save her - he doesn’t care what the fuck happens to Viper.

That’s new. He’s always been focused on taking out the threat, not ignoring it.

“Jesus, Rogers,” Sam whispers, breath heavy as he steps over the remnants of the doorway behind Steve. “Could you listen to us maybe just this once?”

Steve hushes Sam, giving him a strict glare, then reminds himself that he’s not angry with Sam. He forces his face to relax and gestures for Sam to follow him as he heads down the hallway to his right. He puts the comm back in his ear, presses in, and tells Tony and Nat, “When you get up here, go left.”

Sam follows him, neither saying anything while Steve tries to listen for that slow, steady heartbeat. It doesn’t seem to get fainter, nor does it get stronger. He wonders if the floor is set up in a circle, if the hallway he’s going down will only lead him back to the stairwell without him having to turn around.

But then, after a few minutes of slow, careful surveillance, the scents pick up. Sam notices them too, shivering behind Steve for a reason he won’t ask about until they’re out of this building. Steve only turns back to him to motion that he’ll go first, as if he hasn’t been doing so already.

He follows the scents as it brings him and Sam down a separate hallway, in another direction. He hears Sam two-fold tell the others where they’ve gone, then Tony responding with, “Yeah, I’ve got a heat signature on the both of you. Now stop talking and find the girl!”

Steve can almost feel Sam roll his eyes.

He listens to Tony without any quips back, surprisingly. He should’ve known Tony’s keeping an eye on anyone ahead of him - if there’s one thing Steve can give credit to Tony for, it’s that he’s always tried to make sure the team stayed alive.

Steve slows as he and Sam follow the curve of this hallway. Gets up on his tiptoes and creeps, because the heartbeat is louder now. Still slow, still faint in its repetition, but clearer in its closeness. And the scents are overwhelming - Steve has to force himself to shut his nose and follow the heartbeat so that he won’t fall victim to his own instincts.

They turn once more at the end of the hallway and face a glass-walled office.

And there she is. There they both are.

Viper is at the head of a long conference table, facing the other end of the table. She swivels in her chair, but never looks out to Steve and Sam. Her heels are so sharp, Steve wonders how she’s able to walk on them, even though she’s still sitting.

(Y/N) faces the hallway, her head hanging over the table. She’s tied to her seat with rope - thick rounds of it hold her in place as she notices Steve for the first time. She looks up, eyes wide and bloodshot; her skin is sallow and covered in a sweaty sheen. The cut over her eyebrow has scabbed over, but it still unsettles him. He sees her lips form his name through the glass, hears her heartbeat speed up.

He’s in the room before he can think twice about it. Viper laughs a low, obnoxious chuckle, but it doesn’t draw his attention. Steve takes a step toward (Y/N) as if he’s going to walk out of the office with her without causing trouble, as if Viper...Ophelia isn’t there at all.

“Oh, I wouldn’t touch her if I were you,” she calls in a heavy Slavic accent.

Despite his nature, despite his desperate need to touch (Y/N), he listens. Because the last thing he wants is to put her in any more danger.

“Why’s that, Greeny?” Sam asks. Steve’s grateful he has someone there to speak for him when his brain is shouting to get (Y/N) out, get her to safety, apologize and beg for her forgiveness until she deems him worthy of it.

He glances at Viper out of the corner of his vision and realizes her suit is green. And shiny, like scales.

Like a Viper.

“A depraved little omega, in the hands of an enhanced, hyper-masculine alpha?” She sits forward in her seat, elbows on the table as she puts her chin on her knuckles. “You’ll only do her more harm than good.”

Steve is far enough away that, normally, he shouldn’t be able to hear (Y/N)’s breathing. Especially if he’s not focusing on it.

But he can. Everything about her is labored, fighting to stay awake and alive and in control of herself. He doesn’t have to look back at Viper to know that depraved means off her suppressants, and that without a heat to fall into, she really is going through withdrawals. And if Dr. Helen Cho had been concerned with the dose (Y/N) was on…

A shudder runs through him, then through (Y/N), like she can feel what’s happening inside his body. Maybe she can. He growls at the thought.

“What do you want?” he asks, feeling pathetic even as he says it. Even with as much alpha power as he can put behind the words, his command does nothing to her.

Sometimes he’s noticed that other alphas cower at the sight of him because he’s Captain America, not because he’s an alpha. This is one of those times, only instead of cowering, Viper shakes her head in defiance.

She stands from the table, walks over to (Y/N) and runs a single finger across her arched shoulders. Steve growls, low and deep in his chest, his body refusing to give up the fight, refusing to back down.

“I thought it was quite clear, Captain,” she says, coming closer to Steve and Sam, the latter of whom has backed toward the door.

Steve wonders where the hell Nat and Tony are. They couldn’t have been that far behind him and Sam.

But he can see in Viper’s eyes - her vertically slit pupils, again, like a Viper - a sprig of mischief.

“I want you.” She dares to reach a manicured hands - green fingernails - out to Steve’s face, but he’s fast. He catches her palm, twists her arm, and holds her against him, his chest to her back. She laughs as if she’s expected this. “You’re so predictable,” she roars, not even bothering to fight back.

He lets out another growl, this one so powerful that (Y/N) whimpers at the table. The sound cuts off in Steve’s throat, and when he looks at her, she casts her eyes as far from him as she can get.

She’s scared of him, he knows. And it breaks him just a little.

“You lured me here just to torture me?” he asks Viper, tightening his grip on her arm.

“Oh, no,” she says, fake-innocence on her tongue. “I lured you here to kill you, Steven Rogers.” She wiggles in his grasp just to rub it in.

His blood boils under his skin, burning as anger fills him. If Viper’s not careful, he’ll do something he regrets.

It occurs to him that maybe that’s what she expects.

Something sharp bites into the skin of his wrist - just the little bit between his sleeve and his glove, just where Viper can reach. The sting is enough to let out the steam from his skin, loosen his grip on her, and bring him to his knees. It takes over his entire system, far too quickly for his liking. He bends in on himself, maybe yelling out in pain, maybe doing nothing but shutting his eyes, gripping his wrist with the opposite hand, and holding both to his stomach.

There isn’t much blood. The second he forces his eyes open, Steve can see little drops, but no gushing. She hasn’t hit a vein or anything - so, he wonders, why does it hurt so fucking much?! He has no idea what’s happening around him. His ears are ringing and his mind is racing and his whole body is inflamed in pain and heat, but he still manages to pull his arm out to examine his wrist.

She’s barely scratched his skin, but the mark is red and irritated already. A little line of blood drips onto the floor below him, but it’s slowing, the wound healing itself already. Not closing, just clotting.

A scream that shatters all the thoughts and feelings in him stills the room. He takes in a deep breath and looks up to see Viper, across the room with (Y/N)’s hair in one hand, the other wrapped around the chair and her torso. She’s brought the whole thing over with her to the window, has the chair tipped back toward the glass, and that same easy, teasing smile on her face.

“Tell your flightless friend to put his weapon down, Captain,” she says. “Or your little omega meets the concrete, twelve stories away.”

He winces as he sits up enough to look at Sam over his shoulder. He’s got a glock pointed at the women, and it takes everything in Steve to nod, a Do as she says, please gesture that he knows Sam won’t miss. Knows doubly that Sam won’t like it, either.

Slowly, hesitantly, Sam puts the gun down but not away. Just at his side. Just in case.

Just as slowly, Steve forces himself up onto his knees. He uses the edge of the conference table to push up, nearly turning the table over before he gives up on it. Sam catches him - barely - and helps him onto his feet, though he can’t force himself to stand any further than hunching forward.

Viper puts the chair down on all four legs, but she doesn’t let go. (Y/N)’s heart is beating so fast, Steve can almost feel her pulse vibrating out of his wrist. Or maybe that’s just his own pulse, his own body dealing with whatever infection Viper’s passed to him.

“They don’t call me Viper for nothing,” she says, almost too conveniently.

Steve doesn’t bother taking note. He steps forward, falters, and grunts out, “Let. Her. Go.”

Viper pops her lips, hums as if she’s considering the command, then shrugs. “I don’t think so.” Her hand leaves (Y/N)’s hair, grips her chin tightly, and forces the omega to look at Steve. “I’d rather let her watch you die.”

“Now what’s the use in that?” Sam asks, sarcasm lining his every word.

“There isn’t one,” Viper responds. “And there doesn’t need to be.” She repositions her hand on (Y/N)’s chin, forcing her to look at Viper now. “Poor little Reaper. A bringer of death, still unable to stop it.”

Steve is almost proud of the glare Viper gets. He thinks If looks could kill, this mission would be so much easier.

“On the other hand,” the green woman cuts in, “won’t it be so sweet watching the man who broke your heart and left you vulnerable to me die? Call it poetic justice, my girl.” She presses the pad of her pointer finger to (Y/N)’s nose like she’s speaking to a doll or a dog, and Steve struggles in Sam’s grip before his body is ripped apart by more pain.

“Cool. So we’re doing this the hard way,” Sam mutters. Steve thinks he’s the only one that’s heard.

He takes a deep breath and tries to steady himself. Stands a little taller, pushes Sam’s arms from his shoulders. He feels his nose flaring as he asks, “What is it that I’ve done that makes you want me dead, Ophelia?”

That gets her attention. Her head turns sharply to him, and she grits her teeth. “I think you know, Captain. You’d have to be more daft than I’d given you credit for not to.” Her arms fall from (Y/N) entirely, and she takes one daring step toward Steve. “I was Hydra’s best. I did my work, groveled and fought and bartered my way for years. And when I reached the top, they gave me the Asset.”

He quickly realizes, through context clues alone, that she means Bucky. And his body flares with pain again, but this time, he holds it in, keeps his breath in too.

“And at every turn, whether from the inside or out, there was one thing standing in my way of doing my job the way it was meant to be done. Any guesses?”

Me he thinks. Steve knows he was Bucky’s link to escaping Hydra. They’ve had long conversations about their meeting on the bridge in D.C. before.

“When the Winter Soldier escaped, I was sent to find him. To bring him back, wipe him, and put him back on ice. To bring him back to the life he was always meant for.”

Steve’s one good fist clenches at his side. He has a thing about hitting women, but this one is so fucking close, running her mouth about Bucky that way.

“When I returned empty handed, Hydra shut me out-”

“Hydra was gone after he left.” It takes Steve a second to realize Sam’s spoken up, not himself, and that Sam has moved to his opposite side, as if he’s making a circle around the room.

Viper shakes her head, chuckling maniacally, never looking from Steve. “Hydra survived the Allies winning the war. Hydra survived Korea, Vietnam, Afghanistan, and 9/11. Hydra will never die. Not truly.” She takes another step forward. “Even without the Asset, Hydra survives. Only I will pay a price for his desertion.” She laughs - no longer a chuckle, but a throw-her-head-back-and-cackle laugh - and something on her sharp, pointed nails gleam in the white light of the room.

Vipers are venomous Steve thinks. He looks at his wrist, which still hasn’t closed but is no longer bleeding. It still pulses and shoots out pain in droves, though. And he knows - she paints her nails with venom.

“Hydra will never have me again,” she continues, rather mindlessly if Steve’s opinion is concerned. “And so, I’ve made it my mission to take out any alpha who’s made that so.”

Steve’s mind immediately goes to Bucky. Viper, apparently, expects that, too.

“Without Hydra, your friend is nothing. Get over yourself, Captain.” Her face turns dark, and she stomps toward him in her loud, dangerously sharp and impractical heels. “I formed the Reapers to take out the alphas who wronged me. My girls grew into much more than I could ever have expected - much more than Hydra ever would’ve allowed me to become. And yet, it still is not enough.”

He’s only hated a handful of people more than he hates Viper. And yet, he continues to listen, hoping that if he stalls and hears her out, Tony and Nat will burst in and help him sometime this year.

And he sees that Sam has moved to be equidistant from him and Viper.

“My heart will only fill when your head is served to me on a Vibranium platter, Captain,” she says. “The satisfaction of knowing the woman you love watches helplessly as you die is a nice addition, don’t you think?”

Steve knows he’ll regret it, but with her so close, he has to take a shot. With (Y/N) across the room, he has to.

He takes a heavy, jagged breath, and launches himself at Viper, yelling all the way as his body ignites again. Pain spreads from his wrist outward, but he moves anyway, mostly kicking, keeping his hand in close to chest. If he could coordinate his good hand without leaving his bad one vulnerable, he’d reach back to grab his shield, but he can’t let her make him any worse than he already is.

He still has to get (Y/N) out. Still has so much to say to her, so much to apologize for, so many I love yous to whisper to her. And he has no idea what the venom in his system will do to him first - if it’s real or something synthetic and what that might mean.

But it doesn’t matter, because it only takes one hit back from Viper to wipe him out. Steve slides back across the floor while Sam charges forward, and the world swirls between dark and light, sound and silence, confusion and stability. Steve isn’t sure how much time goes by before he finally sees a bright blue beam of light flit across the room, then Nat is leaning over him, her bottom lip split but otherwise she looks fine.

He tries to say something to her, but she doesn’t let him finish. Or his body doesn’t. It’s really hard to tell what’s happening.

“You need to get up,” he hears her say. “I can’t carry you twelve flights down, Rogers.”

Flashes of memories fill his head - of Bucky pulling him from water, mostly - and he groans because everything is happening and nothing is being processed. He has no read on (Y/N); there are too many people in the room now, too many bodies moving, and he’s too weak to focus on her.

All he wants is to be wrapped up in her. That’s it.

But suddenly a second set of hands are on him, and they’re definitely not (Y/N)’s. They glow red - red not green he thinks - and suddenly his legs weigh nothing. They feel nothing. No pain, no strain - nothing. He realizes he’s glowing red, too, and he shakes his head.

“No- I,” he gets out, but Nat glares at him. Wanda does, too, from his opposite side, as they work in tandem to lift him onto his feet.

“We’re getting her out,” Nat says. “But it won’t mean anything if we don’t get you out, too.”

He knows that’s not true. (Y/N) would be alive, with or without him. That means something.

But his heart is racing, and all he can imagine is (Y/N), tied to a chair, scared out of her mind, completely out of control of herself and undeniably in withdrawal. In pain. Suffering, because he was too stubborn, stupid, and quick to anger to think. Wanda keeps her hands on him, keeps his feet light and numb, manages to make him walk despite weighing twice what she does easily.

What good is this stupid fucking alpha body if I can’t even save my omega?

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