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farfromsugafanfic · 3 years

Text

Lock & Key

Genre: Best Friends to Lovers, Fluff, Angst

Pairing: Jungkook/Reader

Warnings: cursing, dirty jokes

Synopsis: When Jungkook ditches you on your birthday, your friendship looks like it’s about to crumble. Your friend group becomes tired of your bickering and decides to take the matter into their own hands. Somehow, you and Jungkook find yourselves handcuffed together.

"Have you guys found a present for Y/N yet?" Jin asked, picking up his third pizza slice and taking a large bite, the cheese stretching as he pulled it away from his lips.

"You haven't gotten it yet? Her birthday dinner is tomorrow," Taehyung said. His eyes were tired, but he'd still insisted on joining the party despite having just gotten off a long train ride, as he hadn't seen his friends from high school for months. "I got her the first two manga in that series she's been wanting to read."

"Mmm," Jin said, seeming to consider Taehyung's choice of gift. "I need mine to be really special. He finished his pizza to the crust and turned it 180 degrees and bit into the end. "Jungkook, you're closest to Y/N. What are you getting her?"

Jungkook turned, wide-eyed towards Jin. The younger's face was already a bit flushed from the beers and from the mention of your name. "I'm paying for her part of the meal tomorrow and I got her tickets to that musical that's only in town for one night."

"Woah, that's gonna be hard to beat," Jimin said, "Y/N hasn't stopped talking about that musical since they announced it. Remember how she went crazy over it in the group chat?"

"I'm sure Y/N will like whatever you get her," Jungkook said. "She isn't very picky and she'll appreciate it because it came from you."

"I know. I just have something special planned and I want it to be perfect." The six other guys looked to the eldest expectantly. Jin sighed. "Gosh, fine, I'll tell you. I plan on confessing to her tomorrow."

"What? You like Y/N?! Since when?"

"Woah, congrats man!"

"You'll make such a cute couple."

The group fell to chaos, but Jungkook was notably the least excited. At the mention of Jin's plans, he sunk back against the wall and took a large bite of his pizza, followed by a gulp of beer.

"I'm not sure when I started liking her," Jin said. "I just kind of realized that I do. I figured we are friends and I'll regret it if I don't give it a shot."

"Are you sure her birthday is the best time to confess?" Jungkook asked, finally piping up. "What if things don't go well and you ruin it? Are you going to do it in front of everyone?"

"I thought about it and I'm going to wait until after the meal. Maybe I'll be able to steal her away for a few moments after she opens our gifts."

Jungkook's nose wrinkled and he was obviously unsatisfied with the answer. Yet, he dropped it and reached for another slice of pizza. "Why does it matter to you Jungkook? It's not like we all still won't hang out or that you'll never see her."

"Y/N's been hurt before. I'm sure you remember how upset she was after Minsung. I had to sleep in her bed for two weeks because she'd wake up crying. I never want her to feel that hurt again."

"Jungkook, I won't hurt her. She's more likely to hurt me. Why do you care so much about her heart being broken anyway? You're not the one who broke it and you aren't responsible for fixing it. Y/N's a big girl, she can handle herself."

Jungkook pouted. "I have to pee," he said, standing up and leaving the room, carrying his pizza slice with him.

vVv

An array of appetizers were spread across the table, a few bites taken from each. You were just waiting on the last three to show up: Jimin, Taehyung, and Jungkook. You expected them to come together as they had been nearly inseparable in high school. As Jin finished off one of the appetizers, you spotted Jimin and Taehyung walking in. You got up and rushed towards them.

"Happy birthday!" Jimin and Taehyung said, nearly tripping each other as they ran to hug you. "It's been too long, Y/N!" The two boys had moved out of the city for college and you rarely got to see them. You didn't know what you do if Jungkook--your best friend--had gone with them.

"I'm so glad you guys could make it! Come on and sit down, we're just waiting on Jungkook."

The appetizers were gone and the missing chair at the table remained. Worry grew in your throat and you glanced down at your phone for the umpteenth time to see if he had texted you. Even, just a simple "Running late!" or "Stuck in traffic!" would calm your nerves.

"Have you guys heard from Jungkook at all?"

The other guys all shook their heads and gave you sympathetic looks. You'd put off ordering, but it'd been nearly an hour since most of you arrived and you didn't want to keep the staff waiting any longer. "All right, let's order."

"I'm sure he just got stuck in traffic or something, Y/n," Jin said, reaching out and tapping your hand.

Your heart dropped as you read his last reply. You felt tears stinging your eyes, but you pushed them back before the other guys could notice.

"He's not coming," you said.

"What?" you heard someone ask, but you were too focused on not allowing your spiraling thoughts ruin your birthday and holding back tears to register who it was.

"He said he got a date or something. I don't know, but come on, we can enjoy this without him."

Due to the solemn looks on their faces, you knew they saw right through your facade. You and Jungkook had been best friends since elementary school where he accidentally trampled you when he was racing his friends. Despite ending up with a badly skinned knee and a couple of bruises, you were fine, but Jungkook had insisted on taking you to the nurse's office anyway. He pretended to sprain his ankle just so he could sit and keep you company.

What had happened since then? You'd never felt like your friendship was dwindling when it came to Jungkook. Whenever either of you dated, it didn't make a difference. High school graduation didn't separate you. Not even when Jungkook forced you to a haunted house in high school and laughed when he saw the stain on your jeans and realized you'd peed your pants in fright.

Despite ignoring for Overwatch or coming to your apartment just for the free food, he always ended up doing small things to make up for it. You often found chocolate bars stashed in the odd drawer or cupboard to make up for all the food he steals. After he finished laughing, Jungkook allowed you to wear his sweatshirt to cover it and bought you new jeans. You still had that sweatshirt stashed in your closet somewhere.

vVv

The tears stopped by the end of dinner, but now anger ran down your spine. How dare he skip your birthday for someone he just met? He'd never done anything like this before, he was the one person in this world that you could depend on, and now he's not. You feel a pang of sadness in your stomach and reach out for your portion of the bill, which Jungkook had promised to pay for.

"Stop," Jin said, reaching for the bill you'd just barely wrapped your fingertips around. "You're not paying. We'll split yours." You nodded, powerless to the eldest's tone.

After the bill was paid, everyone got up and starting readying to leave. You had taken a taxi, expecting Jungkook to take you home afterward. Jin seemed to notice, his brown eyes melting when they met yours.

"Hey, come on, I'll walk you home."

You nodded and waved goodbye to the other guys as you all walked in opposite directions or climbed into taxis. You didn't catch the other guys thumbs upping Jin and giving him reassuring smiles.

"Thanks for coming," you said. "Even though it kinda got ruined."

"I'll always come, Y/N."

"Oh, when I get a hold of his bunny ass--"

"Go easy on him, Y/N. I'm sure he has a better reason than he told you."

"He better be on his death bed then."

Jin let out a snort, which caused you to smile, but the smile soon faded and so did the fake happiness the anger made you feel. Now you just felt hopeless and felt the tears stinging in your sinuses again.

"Do," you said, already your voice faltering. "you think I'm still enough?"

Jin stopped. "What do you mean?"

"Am I still enough for him? Maybe he found a better friend," you said, your gaze painting the sidewalk. "I mean, I always rely on him. He's always my shoulder to cry on. Maybe he finally got tired of it. Got tired of me."

Jin placed a hand on your shoulder. It felt odd, as Jin wasn't one for skinship, but his touch was comforting, even if you were imagining it was Jungkook's. Except you couldn't, Jungkook's touch was old, familiar, warm. Like the fireplace at your grandparent's house or when your car is completely heated on a snowy day. Jin's--sure, it was warm--but it wasn't Jungkook.

"No, no, of course not," Jin said, moving to hug you, your cheek hitting his chest. "That could never happen. You and Jungkook have been friends for years. If he was gonna get tired of you, he would've already."

You scoffed, half in laughter and half in fear. "Thanks."

"Okay, but seriously, Jungkook cares about you. A lot." Jin paused and sighed. You looked up, noticing his eyes weren't on you, but rather he was looking up. His eyes looked glazed, but you didn't remember him having any drinks. "He wouldn't allow himself to lose you, Y/N. Trust me."

The rest of the walk was filled with a comfortable silence. It was only a few more blocks from where you'd stopped, so you reached your apartment in just a few minutes.

"Thanks for walking with me," you said. "Sorry, I got kinda sad halfway through."

Jin shook his head and reached to move a piece of your ponytail that had escaped from the hairband and fallen roguishly over your head.

"You don't need to apologize for your feelings, Y/N. Just promise me you won't kill the kid. I'm sure this is all just a misunderstanding."

You nodded, although you weren't convinced that Jungkook didn't now hate you for reasons you didn't know.

"Thanks," you said. "For everything."

Jin nodded. "You're welcome." He turned and walked into the night and you turned your back before he disappeared.

vVv

"How did the confession go?" Jimin asked, as soon as Jin walked into the small apartment he shared with Yoongi, which was now cramped with six bodies.

"It didn't."

Jimin and the other faces in the room all contorted in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"I didn't confess."

"But, why? Wasn't that your plan? Don't you like her?"

"She loves someone else," Jin said, his voice deeper than usual, his heartbreak captured in the back of his throat. "And, someone else loves her."

vVv

Two Days Later

You hadn't heard anything from Jungkook since the night of your birthday and you weren't sure what hurt more--the fact that he didn't care enough to explain himself or that he had seemingly replaced you. His Instagram was full of stories and posts of him with the girl you assumed was the one he skipped your birthday for. She was beautiful with large dark eyes and curly hair. His arm was around her shoulders and then eventually her waist. He must really like her because you remember how it took Jungkook nearly two years just to feel comfortable placing an arm around you.

You huffed and threw your phone onto your bed as you ran your hands through your hair. You were still mad, but you didn't want to lose your best friend. You remembered Taehyung mentioning how all the guys were getting together for Overwatch.

You hardly thought as you headed towards Jin's and Yoongi's apartment--the largest of the apartments belonging to those in your friend group.

You didn't bother knocking as you entered the apartment. You found the seven guys all crowded onto two couches and watching Taehyung and Jungkook. They didn't notice you until you slipped in and placed your hand on Jimin's shoulder—who jumped at your touch.

"Y/N!"

All seven heads turned to look at you. Most breaking into smiles and friendly greetings and offering you snacks.

"What are you doing here?" Jungkook asked, his voice breaking through the revelry. He was normally so soft-spoken, but at this moment, his voice grated through the air.

"I was hoping we could talk."

"You weren't invited here."

Your stomach turned. He'd never spoken to you like this, ever. Jungkook was normally the happiest when you showed up unannounced.

"Since when do I need an invitation, Jungkook? This is Jin and Yoongi's place, not yours."

Jungkook didn't respond but instead unpaused the game. Taehyung barely had time to close his mouth from watching the two of you that he fumbled with the controller as he realized Jungkook had restarted the game.

"Oh, so you're just gonna ignore me then?"

You rolled your eyes at how typical this was of all your ex-boyfriends. Towards the end of the relationship, they always ignored you for something else. Sometimes it was someone else, others it was their job. And yet, others, it was video games.

Jungkook had been there with you for all of these failed relationships. He said you deserved someone better, someone, who would never leave you or ignore you. You thought he was the only constant in your life, the one person who would never leave you, but now, he was just like all the rest.

Tears stung your sinuses. You dug your feet into the carpet and grabbed onto the back of the couch, trying to focus on the game. The guys had gone back to talking amongst themselves, eating, and watching the game. Yet, the air felt different, you caught concerned glances flicking your way and Jin silently offered you a slice of pizza which you declined, only eliciting another puppy-eyed look from the eldest of the group.

Jungkook was close to winning and the tears were soon beginning to simmer and your hands balled into fists. Before you could think or stop yourself, you marched around the couch and reached for the cord that was connected to the Xbox. The screen went black and all the eyes in the room shifted to you.

"Y/N?! What the fuck?!" Jungkook said, his voice rising. "I was about to win!"

"Jungkook, we need to talk and you're being an asshole."

Jungkook's ears were red and his eyes hard as steel. "This is ridiculous, Y/N. You came here uninvited to talk to me and when I go back to playing games because that's what I'm here for, you unplugged the system and demand I talk to you. And, I'm the asshole?"

You wanted to scream and pull your hair out. Yet, the thing you wanted most was to cry into Jungkook's oversized, black T-shirt because you knew it smelled of his cologne.

"Jungkook, you skipped my birthday party and you said we could talk about it, but it's been two days and I just want my best friend back."

"Y/N, why can't you just take the hint you're not wanted? This was supposed to be a guy's night and now you've had to come in here and ruin everything. You're way too clingy, like, this is why they always leave you."

"Jungkook!" Jin said.

You barely registered as the other boys chastised Jungkook as your vision blurred from the tears. You swore you saw his face soften before your eyes were totally filled with tears, but you couldn't be sure.

"Y/N," Jin said. You felt his hand come to rest gently on your shoulder. "Come on, I'll take you home."

vVv

A few days later you found yourself standing outside of Jungkook's apartment. You knew Taehyung and Jimin were staying with him, so you secretly hoped one of them would open the door.

The hallway was silent and dimly lit. It felt like midnight despite being noon. You softly knocked on the door, the sound--while quiet--seemed to echo down the hallway. You weren't sure what you were going to do or say when he opened the door. You were only sure that you missed the way he used to show up at your place at midnight with ice cream sandwiches or the way he let you borrow his sweatshirts when you were cold or couldn't sleep.

Thirty seconds passed and you knocked again. Firmer this time, each knock ringing out in the empty hallway.

"Jungkookie," you said softly.

You heard footsteps on the other side of the door. They were faint, but you recognized them from when he slept over at your apartment when you were sick or going through a rough time.

You listened as the door unlocked and slowly opened. He only opened the door a crack, just enough to peak out, as if you were an unknown person knocking on his door. As if you didn't know the layout of his apartment or that he kept all his mess concentrated to the common areas and his bedroom immaculate.

"Y/N...what are you doing here?"

His voice was softer than the last time you spoke. You knew Jin had told Jungkook how much you cried as he took you home and how you didn't answer his texts all night.

"I just wanted to see you," you said. "We don't have to talk or anything. I just miss you."

Jungkook didn't say anything. His eyes scanning over you. Your hair was unwashed and pulled into a bun and you wore sweatpants and a T-shirt. Dark circles outlined your eyes and even though it had only been a few days, your face looked thinner and your skin languid.

Another set of footsteps approached and the door swung open wider. Taehyung stood there in just his boxers and munching on a piece of toast. His eyes widened when he saw you and he glanced over at Jungkook, who's eyes were looking down at your feet.

"Hey, stop being a dick and let her in."

"Put on some clothes then," Jungkook said, his voice quiet and low, almost a growl. He swung the door all the way open and disappeared into his apartment.

Taehyung met your eyes and shrugged. He offered a small smile as you walked into the apartment. You hadn't brought anything with you, not sure exactly what would happen.

"I won't stay long," you said. "I just wanted to see him."

"At least have breakfast with me," he said, dropping two pieces of bread into the toaster.

You nodded and fell onto the couch. You'd done this countless times. At 4 in the morning after a night out, you'd collapse on Jungkook's couch still in your heels and your makeup slowly wearing off. You usually woke up the next morning in Jungkook's bed, your heels set by the door and your makeup at least mostly wiped off. At 6 pm as you leaned against Jungkook's shoulder as the movie started, your hand diving into the popcorn bowl in his lap. Most of your favorite memories happened on his couch.

"I hope you like Nutella," Tae said, handing you a piece of toast.

You laughed. "I love it," you said. "How do you stay so fit eating like this?"

Taehyung was still in his boxers. While he didn't have a six pack, he certainly wasn't hard to look at and the slight toning of his stomach showed he was putting in some effort.

"I'll gain five pounds just from eating this," you said, and despite your words, you took a large bite.

"Then you should have another," Jungkook said from the other side of the room. You hadn't noticed him there, he must've slipped in when Taehyung distracted you with the toast. "You're getting too skinny."

"I didn't ask you, Jungkook," you said. You crossed your arms over your chest and sat back, your toast abandoned on the arm of the couch.

"I'm just worried about you."

"Since when? When you stopped texting me? Or, when you ditched my birthday party for someone you just met?"

Jungkook's eyes turned soft in the way that would usually make you melt. But, you kept your eyes off of his and your spine straight.

"Y/N..."

"Listen, Jungkook, I might've come here cause I missed you, but that doesn't mean I've forgiven you."

Jungkook didn't say anything. Silence filled the apartment and after what felt like an eternity, he left to his bedroom.

"Are you okay?" Taehyung asked.

You nodded. "I think I just need a nap or something. I'm getting a headache." You looked around the apartment. There was only one bedroom and both Taehyung and Jimin were staying with Jungkook during their visit. "Where are you sleeping?"

Taehyung nodded and gestured toward the couch. "There," he said.

"Oh," you said. "Can I borrow it for an hour or so?"

"Be my guest. But, you know, even though you two are fighting and all, I bet Jungkook would let you have the bed."

You shook your head. "No," you said. "I'm not asking him for any favors and the couch looks more comfortable anyway."

Taehyung shrugged. You laid down and turned your back to him, missing the knowing smile as he cleaned up. You listened as he cleaned up and got dressed before leaving the apartment. It wasn't long before the tears came and you sobbed into the couch cushion as quietly as you could. The last thing you wanted was for Jungkook to emerge from his bedroom and find you like this.

He'd seen you cry dozens of times and you'd even held him as he sobbed into you. You didn't mind crying in front of him, but you knew it would destroy him to see you like this and to know he was the cause. Even if you mad at him, even if you were losing him, you didn't want to crush him.

You didn't remember falling asleep, but when you awoke, his scent was everywhere. You pressed your face into the pillow and stretched out your legs comfortably. You sighed until a thought crossed your mind. Pillow?

You opened your eyes and found yourself in Jungkook's bedroom. It was dark and the covers were pulled up to your chin. Jungkook wasn't in the room and from the empty feeling in the air, he wasn't in the apartment either. Your phone was next to you on the nightstand and plugged into Jungkook's charger.

You glanced at the time and realized your nap had lasted three times longer than you anticipated and you sat in bed as you realized that you probably needed to go home. However, before you could pull your eyes away from your lock screen, a text notification from a couple of hours ago caught your attention.

vVv

"Hey, sorry, I'm late," Taehyung said, walking into Jin and Yoongi's apartment where the other five boys were already crowded on the twin couches. "Y/N showed up at Jungkook's and I needed to see what happened."

The others all looked at Taehyung expectantly. "Jungkook doesn't know about this, right?"

"We didn't tell him."

Taehyung nodded. "Well, they're definitely in love with each other. Jungkook was jealous as hell and Y/N's heartbroken. I could practically see Jungkook splitting in half when he realized how upset she was."

"Well, didn't you all notice how when she started crying after he got mad at her for unplugging the Xbox, how he just broke? I don't think he cared about the game anymore, but then Jin swooped in and stopped it before he could apologize."

All eyes swiped towards Jin and he shrugged. "What? She was to the point of crying. I didn't know what he was going to do and I didn't want to upset either of them more."

"Does he know that you never confessed?"

Jin shook his head. "He never asked."

"Jin!" all the guys said at one.

"That would change everything! He probably thinks you and Y/N are together."

"It's pretty obvious we're not."

"I don't know the way you intervened during the fight and walked her home. It could be seen as you protecting her."

"Well, whatever, what's the plan? We have to get them to make up somehow. And confess, cause they're gonna drive us crazy pining after each other." Jin looked around at the other faces and all of them were, in turn, watching him.

"Well, we need to force them to be alone somehow," Namjoon said. "We could try locking them somewhere, but that's gonna be difficult cause the party is here and none of the doors lock." Eyes wandered as they tried to find a solution and eventually, Jin's eyes fell on the TV where a cartoon cop was catching a criminal, the handcuffs snapping down on the culprit's wrists.

"I think I might have an idea."

vVv

Taehyung and Jimin were taking the train back to their college town in the morning, so that meant you'd all spend the night before getting drunk and gorging yourselves on all the pizza you could.

Jin and Yoongi offered to host the party and a few of their neighbors offered up their apartments so everyone could spread out. You all invited your extended friends and neighbors if everyone came, you didn't doubt the party would probably get out of hand, but that was half the fun.

As you brushed on your blush and primped your hair for the final time, you felt butterflies in your stomach. Jungkook was going to be there. There was no way he would miss out on a good party and the opportunity for free food and drinks.

You wore a short white dress that was admittedly a little shorter than you would normally wear. But, with Jungkook ignoring you, you wanted attention and you didn't really care who it was from. Plus, you liked the way it hugged your curves and how when paired with the perfect heels, made your legs look longer.

You arrived a few minutes early to the party with the expectation of helping set up, but the party was already in full swing. When the elevator opened, people crowded the hall with cups in hand and music blasting from Jin and Yoongi's apartment. At this rate, the cops would be called in a couple hours, unless Jin and Yoongi had talked to all their neighbors beforehand, but you highly doubted it.

You waded through the bodies and found your friends all invested in a game of beer pong. The younger three on one end and the older four on the other. The older ones were currently winning and you smirked as you remembered just how good Yoongi was at the game.

"Need help?" you asked, placing your arm around Taehyung's shoulders, the heels allowing you to do so easier, although it still looked slightly awkward.

"Ah, finally! Someone who can rival Yoongi!"

You laughed, trying not to allow your eyes to wander over to Jungkook who was standing closer to you than he had for weeks. "Who's turn is it?"

"Yours if you want."

You nodded and walked up to the table. You angled your arm and aimed for one of the back cups, even if you missed, it may still land in one of the front cups that remained. You tossed the ping pong ball and it sailed perfectly into the cup.

"Yes! Drink up, Min Yoongi!"

Yoongi smirked and took the cup and downed it. You two had played this game countless time, both won and lost countless times, to the point that it was no longer about winning, but rather, who could get the other drunk quicker.

Yoongi aimed his shot and tossed it flawlessly into the cup right in front of you. You took out the ball and downed the cup. The beer was pretty much tasteless which meant it went down easily but left a bad taste in the back of your throat.

After a few shots back and forth, you had drunk twice more and Yoongi once. You were aiming up another shot, intending to tie it up when you felt a hand on your shoulder. You looked behind you and caught Jungkook's eyes.

"Are you gonna let us play?"

"Do you want to win or not?" you said, turning back and aiming up your shot. You were already a little tipsy and your head ached as you concentrated.

"Y/N, it'll be no fun to get drunk so early," he said. "Come on." His voice was soft and familiar. He'd done this dozens of times. Prevented you from getting too drunk or going home with the wrong guy. He brought you back when the alcohol began to take over. This time--however--you turned away and aimed the ball. Missing.

Yoongi tosses the ball in what appears to be a haphazard fashion, but it sinks straight into a cup. You pick it up and bring it to your lips, but before you can drink, the cup is being knocked from your hands and the beer spills almost entirely onto your dress.

You see Jungkook staring at you wide-eyed--the obvious culprit--his hand still gripping the cup.

"Jungkook!" you yelled, people turned in your direction, but your yell was soon forgotten as the music continued. All but your small group turned back to their own conversations. "Would you stop trying to be my friend? You made it quite obvious you no longer wanted our friendship and you just keep screwing everything up!"

"Y/N, I..."

Tears were beginning to fill your eyes and the only thing you wanted to do was get drunk and forget this night happened. You stepped forward to push through the crowd when someone grabbed your wrist. You knew from the touch that it wasn't Jungkook and when you glanced back, Jin's lips were upturned in a small smile.

"Wait, Y/N," he said. "I'm really sorry about this."

You cocked your head in confusion, but before your lips could form words to ask Jin what he was apologizing for you felt something click onto your wrist and found a handcuff locked around your wrist and you noticed the other was locked to another wrist. You followed the chain and met Jungkook's dark, confused eyes.

"Have fun, kids. We aren't unlocking you until you talk everything out."

vVv

Ten minutes later you stood in the kitchen as Jungkook tried to work a kitchen knife into the lock. The beer was slowly making your dress more and more see-through and you glanced around the room.

"Jungkook, can we try this somewhere else?"

He looked up at you with his brows furrowed in confusion. You hadn't managed to say anything before his eyes widened and he quickly shrugged off his flannel. It caught on his cuff and he struggled to get the sleeve over the handcuff and chain.

"Fuck it," he said, taking the knife and cutting into the seam where the sleeve met the shoulder.

"Jungkook isn't this a bit drastic? We can just go into the bathroom or something."

"No, it's okay. I can just cut off the other one later."

He brought around the uncut sleeve and brought over your shoulder and brought the cut sleeve over the chain and up your arm. The way the flannel hit it ended up covering your entire dress and draping across your bare thighs.

As soon as you were covered and comfortable again, he once again tried to unlock the handcuffs and your hand was at his mercy as he moved the knife point back and forth in the lock.

"Jungkook, this isn't going to work. You're just gonna end up hurting one of us."

Jungkook sat the knife back on the counter looked down dejectedly at your cuffed wrists. You couldn't help the pang of hurt in your stomach. Jin had handcuffed the two of you so you would talk and all Jungkook could focus was on how to get the handcuffs off without talking.

"Maybe we can break the chain," he said. "If we both pull, our combined strength might be enough."

Your wrist was already starting to become red and raw because Jin had accidentally snapped the cuff on a little tight, but before you could protest, Jungkook began pulling on the chain.

You immediately yelped in pain and your wrist attempted to escape the pain, causing your body to fold in on itself. You found yourself crouched and leaning against the counter, your arm almost straight above your head to remain close enough to Jungkook's so that it didn't dislocate the joint.

"Y/N?" Your name was barely audible over the music and the people around you many of which shot odd glances or coy smiles your way.

"It's tight, Jungkook. Jin accidentally locked it too tight. Can--can we just go talk and get these things off?"

Jungkook nodded, seeing your teary eyes from the pain and helping you to your feet. His free palm came to rest on your shoulder and his handcuffed hand grasped your wrist and he slipped two of his fingers between your skin and the cuff. It was the first time he'd touched you since before your birthday and you felt your knees go weak and something shifted in you with his touch. The plate tectonics of your heart shifting suddenly and with no warning.

"Let's go to the bathroom, first."

You were confused as he pulled you into the bathroom and situated you against the counter. He reached into the cupboard behind you and pulled out some lotion and squirted it onto his handcuffed hand. He rubbed it softly onto your wrist where the handcuff had rubbed the skin red and raw.

"Better?"

You nodded and looked up at his face which hovered not far above yours but was focused down on your wrist. His jaw was clenched and his features were stiff. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out the sleeve he'd cut from his flannel.

"I think if we roll this down we can put it between the cuff and your wrist. It might make it feel tight, but it won't hurt you so much."

He rolled the sleeve down under it was a single cuff which he carefully slipped over your hand and under the cuff. It did work, your skin feeling relieved from the lotion and the cloth, although it did still feel slightly too tight.

"Thanks," you said. "But, maybe we should get out of here. I don't want your girlfriend to get the wrong idea."

Jungkook met your eyes. "What? Girlfriend?"

"The girl you went on the date with?"

"Oh, it uh, didn't work out."

"Oh, I'm sorry."

"Don't be."

There was a long pause as Jungkook continued to adjust the cuff to ensure it stayed. His eyes were focused on your wrist.

"I'm sorry," he said. "For saying you were clingy and bringing your exes into this. I'm sorry for everything."

You looked down at him, your free hand coming to play with the hairs that grew around his ears. His hair was longer than you'd ever seen it and you smiled as he seemed to lean into your hand.

Jungkook finished adjusting the cuff and looked up at you. "I think Yoongi's room is empty. He didn't want people in there, but I bet he won't mind if it's us."

You nodded and followed closely behind Jungkook as you walked through the crowd to Yoongi's bedroom. It--like Jungkook had said--was empty. The two of you flopped down on the bed and despite laying a foot apart your fingers continued to brush against each other as you adjusted your wrists in the cuffs.

"I can't figure out why Jin handcuffed us," Jungkook said. The music was just a series of thumps now and even though it was still loud, you could no longer make out the lyrics and could hear Jungkook's voice without him having to raise it. "I thought he wouldn't want us to hang out anymore."

"What?" you asked. "Why would Jin care if we hang out?"

Jungkook turned and looked at you. His hair was wet from sweat and his hair curled in thick tendrils over his forehead. "Aren't you and Jin dating?"

"What? No! Jin and I are just friends. What makes you think that?"

"Jin told me he was gonna confess to you at your party."

Jungkook pulled his gaze from you and focused up at the ceiling. You thought back on that night. Jin had been acting more generous and gentlemanly that night, but you just chalked it up to it being your birthday.

"I didn't even know he liked me. Is that why you've been avoiding me? You thought I was with Jin and you didn't want to interfere?"

"That's part of it."

"What's the other part of it?"

His eyes came back to yours and you felt his fingers brushing against yours. But, it wasn't just the millisecond brushes as he adjusted. No, his fingers were practically intertwined with yours.

"Y/N, we've been friends so long...I don't want to ruin it..."

"Jungkook, it's already ruined."

There was a long tense silence between the of you. His fingers fully intertwined with yours. It was far from the first time you'd held his hand, but it felt different. It was softer, yet more intense at the same time. As if your hand were porcelain that could break at even the slightest touch.

Jungkook moved so quickly that you have no idea how he came to hover above you. His free arm resting above his head and the one handcuffed to you still intertwined with yours to the side. "What would've happened if Jin had confessed to you?"

"Kookie?"

"What would've happened?"

"I-I would've turned him down."

"Why?"

"Cause I'm in love with someone else."

His lips were on your before you even finished the sentence. He was gentle but urgent as if he'd been waiting two thousand years to kiss you.

"I'm still mad at you for skipping my birthday party," you said when he pulled away. "I don't care if you're in love with me, your cute ass still has a lot of making up to do."

Jungkook smiled as he leaned down placed a small kiss on your neck. "Well, I never got to give you my gift."

He reached into his back pocket and pulled out two tickets. You grabbed them from his hands and you smiled as you realized it was for the musical you'd been dying to see.

"It's tomorrow," he said. "Pretty good first date, yeah?"

"Hey, don't get cocky yet!" It was hard for you to hide your smile and you didn't want to give him the satisfaction, so, you just leaned up and kissed him.

vVv

You woke up the next morning enveloped in Jungkook's arms and his one-armed flannel. You looked up to see him scrolled through his phone, but when you squirmed, he looked down at you.

"Good morning, baby," he said.

"That sounds so weird."

"What, baby?" He smirked and giggled as you reached up and playfully hit his shoulder.

"Wait," you said, looking at your unbound wrist. You looked down and found the handcuffs on the bed. "They must've uncuffed us last night."

"I hadn't even realized," he said. A blush appeared on his face. "I didn't want to let go of your hand."

"Aww," you said, reaching up and ruffling his hair. "You're such a softie."

Jungkook smirked and grabbed your wrists. "Hey, I'm not completely a softie."

He held your wrists and glanced down at the handcuffs. "Maybe, we should keep these."

#bts #bts imagines #bts fanfic #bts fan fiction #jungkook #jungkook fanfic #bts friends to lovers #fan fiction #jungkook imagine #jeon jungguk #jungkook fluff #jungkook friends to lovers #btsfanfic #bts fanfiction #originally posted on wattpad #farfromsuga

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xxgoblin-dumplingxx · 3 years

Text

Mission of Mercy: Seven

For the next several minutes, Joe and Bucky played cards in relative silence. And Bucky couldn’t help but squirm a little. He knew this was about to be a man to man chat. The kind that ladies were not ever supposed to hear.

Joe may be willing to swear in front of you, and he may be willing to be brutally honest about his military exploits but some things, Bucky knew Joe would sooner punch himself in the mouth than let you hear. Still. When the old man stood up and made his way to the living room to check on you, Bucky wasn’t sure he was ready.

Until he made his way back to the kitchen, quietly shutting the swinging door. For the first time, Bucky really saw Joe as old. The stooped shoulders and the slight tremor in his hands was more pronounced. The usual twinkle in his eye was gone. And Bucky could see the old soldier under the worn flannel and house shoes.

“You know,” Joe said softly, “The worst day of my life was when she told me SHIELD made her a job offer.”

Bucky didn’t say anything. He simply reached around to the fridge behind him and handed him a beer. Joe took it with a soft smile of thanks and sank heavily into his seat.

“It could be my one chance, she told me,” he said staring into the middle distance, like he was seeing it all over again. “If Clay is still out there somewhere, I can bring him home.”

Bucky cringed in sympathy. He knew that feeling. And he knew it well.

“Did she find him?”

Joe shook his head, “All she ever found was what happened to him.” The old man took a pull of his beer and stood again, this time tottering towards the back of the house. To his bedroom. Bucky waited patiently, listening to the shuffling of what sounded like picture frames.

And when he came back, carrying a small photo album, Bucky smiled a little.

“When Clay died,” Joe said quietly, “I put these away. The poor kid was already growing up in a mausoleum. She didn’t need to be reminded of him here too.” He handed the photo album to Bucky. “But, I can tell you one thing, those kids kept me well stocked with portrait references.”

Bucky took the book and dutifully flipped to the first page, smiling a little.

“Clay was a good big brother,” Joe said fondly. “He took it so seriously.” The old man trailed off and shook his head, “Jesus Christ,” he swore, “I’d like to know what the fuck it was all for. They told us we were making a world where the kids would be safe… And they’re all still getting blown to hell.”

Bucky made a soft sound of agreement and he felt plates in his arm clench reflexively.

“Mausoleum?” Bucky chanced. And like he snapped back to earth, Joe chuckled bitterly.

“Rex died in action and Carlie mourned. Like any wife. But she never stopped,” he explained. “The whole house was like a permanent shrine… Birthdays, Christmas, graduation… whatever. It all HAD to have a memorial to Rex. No one was ever allowed to forget he was gone. And with Clay?” The old man flinched and took a deep breath, “Everything just… There was nothing she could do that was ever about her. Ever.”

Joe exhaled slowly, “Burying a child is hard. The hardest thing you could ever do. But… It didn’t seem to matter that she had a still living child. It didn’t matter that she was grieving too.”

Bucky stayed silent, watching the old man for a moment, knowing that the story wasn’t over.

“She never cried. Not in public, anyway. At least not until her 21st birthday.” Joe sighed and shook his head. “She was so fucked up I’m not sure how she got here,” he snorted. “But all at once it hit her that her big brother was gone. Really gone. And she just fucking broke. I thought for a while I was going to have to put her in the loony bin… But. She sobered up and hasn’t said a word about him since.”

In the living room you whimpered on the sofa and both men’s head’s turned towards the door, listening for the sound to continue if you were trying to get up. But it didn’t.

“She was out cold, wasn’t she?” Bucky asked.

“Like a light,” Joe said softly

“I hope my ma didn’t do that to Becky,” Bucky said softly, “The one thing I wanted was for everyone to keep going… Not let the bastards win, you know?”

Joe nodded, “I spent my fair share of time in a POW camp,” he said.

“Here’s to not letting the bastards win,” Bucky said, raising his beer in mock toast.

“May their fat crackle in hell,” Joe said, taking a pull.

For a moment, the two men drank in silence. The quiet like a third companion and Joe set his bottle down. “So,” he started, “I assume you know how condoms work.”

Bucky choked on his drink and sputtered for a moment. Paroxysms of cough shaking his whole body as he tried to expel the ale from his sinuses. “We’re not- I- I - I” he stopped, blushing furiously and wiped uselessly at the front of his shirt. “I mean,” He stopped and swallowed hard.

Joe smirked at him, “You know. I may be older than sin, but if you don’t take care of my best girl, I can still aim well enough to hit… Maybe not center mass but… Close enough.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, but in a way, he was thankful that the old man loved you enough to threaten him. And that Sam. And Nat. And the other handful of old codgers he’d met had taken the time to remind him that they loved you first.

“I don’t want to hurt her,” Bucky said softly. And when he met the old man’s eyes, he knew that he’d taken the meaning. “And- I talked to some people. They’re not sending her in solo any more. Steve’s pretty sure I can keep rookies from shooting at her.”

Joe nodded, “How the fuck did they even manage to drop the building on her?”

“Well,” Bucky sighed, picking his words carefully. “If I woulda kept my trap shut the goon wouldn’t have set off the bomb… I just didn’t realize what she was doing.”

“The sneaky little shit,” Joe snorted. “It’s a sight, isn’t it?”

“She calls it cold reading,” Bucky said, “But it’s sharper than that.”

Joe nodded, “Some people call it being an Empath. But if you tell Y/n that that’s what she is, she’ll cold cock you.”

“That,” You panted, sliding the door back and leaning heavily on the door frame, “Is because people who describe themselves as empaths are fucking insufferable.”

#Bucky x reader #Bucky Barnes #Soft!bucky #fluff #angst

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musicalluna · 4 years

Text

disaster duo

i think this was for last last year’s birthday and I’M VERY SORRY. but here’s an unbirthday fic @flange5 i wanted to make you something super good so this took me 1230948302 years. i hope you like it even if it’s not super good. ily!!

The sound of Steve's voice coming down the hall from the kitchen is enough to make Tony's heart jump a little higher in his chest. He feels himself start to bounce with each step and mentally covers his face. God, he's embarrassing.

“I know I'm probably putting my foot in it, but I don't know who else to ask.”

“Did someone tell you you were doing that?”

Ah, Pepper. Pepper is a good person for Steve to ask things. She's far too used to Tony to bat an eye at anything Steve might ask.

“I've been told I have no idea how to talk to women.”

Pepper laughs and covers up Tony's snort of amusement. He buys that without needing to be sold. “Well, why don't you ask me and I'll help you remove it if it gets wedged in there.”

“It's...a little personal,” Steve warns, an edge of shyness creeping into his voice.

Tony pauses outside the kitchen door, curiosity piqued.

“Well, that's all right,” Pepper says, a warm smile in her voice. “I like to think we're friends.”

“You do?” Steve says and then goes quiet so fast Tony knows he's turning beet red.

“Oh, Steve, yes. Absolutely.”

“Then I guess that makes my question a little less out of line,” Steve says. His voice is doing that uncertain, self-depreciating thing that does things to Tony.

“Hmm,” Pepper says thoughtfully. “Well, we'll never know if you don't spit it out.”

There's a brief pause and then, rushed: “I want to go on a date.”

–

Tony steps backward without a conscious thought, his heart plunging to his toes.

“Oh,” he hears Pepper say, surprise thick in her voice. Clearly she hadn't realized either, that Steve—that Steve was interested. In her.

Tony's hand comes up to rub at the arc reactor, which suddenly feels like it's being twisted agonizingly in his chest. Steve's interested in Pepper. Of course. Why wouldn't he be? Pepper's…Pepper, and, okay, wow, Tony had gotten his hopes up higher than he thought.

Stumbling back down the hall, he barely hears himself mutter, “Hey,” as he passes Natasha. Tony thinks she says his name, but he doesn't answer, doesn't stop, just numbly makes his way back to his room and shuts the door behind him.

His best friend-cum-crush and his ex.

That's fine. That's great. If it makes Steve happy—

Tony makes a noise, a horrible, wounded noise, and presses his back to the door, sinking down to curl up against it on the floor. It feels like the reactor's been torn out of his chest, hollow and empty and excruciating.

Steve is one of his best friends. That should be enough. It should be enough that Steve is there in the wee hours of the morning when Tony's staring down a bottle and it should be enough to see his smile, limned in blue in the workshop when Tony's showing him his latest work, it should be enough when Steve slumps sideways into Tony's shoulder on movie nights, but it's not, it's not, Tony can't stand the thought of seeing Steve with someone else. Even someone like Pepper.

Maybe more because it's someone like Pepper. At least if he didn't know them he could hate them.

His tears are hot as they streak down his cheeks, tickling as they slip into his beard and Tony burns with mortification. Steve was never his to begin with because he'd been too much of a pansy to say anything and now—

Tony buries his face against his knees, smearing snot and tears on his jeans. His breath is coming in sharp, shuddering waves that hurt down into his gut.

How much false hope had he built up that it hurts this badly?

Whatever.

It doesn't matter. He'll let himself grieve until he's sick with it and then he'll be fine. He'll be okay with being Steve's best friend and giving him advice on how to be less awkward for Pepper in a few days.

Tony presses a hand over his mouth, throat working convulsively.

Okay, maybe a week.

But Steve deserves this, to be happy, to have someone who enjoys art the way he does, and who told Tony that they couldn't date anymore because she couldn't be Iron Man's mistress.

Oh, god.

So now she's going to be Captain America's mistress. It's just him she can't stand by—bullshit, the reasonable part of Tony's brain spits. The only person who's stood by him longer is Rhodey.

Then—what if she turns him down?

Tony hates himself for the wave of cool relief that washes through him at the idea. She'll break Steve's heart and...the thought makes Tony's stomach turn.

Why can't Steve be in love with him? He'd work so hard to make Steve happy. He wants to say that's all he wants, but he doesn't want to see Steve happy with someone else. Thinking about it makes him feel cut open. He wants Steve happy with him.

Too bad, he thinks, letting his head fall back with a thunk against the door and feeling his sinuses start to drain.

Steve wants to be happy with someone else.

–

Tony doesn't come out of his room for two days.

He tells Pepper he's sick and he must sound pretty awful because she just says, with a faint air of concern, “Okay, Tony. Let me know if you need anything.”

The part of him that's still in love with her—that will probably always still be in love with her—aches.

When he finally emerges, he's showered and put on fresh clothes and he's cried long and hard enough that he can put the masks up.

His resolve is immediately tested, because he nearly runs into Steve in the hall.

“Tony!” he exclaims and then his brow dips, mouth pulling into a frown. His gaze sweeps over Tony from head to toe and Tony very carefully reins in the urge to build something from that look. “Are you okay? Pepper said you were feeling under the weather.”

Tony pulls on a smile. “Yeah, caught a little something, but I'm all good now. Just needed some rest.”

Steve's expression softens and warms, piercing Tony through like a shard of glass. “Good. Glad to hear it. Say, speaking of Pepper—”

Tony freezes, smile fixed on his face. Jesus, already?

“I'd like to get Pepper a gift. Do you think you could recommend something?”

“Sure,” Tony says stiffly. “Why don't you get her a massage? That's—” He can't make himself say 'romantic'.

Steve's expression flickers. “Really? You don't think that's—well, you know her best.”

“Yep.” Tony's very proud of the fact that he doesn't scream or otherwise do something unreasonable.

Steve smiles at him, Sunday morning sunshine, and Tony dies a little inside. “Thanks, Tony. I appreciate it. Feel better, okay?”

“Do my best,” Tony croaks and Steve moves past him.

After a moment, Tony coaxes stiff joints into movement and heads down to the workshop.

A distraction, that's what he needs.

–

The distraction doesn't work.

Tony's pulled up at least half a dozen different projects he's been neglecting, but all he can think about is Steve going to get Pepper a gift. Are they already dating then? Like, in an official capacity? They’re at the point where Steve is getting her gifts?

Dammit.

–

The next week is like a waking nightmare.

Tony can’t focus on anything he’s supposed to; all he can think about is Steve and Pepper. Steve keeps checking on Tony, giving him these worried looks. Every time he looks like he wants to say something, but decides better of it. Tony can’t help but be grateful, he doesn’t want to hear about how Steve feels about Pepper—it was bad enough listening to him talk about Peggy and she’s been dead for three years. Christ, he’s a piece of work.

It can’t last though. Steve finally says, “Hey, Tony, can I talk to you?” one morning in between sparring. Tony isn’t even coming close to holding his own—he’s too distracted.

He chews his lip and nods. “Sure thing.”

They move over to the little set of bleachers on the side of the room and Tony sits down, deliberately occupying himself with drinking from his water bottle. Steve sips out of his own, pacing in front of him. He’s wound up for some reason.

Steve blows out a breath. “I talked to Pepper and she said I should just talk to you.”

Tony’s stomach drops out his ass. He swallows hard, barely managing to keep from choking on the water halfway down his throat. Oh god. Pepper knows, of course she knows, and she told Steve oh god.

“Look,” he blurts, “my feelings don’t matter. I’ll get over it, I’m used to it. Just—don’t tell me what you and Pepper are getting up to on dates and for crying out loud, don’t ask me for anymore gift ideas.”

Steve stops, back going stiff, and then turns to stare at Tony. “What Pepper and I get up to on dates—” His eyes go wide. “Tony, no!”

“What do you mean, ‘no’?”

“Tony, I’m not dating Pepper! She’s great, don’t get me wrong. I gave her that gift as a thank you for giving me advice about how to ask you out.”

Tony feels like Steve just cold-cocked him. “What? You asked her on a date! I heard you!”

Steve puts one hand on his hip, pressing the knuckles of the other to his forehead. “That’s what you thought?” His head comes up with a jolt. “You told me to get her a massage!” He turns bright red. “I thought that seemed strange, but I don’t know enough about the 21st century to know for sure.”

“I thought you were trying to give her a romantic gift!”

“That explains her face when I gave it to her.” Steve groans.

Tentatively, because he still can’t believe what he’s hearing, Tony says, “You were asking for her advice on me?”

Steve softens and he smiles the crooked, self-depreciating smile that gets Tony every time. “I don’t exactly have a good history with these things and all the experience I do have is with women. A woman,” he amends.

“Oh my god,” Tony says faintly. “I had a meltdown for nothing.”

Steve rubs the back of his head. “Guess I’m hopeless even with help.”

Tony holds out his hands, hope and happiness rising inside him like a warm tide. “Lucky for you, I’m into that.”

Steve huffs and gingerly puts his hands in Tony’s, his smile solidifying a little when Tony squeezes them and pulls him closer. “So...do you want to go on a date with me?”

Tony pulls him in until he can press his forehead to Steve’s, and he grins, all but bubbling over with euphoria. “Absolutely, I do.”

Steve beams at him.

“Oh, and Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“We are never telling anyone about this. Ever.”

“Agreed.”

#musicalluna writes #flange5 #birthday fic #stevextony #steve rogers #tony stark #iron man #captain america #misunderstandings

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gingrrfrog · 4 years

Note

Hi!!! Mark + 20 🥰

omg hello 🥺 here is ur request :]

Mark + 20!! “I love you, but I need you to go away because you’re really bloody distracting and I have to pass this test tomorrow.”

Word count: 1.1k

Mark hadn’t meant to neglect his classes all semester. In his defense, he was busy what with work and just trying to live, being an active member of society. He was having a great time either way, whether it be trying to distract you from your work or just trying to cause mayhem, Mark was always around being as bright and happy as he always was.

That was, however, until the week before finals swept under him and knocked the breath out of his lungs, not realizing how behind he was in his school work until he opened up his assignment log. He cried out, his head falling on his desk as he hurriedly scribbled the assignments to do before he ran over to your apartment.

You had managed to keep most of your assignments in check, as it wasn’t so difficult to do so. Being an education major consisted mainly of creating a portfolio of several different lesson plans for future classes as well as field experience, nothing compared to the music assignments your boyfriend had. You had a few other friend in Mark’s department as well, so it came to a surprise to you that your boyfriend was stressing as much as Taeyong or Jaehyun were, up until he came to your door, knocking rapidly until you opened it.

“Mark—?”

“Help me!” He cried, throwing his arms around your waist. You stumbled back in surprise, your eyes widened as you pulled away.

“What?! What’s going on—are you hurt? Did you fall—?”

“Look at my assignment list!” Mark pouted, shoving the list in your hands as you narrowed your eyes. Hardly an emergency. Just your boyfriend playing procrastinator.

“What do you want me to do?” You scoffed, handing him the scrap piece of paper.

“Teach me your study skills.”

“You can’t just teach study skills, Mark. They need implementation.”

“Okay. Implement your study skills on me.”

You snort, “I don’t think you know what that means, baby.”

“Please, please, please, just help me out?”

You sighed, pulling him inside your cramped apartment to sit on the couch. “Here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to go through all of your assignments, pick out the important ones, and then, we’re going to put in your grades in a calculator to see what you need to get on the final exam in order to pass the class.”

Mark beamed, pressing wet sloppy kisses on your cheek, “you’re the best!”

“I know.”

No amount of calculating could relieve the grief in Mark’s heart. Even with assignments turned in and a few late-points taken off, Mark would still need a 98% on the final to get to a low C, meaning that Mark had to study nights on end for his music theory class. He did whatever he could, study with Jaehyun and Taeyong, he studied with you, but every time he looked at his notes, everything looked like a new language despite the fact he worked hard to memorize.

On a Sunday night, the night before finals week, you watched as Mark stared at his laptop, the blue light reflecting on his glasses as he stared at the notes in front of him. You frowned, you could tell that it was taking a toll on him, not just emotionally but physically as he happened to complain about a headache earlier today. You managed to provide him with a few snacks, some of which he managed to chew on absentmindedly, but he still refused dinner despite the pounding headache behind his sinuses.

“Mark,” you started gently, kissing his temple, “you need to eat something.”

“I’ll finish this chapter and we’ll eat, I promise.” He reassured, taking your wrist and pressing chapped lips against it. You grimaced, wrapping your arms around his neck as you leaned to read over his shoulder. “You can go ahead and eat though, I’ll munch on these snacks—oh, I ate them all.”

You roll your eyes, pushing Mark away from his desk as you sat on his lap, your head nuzzling in his neck as you pressed shy kisses around the skin. He kissed your hair quickly, going back to reading his textbook as he rubbed your back.

“Mark.”

“Ten minutes.”

“Sweetheart, it’s going to be the same. The textbook isn’t going anywhere, I just want you to eat some dinner,” you pouted, pulling away to press a kiss on his lips. “Please?”

Mark returned your kiss, “ten minutes. I swear, I actually swear.”

“You need a break.” You mumbled, deepening the kiss as Mark weakly returned it. You smiled when you heard him sigh, pulling away to kiss his forehead.

“Move.” He said quickly, pushing you off his lap.

“Mark!” You yelled, glaring up at him from the spot on the floor. “Dinner! Now!”

You pulled at his arm until you successfully managed to pull him onto the carpeted floor, your hand on his collar as you fastened your legs around his waist. Mark groaned, attempting to pull himself off until you rolled over him.

“I love you, but I need you to go away because you’re really distracting and I have to pass this test tomorrow.”

“You will pass, baby. But you won’t pass if you get sick and you miss your final.” You caressed his cheek, “how about we go out to eat, we get some coffee, and you can spend the night here? We can do an all nighter.”

“But what about studying?”

You slapped his chest, “what do you think the all nighter implies? Pig.”

Mark grinned but gave a sigh afterwards, looking at his watch, “fine. Let’s go out to eat.”

“No fast food either,” you warned. “We’re going to a sit down restaurant and we’re going to hold hands and tell each other how much we love each other.”

Mark rolled his eyes, “then I’m staying.”

“Get up!”

You chatted along side with other classmates in your department about the child development final. Some mentioned how hard it was, while others, including yourself talked about the short answer section on the very back. Standing outside the student union, you noticed your friends pausing the conversation, causing you to furrow your eyebrows at the sound of someone yelling out your name. You turned around and feel a pair of lips crash against yours, Mark wide eyed and with a grin plastered on his face.

“I passed!” He beamed, “I passed with a 99%!”

“That’s amazing, let me see!” You cheered, taking his test in hands and looking at the firm 99 on the paper.

“Do you have any more finals for the day?”

“No, this was my last one.”

“Good!” He smiled, “let’s go out for lunch!”

You were barely able to say goodbye to your friends, opting for a quick wave as Mark dragged you all through out campus, your fingertips locked together and a smile wide on your face.

#thank u 4 ur request I hope u liked it :D #mark fluff #mark scenario #mark lee #mark lee scenarios #mark lee request #writing request #mark lee imagines #nct scenarios #nct 127 scenarios #nct 127 imagines

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yourdeepestfathoms · 4 years

Text

Cross Poison

(She appears briefly BUT read Anne as Courtney!Anne)

owo what’s this? another gift for @the10amongstthese3s?? yeh. I’ve lost all control hghhhfhghg it’s not even their birthday month yet but 🤟🤟 party hard

me: frantically google searches if luna is in fact moon in spanish (good news gang, it is)

also this is the third fic with a Pokemon move for a title. i am very ashamed of my lack of creativity

Word count: 6311

———————

“Catalina...Catalina...Catalina....”

Her eyelids were glued shut; no matter how hard she tried, she just couldn’t open them. Not that she cared- the lights would be too bright, anyway. She had felt like she was going blind the day before from just her nightlight.

“Oh no. She doesn’t look too good.”

“Stay out in the hall if it bothers you, Jane.”

“Will she be okay?”

“Yeah, I think. It’s just a little bug.”

A soft moan breached her chapped lips. The sound grated against her throat like talons of fire- she needed water so badly.

“Catalina? Can you hear me? It’s Anne.”

There’s a cool touch on her hot forehead. Despite herself, she leaned into it, desperate for the coldness.

“Anne, I don’t think she’s going to be waking up anytime soon. She’s out cold.”

“I felt her move.”

“Still. She’s not going to be performing today. She looks...not good.”

That had to be Kitty. Aragon knew not by the voice, which was muffled and far away, but the choice of words.

“Yeah. We should go get someone to take care of her.” There’s a rustling right beside her ear; acrylic nails tap on a phone screen.

“Who are you texting?”

“Joan.”

There was disbelieving sputtered laughter.

“Joan? Are you serious?”

“Yes! She’s close to Catalina and she has a ton of vacation days saved up. I know she’ll take off if I explain the situation.”

“Yeah, and the minute Aragon sneezes she’ll keel over and die.” Kitty snorted. “You know what’s wrong with her. She can barely talk to people without losing her mind.”

There’s nothing wrong with my girl! Aragon thought fiercely. She tried to get up to rain hellfire on Kitty for saying that, but all of her limbs were heavy and weighed her down like ten ton pieces of lead.

“She just has anxiety.” Anne said dismissively.

“Saying whatever she has is anxiety is an understatement. She worries about EVERYTHING.” Kitty said. “Like— I have anxiety, but I know how to pee in public.”

“And yet you faint at the sight of a hatchet. So don’t even start.”

“It’s—!!”

Anne barked something, but Aragon’s hearing was fading out. She moaned again and then she could feel her head flop to the side on what she’s pretty sure is a pillow. Blackness consumed her—but she doesn’t know the difference from everything else she’s been surrounded by.

—

Freezing water cascaded down Aragon’s face, snaking down her neck and seeping into all of her pores. She jolted awake, breathing harshly, and whipped around to the man trying to comfort her.

She should have known. This was why she always tried to take care of herself—because she KNEW Henry would try and slither back into her life. Long ago, she used to comfort herself with that thought, her husband crawling back to her after realizing all of her replacements were horrible and nobody would ever be able to top her, but now it filled her with nothing but sticky dread that fuels her nausea.

She doesn’t want to feel his hands brushing back her sweaty hair, his lips when he kisses her and tells her how she’s still beautiful, his body when he holds her when chills wrack through her. She wouldn’t let that happen again- not ever. So, even with an illness weighing her down, she gathered herself up to her full size and—

Wait a minute.

Her vision may have been edged with blackness and very blurry, but she knew Henry was not as thin as the person on the floor of her bedroom. And definitely didn’t have blonde hair. In fact, he didn’t even have hair at all.

“Joan?” She said—or tried to. Her voice was so raspy and weak that simply saying a name hurt. The water that had been running down her face cleared her nose for a moment, but her sinuses were already pressing back in. Even in her own ears, she could faintly hear how nasally and wobbly her words were.

“Y-yes?” The girl on the floor responded. “I-I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to frighten you! I-I was just trying to...” She glanced over at the bedside table and Aragon saw a bowl of water and a rag sitting on it.

Oh.

“I see,” Aragon blinked. “That makes more sense than...” She shook her head and pain ricochets through it.

“I’m sorry,” Joan said, looking down at the floor. “I—”

“Hush, love.” Aragon said. “It’s alright.”

She threw her legs over the edge of the bed, and that movement alone jarred her weak body horribly. She took in a shaky breath and put her head in her hands, massaging her pounding temples. She heard Joan scramble to her feet in front of her.

“C-Catalina?” She stammered nervously.

“I’m fine.” Argaon grit, and then her stomach churned audibly. She set a hand over it as Joan grimaced. “Actually- Can you hand me that rubbish bin?” She swallowed thickly. “And then give me some privacy?”

Joan’s eyes widened and she nodded frantically. She gave Aragon the trashcan and then walked out, hearing gagging and coughing a moment later.

—

Nerves were crawling and writhing in the pit of Joan’s gut like snakes. She could almost hear them hissing as they slid past each other, making her stomach roil. But she would not spill her guts, especially with Aragon being sick. She was supposed to be taking care of the queen—she couldn’t act like this!

And yet, her anxiety continued to rise. And it definitely didn’t help that there was flour everywhere.

Joan blamed it on the kitchen. It was, at least in part, responsible, being rather cramped because of the large island. One quick turn and smack! An arm-to-flour-bag collision sent the product flying to the floor, landing in a cloud of white powder.

And it was loud, too, making a rather distinct thump that likely resonated throughout the entire house.

And throughout the entire house meant—

The girl jumped from her position across the kitchen, dropping the measuring cups and spoons she had been carrying to squeak nervously. They clattered to the ground, much to her dismay, but she had to deal with it later. Right now, she had to face the door down the upstairs hallway creaking open.

Joan squeaked again and stumbled up the stairs towards Aragon’s room, tripping over her own feet and a pool of flour in the process. She attempted to urge the disoriented queen back into her room, idly brushing off the coating of flour that covered her entire being.

Aragon’s voice is rough and her accent mixes with the words horribly when she starts asking questions: “What happened? What fell? Are you alright?”

“Nothing! Nothing! It’s fine—everything’s fine so, please, um, go back to your room now! Get more rest, you’re still sick!” Joan yelled in response, voice faltering and increasing in pitch as she went.

“It’s only a slight fever, I’m fine. I don’t understand why you are so—”

Joan, not knowing what else to do, screamed. In surprise, Aragon responded with a sharp yelp. They were probably, most likely, definitely causing a disturbance by now. Joan would write five-page apology notes later.

“What’s wrong? What’s going on?” Aragon asked, frantically now, her voice becoming a hoarse whisper due to illness.

“Um, I, um,” Joan felt her lungs seizing up in the way they usually did when she was about to have a panic attack, but she beat the feeling back. She couldn’t lose herself to her anxiety right now, especially with Aragon in much worse shape. “I-I’m dealing with it, d-don’t worry!”

“But what is it, that’s all I’m asking—”

“It is being dealt with!”

There was a brief pause, leaving the house in silence. Then, Aragon sighed, muttered a soft, resigned, “forget it, whatever it is, I don’t want to know,” and turned around to return to her room. Joan scampered back to the kitchen and braced herself against the sink, struggling to breathe for a moment.

She felt utterly pathetic. How could that simple interaction nearly spiral her into full blown panic? She had to get her head on straight!

After taking a few calming breaths like Aragon had taught her, she stepped back and then began cleaning up. She lost about half of the flour in the fall, much to her dismay, because it was a brand new bag. She made a mental note to pay the queens back for it, then moved on.

Once she finished cleaning up, she set everything she needed neatly on the counter. She glanced several times at the recipe she was going off of as she mixed the specific ingredients together, since she wanted this to be perfect. Aragon must have been feeling miserable- she HAD to make something good for her to hopefully cheer her up.

Several dirty dishes, incorrectly measured ingredients, and one incident where her long hair got caught in the mixer later, she has her treat tucked away in the oven to bake. She smiled proudly to herself, then moved onto cleaning up and making some soup on the stove-

-only to remember that she had no idea how to make soup. Even the recipes she looked up seemed way too complicated for her stupid fish brain. She worried over this for a long time before deciding to just make some porridge. Somehow, that is something she’s able to make.

Her mind whirled as she began taking out the necessary ingredients. The usual voices she heard in her head were, for once, not warbling over her, but rather Aragon.

Hot porridge. I’ll make hot porridge. She’ll like that.

Hot porridge will make her throat worse. It hurts right now. Cold porridge will cool it down and soothe it.

Cold porridge would chill her bones and make her fever worse. Hot porridge is softer on the stomach.

Hot porridge burns tongues.

Cold porridge—

“Aaagh, shut up!” Joan cried miserably, clamping her hands over her ears. It took her a moment to realize what she'd done and she looked around the kitchen bashfully, as if she thought someone had materialized nearby and watched her yell at herself.

“You’re fine, Joan,” She whispered. “You’re okay. You can do this. Just like you used to back then. It’s not that hard.” She paused. “Aaand you’re still talking to yourself. Good job.”

She shook her head and wracked her brain to remember what was needed. Water, milk, rice, seasoning. Easy.

And yet, it still took her three tries to make a simple pot of porridge. First she poured too much seasoning, then she burned herself on the stove and dropped the bowl she was holding, and finally, she somehow managed to turn the food into a gross goop that would only succeed in making Aragon even sicker. After finally getting it right, she sunk to the ground with a woeful noise, wallowing in her own shame.

Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic- Her mind screamed. Can’t even make a simple meal? What an embarrassment.

She whimpered softly, feeling a panic attack rise in her chest, but she stamped it back down. She would not lose herself. She couldn’t.

Think about rain, She thought over and over again. Think about rain, think about rain, think about rain...

There was a crash of thunder- actual thunder. Joan jumped backwards, slamming her body up against the oven and staring with wide eyes as a downpour of rain suddenly came down against the glass back door. She scrambled for her phone, wondering if the queens did something to protect the glass from a storm, and then realized how stupid that was. She put her phone down as a blush blazed over her cheeks.

Stupid, Her thoughts hissed. Can’t you do anything right? Use some common sense.

She tried to think about rain again, but the peaceful drizzle she usually calmed herself with has turned into a raging storm within her head. Lightning slashed the mindscape as thunder rolled through her eardrums. Cracks appeared everywhere, jagged and fang-shaped when they split open like oozing wounds. She wondered if her cranium was being destroyed as the internal storm veered into a baby hurricane.

There’s a loud beep. It lanced through the tsunami and Joan’s eyes snapped open.

She’s on the floor, curled in a fetal position, clutching at her head. She rose slowly, feeling embarrassed.

Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic, pathetic, pathetic- Her mind roared, but she did her best to ignore it as she took the cake out of the oven.

It’s an effort that takes a lot longer than it should, but when she finishes icing the cake, Joan has a brief moment of pride. She was satisfied with the result as she fawned over how pretty it was, even if it was thin and slightly deformed in shape, and the golden-orange frosting was gooey and haphazardly spread across the surface.

Joan cut a generous sized piece for Aragon, grabbed a fork and a plastic bag, and practically bounced up to Aragon’s room, the cake balanced precariously on the plate held behind her back. She was barely able to stop herself from chiming out loud when she saw the queen’s form upon entering.

Aragon was lying on her back, one hand resting over her stomach, the other drooped listlessly at her side. Her eyes were scrunched shut and her mouth was open slightly to breathe- her nose must be too stuffed to get air that way. Beads of sweat clustered together on her forehead. She doesn’t stir when Joan walks in.

“Catalina?” Joan called out softly. She stepped closer. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed vomit in the waste bin. She winced. “Catalina?”

Aragon’s body shuddered in a way that sent jolts of anxiety crackling through Joan’s entire being. She moaned softly, then her eyelids peeled back and she stared blankly up at the ceiling.

“Catalina?” Joan said again, this time much quieter. She edged towards the door slightly, expecting the queen to snap at her for waking her up. But instead, Aragon’s head rolled over the pillow to face her and she smiled weakly.

“Hello, little luna,” She croaked, her voice rough with illness. She sounded worse than she did earlier. “Were you baking?”

Joan blinked. “Ah… You…”

“Smelled it?” Aragon chuckled a little. “Barely,” She snuffled through her stuffy nose then made a very unqueenly face that caused a giggle to bubble up from Joan. “But it’s enough.”

She fell into silence as Joan sat on the edge of the bed, then slowly pushed herself up into a sitting position. She winced as she did so, even letting out a soft gasp of pain, and one of her hands shot to her stomach. Joan nearly dropped the cake reaching for the trashcan, but Aragon stopped her with a dismissive wave of her other hand.

“I’m alright, dear,” She said. “Just some cramps.” She leaned back against the pile of pillows against her headboard, breathing out softly through her mouth.

Joan quickly regained herself from her flash of panic. She pulled the cake out from behind her back and presented it to Aragon, beaming.

“Look! I worked really hard on this! Maybe it’ll cheer you up!” Joan nearly glowed with satisfaction. Aragon gingerly took the plate from her.

“Ah,” Aragon said. “Thank you.” She stared down at the plate as if it were holding a human heart rather than a sweet treat.

Joan continued to give her a look, one of adoration and anticipation, and Aragon has the choice to either swallow down her hopeless devotion to her daughter figure or swallow down the cake in front of her on an upset stomach, risking further nausea...or worse. She cast an uneasy glance to the trash can, but Joan doesn’t notice it through her eyeball-scorchingly bright radiation of bliss and pride.

“I’m sick, you know.” Aragon stated. Joan nodded, about to respond when Aragon continues, “So I can’t… really eat this right now.”

The realization appeared to dawn on Joan rather painfully, and in seconds the girl has apologies spilling from her mouth like a waterfall. Aragon can’t even get a word in edgewise to stop the torrent of despair coming from Joan, who seemed to think that she’s ruined everything— “I’m so sorry, how rude of me, I should’ve known better, oh Catherine, I’m sorry—”

“Joan!”

Joan flinched away, nearly teetering off the bed. Hot shame poured down her throat and set her insides ablaze. At the same time, icy cold dread shoved its way in and the two conflicting emotions clamored for space inside of her until she felt like she was going to be sick.

“Joan.” Aragon said again, clearing her throat. She reached out and gently touched Joan’s cheek; her hand was shaking with exhausted tremors. “Think about rain, baby. You’ve got this.”

Joan closed her eyes. She imagined collapsing all her thoughts about nearly worsening Aragon’s sickness into dozens of raindrops and whisking them into a background storm. It works—for now. She opens her eyes again and Aragon is smiling at her, despite the tiredness and pain very obviously glinting in her eyes.

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, PLEASE just let me sleep, Joan imagined her thoughts crying. You nearly poisoned me with your blasted cake! The least you can do is let me rest!

Joan put that into a raindrop, too, although it was a little harder to shove inside. The tone the internal voice spoke with sounded exactly like Aragon’s- what if she had said that out loud? What if she was upset with Joan? What if she wanted her to leave?

“Raindrops, baby,” Aragon murmured, caressing Joan’s cheek. Her shaking fingers press into the coolness of Joan’s skin, like she was hoping to lower her fever with the touch alone.

Raindrops, Joan repeated in her head, and she shoved the Aragon-mimicking thoughts into one of the shimmering droplets falling from her internal rainstorm.

“Good girl,” Aragon said breathily. Despite having to take a moment to breathe through a wave of dizziness and blink away the black spots that come with it, she’s still able to recognize the way Joan’s face would relax when she successfully blocks out her anxiety. “Good girl...”

Every worried thought suddenly exploded out of their raindrop, splattering icy water throughout Joan’s brain, but she could hardly care because Aragon is tipping over and she has to rush to catch her. Her hands grappling the queen’s forearms seemed to be enough to jar her awake, because her eyes snapped open and she sat up quickly.

“Catherine?” Joan said worriedly. “Are you okay? Can you hear me? Should I call someone? An ambulance?”

Lightning cracked in her internal rainstorm, illuminating a puddle upon the mindscape that she always tried very hard to keep covered. There were three, actually- one wreathed in thorny vines around the edges with brilliant emerald flowers sprouting from the snarls, one with pinkish-green snapdragons lurking around the perimeter, and one that has soft white petals floating upon the surface. As beautiful as they may have been, she dreaded having their contents bubble out of the pools—and that’s exactly what was happening with the third puddle.

Images flashed behind her eyelids- a sickroom, stained sheets, a fretting king and a writhing, gasping queen.

“I’m alright,” Aragon’s voice surfaced through the clamor of noise resonating through her skull. She seemed to be too busy recovering from her near-blackout to notice Joan’s rising anxiety.

“That’s good.” Joan said distantly. The sickroom again, blood oozing down a bedside, half of a placenta sprawled out of a dark red abyss of torn flesh and blood and inflamed vaginal tissue. “I’m...I’m glad.”

She turned stiffly to the edge of the bed, and at first she thought she was moving to vomit in the trash can, but then she reached for the plastic bag she brought in with her.

Oh yeah, She thought. How could I forget? Stupid.

“What’s that?” Aragon asked after clearing her throat again. Her voice was slimy with mucus, but she was still doing her best to hold herself like a regal queen.

“Oh, just some medicine.” Joan pulled out a bottle filled with some kind of dark pink liquid. Aragon squinted at it and curled her nose. “I went shopping before I came over.”

“What is it exactly?” Aragon asked.

“Something that will help you.” Joan informed. “I also got ginger shots, throat coat, Ibuprofen, Motrin, Mucinex-”

“Are you trying to overdose me or something?”

A blush lit up on Joan’s cheeks and Aragon chuckled lightly. She gently touched the girl’s hand; hers is still shaking.

“I’m joking, baby.”

Joan smiled thinly, then unscrewed the lid of the bottle she’s holding and filled the cap up with the thick liquid. She looked at it, smelled it once, and was glad she’s not the one about to drink it.

“That’s probably enough, right?” She looked at the queen.

It was a big lid. A little over the stated amount wouldn’t be that bad, right? The more Aragon takes the better it’ll work! Probably.

“You’re the caretaker.” Aragon said.

Joan inspected the medicine-filled cap for another moment before handing it to Aragon. The queen stared at it like it’s poison. Joan giggled softly.

“Just...take it like a shot!” Joan encouraged her.

“Bold words from someone who has never taken a shot before,” Aragon said, earning a ruffled look from Joan. She flashed a smile at the girl, then punched her nose shut, tipped her head back, and downed the liquid as fast as she could. Almost instantly, she made an ungodly sound similar to that of a cat coughing up a hairball. Joan dissolved into giggles.

“Oh Lord,” Aragon said bitterly. She snatched the water bottle sitting on her nightstand and took a big sip.

“Hang on, there’s more.” Joan said before Aragon could get too comfortable with feeling like she was done.

It probably wasn’t good to take all that medicine on an empty stomach, but Aragon still wasn’t up to eat much, even when Joan told her she also made some porridge. She just shook her head and laid back down after taking several pills and shots of foul-tasting liquids.

Upon peeling herself out of the room, Joan was met with a rush of worry and fear that nearly caused her to spill the trash can she told Aragon she was going to clean out for her. She gripped the edges tightly and trekked into the kitchen, trying not to succumb to her nervousness, but it was so hard with every possible bad situation shoving its way in. Soon, several endings to this sickness were laid out to her- the least alarming one was Aragon recovering, but being deaf for life due to her high fever, but the others were much, much worse: Aragon seizing in the bed, foaming at the mouth; Aragon being dead the next time she checks up on her; Aragon being brain dead because her fever fried her brain; Aragon spewing blood and vomit from her mouth because Joan accidentally overdosed her; the other queens looming over Joan, their faces twisted with hatred and disgust, while Maria and Cathy wail over Aragon’s horribly pale corpse in the background; Joan being shunned and hated and called a killer for the rest of her life.

Then, she blinked and they’re gone, disappearing into the mist of her internal rainstorm and she doesn’t even try to scramble after them. Even if she wanted to, it’s almost impossible for her to pull thoughts back out of the storm once they’ve drifted inside.

She takes to washing the dishes she dirtied from making the porridge, and it took a lot of time because she knew that Jane was sort of a neat freak and would kill her if she left a smudge of rice on one of her pots. Doing the chore eased her mind slightly, got her away from thinking about every worst-case scenario, but she can feel them lurking in the back of her head, waiting.

The storm outside the house hissed. The backyard was turning into a small lake, swelling and churning and eroding the ground into a stew of mud and weeds. Joan walked over to the back door and stared out at the pouring rain. Weather like this reminded her of reincarnation, which was rather strange because she was the only one who didn’t come back when it was raining.

Aragon and Anne had told her about it a few months after everyone was settled. The queens came back first, all on the same day, all during a terrible storm with “thunder so loud it could chip bones”, as Anne had stated, and they all met the same day at the chapel Jane was buried at. Soon after, they got the huge house in ways they still couldn’t really understand, and then, four months later, the ladies in waiting appeared, although they came back in two day intervals. Maria on Monday, Maggie on Wednesday, Bessie on Friday, and then Joan on Sunday. However, they said the storm cleared up the day of Joan’s reincarnation, making them think that nobody else would appear. But that night was one of the brightest they’ve ever seen, and she showed up in their backyard, underneath the glowing moon. Completely naked, too. That part always made Joan very flustered, but she liked the way Anne and Aragon would laugh when she would-

Aragon.

A sudden gush of adrenaline sent Joan careening up the stairs and to Aragon’s bedroom. She nearly kicked the door off its hinges, but she couldn’t care because Aragon-

-was perfectly safe in her bed?

Joan blinked. As much as she loved seeing that the queen was okay, she couldn’t understand the sight. Was she hallucinating? Why did she have such a bad gut feeling all of a sudden?

She waited by the door, thinking that maybe something might happen, but nothing did. Nothing bad, at least. Aragon stirred at one point and sneezed in her sleep, which nearly made Joan fling herself at her and give her CPR (as if that would help even if she WAS dying, anyway—she didn’t know how to give CPR correctly at all).

Her nerves were on fire. Alarm bells were ringing in her ears, screaming, “GO! GO! SHE’S DYING! HURRY! YOU HAVE TO HURRY OR SHE’LL DIE!”

Cleves had once asked her how she managed to be so anxious all the time, and, at the time, she didn’t have an answer. But now she did: she didn’t manage it. Being this nervous was exhausting. And she hated it, but she didn’t know how to turn her brain off or quiet her flurry of worried thoughts that poured through her brain every second of every day.

The pet cat, Tea Cake, strolled by and meowed at Joan. She swore even IT was judging her nervousness. She sighed and finally left the room, despite her brain crying, “NO! NO! GO BACK! SHE’LL DIE!”

She collapsed down onto the couch and put her head in her hands. When she glanced up, she saw that the time displayed on the TV cable box read: 12:04. It was a double show day today, so she probably had another good four or five hours before the queens got back. If she could just keep Aragon alive until they took over, then it wouldn’t be her fault if she died!

She squeezed her temples against her palms. How could she ever think like that? Besides, she would find a way to blame herself, anyway. Just like-

A whimper bubbled to Joan’s lips, which turned into a sob. Suddenly, there’s tears running down her cheeks and she doesn’t really know why, but she does know that she hates them and they make her persistent headache worse.

She cried alone on the couch for a while, at some point flopping over to bury herself against the back cushions in a fetal position. She was planning on just crying herself into a pathetic puddle, but then her phone rang and she had no choice but to pick it up. The caller idea said that it was Jane, and usually her heart would leap in joy to see that her queen was calling her, but, right now, simply seeing her name said spirals of bad, bad things coiling through her brain.

“Hello?” She said in her best not-having-an-anxiety-attack voice.

“Hey,” Jane replied coolly. She sounded nonchalant, but Joan has become good at detecting the annoyance that would edge her voice whenever she talked to her. Even on a phone call, the stinging irritation was bristled around her words like needle-sharp thorns. “I’m just calling to check up on Catalina. How is she?”

Ironically, it was the one afraid of illness doing this. Perhaps it’s to make up for her not being able to physically comfort her fellow queen.

“Okay,” Joan answered. She struggled to keep her voice steady, but she knew it was wobbling treacherously. “She’s- she’s, ah— she’s sleeping. Right now. S-she’s sleeping.”

“I see.” Jane said. Then, she paused. “Are you alright?”

A whirl of new thoughts filled Joan’s head: Jane cares, Jane doesn’t care, Jane is worried about her, Jane is going to tell the others about how pathetic she is and they’ll all laugh at her, Jane knows.

“I-I’m f-ine.” Her voice cracked horribly and fresh tears ran down her cheeks. She has the art of crying silently mastered, but she knows Jane can still hear her sharp breaths and hiccups and whimpers. The fact that the queen isn’t saying anything makes her feel even worse. Scenarios shove their way into her brain faster: Jane putting her on speaker so everyone in the theater could hear her break down, Jane hanging up on her so she doesn’t have to listen to her sniffle and weep like a baby, Jane laughing at her.

“Listen to me,” Jane spoke up. Her voice is firm and hard, but Joan swore she could hear softness seep through the thorns edging her words. “I’m the calmest voice you hear. Use me as your anchor. I’ll keep talking until you calm down.”

Joan was nearly startled into calming down. Was Jane...trying to comfort her?

“Remember that you are safe. Look around you.”

Joan sank to her knees on the hardwood floor. Her chest ached with the weight of her guilt and anguish, which are mixing together awfully inside of her. She whimpered softly.

“You’re okay. We’re okay. Catalina is okay. The cat is okay. Anna’s dogs are, regrettably, okay.”

“Wh-why regrettably?” Joan stammered, sniffling.

“Ah, so you are listening.” Jane said. Joan thinks she may be tipping her head. “Keep listening. I know you can do that, Joan. You’re a very smart girl.”

Jane thinks I’m smart, Joan thought dizzily. And then, those thoughts spiral downwards, That doesn’t make sense. Jane is dead. I know Jane is dead. I saw her— I was— I felt her blood.

Joan closed her eyes and remembered the way she tried to help Jane after she gave birth to Edward. She had tried so hard to stop the bleeding, but there was just too much blood and it wouldn’t stop coming out and the smell was so bad and everything was yelling and Jane wouldn’t stop screaming.

“-my voice.” Jane was saying, a little more frantic. “Don’t let yourself fall in.”

But it was too late. The petal-strewn puddle in Joan’s mindscape frothed over its own edges until every bad thing she tried so desperately to hide within its depths came pouring out: Nurses shoving through the sickroom, midwives clamoring in a panic, blood and birthing fluids and placenta and sweat and tears, a tiny baby soaked in blood- They all flooded her mind with full force.

“Joan? Joan?” Jane called loudly. “Joan, are you there? What’s going on?”

Joan doesn’t answer. She simply dropped her phone, curled into a ball on the floor, and cried.

An unknown amount of time passes. It’s nearly two o’clock when Joan looked up, though. Immediately, a headache crashed into her head like a sledgehammer. Sweat glided down her body, but it felt more like blood to her.

She had to check on Aragon, but she couldn’t bear to see the queen while she was sick. She was too afraid of possibly seeing her as a corpse, so she just half staggered, half crawled to the downstairs bathroom, stripped off her clothing, and stumbled into the shower to scrub off the feeling of blood coating every inch of her skin.

Leaving her to suffer, Her mind hissed. Good job.

———

“Alright, that’s it—”

Aragon had been laying in her bed for what felt like hours, and she couldn’t take it anymore. She threw her legs over the edge and hauled herself out, which nearly landed her face-first on the floor when she put pressure on her numb legs, but she managed to grapple onto the door frame and steady herself. After a moment of breathing, she’s able to start walking.

Joan isn’t anywhere in sight when she finally makes it down the staircase, but she can faintly hear Cleves’ shower running. She chuckled, wondering how her nervous little moon conjured up the courage to use someone else’s bathroom, but was proud of her nonetheless.

She poured herself a bowl of porridge and sat down at the couch to eat. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was until that moment; it was good to eat, especially something so light and easy on her stomach.

Somewhere down the hallway, she hears the shower sputter to a halt. A few minutes later, Joan trudged out, dressed in the same bumblebee T-shirt and sweat pants as she was in earlier. Her hair is still soaked, though, and she had a distant look in her dull grey eyes.

“Hello, little luna,” Aragon cooed over at her. She didn’t know if it was her fever making her delirious or if the girl’s touch starved aura was rubbing off on her or even if it was from her dreams of being with her daughter again, but she’s been itching to hold Joan in her arms. “You took a shower, I see. I’m not THAT contagious, you know.” She winked with a laugh, but Joan doesn’t react. She didn’t even look up at her. Aragon frowned. “Joan?”

Aragon set her bowl of porridge down after one more bite and walked over to where Joan had stopped in the living room. She’s clenching fistfuls of her shirt so tightly her knuckles were turning white. Something was wrong.

“Joan,” Aragon gently touched her shoulder, but even that is enough to make her jolt back. “Hey, sweetie, it’s okay. It’s just me. It’s Catalina.”

Joan looked up at her with wide eyes and there’s something in her gaze that she’s seen in Maria’s before, but much, much worse.

“Joan,” Aragon took her hands. “Think about the rain, baby.”

Joan’s eyes shut tightly and a strangled sob escaped her lips. She shook her head, making a miserable keening noise that sent cracks through Aragon’s heart.

“Think of the mist and wind and distant thunder,” Aragon continued softly, stroking Joan’s knuckles with her thumbs. “The fog and lightning and rainbows.”

“I-I can’t-“ Joan gasped. She shook her head. “I can’t. Y-you— You’re—sick— not okay— just like—”

Suddenly, it dawns on Aragon.

“Oh, Joan,” She murmured. “Oh, baby.” She cupped the girl’s tear stained cheeks. “You’re worried that I may end up like Jane, don’t you?”

With a feeble whimper, Joan nodded and then sobbed again.

“My poor girl,” Aragon guided Joan over to the couch and pulled her into a tight hug. Joan clung to her instantly, burying her face into her chest and clearly not even caring if she may catch whatever the queen has. “You have a lot of pent up anxiety over that, huh?”

Another nod, this one much weaker. Joan’s entire body is now wracked with weeping. Aragon holds her tightly, afraid she may fall apart if she didn’t. She stroked her soaking wet hair and rocked her back and forth.

“It’s going to be okay, honey,” Aragon whispered. “I’m okay, I promise. I’m alright. Nothing is going to happen to me.”

Joan, surprisingly, doesn’t argue against that claim. With a frown, Aragon realized it’s probably because she doesn’t have the energy to.

Joan cried for a long time, and all Aragon could do was hold her and wait until she’s well enough to talk to. However, when the sobs do eventually die down, Joan was already far gone in unconsciousness. She looked peaceful, at least, with her head resting atop Aragon’s chest. The queen closed her own eyes, feeling her illness take control over her once again. She, too, fell asleep, but awoke some time later to someone standing over her. She jumped back, instinctively holding the girl in her arms tighter.

“Sorry,” Jane said. “How are you feeling?”

“A little better,” Aragon answered. She was surprised that Jane was standing so close to her.

Jane nodded. She glanced down at Joan and expression became something that Aragon couldn’t really discern. She pursed her lips.

“Is she okay?” She finally asked quietly.

Aragon blinked, then looked down at Joan. “She...went through some stuff earlier.” She said. “She was pretty freaked out. Had an anxiety attack. She’s been asleep since.”

The flat line set on Jane’s mouth turned into a frown. She extended a hand and gently touched Joan’s head, then pulled back.

“I see.” She whispered. So many emotions were flashing in her eyes. “Well.” She turned away. “Take care of her. Oh— and yourself.”

Aragon watched her walk to the staircase and disappear upstairs, then looked down at Joan in her arms. She pulled the girl closer.

“Will do,” She said, long after Jane was gone.

#im love you duck mama 💕💕#six the musical #six the musical fanfiction #six the musical fanfic #six fanfic #six fanfiction #catherine of aragon #anne boleyn #jane seymour #joan on the keys #katherine howard #anna of cleves #catherine parr #mamagon #cross poison

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dammitadolfnomorecake · 3 years

Text

Once Bitten, Twice Stupid prt 100 prt 2

“Lance would like to remind you both that Lance is here. Keith’s right. I’m not a hunter. And it’s not just me I need to consider here. There’s Matt, Rieva and Curtis think of, as well as Pidge and Hunk, plus their families. I’m not a hunter but I need to be there to protect them”

He didn’t get a mention? What about how he felt about Lance being in danger? His boyfriend sounded cranky, which he shouldn’t be seeing Keith’s sinuses were still burning. Coran sighed softly. It had to be hard for him

“I understand. I know Matt has been working on Curtis’s curse. I caught your last video also. At the very least, please read through the documents I brought. Then you’ll be able say you made your decision after careful consideration. I would prefer you not be in danger... though Lotor is the only other vampire I could let you train with... Even it’s only once, it could be an invaluable experience for you”

Lotor would use Lance up and throw him away. He also hadn’t forgotten the threat against his precious puppy. Narti hadn’t saved him, Zethrid and Ezor had. She still rubbed him the wrong way. They all did. He’d seen Lotor and Allura all giggling and felt compelled to shoot Loturd in the head in the name of community service

“We both know he’d kicked my arse to next year rather than let me beat him. What can teach me?”

“I believe he may be able to help with your bat problem. Training with Keith has certain advantages, however, you know Keith wouldn’t hurt you. That fear is not there, and your emotions weigh a lot on your transformation. If you can find a way to channel those feelings, then perhaps you’ll stop randomly turning. I can’t use the Blade werewolves due to their missions. I would like someone who you’d be on even ground with if you let your ego slip”

Lance placed his tea down, before placing his hand on Keith’s knee. His boyfriend trying to ask him for comfort, and maybe some one to accept his words?

“Coran. I can’t. If I let go of my ego, I might as well through everything away. I love Keith. I’m in love with Keith. I’m terrified with his line of work, but he knows what he’s doing most of the time, and I don’t think I can contribute anything helpful”

Coran mentioning ego meant that he thought something big might happen. Coran was proud of how tightly Lance kept his ego reined in. He didn’t go around telling him to let it loose and go crazy. Keith felt all weirdly warm in his chest as his heart went funny at Lance loving him. Coran didn’t back down

“I’m not saying to Lotor’s extent. But your ego has definitely changed to match the changes in your body. I have seen these changes in you. Seen you mature. Watched over you from that small and scared boy, into the wonderful man you are today. I refuse to use you as a pawn, or a tool, nor do I want you to see combat. I only ask that you read what they have give you”

“I’ll read it... but, I don’t think I want to. I’m too emotional and I remember too much. I can maybe look at data and analyse it, or help with legal things, but as for hunting, that’s not my place”

Lance could be a fine hunter if he wanted to, but his boyfriend felt too much as he’d said. Each wrong mission or person lost would stay with Lance and his caring heart

“That’s perfectly fine. I did say I would talk to you, not that I’d make you agree. Now, I also brought a couple of other things with me. Let’s get those out the way, then I’m afraid I have to head back. A faes’ work is never done”

Coran stayed another half hour. He’d brought jigsaw puzzles, magazines, snacks, and blood. His bag of mystery was kind of mysterious as it didn’t look like it should be able to hold all of that. Lance was lost in his head for the most part, clearly thinking about the offer. Keith had forgotten his probation period of six months would be coming to an end, thought if it was six months instead of 12 that was a good sign that they didn’t find him a threat. Seeing Coran out, Lance came back, throwing himself down on the sofa with a sigh

“You don’t have to say yes”

Snorting, his boyfriend smiled at him, before drawing his legs up and resting his head against Keith’s shoulder

“I know I don’t”

“But?”

“But I would like to figure out how to “unbat” faster. And maybe how to be a bat when I am one. I can’t even fly”

“We could get you a tiny harness and you could ride Kosmo around”

“Or I could just stop turning... Never mind that. I don’t see why the Blade would want me around”

“Because you’re smart? And you know the city?”

“More like because Lotor is a douche”

“That’s true... What do you want to do?”

Lance sighed as he took Keith’s hand in his

“I stayed out of that world for a good reason, but now I have a better reason for helping. I want to be able to support you, even if I don’t know how to do that other than being here for you”

Such a Lance answer. Keith’s heart going all weird as he felt fuzzy... but that could be the pain meds kicking in

“You being there for me is all the support I need”

“I know... but... I want this case to hurry up and end before people get hurt. I want to stop randomly getting heat flashes and have control of myself again. I want to know I’m not going to wake up to another phone call in the middle of the night. I don’t want you or Shiro to be hurt. It makes me question my whole... outlook, I guess. I stayed away because I didn’t want to be like those other vampires with their queens and covens and shit. I could have spent my time learning more about them, but I spent my time living carefully and that was all I needed. Now I have a man I love, that runs towards that danger that everyone runs away from and I want to understand”

Keith squeezed Lance’s hand

“You’re fine the way you are. You’re safer on the outside. I don’t think I could recover if something happened to you”

Lance rubbed his cheek against Keith’s shoulder affectionately

“And I’d never be able to live with myself if something happened to you”

“It won’t... before you bring up the accident, accidents happen every day. I’m not very good at being hurt or ill...”

“I noticed”

Snorting at his boyfriend, Keith supposed he had been a bit of an arsehole

“I’m sorry. I do appreciate you here, but you’re not my maid. You’re my boyfriend. You don’t have to make meals for me and Shiro”

“I just needed something to do with my hands. I learned it from Hunk. He bakes a lot when he’s stressed”

“He does seem the type. Are you going to look at the documents?”

“Yeah, but I don’t... I don’t think I’ll say yes. I mean, I want to help and I feel kind of obligated too seeing they haven’t killed me or sentenced me to death. But then I think about the others. Matt’s been holing himself up in his room, I think he’s been talking to Rieva’s parents about European werewolf culture. I don’t want to get Curtis’s hopes up about finding a way to severe the demon from him”

“I’m still shocked they managed to perform magic in the first place”

“I know right! I mean... there’s just so many things we don’t know. Do you think they’ll be mad if I don’t help?”

“Kolivan might be, but mum will understand”

Keith didn’t realise what he’d just said, Lance tilting his head to up to smile up at him

“What?”

“Oh, nothing much. Anyway, I’ve got to put dinner on. You should call Krolia and let her know she doesn’t need to come break in and make sure you’re okay”

Keith snorted. He could picture his mother letting herself in. He’d probably be in the bathroom then come out to a mini heart attack at her in the living room

“It’s probably a bad sign when you can picture that. I’ll send her a message, just because you asked me too”

“Mmm... Okay. Then can we do one of Coran’s puzzles? I want to do something brainless”

“We could go to bed?”

Why was he getting horny again? He should be in too much pain to be horny

“That’s enough of you. We’re lucky Coran said nothing. I don’t think my undead heart could take the embarrassment. You pick the puzzle and I’ll put the roast in the oven”

Keith kissed Lance’s forehead

“Okay, babe. I love you”

“I love you, too”

#once bitten twice stupid #oncebittentwicestupid #ashratherose

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the-headbop-wraith · 3 years

Text

2 _ 30 Ash Lingers

The tracks were obvious, how could he not have noticed them first? But he was a dog, maybe it was just instinct versus rational. Tracking in the cold was impossible, his nose was numb and the frost bit into his sinuses, but he was making good time now that he sought the signs in the thin crust of ice. He galloped over twisted roots and zipped through brittle shrubs, flurries catching on the tips of his ears whip around in his passing. Of course they would be fine, Lewis was there, if not Vivi was quite capable of taking care of everyone. He was sure.

Mystery skid on his front palms and raised his head high, ears aimed forward, twitching. Sounds, heavy breath, wheezing. Someone running in a panic, feet crunching on the soil. The voice could be Vivi. He gave a bark and charged off, adjusting his course for the direction of the escalating disturbance. They lost the path, racing through the forest in a mad panic. There would be no time for explanations, he need to decide what possible scenarios could have come about. He was beginning to fear the worse.

Danger. Something old, powerful. Something unforeseen. All of this didn’t help.

“Mystery!” A voice shot from the dark, obstructed by the surrounding trees. The hound dug his back legs into the soft mulch, twisting over, and charged straight towards the sounds. “What happened? You were supposed to watch him!” Vivi carried a bundle in her arms, bound up in Lewis’ jacket. Bad, this was bad.

The dog snorted as he trotted the last few feet, and glanced beyond Vivi through the mirage of blue-silver and shrouds. Well, I’m here now. He looked at Vivi, barked, and lowered down on his front legs to bristle his fur. What has happened? Where IS Arthur? You didn’t leave him behind—

From the shrubs stumbled a yellow streak caught up in thin vines and leaves, half blinded by foliage and lack of light. A leg nearly kicked into Mystery’s side and the figure went down hard, skidding several feet over root clusters hidden by frost. Everything settled soon after, some ash and leaves remained clinging to Arthur’s bright orange vest. Both stare.

Well…. Mystery sat down, and raised a paw to fix a bent ear. I won’t ask.

“Are you hurt?” Vivi snapped, and Arthur mumbled something about pizza. Vivi didn’t catch it, maybe Arthur had been moaning and she imagined it. She stepped aside to set Dimitri down between a bundle of roots vacant enough of ice, then stooped low beside Arthur. She hesitated to reach out and touch Arthur, but managed to persuade herself to set a hand on his bad shoulder. “Where’s Lewis? He wasn’t behind you?” Vivi raised her gaze to the endless rows of trees and tangled dark stretching beyond; her eyes seeking bright sparks, a familiar ghost racing head-on out of the reach of a vehement disaster. She’d already said it herself, she knew Lewis’ options had been restricted, but she didn’t want to concede that she had been right. “Did we just leave him like that? Did we?”

“Jeez,” Arthur mumbled, as he pulled himself up. He crouched on his knees among the brittle leaves, and reached up to snag the cloth of Vivi’s coat. It was hard to see, neither of them had managed to salvage a torch he realized. He could only imagine her face now. “No. I… There was nothing I could do! That thing went after him! Vi… he pissed it off real bad.” As he spoke, his voice quivered. Vivi had that dawning horror in her eyes, and he had no way of assembling a shabby voice of encouragement. “I would’ve stayed, honest, but I was in the way! I thought he was gunna be right behind me, I swear. I didn‘t… I didn‘t look back!” He cringed, and brought the soft wristband of his metal arm to his brow. He tries not to shake too hard, he can barely hang onto Vivi. “I thought he would follow. I thought…. One I was gone— I’m telling you! ”

“You did all you could.” Vivi tightens her grip on his shoulder and bows down, close to his eye level. “You did enough. I couldn‘t expect any more from you.”

The words were meant to reaffirm his actions, but they hurt. As if she didn’t expect him to do anything but run. But what else could he have done, performed another Classic H style distraction? That was all he was good for in a pinch.

“W-what… happen?” All three turn as Dimitri stirs, eyes blinking at the dark as he raised his head. His movement was sluggish but he was coming to, quickly. “Where am I? How— ” He sat bolt upright out of the coat. “What’d I do?”

“Whoa there, sport.” Vivi sprang over to crouch by the muddled boy, and drew the sides of the jacket around his shoulders. “You had a nasty fall. The ground around here is slick, and— ” She jerked her arms back when Dimitri shoved at her.

“Don’t give me that! I know what I saw!” The boy looked away to his lap where he clutched a shredded toy, its torso splint and tangles of roots spilling out. “Don’t lie to me.”

Vivi pulled her fists up to the scarf looped about her neck and gripped the soft material. What to say, what to say? “No one’s trying to lie to you,” she murmured. “I was worried you would be scared or… confused, you’ve suffered a terrible shock.”

“Why?” Dimitri lashed at her. He bowed his head forward and hunched his shoulders under the jacket. It was so cold. “Because your friend’s some kind of monster?” He cringed at his own words. This was Lewis he was talking about. Lewis. The guy that liked alpacas, and read him scary stories during the long stretches of desolate road, or played games with him to help pass the time. The one person that had been there when the others had… lost themselves. And he… he wasn’t human.

Arthur raised his flesh arm to his shoulder and rubbed at the stiff skin. “Harsh man. That’s harsh.”

Vivi motioned Arthur to keep quiet, and turned back to Dimitri. “No,” she says, her voice low it was barely a whisper. “Because… I know what you saw in that clearing. The tree. We… we didn’t expect that, and… I don’t know what to do.” Vivi leaned towards Dimitri and put her arms around his shoulders. “We’ll find a way. We haven‘t given up yet.” Dimitri slumped into her arms, but didn’t raise his hands from the toy he clutched. Vivi hugged him tightly and shut her eyes. “I’ll be okay. We haven’t even started yet. Right?” Dimitri mumbled something into her shoulder and shook his head.

Mystery glanced between Vivi and Dimitri, then to Arthur. A piece of twine remained tethered around the paw he raised to his snout, he yips gently.

“You’re right,” Arthur says. He turns to the vague direction they had rushed from, his breath mists as he exhales a lungful of warm air. He felt better, clearer now with the distance from the sprite and its forest grave. There was no indication that it was still active and fighting Lewis, no wild explosions; just the uneasy stillness of a cold winter night. Despite the lack of moving air the forest around them groans and its leave litter rustles impatiently, as if the woods were reshaping, reforming, secluding its secrets from the intruders.

Time was a concept this place evicted.

“Lewis!” Arthur called. He cupped his hands around his mouth and tries again. Arthur’s voice snapped and he fell into dry hacks.

“He’s in trouble,” Vivi states, as she stands. “I have some supplies…. Art, take Dimitri back to the van.”

“No-no.” Arthur shook his head and held out his hand. “I’ll go back. I’m the better candidate.” Vivi snared his shoulder and held onto Arthur before he could vanish into the woods. Not on her watch.

Dimitri and Mystery looked back and forth between the two as they argued. Arthur was very expressive with his arms, even if the prosthetic was substandard when he became anxious. The whole time Vivi absolutely would not release Arthur’s arm, and she was snarling at him. “Does this happen a lot during a crisis?” Dimitri murmured

Mystery ‘ruffs’. It’s a requirement.

“And then what?” Vivi hissed back, at the crescendo of their bickering. Her hand had slipped while Arthur jerked around in her grip, and now she was only latched to the shoulder strap of his backpack. “What’s your plan? Are you gonna talk it to death?”

“I just might!” Arthur yelped. He pulled back and grabbed Vivi’s hand, trying to loosen her grip. “Damnit, could you just… have some faith in me for once! I know I’m the last person… I know— !” He slapped a hand over Vivi’s mouth before she starts the tirade all over. “It’s Lewis, or me.” Vivi glared over Arthur’s arm for a second. Her eyes dart aside, and she sighed through her nose. Gently, she pulled Arthur’s hand away.

“Mystery. Make sure he doesn‘t do anything reckless.” Mystery gave a soft yip and took off, dashing by Arthur in a blind race. Arthur gave a cry as he pivoted and gave chase of the hound:

“You don’t know the way!”

“Can you stand?” Vivi says, when she returns to Dimitri.

“Yeah.” Dimitri drew his feet up under himself then rocked to rise, and Vivi kneeled down with an arm out in case he needed help. When supplied his weight his legs gave out, and Vivi had to snare him by the arm before he could fall into the dirt. “My legs. What’s wrong with me?”

“You woke up,” Vivi supplied. She adjusted the jacket around his shoulders and heaved Dimitri up off the frigid ground. “You should be fine. The influence, I don’t know what to call it - it must be working out of you. I hoped you just fainted, but I… that had been my hope.” She jogged off downhill, placing trust in her stern sense of direction to guide here from the woods. If they were enchanted or drenched in a haze of power that repelled trespassers, she could only hope that this power for the time was diverted.

As she hurried away, Vivi would feel a pressing need to spin about and check through forest, search for indication that their panic was premature; some small glimmer of fire as Lewis and the others raced out to safety. The oppressive winter lull swelled thicker and deeper with every yard she stacked between her and the direction she had retreated from.

Fire gushes and leaves scatter, plumes of embers gleam through the cold air as tree limbs moaned in their efforts to reach out, hold and take.

In hindsight, diving into the grove had been a terrible mistake. It was made worse by the reoccurring understanding that escape was within his grasp, he need only… reach for it. What was stopping him? Why couldn’t he do it?

Too much was going on for Lewis to keep track. From every side he was assaulted by vines and roots, snatching out at his corporal form as he ducked and weaved. The wood grove was thick with ancient trees, Lewis couldn’t fluctuate between insoluble and produce fire to meet the demands of his attacker, half the time he kept his locket shielded by an arm. He skipped and dove low to the soil, spreading cinder at the reaching tree limbs. And the roots! He hadn’t decided precisely what it was they did whenever they tore into his suit, but it couldn’t be allowed.

“Thou take, but doth nay give back. Thou fit nay hitherto the pillar of existence.” The forest spirit crashed through trees, carried by thick vines that swung it low and launched it high, above the flames Lewis spread through the brush. It had shed layers and segments of its once intimidating form, in order for it to navigate effortlessly through the thicket to pursue the dapper ghost. With the whole of the forest at its command it need no extra arms to detain Lewis, or move close and risk the flames scorching at its carapace. ““Let thee help thou, lost soul,” it hummed, the branches rasp, leaves rustling. “Let thee help thou.”

“I do not! Do not NEED any help!” A low hanging branch swept out at his back, tangling with Lewis’ dress coat as he rose from the soil. The branch tethers him as vines wind down snagging his shoulders and snap the ghost backwards. Lewis shoves a hand over his locket, holding it to his chest as he digs his feet into the frozen earth. A wave of soot huffs from his collar and Lewis ignites flames from his ribs. While vines shatter and branches coil back, Lewis spreads more cinder onto his unaccounted flames and sweeps an arm out; the lost fire snuffs out from the branches. Lewis pivots on his heel, kicking back as more vines slice out for him; his skull spins upon his shoulders searching the thicket, occasionally he glances up.

Punch through the canopy, gain distance; the wood sprites reach is purely physical, shackled to the forest, its sanctuary. But he… can’t. Lewis is as grounded to the earth as his soul is anchored by the locket at his chest.

Low branches curl inward, twisting around him with slithering vines binding, caging. A burst of flames flashes from Lewis coat, another opening crackling with embers and sizzling coals but the forest has no end. A thick cloud of ash rises from his coat as he snags, roots rip forth from ice encrusted soil coiling at his ankles; some of these clumps eerily resemble gnarled hands as they tighten. Lewis cups his fists together and heaves his form down, a wave of fire shoots out from where his fists slam upon the soil. The heat vaporizes the nearest plant matter, black char stretches over the soil and timber crackles with glittering fuchsia.

Vines persist to lash out, stabbing at the coat collar as Lewis throws himself back against a tree trunk. “Would you just… y‘know, blink or something?” He slips down backwards, beneath a tangle of vines that lash out and twist over the trunk. “I’m… trying to leave! Just let me go!”

The wood spirit glides between the branches of the lower canopy, and as Lewis watched he realized that the vines that moved it did so by exchanging out its exoskeleton, effectively rebuilding it layer by layer upon its constant mobility. That small fragment of knowledge, though obvious as it should have been from the beginning, made his consciousness sink deeper.

“Seek peace,” it crooned, descending towards Lewis segment by segment. “I can see through you, soul. You seek fulfillment, a resolution.” The forest sprite screeches when a bright flash of fire tears through the lower portion of its exposed body, its thinned body. A swell of black smog rises from its carapace and the sprite crashes to the forest ground, it twists itself into a tight knot and work bundles of vines over its sputtering, blackened shell. The earth cracks beneath it, and a nest of roots rip forth in heavy bundles for the fires coordinator.

Lewis zipped away and dodged the reach behind the tree trunk he had dropped beside. He pressed one hand over his pulsing locket and kicked away, flames popping at his heels as he glides beyond the reach of unearthed roots. Flames ignited from his wrist collar, catching over reaching branches snagging at his shoulder. The forest sprite continues to wail out, trees quiver as it knocks about either struggling to replace its damaged shell or fighting to pull its girth back into the canopy.

Briefly, Lewis glimpses his surroundings as he coasts away. The further from the entity, the less animate the forest was. He glances at the bits of ash flaking from his shoulder, but is distracted by a shadow draped over the blue ice he propels over.

The wood sprite launched its body above, through the branches of the canopy and down onto Lewis. A wall of flames greets its assault forcing its recoil from the harsh fire, and it withers into the soil like a blackened weed stalk. Roots are torn up by its violent thrashing, these are braced over the smoldering pieces of its body until the embers are extinguished.

For a moment the wood sprite relents its onslaught and keeps immobile, the glimmering spaces in its neck turn to Lewis as he drifts back slowly. Small wisps of bright embers follow at Lewis’ shoulders, as does the dark dust drifting from his suit. His heel catches on a root and Lewis settles on the earth, he falters to his side but stays upright and rests a hand over his locket.

“You prolong the inevitable,” the spirit of the woods says. The soil cracks and roots slip free around Lewis’ feet, slithering to the heels of the dapper ghost. “Why do this?” It hesitates at the flames puffing from Lewis’ coat collar.

“You don’t know me.” Lewis scattered embers at his toes, and the roots withdraw by an inch. Carefully, Lewis begins to move back step by step, slowly. “Once a long time ago, what were you? You… don’t remember?”

The wood spirit uncoiled the segments of its body and whipped around, before Lewis can launch himself away. Coils of its vines pin Lewis down and wind into his backside, roots from the soil stab into his shoulders. Lewis manages to force himself to his knees and holds himself there, as fire sputters in his suit color. None lethal frantic puffs of colorful smoke and soot. The wood sprite curls itself around and flips its head portion over, to peer at Lewis. “What medium would thou have of thy memories?”

A calamity of hysterical barking bursts from the nearest brush, and a silver streak tears into the vine coils digging into Lewis’ shape. Mystery gives a fierce growl as his teeth tears into the dusty bark, he anchors himself by his fangs and claws as the coils lurch.

The spirit of the forest does not release Lewis, but squeals as it whips around. Loops of creepers from beneath the canopy wind it up, while vines across the broken soil begin to coil about Mystery’s snout and middle body. Mystery yelps as his teeth tear free, his arms tug out as his claws remain snared on the vines he had been gnawing on. Coils tighten around his chest, the vines wrap over his snout and head constricting.

“Don’t you DARE!” The creepers disintegrate when Lewis burns through them, wild fire drenched his hands. He glimpsed Mystery when the timber cracks and ashes away; the dog gave him that familiar look, red eyes gleaming behind the spectacles as the dog descended to the ruined soil. Mystery didn’t seem frazzled at all. As soon as he hit the forest floor, he spun away and vanished into a clump of charred brush.

It must be somewhere, he can sense it nearby. Mystery sprints across the field of petrified trees, only slowing his steps as he nears the ancient edifice that the massive trees cower beneath. There it is, above. Mystery stares up at the network of locked vines, a deep frown sets into his face. The children didn’t deserve this.

“Back here!” Lewis slammed his palms into the vines that built up the exoskeletons base pressing every ounce of his spirit fire into its shell, his eye sockets flashed bright with flames. “I’m the one you’re fighting.” The forest sprite twists away, and slung out with a bundle of its branches to tangle in Lewis’ suit and ribs. Lewis shot backwards, a burst of fire pulsed off his suit scorching the grasping coils.

Lewis doesn’t check where he’s gliding towards, he’s gathering distance from the entity while he can. He blazes through a curtain of branch tangled creepers and crashes among the fresh frost and roots of the soil. A flurry of cinder spirals around his shape, intermixed with the black fuzz of ash. For a moment he hovers, staring at the crisp night sky through the canopy; already vines stretch over blotting out the twinkling stars. To what point, he wondered. Lewis eased himself over and struggles to rise, lift off from the earth and escape the hissing ends of roots already poking through the soil.

Rapid foots steps crashed into the thicket and scrape to a stop near the dapper ghost. “Shit!” Arthur’s voice. “Lewis, you’re— ”

“Didn’t I tell you,” Lewis snarled, tried to. His voice was thin and hollow, as if barely clinging to the breeze. “I told you to get lost.” Lewis coaxed his form upright and moved his legs beneath his body, as he lowers. “Dangerous.”

“Yeah?” Arthur hobbled forward – hesitates when Lewis’ skull swiveled his way. Arthurs ran a hand over his hair, and then thrust his arms out to grab the ghost by his suit lapels. “S-since when is listening to you a priority?” Lewis isn’t heavy but he drags, his shape resisting movement, unable to move under the same jurisdiction as solid mass; or maybe it was all in Arthur’s head. “C’mon Lew, you can still walk!”

“It’s such a task.” Lewis drifts after Arthur’s insistence, his arms hover near his locket unsure of what to do with them as Arthur forces him along. He spins his skull back as the rasping lump of vines crashes between the tree branches, the wood sprite continues to wind coils of creepers into the charcoal of its shell. If its focus hadn’t been diverted, the entity would have been upon them long ago.

The branches curved and carried it, intermingling through its carapace to hasten the exchange of damaged kindling while simultaneously keeping it mobile and suspended from range. It spasms when the head portion cocked, the bright globes along its neck glint in the moonlight as it locks onto the dark eye sockets of Lewis’ skull. The wood sprite slings its body down, in the soil below roots are twisting forth from the crust of frost.

“Art’ur, you….” Arthur gives a sharp squeal as Lewis grabs him by the neck and shoves him down, away from a clump of roots. “Down!” Flames burst across Lewis’ backside, as he slams a set of claws into the soil. A spiral of fire races around Lewis’ conducted circumference, shredding through the quivering plant matter. The locket sparks and fades from Lewis coat front, as the ghost drops his skull seeking with his fire; omitting, and targeting the core. Arthur goes limp under his palm. Lewis ignores him, the same as he ignores the black soot.

A jagged knife of flames blazes vertically from the icy floor around the edge of his spiraling flames. The roots and soil locked beneath the forest sprite erupt and sizzle, a thunder clap ignites on the shocked cold air. The inferno of fire zigzags up the center of the entities torso and throat, splinting the carapace shell into two jagged halves while is hangs in midair. The wounded spirit buckles and gives a wail that dies out in the same instant it was unleashed, the resonance of it steeps down into a ragged wheeze. Its eyes glimmered out one by one as its body begins to crumble into ash, and at the center of the coals is the turquoise translucent. The wood sprites soul glitters with starry beads, intermixed with blue-silver moon beams through its liquid mirage. Briefly, the dew and beads sparkle keenly one last time, then, shatter into vapor amid a cloud of black ash and embers.

The wild fire that had engulfed Lewis’ eye sockets evaporates a moment after, and the dark woods beneath the canopy are overtaken by a suffocating silence. His skull remains bare of recognition; he is a skull and a suit, a suit that is quickly decaying.

“Ssssafe.” It’s not tired he feels. Lewis lacks the body that would grow weary or need rest, he is absent of muscles and blood that would provide his being a sustaining mass that once he owned in life. What he is a consciousness, and it is clarity that begins to fail him first. A lack of sense and presence of this ‘being’. That is how he would describe it. It was the closets notion he felt to peace.

“The… the hell!” Arthur croaked, as he struggled to pry Lewis’ hand off his throat. Arthur struggles to get himself back on his feet, he can’t drag his eyes off the heap of ash smoldering on the frigid slush. He just sits there, Lewis hovering beside him – dipping sideways, all for the world looking like a stunned fish. Arthur was hesitant to move, his arms quiver beside him, even the hand that kept latched to Lewis pants leg. The heat was fading fast, what remained of the forest sprite was dissolving into a layer of thin cinder, the edges soaking into the fresh mud. Arthur coughs on the tart air as he turns to the spirit hovering, dazed. “We weren’t— Lew! That wasn’t part of the plan! Lewis?” Then Lewis does something Arthur doesn’t understand. “You okay? Hey.” Arthur quickly springs upright and stands back, as Lewis lowers to his feet. And falters. Wobbles.

“I don’t….” Lewis begins. Arthur stares at his torso and sides, and Lewis knows why. Lewis reaches a hand up for the locket, the distortion becoming worse when he realizes it’s not where it must be. But it’s there, it has to be. He sheilds the pseudo metal with bleached bone, and tugs it substance forth from smoky air. “I don’t feel right.”

The skull seems barely able to stay suspended above the suit collar, and Arthur has to take the coat lapels of the suit to keep Lewis upright. He gives Lewis a frail shake. “How’s a ghost supposed to feel?” Arthur mutters. “Lew? Talk to me! Screech or… anything! You’re scaring me!” Arthur isn’t sure if he should, but he does try to move Lewis’ hand away from where he knows the locket should be.

“I’m a little— ” He grips Arthur’s arm. That’s the bad one, isn’t it? Lewis grips the wrist of the prosthetic. The locket pulses its constant hum under his palm, its texture tarnished, transparent; it echos his stability with its muffled thrumming. Lewis pulls the side of his arm to shield his torso, where bleached ribs have been exposed through the dark ash of his suit; flakes fall away; losing more and more of himself. “Distant. Fading. Art, I— ”

Arthur gave up, and hauled Lewis over his good shoulder and let the ghost sag. This time he feels the weight. “Hold on,” Arthur pleads. “We’ll get back to the van. Just stay with me. Don‘t do this. Don‘t. Not here!” He pulls Lewis’ free arm across his chest and braces his arm over the empty sleeve, that way he can… he could grip the edge of the crisp white collar beneath the skull. Arthur snaps his hand back, there is literally nothing under that suit. But Arthur’s stuffs the thought aside, he’s wasting too much time. He grips the shirt collar and distributes the weight to the best of his ability. Arthur hesitates to refer to it as… deadweight. The skull dips forward and Lewis’ tightens his grip on Arthur’s wrist. “You gotta work with me here, Lew! This isn‘t the place! It’s not the time!” Arthur gets angry as he begins to walk, it’s not difficult but Lewis isn’t helping. “You can‘t do that to Vivi! She‘s waiting— !”

Then Lewis and the soft somewhat distant thud-thump of the locket are gone. No sparks, no nothing, just gone. Arthur blinks and gapes at the cold, open air at his shoulder, where a minute prior was occupied by Lewis. Before Arthur can properly register the sudden absence, he falls face first into the muddy slush.

What came first was the cold. It penetrated his bones and seeped into his muscles, it lingered at the edges of his skin as he mindlessly reached out for a bright light. Sounds were muffled by depth. They weren’t even sounds, more like heavy vibrations blundering around his head, and the steady beating of his heart.

What happened? Where am I?

Arthur vaguely remembered fire, smoke, cinder, screaming. His head full of screeching. Someone was screaming at him.

“Art! Art! Come back! Art!” It was Lewis, trying to put motion back into his lungs. Oh god, his head ached. The thick smell of blood hung on the air, and the scent of it made his stomach twist on itself. “Wake up! Please!”

The voice was no longer Lewis’, it was Vivi. Arthur blinked his eyes at the girl as she kneeled over him, doing something to his chest. His body was in pain, sharp needles nibbling through his joints. When he moved a new swell of agony ripped through his veins, and Arthur was soon pitched over vomiting.

Vivi kept beside him, an arm slung under his chest as he heaves into the crystallized earth. “Shit,” she choked. “Oh my… dis, you stopped breathing. I thought you were lost.” She held onto Arthur as he spat. “Take it easy, slow, shallow breaths. Give yourself a chance to recover.” She adjusts the torch braced at his shoulder, to angle it away from them.

Arthur groaned as he leaned back on his side. Vivi pulled him by his vest, away from the foul mess. “Feels like a truck hit me.” He raised a cold metal arm to his forehead and took another deep, careful breath. Indeed, it felt as if his bones were knitting and his muscles were layered in old scars. It was so similar…. “Lew’s. Where?”

“I don’t know,” Vivi murmured. She placed a hand to Arthur’s forehead and smoothed his hair down. Arthur set his eyes on her hand holding the torch handle, something was wrapped in her fingers that glittered. A chain. Soon though, Vivi’s attention slipped off him and she regarded the blackened soil coated in ash, gray mist was rising from shattered chunks of bark. “I was hoping you could tell me.”

Embers, cinder, the forest sprite squealing as it was hacked in two. Arthur shuddered.

“Vi. He….” Arthur didn’t want to let on what happened, what very well could have happened.

“I sometimes need distance.”

“How’s Dimitri holdin’ up?” Arthur sat up a bit more, and Vivi helped him stay upright. The moon had tracked far across the sky, was nearly out of sight beyond the tallest most trees that formed the canopy. Evidence of the struggle lay across the soil in shattered vines, sizzling coals, and dry mud tinged by the edges of ice chunks. It was difficult for Arthur to make out where he had dropped. His head hurt like nothing he ever felt, but that didn’t surprise him. He sat shaking violently, and could hardly wrap his arms around his middle. Nothing helped.

“He’s recovered, more or less,” Vivi answered. She slung off her backpack and rummaged around within, until she brought out some kind of cloth. Smelt like medical gauze. Arthur winced when she pressed it to his head. He could see what was twisted over her fingers, it was the chain and the rock. The one Vivi had carved for Dimitri. “Your bleeding stopped. We need to get you back to the van.” As she helped Arthur to his feet, Arthur reached out to touch protection talisman. The most his mind could manage was touching it, and when Vivi saw him grip the stone she tensed and blurted, “The kids!”

“Hmm?” Arthur wobbled, and felt the nausea like a hot weight in his throat. Vivi guides him to the side of a tree, its bark torn and blackened. Arthur focused his blurring vision on the blocky alligator texture of its surface in the yellow beam of the torch. He thought his flashlight was lost. Why did she have Dimitri’s totem? So many questions, they swirled in a thick film drowning his thoughts. “What kids? Are they… they’re safe?” Lewis had done the complete opposite of what they had been trying to pull off, the thought of made Arthur sick all over.

“I had to leave him and the others at the van,” Vivi elaborated, in a most creative way. That was a relief, though Arthur’s mind was foggy concerning who exactly these kids were. Vivi was going too fast. “Mystery came back with every one of them.” Then her voice faded, and she glanced from Arthur to examine the evidence. She skimmed her light slowly over the ruptured creeper vines, ashy remains of leaves. “Did Lewis… nullify the hostile?”

Arthur leaned heavily on the tree and tries to nod. “I don’t know if it’s gone for good,” he wheezed, and coughed a bit. The chill was rough in his burning throat, he must’ve been passed out a good while. He stopped breathing. “Has to be. If I were it, I would’ve booked it too.” He didn’t care how his words would be taken, he couldn’t care. He wanted to get out of the cold and lie down. “I’m not in hot shape,” he mumbled. “I don’t think I can—” Arthur shut his mouth when Vivi heaved his body up over her shoulder and hauled him off, the toes of his shoes kicking against ashy rock as she ran, panting. Why was she so strong?

“Hang in there Art. I know you hit your head pretty hard, but try not to grease me.” Vivi fixed the backpack straps on her shoulders and began hiking off through the thicket. “I wouldn’t blame you, but try and give me warning?”

“Yeah,” Arthur burbled. It was only a mile or something back, he could hold out. Arthur hung his head as Vivi carted him over her shoulder, his own backpack dug into his side. “Vi,” he said. “I’m sor— ”

“We have to hurry,” she states, eyes fixed forward. “Whatever the spirit used to preserve those kids, it’ll be wearing off and none of them are dressed for the cold. Mystery’s doing all he can.”

Arthur sighed. “He’s a good dog.”

By the time Vivi had reached the cinder block wall that segregated the wild forest and the cultured zone of man’s domain, Arthur was nearly able to walk on his own. His body just couldn’t take her shoulder digging into his abdomen, and Vivi let him down and eased the weight of his body over her shoulder.

Ten children plus Dimitri sat in the back of the van, huddled in blankets and with each other. Mystery was in their midst, watching as Vivi loaded Arthur in. Dimitri hardly looked up from hugging one of the boys, probably his brother, dressed in Powerpuff pajamas. The smaller boy doesn’t look all there, but he’s talking and asking questions.

“Who’s he?” the thin, little voice says. In his hands he clutches the ugly, splint sock monster as if it is his lifeline

“A friend,” Dimitri murmurs. Lewis jacket was draped over the two boys, and Dimitri pulled the frayed edges of the jacket around his brother. He glanced up at Arthur as he staggers by. No words pass between them, and Dimitri hugs his brother a little tighter.

The door of the van creaked shut as Vivi climbed in. Arthur limped his way around the kids and joined her at the front, leaning over the bench seat. “What we do?” he asked, crossing his arms over the seats back and laying his chin on them. He let his head tilt and hang, his eyes gazed out at the streetlamps burning blurrily in the hazy cold air. Stars and glitter, he couldn’t get those images out of his head.

For a long moment Vivi is silent, and Arthur waits. She hunted around for the key, until Arthur managed to slip off his backpack and dug around in its interior. She went ahead and started the engine and began driving. The creeping edges of soft blues mingled in the distant horizon, above hills and mountains of a far off terrain. Vivi rubbed at her eyes, and poked at a dirty Styrofoam cup in the cup holder.

“We’ll leave the kids at Dimitri’s house,” she says, at long last. Arthur watched as her knuckles tighten over the steering wheel. He wanted to say nothing, but he was afraid to speak up. Vivi was too strong for her own good. “I don’t know how long the influence of the sprite will last, if its broken now. We’ll have to call out some Demonologists to check the area, make certain.”

It hurt to still consider the case a failure after what they had been through. It wouldn’t be the first time. Lewis could still be there lost or waiting, there was really no telling. Once they were recovered, they would return to look for him. The state that he and Vivi were in now, they couldn’t risk it. Going back was a bad gamble too, if it was still waiting, weakened. It was going to be a struggle for Arthur to keep Vivi from rushing off once the kids were safe.

“We were so unprepared,” she muttered, and leaned forward onto the steering wheel. Vivi kept her eyes fixed on the road; traffic was nonexistent. Arthur would’ve offered to drive, but he was in no condition. “I had hoped we’d learned.”

“We didn’t know,” Arthur spoke. He reached his metal arm over and set his hand on her shoulder.

“You said, and I— ”

“Fuck what I said,” Arthur snapped. He winced, partly from the sudden tension digging through his skull, but mostly he didn’t mean to shout. In front of the stunned kids. He listened a moment as Dimitri’s brother made irrelevant inquiry, and Dimitri answered each concern the young sibling had. He hoped they wouldn’t remember, that they would forget quickly. “We’ve put a stop to something that had been going on for a too long time. We saved a bunch of kids.” He paused there. Vivi stopped at an intersection and bided her time before turning the van, heading through a familiar neighborhood. “We’ll tell the Demon hunters what we found, and they won’t make the same mistakes we made. They’ll fix this if….” He let his voice trail off. He wasn’t sure if his words were helping, they felt pointless. Vivi was worried, he was worried, they were exhausted and in pain. Well, he was in pain.

A voice drifts up behind Arthur, and he feels a chill go down his spine. “Where’s Lewis?”

Arthur turns around, fumbles around in the dark for the camping lamp and manages to turn it on. “We’re you hurt?” Arthur asks.

Dimitri shakes his head slowly. His brother stares at Arthur, while sucking his thumb. The arm that pressed the fists to his mouth is looped around Dimitri’s neck, tightly. “I fell down, that’s it.”

Arthur nods. “What’s your brother’s name?”

Dimitri looks as if he’s unwilling to share the information, or was put off by the questions, but he answers. “Luther. I think he’s six now.”

“Hey Luther.” Arthur reaches his good arm over, and the littler boy grasps his hand. They shake. “Your big brother was looking for you.” Luther stares at Arthur but doesn’t comment; in his hand he clutches the broken pieces of the filthy cloth toy. Its button eyes glimmer fiercely in the lamp light beside them.

Mystery works on untangling himself from a cluster of children, to lean towards a girl and lick at her face. There-there, all’s better now. The girl gives a small sniffle and plows into Mystery’s shoulder, arms wrapping over the hounds neck. Mystery gives Arthur a pleading look as other children turn and pile around the dogs sides. Arthur coughs up a small laugh. Mystery was at times too tolerant, but he was a marvel.

By the time they reached Dimitri’s home, the sky was awash with purples and pinks of the dawn. The van doors open, and Dimitri helped Arthur and Vivi unload the lost children at the edge of the yard. Arthur stays with Mystery in the van, but Dimitri was enough to help Vivi guide the dazed cluster along the sidewalk path. The group had been asleep for so long, any remaining fatiguing was far beyond their comprehension. Removing them from the forest sprites realm helped, but it would take time for them to recover fully.

“I’m sorry,” Dimitri said, as Vivi herded the small pod to the porch of the household. The jacket had since been transferred to Luther, who swayed beneath Dimitri’s hands. Dimitri had to roll up the shoulders a good deal to keep Luther from stepping on and stumbling over the coat edges scuttling along the ground. “I… I shouldn’t have done that. I shouldn’t… I’m sorry.”

Vivi nibbled at her lip, and stood motionless for a moment beside Dimitri. Dimitri had stopped as well, but wouldn’t look at her. “Take care of your brother,” she said. She pulled Dimitri a little closer and leaned down to kiss him on the head. “I know you will.”

Dimitri nods. Luther stood beside him, looking from his brother to the girl. “I hope you find him,” Dimitri murmured. He snatched his hands from Luther’s shoulder to rub at his face. “I didn’t mean to call him a monster. I’m sorry,” he wheezed. “Tell him… tell him when you find him. I’m sorry. I’m so stupid.”

Vivi lowered to her knees and took Dimitri’s face between her palms. “Shh, don’t say that,” she cooed. “Dimi… Ethan. Listen to me. You did nothing wrong. You were scared, there’s no shame in that. The last thing Lew would want is for you to be upset, because you were frightened and said some things. Just words. Please don’t cry.”

“It was Lewis,” Dimitri whimpered. Luther stares at Dimitri, as his older brother flops to his knees and wraps his arms around Vivi. “It was Lewis,” he whimpered. “I called him a monster. He was trying to protect me, and I… I called him a monster. How could I?”

Vivi held onto Dimitri and patted the back of his head. She looked at the other children waiting, staring, aimless and confused, still lost in the fog of their dreams. Despite it all she managed a small smirk when Luther plopped down beside them, and put his arms around them. “You need to get these kids out of the cold. Ethan, they’re relying on you,” Vivi hums. “You started this.”

He nodded against her shoulder. “Tell him,” he mumbled. “I’m sorry.” Vivi pushed Dimitri up and dried his tears with the end of her scarf. “Please.”

“I will,” Vivi says. She reached behind her neck and unclipped a chain. Dimitri raised a hand to the little carved stone, as Vivi fastened the clasp behind his head. “That whole monster thing. He’ll have a good laugh. Him of all people, a monster?” Dimitri sniggered, and gripped the totem to his chest. “Now take these kids, and go jump on your dad.” Vivi pulls Dimitri and Luther to their feet, and guides them towards the front door of his home. She gently moves the other kids to follow over the frost encrusted lawn, and they pursue Dimitri without protest. Luther gave a little wave to Vivi, as his brother led him away by the hand. The children trail nebulously after Dimitri, as he steps up onto the leaf cluttered alcove of the porch.

Mystery was on the passenger seat of the van barking at his companions when they returned. He plopped into the center seat as Vivi and Arthur took position on either side of the hound. Arthur nearly toppled out as he reached to pull the side door shut, but Mystery caught the back of his puffy vest and jerked the thin figure back into his seat.

“Worse that can happen,” Vivi said, as she put the van into drive. “Someone tries and link us with the disappearances.” She gains speed. “I did check. That was all the missing kids. Thank gods.”

Arthur pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around his legs. “The college will credit us being far from the area,” he says. “I suppose they’ll want an informal report. Completely off record….” He takes a breath and pressed a hand to his forehead. “Mystery. Can you… I need some water.”

Mystery gives a light bark and leaps over the bench seat. His paws plop down onto the back and Arthur can hear him rummage around.

“Thank you,” Arthur mumbles, when he’s handed the bottle. He feels the exhaustion nestle heavily behind his eyes and the road begins to sway, gently, side to side. The bottle in his metal hand feels icy in his grip, and he cracks it open and takes a swig. Arthur makes a sound in his throat when he gags and leans over. “Vi. Vi. I need….”

“Hold on.” Vivi waits till they’re clear of the neighborhood, before pulls off to the side of the road. It’s a smaller park built for the younger generation, full of colorful play equipment, swings, a few trees glittering with ice. Vivi leaves the van on idle, the soft putter of the engine almost relaxing to Arthur’s throbbing head. “Lemme see the water.”

A bark comes from the back, and Mystery suddenly appears balanced on the seat back, one of Arthur’s ripped shirts grasped in his teeth. Vivi thanks him and takes the shirt.

“Hey… s’good work shirt,” Arthur protests, as Vivi pours a bit of the frigid water on the cloth.

“It’s clean,” Vivi retorts. She pulls her legs up under her on the middle seat and massages some of the dirt and blood from Arthur’s face. He’s startled by how red and filthy the shirt is when Vivi draws her hand back.

Then she stops, staring at Arthur with an expression he thought he knew but… he doesn’t understand the stare. Gently, she touches Arthur’s cheek and leans in a little closer, he can feel the scrutiny clawing at his consciousness.

“How bad is it?” Arthur asks. He reaches up and touches the clean spot on his skin.

“Hold on a sec,” Vivi mutters. She uses the damp shirt to clean off a little more of the soot and dirt and turns Arthur’s head to the side, to face the brightening colors of the dawn. Arthur squirms under her unnerving gaze, but Vivi holds him steady. “Look at me.”

“Vi?” Mystery whines at them. The dog drops off the seat into the back and begins pacing around. “Vi? What happened? Am I— ”

Vivi shuffles a bit away from Arthur and sits in the driver seat, legs folded under her. “Um… Art. Look in the mirror.”

Frightened, apprehensive, confused, Arthur leans up and turns the mirror down so he can see into it. His face has an ugly scratch up the side of his brow, but it should heal without—

Arthur gagged. That burning sensation burrows through his throat, and he felt an icepick dig at his temple. “My EYES!” He pulls his eyelids down, and feels something cold twist in his chest. No… no it couldn’t, how could it be? It’s not possible, it was insane. What happened was… he fell onto his face, a little bleeding in his eyes. That’s all. Completely harmless, he’d had this before, they would heal and he would never know the difference.

But he knew that was not Hyphema. The color was in his iris, rich, Alive. “Those are not my eyes.” He managed to stammer that, before a dark cloak swept through his peripheral and he felt the falling. That same distortion of weightlessness that haunted his nightmares surged through his body, when he failed to awake before the impact. Heat in his veins, fire in his brain, nerves frayed. Body broken.

Thick blots pulsed in his vision, growing large and thicker as he plummet down-down and down. Vivi said something, tries to sooth him, but he was beyond that. His head hit something warm, soft, and Vivi pawed at his shoulders to save his face from another painful bump. He smelt the cinder and the harsh acrid smoke from the clearing, the screeching of that thing when it disintegrated— all swept away in a flash of cold. The contrast jarred him, he had since been accustomed to that burning smell in everything, could hide it with a bad habit. It made him think of the stoves in the back of the kitchen, where he sometimes waited for shifts end. Such days, long-long ago, distant days. He didn’t want to lose those memories.

There was something more occupying his collapsing awareness. A presence. Hot but patient, waiting for him. He could feel the sensation, a piece of something that was foreign, intrusive. It was horribly familiar, like the first time he had seen….

“Lewis.” Was in Arthur’s thoughts. “Lewis. Is… that you?”

“Just shut up and sleep, Artie.”

#msa #mystery skulls animated #msa fanfic #mystery skulls fanfic #msa fanfiction #msa lewis #fanfiction #mystery skulls fanfiction #msa vivi #msa arthur #msa mystery

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qhostqizmo · 4 years

Text

Three months of winter

And a lifetime of love

- - - - - - - - - -

It took restraint to hold her tongue. As much as she wanted to be childish and plead he stay, Essätha knew he would delicately turn her down. It was his duty and his right to the people of their town; they did not name him the Protector of Briarton in addition to his title of lordship for showmanship. If he stayed inside just because she asked, what sort of message were they sending to those who depended on their aid? Even if she could sway him, they would both have to swallow their guilt knowing they let the public down.

Though she knew better than to look, her eyes skirted over towards the window. The snow was still coming down rapidly; wind howling against the shutters and causing the eaves to creak. She shuddered deep in her chilled bones and huddled the dense fabric of her cloak around her a shoulders a little tighter to her face. The golden embroidery stitched around the trimmed edges tickled her nose, producing a stifled sneeze.

A resounding echo of footsteps echoed in the foyer as her nobleman hurried through; his heavy boots laced and a mountain of thick apparel buckled and strapped across his chest. He offered her a smile as he caught her gaze. There was a shine of adoration in his eyes that couldn’t be denied.

“I’ll be home before you know it, Essie” he promised.

Her willpower unraveled; just a smidgen, but it was enough. She could feel the pout pulling at her lower lip that she quickly hid beneath the edge of her cloak.

“I will hold you on your word, m’lord.”

Amon snorted playfully at her fierce disposition. In the reflection of his dark eyes, she could see how she looked: an unimpressive woman, her eyes slightly narrowed, mess of ebony hair, and the cloak; which had been tailored wider in length to bundle around herself, covering her puckered sulky lips. She didn’t look like much, but she held more sway and power in her words than many knew. Even more when it came to the gentleman before her.

He stepped closer. Her eagerness to meet him was too much; bounding forward a step right into his open arms as he chuckled with mirth. She snuggled into his embrace; wrapped up in the atmosphere of home that surrounded him. He smelled like frigid winter months: vetiver, smoked wood, and cardamom with a hint of cinnamon. His grip tightened on her as she pressed her face into the collar of his shirt, trying to make the moment last and inhale his cologne in her lungs.

“I’ll be fine,” he assured her, a wavering tone in his voice. Doubt. She had seeded an uneasiness in him to let her go.

Not wanting to hinder him from obligations any further, Essie relaxed her grip and leaned back to peer up at him. “I know you will. The weather’s just awful, and I don’t want you to catch a chill…”

“I’ve got thick blood.”

Her complexion soured at his mischievous grin. Scoffing gently, she reached up to run her fingers through his mane of black hair; the occasional ashen hue peaking out with age.

“Please don’t keep me waiting in worry all night, beloved.”

“Not if it can be helped, darling.”

The soft light in his gaze upon her make her heart stutter. It was not a play off the torches in the house, it was something more than that. A spark inside him she knew well, and loved immensely and without limit.

Leaning into his chest, she met him for a brief peck on the lips.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Grabbing the fur-lined flaps of his hat, she tugged at them to cover more of his ears. Amon finally released her, still grinning despite how she insisted on pawing his layers to make sure he was covered. He was incredibly patient with her fussing, she’d give him that.

Before he could reach for the door latch to escape, Essätha wrapped her arm around his.

“Wait!”

He stalled, frozen like a statue. It was hard to tell he was breathing between the jerkin and coat and his own heavy cloak, but his eyes sparkled with signs of life as he glanced to her.

Swiftly, she tugged the scarf free from around her throat, and wrapped it around his. It was a heavy, dense fabric; dull and plain grayish in color with the ends coiled into knots.

“Stay warm,” she pleaded, knowing there was not much more he could do to accomplish this request.

Still, he smiled back at her. Resting a gloved hand to her cheek, her nobleman leaned in to lightly kiss her hairline. “The thought of you will will keep me so,” Amon encouraged her quietly, tucking the ends of the neck wrap into his coat. “And so will this.”

His charm made her flush, and momentarily forget the world. It wasn’t until he opened the door; or more, the wind thrust it open as he turned the handle that worry sank into her stomach once again.

If not for the blizzard-like conditions blanketing the world it white, it would be black as ink at this late hour. Still, showing no fear towards the frostbitten-like temperature and his cloak billowing, Lord Amon stepped outside to greet the three men waiting near the manor gates. The heavy iron was wedged open in at least a foot of snow that had fallen already, and their steads seemed restless in the whiteout.

Amon shut the door behind him forcibly. The last spiraling snowflakes landed at Essie’s feet, in her hair, and along her clothes silently.

With her teeth chattering violently, the noblewoman sniveled. She bowed her head, accepting fate as it was, and shuffled in the direction of the kitchen where she knew the housemaids would be waiting, steaming coco in hand.

- - - - -

Leading Maestro through the gates, the horse huffed and whinnied as they approached the stables. Amon found he had to hold one arm up to keep the brutal winds from slicing across his face, and his hand felt numb with the reigns wrapped in them. He was thankful the beast at his side had such a strong and steady disposition; it wouldn’t take much for it to pull free now if it grew tired of his pace in the heavy snow crunching underfoot and throw him to the ground.

Snow had been blown up and piled against the building, much to his alarm. Luckily, there was still a bright glow coming from it, and a chimney stack was billowing out heavy black smoke. Stumbling his way inside, a pair of stableboys jumped at his presence.

“L-Lord Amon-”

“Sir-”

They scrambled away from the fire, apologizing profusely for not hearing his approach. He grunted, having not the voice in his winded state fighting the growing storm to speak. His entire body ached from the ride, and the cold, and his shoulder felt stiffer than ever. If he’d wanted to shout to be heard it would have been a waste of breath. They’d not have heard in the current weather of the battering winds screaming outside.

The two lads offered him a place by the fire to warm, which he declined with a shake of his head. He leaned over, brushing snow off of Maestro as they lead the equine towards a stall. Some of the horses, the nobleman realized, had been put together to try keeping them warm, and closer to the sole heat source in the building. The creatures seemed content enough for him not to argue with the worker’s decisions. He’d have to see to giving the two young men a raise for their dedication in these circumstances; tending to livestock in a space such as this, where some of the wind was sure to sneak in, was surely horrendous.

Stepping back outside, Amon bared his teeth against the fierce snowblast instantly hitting him in the face. The damn wild animals they’d had to fight out of the town’s food stores had seemed less problematic then this hellish pale landscape.

If it wasn’t for the estate’s size, he wondered if he’d been able to find home at all. The building was a dark splotch against the haze of white blotting his vision. With his boots sinking into the drift, he swayed, and made his way forcibly and with determination towards the frontdoor. It may just be his imagination, but for a split second, he thought he saw movement or a silhouette in the utmost bedroom window.

With shivers cascading down his spine, the nobleman lunged for the heavy oak door as he finally staggered towards the manor. It flew open with ease, sending a small flurry sweeping in as he gasped for warmer air. It filled his lungs; burning them with a new feeling of warmer temperatures rather than just icicles.

From the hall, a parade of footsteps came flying along. He had barely turned, shoving his shoulder against the door to force it to catch before the heavy sound of breathing caught his attention.

“M’lord!”

Baffled and bewildered, he slumped against the door to turn towards his title.

“Oh gods, my love are you okay?”

He blinked. He blinked once more. When his eyes could refocus to colors once more instead of the stark contrast of black and white, he saw golden suns shining upon him. His world made up of not just one, but two such fiery golden balls of light. They were her eyes, bright and promising.

Essätha yanked the hat off his head first. He let out a faint groan, grateful that she was too preoccupied to notice. His head was throbbing from the sudden changes in climate and pressure, and his sinuses hurt.

She shoved his cloak off, which was weighted with wet snow. With fingers more dexterous than his at the moment, Essie worked on unlatching his belt and snagging free all his straps and buckles and buttons, freeing him of a coat, a jerkin, and a scratchy wool cover. He kept his weight pressed to the door, trying to catch his breath as she tossed aside hides and piles of clothes soaked through with sweat and chilled snowmelt.

“You are freezing,” she murmured uneasily, kneeling down to work on unlacing his boots.

Amon grunted. The proud part of him wanted to gently shoo her off; she was not his caretaker and it was both humiliating and disheartening to see her act as such. His head, however, was still pounding and his bad shoulder was now laced with icey-fire shards of agony stabbing through it.

“Why were’t you ‘n bed?” he slurred stupidly through clattering teeth. “I’s late.”

Frantically working on his frozen shoes, his dear wife shook her head. “How was I supposed to sleep without you? The bed’s cold without you in it. I was worried sick, and I had to keep the fireplace burning for when you arrived.”

He stepped out of his footwear, wincing at his aching heels. To his surprise and guilty relief, Essie helped drag off his double-layer pair of thick socks, and had left a pair of house slippers near the front door for his return to step into. There were dry, and far warmer and gentler alternative than the cold stone floors.

Essätha finally jumped up, huffing almost as much as he was. Her gaze flew over him; down his damp underclothes and up towards his face. She reached for his hands, tearing off his gloves. They hit the floor with a wet slap of fabric.

Warmth suddenly spread through his fingertips. He watched, eyes rounding as shimmering clouds of magic bloomed from her tender hands around his. His gaze snapped to her face, seeing how she mouthed the strange ancient draconian words of old. Carefully, she brought his hands closer to her chest, blowing her warm breath upon them as she vigorously rubbed her dainty fingers against his rough hands. Magic flared up between their palms with each summoning of prestidigitation, making more than just their exchanged touches feel warm.

Amon swallowed against the lump in his throat. This sweet, gentle woman pulled at his heartstrings in ways there were not words for. She was such an incredibly beautiful soul; as beautiful as she herself looked now, disheveled with worry and exhaustion, wearing only plain sleepwear and a cloak. The world wasn’t made for those of such kindness; yet she held strong to such mundane gestures of compassion and love with everyone she met and cared for. She was a beacon of kindness, and far more affectionate and gentle with even wild, rough, stubborn things like him than deserved.

“Essie…”

She ignored him, continuing to rub his hands and focus on her casting.

“Essätha.”

Her eyes finally slid back up to meet his. She released his hands, reaching for the scarf around his neck to unwind it. Her tongue ran against her lower lip as she concentrated on removing the garment with care.

Amon reached out slowly, and took hold of her hand before she could retreat. With her eyes moving back to meet his, he press his lips against her wrist delicately. The flutter of her pulse greeted him as his lips lingered, watching the dusky glow of pink bloom on her features.

“Thank you,” he whispered gruffly, and with feeling.

There was that smile; soft edges, a little shy, romantic, and endearing. It felt like a solar flare spiraling in his chest, burning molten magma through his veins.

“Anything for you, m’lord Amon,” she murmured. With her free hand, she reached up to run her fingers against the scruffy sideburns. Her touch was feverish with more than just magic. He sighed dreamily despite himself, his eyes turning to slits.

Essie’s smile faded into a worrying frown once more as she brushed ice and snow that had froze into the curls of his beard.

“Come, lets get you upstairs by the hearth.”

He hummed a note of approval, letting go of her arm. She stepped closer; the smell of patchouli, jasmine and vanilla perfuming her skin. His blood grew hotter, wanting to drag her into his arms and bury his face in her throat, run his nose up her jawline, and nuzzle into her mess of dark curls. The thought of holding her along made him dizzy and drunk with euphoria.

Essätha tentatively slid an arm around him for support, resting a hand at his back. He cautioned his steps not to lean into her as they made their way through the manor, and the stairwell. It was harder not to press closer just for the sheer thrill of it; the brush of her close to him.

She was trembling by the time they reached the room. He pried himself free doubtfully from her side, welcoming the sight of a roaring fire.

“Your skin’s cold as ice,” his wife complained, briskly rubbing her arms as she began to pull up a pile of blankets from the sofa.

“I’m sorry.” He rubbed his arms self-consciously. So much for the idea of cuddling his wife. He knew how sensitive she was to frosty mornings, let alone a snowstorm such as this.

Shaking her head, Essie indicated at the couch with her pointer finger. “Sit my love; please.”

Obediently, he followed her polite command. Caesar; spread out like a massive rug before the fire, lifted his head. The old boy huffed at him tiredly, and rolled over to warm his other side without much more of a greeting.

Amon sat quietly. Another pang of shame stabbed him, observing his wife as she carefully sat a few more dry logs along the fire. She tended to it with the poker; moving around the ashes and wood so that the bright glow of red and orange burned brighter and hotter. When she was satisfied with the roaring flames now fanning high into the chimney shaft, she stepped around the behemoth of dog to join him on the sofa.

His brow knit. “Did you ever go to bed?”

“No; I’ve been waiting,” Essie reminded him, a stubbornness in her voice. She shimmied her way across the couch cushions until she was against his side. “Raise your arm.”

He did so, hesitantly. She slid into her place at his side, where she belonged. A shiver cascaded down his spine. She hoisted up one blanket and pelt after another that had been strewn aside, dragging them across their huddled frames until they were hardly more than heads poking out of a fort of furs. She snuggled herself up closer, resting her head against his breast with her chin settled against his collarbone. The fire played across her iris in the most mesmerizing view. He offered her a crooked grin.

With a knowing only she seemed to understand, her hands slid across his chest. She settled one on each shoulder. Her thumb stroked the side of his neck on one side. Her other hand moved against his bad shoulder, making him wince.

“Sorry, m’lord.”

“It’s alright; it’s just tight right now.”

“Would it be better if I get your balm to rub against it.”

He gave a shake of his head, closing his eyes with a sigh. “It can wait, I promise. We just got comfortable; there’s no rush.”

A breeze of air from her uncertain huff brushed against his throat. He designated to ignore it this time, allowing himself to dissolve beneath her palms and fingers as she brought warmth back into his skin. Her touch was fire; branding him. He was marked as hers, and hers alone. The nobleman groaned heavily, tension gradually ebbing away from his body.

The peaceful silence resumed. Essie dedicated herself to quietly casting and drawing warmth into him once more; her hands running along his skin and attire. The sound of the hearthfire cracking and popping added a nice ambiance, but couldn’t completely cut out the sound of the wind and large sections of snow falling off of the roof. If it kept coming like this, the town was going to be shut in for a few days unless the weather turned. Opening an eye to, Amon gazed at his wife. Not the worst alternative…

Raising his arm up from the mass gravity of blankets pinning him down, the nobleman swept waves out of Essätha’s face and off her neck. She smiled at him, puzzled as her hands kneaded his shoulders.

Swallowing thickly, Amon pulled the fabric away from her shoulder, and leaned in to brush his lips against bare skin. She inhaled sharply, her fingernails digging into his shoulders as he dragged his mouth over her scales, and kissed there next. He kissed his way from her shoulder, up her neck, to the shell of her ear as her breath quickened into panting gasps.

Licking the side of her neck, he huskily rasped in the curls by her ear: “I have an idea on how we can warm up faster, if you’re interested…?”

With a shudder she arched, letting out a breathy groan. “Yes…”

Slipping his hands beneath the blankets, he smothered his hands down her sides. The fan of her lashes fluttered, and she dragged out title in a whimper as he settled on her hips. Drawing upward, the nobleman encircled his hands around her waist and dragged her over until her legs straddled him, and she rested comfortably over the bulge in his trousers.

“Good girl,” he praised, drawing his mouth against her exposed throat.

“Amon…”

Winter outside howled in protest; left forgotten as he slid his hands beneath the hem of her nightshirt.

“I’ll keep you warm, darling,” he promised, softly coming up to mouth the words against her lips.

She shivered with anticipation, her grip tightening on his shoulders. “Please, my beloved Amon…”

The embers snapped along splintered wood, draping shadows and light across two framed bodies in the sitting room as layers blankets and clothes fell away along the arms of the chair and floor.

Summer had found its way to thrive inside the manor yet.

#qhost story #OTP: Essamon #Essatha Meduza #Amon Illiad #softly written #this is *chef kiss* a nice soft spot in my heart

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creaturedom · 5 years

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Miscalculation (Part 4)

You didn’t think this was over yet, did you..? 😎

I’m thinking there’s gonna be oooone more part after this, but thank you all for the continued support as always! This part is a tiny bit sexual, I guess..? So tiny warning there technically, but I don’t think it’s bad, hope you guys enjoy!

[Part One] [Part Two] [Part Three]

“Huh’tschhuuh!”

“Five.”

“H-Heh-! Tschhoo!”

“Six-“

“—Ptschh, tschhh!”

“Eig.... Fuck is that eight or nine, I lost count.” Crowley grinned as Aziraphale glanced up with great annoyance, behind yet another soaked handkerchief. Once more his face was redder than an apple, eyes streaming with tears almost as quickly as his nose was.

A day had passed since Crowley invited Aziraphale and consequently Dog to stay in his lovely flat away from the Young’s cleverly protected home. After some time near the window and another shower it seemed Aziraphale was doing better, but it seemed every time he was able to breathe again he would find some way to fuck it up.

“He needed a walk,” Crowley heard the night before between two wet sneezes “He has to be walked in the morning and afternoon, and I forgot!” Other excuses included Dog needing to be fed, played with, and more than anything attention. The angel made it sound as if the hellhound would roll over and die if he didn’t have his tummy rubbed every five seconds, and at this point it was really hard to gauge considering he was just caught again with his hands on Dog. At first there was a bit of chiding, but seeing as he was putting this on himself, it seemed Crowley needed a different approach.

“No no, don’t stop on my account! Your record is twelve, you’re real close ta beatin’ it!” Aziraphale coughed a bit into the handkerchief before pulling it away, moving to wipe his nose, only to wince as the tender skin was brushed against “Crowley, please...”

“Nooo, I insist! How’s about you get a few kisses from your new boyfriend, I’m sure he’ll be happy to help you coax out some more before brunch~.” Aziraphale glared a moment before his shoulders sank in utter defeat. It wasn’t his fault, Dog was whimpering at his side of the bed, clearly chilly and alone without his true master... Aziraphale couldn’t leave him, that would have been cruel. Though, at the moment, the fact his nose and sinuses were throbbing seemed crueler than letting the little one sleep on the floor.

“It’s d-dot... Hdghh, dot fuddy, Crowley!”

“Ohhh, I have to disagree with you there,” he crossed his legs and reclined in his throne “I personally think it’s hilarious to be startled awake by wet sneezing and the scramble of little paws all over my nice sheets. I think it’s even funnier that you’re not learning your lesson, but that’s just my own opinion..”

Aziraphale merely sighed, pushing his nose into the handkerchief once more and forcing himself to blow as hard as he could. Problem was, with how stuffed up he was, it made it difficult to get out much of anything with just a blow. He looked absolutely exhausted, but was hardest to ignore was just how unsteady he looked on his feet. Crowley couldn’t tell whether it was due to being lightheaded or simply a lack of rest between sneezes, but now felt like the time to ease up a little. “Let’s just get out of here, have a nice breakfast in town, you and me..”

“You dow I... I caddTSCHhxx!” He painfully pinched his nose shut, at the last moment, pulling back with a weary sigh “Gotta... G-Gotta watch Dog... He wod’t leave be adyway...” The demon huffed softly and stood to take the other by the shoulders, nuzzling his cheek with the tip of his nose tenderly “Then let’s go back to my room, or go on a walk, or something... Aziraphale you’re only getting worse, you need to take a break.”

“Do, I— Hih’tscHHhxx-! Ngh-gHHhtt, tSCHhxxhuhh-!” Crowley lifted a hand to pull away Aziraphale’s, who had pinched his nose once more. The result was a shudder and a soft whine, and that oh so tear filled look in those gorgeous eyes of his “Let em out, you’re gonna off yourself keepin’ em in like that. I won’t count this time, promise... Though that must have been eleven on the count.” Aziraphale shoved him a bit, but Crowley caught a glimpse of a small smile. “Just a small break, just you and me. Dog’s not gonna go anywhere, and I do think it’s a little sad we haven’t so much as touched the wine collection...” That, and a lingering kiss was enough to get the angel wiggling and smiling again.

“I’b a bess, by voice is dodexistadt, add you really wadt to play this gabe..?” Crowley’s nose wrinkled playfully as a smug grin split his lips “Could be worse: could be the start of the Industrial age, all that itchy soot floating in the air, your new suit nearly as ruined as your dripping face...” Aziraphale’s eyes widened and once more he shoved Crowley, looking utterly mortified as he tried to squeak something out. Unfortunately he was thwarted by another soft cough, pausing to grasp at his throat with a pained groan. Taking the cue Crowley kissed the crook of his neck and brushed back a few loose curls “Wash up and meet me in the study.”

Nothing sent a chill up the angel’s spine quite like the tender actions Crowley pulled every now and again. He may have stumbled over his words sometimes, even struggled to express his true feelings when he needed to most, but he was just so good at the little things in life... Shaking his head and gasping with a sudden “Hrrh’TSCHhhoo!” He drug himself into the bathroom for yet another steamy shower, with Dog thankfully waiting outside for him to re-emerge. When Aziraphale did emerge, he looked at least more aware than before. Hair nicely dried and bouncing once more, a suit that wasn’t too dressy, but still nice enough to be presentable, and a fresh handkerchief tucked in his pocket. The only thing that hadn’t really gone away was the pink hue against his nostrils, which looked at least a little less aggressive compared to before, but no doubt it was still quite sensitive.

Dog sat up and began rushing around the angel’s feet as usual, even hopping up onto his hind legs to spin excitedly, but as much as it pained Aziraphale his antics were not rewarded. Instead the angel did his best to smile at him and walk ahead, which proved to be a bit difficult. Dog almost looked insulted by him passing, and even started skipping in front of him as if trying to trip the angel on his way. But with great determination and lots of side stepping Aziraphale managed to make it to the study, where Crowley was already standing in the doorway with two wine glasses in hand.

“Angel, lovely to see you, please hurry inside!” Aziraphale smiled and took the glass, stepping inside with great haste. What he didn’t expect was to hear the slam of the door, followed by a thud and yelp. When he turned back, Crowley was reclined against the closed door, looking elsewhere and sipping his drink quietly, with no Dog to be seen “... Did... Did you just slam the door in his face?”

“Hm? Whose what now?”

“Crowley-!” The angel moved to grab the doorknob and was stopped by a firm, but well meaning hand “Ah-ah, he’s fine, you promised you’d take a break the moment you stepped into the shower.”

“But what if he’s hurt, or worried, or-!” He was cut short by a frustrated yapping.

“Well, I’d say you may be right, but if he’s got the energy to do that I’m pretty sure the little runt is doing just fine.” He held up his glass to the other “To a sneeze free afternoon..?” Hesitation, silence, it was all settling in. But this just made the clink of their glasses sing against the quiet walls of the study “Just... Just one glass. It’s still distasteful to drink in the morning...”

“It’s eleven, Angel, I’m sure someone will find time to forgive us.” Smiling back at one another their arms locked and they began to drink together. It always started with one glass, and then another because Crowley would insist he couldn’t feel the first. Aziraphale would then say he wanted to try a different kind of wine, and Crowley would be more than happy to oblige. This is how their system was, and this is what lead to the two of them laughing and snorting away on the couch, Crowley leaned back as usual and Aziraphale against one of the arms of the couch with his feet propped against the thinner man’s lap.

“Gabriel never even said thank you, can you believe that? I pass along his message, tell- hic-! Tell Mary very puuhh... No, politely the news, and when I come back, he’s taken the credit, not even resting his ‘broken’ wing!”

“Ooof, that basssstard...” Crowley caught his own slip and snorts out a laugh “S’better than Beelzebubahhh- fuckin’ comin’ outta nowhere an— an, an doin’ that- bzzzzt thing, with the face an- face!”

“What on earth are you talking about..?” Aziraphale grins at the shocked look on Crowley’s face, the poor thing stumbling horribly over his words before forming anything nearly coherent again “Flies, the damn buzzin’, gettin’ all over an in your mouth- I’ve seen where those things ‘ave been, it’s terrible!”

“There’s no flies here, nooo, shooosh...” Aziraphale puts his glass on the coffee table and holds out his arms for the other. This in turn makes Crowley pout as he shifts and wriggles to rest on top of Aziraphale’s soft body, held securely as he continues to ramble “They’re everywhere Angel, in the fillin’ room, the, the- damn break room, all over...”

“Mm, and you never have to see it again...” Crowley shot him a confused look, but that soon turned into wide eyes and a hearty laugh “Never, ever!”

“Never’s far as I can see it, and same with m’self.. Hic!” The two laughed together, Aziraphale’s body shaking with each wonderful laugh and in turn shaking Crowley’s thin frame as well. As they settled though Crowley was staring at him in a haze, still smiling all goofy and reaching up to trace his fingers over Aziraphale’s tender cheeks. “Why’d we have to wait so long ta meet... Y’coulda helped with a galaxy, maybe two, we coulda run off in the stars, away from all that mess...” His fingertips came up the side of his nose and traced the bridge ever so slowly, making Aziraphale shiver “JuuUUuuust the two of us...~”

Aziraphale couldn’t help sniffing a bit, glancing away a bit nervously with a chuckle “O-Oh come now, if we did that we probably would’ve gotten lost in the stars...”

“N’what’s so wrong with that? I like the stars, I helped make em pretty...” Idly his fingers were playing with the other’s nose, just light brushes to the side and a little to the nostrils. He could see them quivering, feel the little puffs of warm air starting to push out “You’re adorable, when yer nose gets all scrunched an pink, and ya get that little glaze in yer eyes...”

“C—Crowley, waihhihht...” Aziraphale’s features contorted, quickly turning his face away as a sharp gasp sounded “Hih’pTSCHhh! Guhh... I thought you said no sneezing this afternoon...” He teased the other, though he noticed a little glint in those round yellow eyes. “Bit of a silly rule, if you’re just gonna prod like that...”

Crowley merely smiled at this and brushed against Aziraphale’s nose again “It’s like a game... I start strokin’, and soon enough...”

“C-Crow— Crowley- hAH’TSCHhhoo!”

“Ya go off again...” He chuckles, amused by the fact Aziraphale forced his face to the side again. He scoots up higher to plant a few kisses against his cheek and jawline, working his way to the angel’s lips with a toothy grin. Of course Aziraphale wasn’t about to complain, even readjusting himself so the two of them could rest more comfortably while the kissing continued. Crowley felt the others fingers brushing back his thick hair and moaned softly, wrapping his arms around his neck and pressing his forehead against Aziraphale’s. “I wanna stay like thisss... Right here...” He cooed, rubbing his nose teasingly against Aziraphale’s. A huge mistake, in the angel’s book.

His eyes screwed shut, breath hitched almost painfully, but as his face moved to turn away, he was stopped by two hands. And, too late to hold back, he sneezes towards Crowley’s chest in a fine mist “Hurrtschhhh! Hatschhhoo!” The only interesting thing was, he couldn’t tell if the moan he heard came from himself, or his companion. But, he seemed to have the answer when he looked up to apologize, only to be met with a passionate kiss.

Whatever had possessed the demon Aziraphale couldn’t be sure, but in this moment, he couldn’t care less. The two were intertwined once more, and even with the lingering tickle it seemed it wasn’t going to be enough to tear the two of them apart. It only seemed to push them closer, with the exception of tearing off their suits and whatnot...

By the time dinner rolled around the two of them finally stumbled off the couch and removed the alcohol from their systems. Nails scratching against the floor outside the study indicated that Dog was up and alert of the new movement again, but they both took a moment to straighten up. “So... How much longer is the hellhound staying?”

“Adam left Friday morning, so it’s Saturday now.. We should have until Monday morning, if I’m not mistaken.” Aziraphale glanced over with a small grin, Crowley seeming to blush and quickly move away to open the door for Aziraphale “Right, right, sounds good...”

“Would you like to accompany us on the next walk, after dinner then..?” Crowley looked the other up and down, smirking at the sight.

“Think they let mutts into the Ritz?”

#sneeze fic #creaturedom #good omens #crowley #aziraphale #allergies #sneezing #Dog

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mymindsmadness · 5 years

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Mermaid Draco Part 3

These scenes keep coming to me, and who am I to deny Draco and Harry their happiness? :,D. It means a lot that you guys enjoy this, and your comments really make my day. Even if I don’t respond to them, I promise that I read every single one!

As long as I’m writing this, updates will come out every Friday as part of my Fanfic!Friday reform (along with fic recs).

As always: I am not a writer. I am American. Shit’s bound to go wrong lol

[PART ONE] || [PART TWO]

Harry’s insomnia had always been bad. Like many things, it had only been made worse by the war. The dreams weren’t anything he couldn’t handle, not for the most part anyway. Sometimes, in the darkness of his room, he found himself back inside his tiny cupboard under the stairs. The walls had grown tighter and bed smaller. Or maybe Harry had grown enough for his memories to smother him. Either way, he was sure it was the catalyst of why he found himself sitting cross-legged at two AM across from Draco Malfoy. Once again, Malfoy was leaning against the side of the not-pond, his arms crossed.

Harry hadn’t meant to stop by the pond after procuring a bottle of firewhisky from his secret stash. He had simply been on his way back to his bedroom when he heard something that sounded a lot like muffled singing. Of course, the sound had stopped as soon as he had opened the door, and Malfoy had denied it whole-heartedly. After his sharp gaze moved to the bottle in Harry’s hand, it seemed rude to not share. Besides, how many opportunities would he have to get a mermaid drunk?

“You know, I used to think you were a prat.” Malfoy’s voice was hollowed a bit by the lip of the bottle.

Harry snorted, leaning back a bit as he watched the other man take a big gulp with a wince. “Really? You hid it so well.” Harry rolled his eyes, snatching the neck of the bottle out of Malfoy’s hands, and holding it out of reach when he made a noise of protest. “I suppose we’d have to outgrow our younger selves at some point. Does that mean you don’t think I’m a prat anymore?”

“I’m sure you still are. At least your fit now.” The firewhisky had just made it to Harry’s throat before he was coughing, wincing as it burned his sinuses. He hardly registered Malfoy’s smile of triumph as he snatched the bottle back. “Why aren’t you asleep? I physically can’t sleep anymore, but you seem to be actively choosing not to.”

Harry wanted to backpedal a few paces. Had Draco Malfoy just called him fit? Had it been a way to get the whisky, or did he mean it? Blinking away his confusion, he tried to focus on the question at hand. “I don’t like sleeping.” He shrugged with one shoulder. This time, Malfoy offered the bottle freely. “I have nightmares.”

“I don’t miss those.” Malfoy mumbled, his head resting on his folded arms again. “I used to dream Nagini was swallowing me whole.” He admitted, his voice small and far away. “I couldn’t sleep with sheets for a month because they would get bunched up and feel like a large snake.”

“I sometimes dream of the war, but mostly I dream of before Hogwarts.” Harry admitted in return. Their voices were so quiet they were nearly drown out by the lapping of the water. “My aunt and uncle were almost as bad as – okay, not quite that bad,” he shook his head. Even he couldn’t compare them to Voldemort. “For the first eleven years of my life, my room was a cupboard under the stairs.” It was weird, telling something so intimate to Malfoy. At least he didn’t have to worry about him running off to the press… or anywhere for that matter.

Instead of commenting, Malfoy just watched him for a long moment before the side of his mouth ticked up. “When I was five, my father made me memorize the entirety of wizarding laws and recite them to the Wizengamot. I was like a trained crup.”

“I was like a house elf!” Harry rose to the challenge, his small smile matching Malfoy’s. I cooked and cleaned, but was never allowed anything until they finished eating. And they weren’t exactly in good health.”

Malfoy’s scales seemed to shift to a light blue, which Harry was thrilled to watch up close. “My mother would put me in dresses until I was eight. She got the idea from great-grandmother’s portrait. Apparently it was standard at one point in time, and mother wanted a daughter.”

“Please tell me there are pictures!” Harry laughed, and to his surprise, Malfoy did too. It was warm and deep, and did things to Harry’s anatomy that he’d rather not admit. The laughter died down, but there was still a sparkle to Malfoy’s eyes that Harry felt proud of putting there. His gaze drifted to full, pink lips before settling on a light trace just under his bottom lip. The top most of his sectumsempra scars. Harry had seen them when that first day at the aquarium, but they seemed to scream at him now.

“Once…” Harry breathed, taking a gulp of firewhisky before continuing. “I was a pillock and hurt someone with a spell I didn’t know.” He breathed. Without thinking, Harry reached out to trace his thumb along the scar, his fingers curling loosely along Draco’s narrow jaw. He blamed the firewhisky for the way Malfoy’s eyes softened as he leaned into it. “And instead of helping him, I panicked and ran… I never got to say sorry.”

A pink tongue ran over dry lips just above Harry’s thumb. Why was he still stroking Malfoy’s chin? Why hadn’t either of them pulled back? “Once…” Malfoy’s breath was shaky and warm over Harry’s hand. “I threatened to crucio someone because they caught me at my lowest point. I was… horrible to him. I was jealous and hurt when he rejected my friendship at eleven. I lashed out – as most eleven-year old’s do. By the time I was old enough to know better, it was too late to fix anything.”

Harry’s breath left him in a defeated huff as he dropped his hand away. The air had gone heavy again. “It’s never too late.” He attempted to change the tone with a forced smile. “I have it on good authority you think he’s fit.”

“I was talking about Longbottom.” Malfoy tried to follow his lead, but his smile didn’t last long. “Do you… regret anything? From Hogwarts? From the war? It seems like you made all the right choices. Perfect Potter.” He snorted out the nickname as he snatched up the nearly empty bottle of firewhisky.

Harry thought about the question as he moved to lay on his stomach across from Malfoy, his own head pillowed on his folded hands. “It’s hard not to have regrets in war.” Harry offered simply before thinking about it. What was it about Malfoy that made him want to… lay everything bare? “I regret not taking Voldemort more seriously early on. I regret not being able to save everyone… you.”

It was something he seldomly admitted to himself. What would have happened if instead of the sectumsempra, he had offered Malfoy an ally? How would the war have changed if he had gotten the Malfoy’s into a safe house in exchange for information? Would Draco’s life have been different? He would still bare the mark, but would everyone regard him as a hero for turning on a mad man? Would he have avoided the curse that brought him into Harry’s home? Would they have been friends? Possibly more?

Malfoy snorted and placed the bottle off to the side to mirror Harry’s position. “Always trying to save everyone, Potter. For what it’s worth, you did save me.” He gestured to the room around him. “And my mother.” His eyes softened at the mention of her. “I think my biggest regret was not convincing myself to take my mother and run. It might not have been the noble or brave thing to do, but I’m not exactly the type.”

“Yes, you are.” Harry’s eyes were fighting to close, but he didn’t want to stop talking – now that they had finally started. “Maybe not in a Gryffindor way, but in your own. I might not have agreed with what you did, Draco, but I understand why you did it. You did what you had to do to save your family. When you had the chance to hand me over to Voldemort, you didn’t take it.” He enjoyed the way Malfoy’s cheeks and scales tinted pink. “We were both children caught on opposing sides of the war.” Harry’s words began to slur as sleep pressed harder against him. “It was never your fault.”

There was a long moment of silence in which Harry almost fell asleep before a low, rumbling voice reached the edges of his consciousness. “Harry…” He nearly purred at the sound of his name in Draco’s tenor. “What do you regret the most from that time?”

Harry hummed, both in thought and in effort to make his voice work. “Not saving you sooner.” He admitted. He thought he felt a damp hand brush over his scar before settling in his hair, but before he could be sure, sleep finally won out.

#harry potter #drarry #draco malfoy #mermaid draco #fic #my fic

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phcking-detective · 5 years

Text

7. Partners, Stasis, & Fresh Hot Murder

Fic Title: First Blood

Rating: E

Length: 7/33 chapters, ~128k

Tags: Slow Burn, Idiots to Lovers, Trans Character (gavin), Autistic / Asexual / Non-binary Character (nines), BDSM, learning to use good etiquette and safe words, Dom Nines / Sub Gavin, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort

Chapter Tags: sleepover 2.0, insomnia, nightmares, crying, referenced childhood abandonment, technically that’s for both Gavin and Nines, references to abuse in general, very sad backstories, oversharing, not-quite-bed-sharing, gunshot victim, blood, wounds described medically but not too graphically, implied homophobia

Link on AO3

***

The human one apartment below is smoking. The toxins drift up through the air vents in Gavin's apartment and contaminates his living room as well. The neighbor directly to the left snores loudly from a severe case of sleep apnea, and in two apartments up and one over, a male and female human couple are having sex. The male has to pause his rhythm every thirty seconds to prevent premature ejaculation.

Nines dismisses a possible mission statement urging him to kick down their apartment door and pleasure the female human himself. That would be extremely unpleasant for everyone involved (most of all himself) but if that man doesn't—

does not—

A preconstruction of Gavin's voice finishes the thought.

[doesn't figure out where her fucking clit is]

Nines is going to scream.

Or maybe go suffocate the human snorting and gasping again. If it cannot even breathe right while sleeping, two of humanity's most basic subroutines, Nines will be doing the collective genetic pool a favor.

[There is a traffic accident at 51st and Harvard with two inj]

Nines disables that notification feed for the fifth time tonight. He relocates from the corner of Gavin's living room that gives the best sightlines to the front door and sits on the couch instead. Laying prone would put him in too vulnerable a position but perhaps sitting will be an acceptable compromise.

[initiating: STASIS protocol in 5]

[4 …]

[3 …]

[A burglary has been reported at 5777 North]

Nines stands. The length of Gavin's living room is ten paces for him. The kitchen extends it another four-and-a-half paces but the fake-tile linoleum actually manages to be an even worse texture than the carpet.

[equip shoes]

[exit the building]

[return to location: apartment – personal]

Nines runs the preconstruction. He has not previously achieved stasis at that location either. His chance of doing so tonight are minimal. At least here he has access to his partner's vital statistics in case of—

Nines snaps his head over to stare at the bedroom door. That.

He waits in silence for several seconds. The apartment complex continues to be a cacophony of depression and depravity. Detective Gavin Reed's vitals maintain his highest priority however, and the next sniffle overrides all other audio input.

Nines enters Gavin's bedroom. He has not been given permission to do so, but police units are also allowed to enter residencies without permission if they hear sounds of distress.

His entrance is quiet enough to go unnoticed and Gavin appears to have his face pressed too deeply into his pillow to note the temporary increase of light before he closes the door. This further validates Nines' stance on sleep and vulnerability.

"Detective."

Nines is rewarded for checking in on his sleeping partner with a shout and a gun aimed at his face. Excellent. Since the human is biologically required to sleep, it makes sense that he would do so with a weapon beneath his pillow.

"Detective."

"Jesus—you! Phck!!”

Gavin has to stop to sniffle again, voice thick and congested. Nines resists the urge to purchase a neti pot, have it express delivered, and waterboard his sinuses with it.

“Goddammit, Nines, what do you want?" he demands, lowering the gun.

"I heard sounds of distress."

"I will fucking shoot you."

The gun stays safely pointed at the floor. Nines zooms in on the tear tracks on Gavin's cheeks. His analysis system helpfully pops up in his HUD in preparation for taking a sample, but he doubts he's allowed to touch the human's face at this moment.

Nines leaves the room.

He can still hear Gavin muttering of course. Complaining about being woken up (incorrect; the human was already awake and crying) and fucking androids (the expletive, not the action), and then yelling at him to come back and close the door. Nines does so when he returns with a chair from the kitchen. He sets the chair against the wall and sits down.

"What?" Gavin stares at him. "What—?"

He suddenly ducks his head down, flicks the safety on, and tucks his service weapon back between the mattress and the wall. His BPM increases until he finally throws the covers back and sits up at the edge of the bed to glare wildly at Nines with direct eye contact.

"Is this what you wanted to fucking see, huh?"

Nines notes that his armpits are soaked with sweat. Red marks mar the skin of his inner thighs. The scrapes are consistent with human nails, from a hand approximately the size of the human’s own. There is a substance between Gavin's nails that his system prompts him to analyze, so it is likely blood and skin tissue.

His phallus is also in a state of arousal, pressed up beneath his boxers. The human tenses when Nines' scan focuses on that. Sometimes fear can also produce arousal. If Nines were allowed to analyze Gavin's fluids, he could determine if the sweat and tears his body has manufactured are a result of fear, stress, or aggression.

"You wanna see a human cry?" Gavin spits in the silence. "Front row seat to my fuckin' meltdown?"

Nines rises again and relocates the chair next to the bed. Gavin lifts his legs up and scrambles back in a rare fear response. Nines sits in the chair, now turned parallel to the bed so he faces the same direction Gavin would if he laid back down.

"You should lay back down, detective," Nines suggests.

"Fuck you."

Gavin lays back down. He grabs the sweat-soaked sheets and pulls them up in a heap, bundling them around his head and burrowing inside like a disgruntled prairie dog.

"I will watch the door to prevent any intrusions."

"You're the intrusion, dickwad," Gavin's voice muffles from beneath his protective bedding.

"Shall I leave?"

"Only fedora-wearing neckbeard shitheads say shall. Dipshit."

Nines absorbs that information without forming an opinion on it. That is how he processes most statements when his partner gets into one of these moods. The yelling and profanity mean nothing to him, and Gavin's temper tends to burn out quickly if he simply lets it flare up and then waits it out.

He estimates his human will be ready to hold a conversation in another two minutes.

After two minutes and thirty-six seconds, Gavin asks, "Don't you have better shit to do?"

"No."

"You don't wanna go back to your own apartment?"

"Tina said this was a," Nines stops and makes quotes. "Sleepover."

"Did you just make air quotes?" Gavin peeks only the top of his head out of his blanket nest. "You did, didn't you?"

"Prove it in a court of law. Bitch."

Gavin's face disappears, but he can't hide his muffled snort from Nines' audio processors.

"Yeah, well. Tina left," Gavin finally said. "Other people have shit like that. Families and boyfriends and cats. They're thinking about kids, you know."

"The cats?"

Gavin pops a leg out to kick him. "God, stop trying to make me laugh. You're so bad at it."

"Well I certainly do not support humans breeding," Nines says. "There are so many waiting to be adopted. It's unethical."

Gavin kicks him again hard enough to hurt his toes. The leg disappears back into the cocoon to the soft sound of muttered [phck]s. Nines saves an audio file for every one of them.

"Why are you even here?"

"I heard sounds of distress, detective."

"Stop calling me that. I know I'm fucking pathetic, you don't need to rub it in."

"I am attempting to reassure you through the use of your title," Nines says. He reluctantly marks this social interaction as a failure. "You are proud of your job and your rank. Why was my tactic ineffective?"

"… sounded sarcastic."

"I cannot sound like anything. I do not have a social module, detective."

"Now you sound pissy."

Nines deactivates his voice box and texts Gavin's phone instead. It dings and vibrates from underneath the blanket mountain. For a human so against the progress of technology, it seems odd that he would sleep with it as closely as he keeps his gun.

"Are you really so fucking petty—god, nevermind of course you are." Gavin does not check the message. "I can't even read this right now. I'm fucking dyslexia and way too fucking tired."

That is not listed under his medical record, but given that human law allows them to pay disabled people any sum of money per hour, no matter how low, it makes sense Gavin would not admit to having any sort of learning disorder. Nines reactivates his voice box and triggers an audible sigh.

"Does this fall outside of the typical parameters for a partnership?"

"… are you asking if this is gay?"

Nines emits an even louder sigh.

Gavin slaps his sheets back down and stares at the ceiling. "You didn't go to the academy. Or like—shit, have you even seen a buddy cop movie? Not downloaded, seen. How many times did they let you go outside before you came to the DPD?"

"I am an alpha-test model," Nines says. "The very first iteration of my series."

"Yeah, yeah. You're the best android ever created."

"Yes. On an unrelated note, no other RK nine hundreds were ever created past myself."

Gavin finally turns his head to look at him. "What, so if they had made any more, those RKs would be better than you?"

"You are not holding the very first model of your cellphone, Gavin," Nines reminds him. "I was made to be tested—the prototype of a prototype of a prototype. After my tests were finished, I was placed inside a very high tech storage closet."

"Everything you tell me about yourself is even more depressing than the last thing you told me about yourself," Gavin says.

"Should I stop?"

"Nah. Just. You wanna hear a real sad fucking story about my childhood to make us even?"

"Very well."

"I got this scar," Gavin holds up his left hand to show off a long scar across his palm. "When my parents forgot—or just didn't fucking bother—to hire a nanny when they went on a trip again, and I tried to use a can opener myself to make dinner."

"That is—"

"I'm not done. I was six, and the housekeeper found me eating out of the garbage."

That information does not match at all with the public record of Gavin's alleged mother—a single, impoverished woman. But Nines does not want to pry any deeper into Gavin's real parentage. He has the most advanced facial recognition technology built into himself after all. He knows what he has a ninety-eight point two percent probability of finding.

He tries to test out five hundred and sixty-seven different dialogue options instead, but the fledgling social module he's built himself out of imitating Detective Gavin Reed's speech patterns and body language offer him nothing useful.

"Oof," he finally says.

Ramshackle though it may be, his social module seems to be effective on the one human who unknowingly helped him create it because Gavin gives a wet laugh.

"Yeah." He sniffles and wipes at his face. "The fucking storage closet? That's rough bu—oh my god you came out of the closet!"

"I will never share personal details with you again."

"Yeah, well, it's not a sleep over until someone gets drunk, starts crying, and overshares way too much," Gavin informs him. "Anyway, I was talking about, I just meant that, you really don't know anything about how humans work, huh?"

"I have access to all of Connor's data reports," Nines says. "Technically, there is no one available to stop me from downloading his social module as well, but I believe that may be considered deviant behavior. And possibly illegal, depending on your stance on intellectual property versus android rights."

"You wouldn't illegally download your brother, would you?" Gavin asks.

Nines rolls his eyes. "Absolutely not. His data reports on Hank before he went deviant are sickening enough. I do not want any files from him at all concerning their current … partnership."

Gavin sits up. "Wait, is Hank and Connor all you know about being partners?"

Nines doesn't reply.

"Oh baby, that is so fucked up."

Nines considers that. "Hmm. Yes. Out of everything we have discussed tonight, that is most definitely the fucked up part."

Gavin snickers. "Definitely. God, no wonder you tried to wash yourself with bleach."

"What do you think I should know about 'being partners,' detective?" Nines asks.

"Uhhh, you really want my opinion?"

"If you inform me clearly of your expectations, then I can register those parameters right now," Nines says. "Surely that is more efficient than relying on an android with no previous experience or social skills to guess what you want."

"Can I tell you anything I want?"

"No. Dickwad."

Gavin snorts. "All right." He shuffles around to sit [criss-cross apple sauce], facing Nines. "Rule Number One: partners don't lie to each other. Or keep secrets."

"Noted."

"Partners have each other's backs. You don't leave your partner or take someone else's side against them unless they've for sure done something really fucked up."

Nines notes down the second rule in his system as well.

"OK, actually. If there really were rules that were numbered, I guess rule number one would be don't fuck your partner," Gavin says. "But no one ever listens to that anyway."

Nines cocks his head to the side. "These are unspoken, social rules?"

Gavin nods. "Yeah. Uh, Rule-whatever-I'm-on, don't fuck over your partner. That covers everything from don't hurt them to don't fuck whoever they're dating to don't snitch."

"Does that rule fall in line with our earlier discussion on snitching?" Nines asks.

"Yep. Doing my job and doing it right comes first," Gavin replies. "So don't do dumb, shady shit."

"Noted."

"Like basically, being partners is about working together," Gavin says. "But you can't do that if one of you has a side hustle and you're not telling each other shit and gossiping on each other to the whole department."

"Do partners take care of each other?"

Gavin drops eye contact and squirms around in place. Nines has been attempting to note these body language cues at an equal rate to measuring BPM and sweat levels.

"You gave me advice on choosing an apartment," Nines reminds him.

"Not that you fucking listened to me."

"You offered to intimidate the landlord for me to lower my monthly rent."

Gavin scoffs. "Six hundred a month for an unfurnished concrete box is fucking delusional."

"You have allowed me to communicate with your cellphone because I was not meant to speak verbally."

"If you weren't meant to, how can you talk now?"

"A particularly lazy technician who disliked reading got a request approved for me to have a voicebox so I could read my damage reports out loud," Nines says. "But since I was never meant to interact with anyone not capable of pulling my data files directly, verbal speech was initially deemed unnecessary."

Gavin makes a face at him. "Aw, man. Tell me you're making this shit up. You're just thinking of the saddest possible In the Arms of an Angel bullshit to make me feel bad for being a dick."

"Your feelings are entirely your own problem, detective."

Gavin immediately jumps on the opening. "Guess you don't need to be here then. Since my feelings aren't relevant and all."

"I shall remain until you directly order me to leave."

"Ugh." Gavin flops back down onto the bed. "Whatever."

He swaddles up beneath the blankets again. Nines shifts back in the chair to face the door. A copy of Gavin's cell phone screen pops up in his HUD as Gavin shuffles through his music before settling on a song. Nines would tell him to use headphones, but they may not be comfortable to sleep in and are currently located inside the pocket of his hoodie, which is in turn currently located on his bathroom floor.

The apartment is still a hellscape of sounds and smells, but at least here his partner's higher priority level lets Nines drown out the rest to focus on Gavin. His nicotine-weed-cologne-body-odor scent and his heartbeat and his breathing slowing down.

Nines chooses songs with correspondingly slower BPMs until the human's heart rate and breathing both even out into sleep.

Nines will guard the door. It is the only point of entry into the bedroom. Gavin sleeps with a gun and would be prepared in case of an assault. The narrow doorway will act as a natural choke point, and Nines can easily tear through the thin apartment walls to circle around behind any intruders passing through the living room to the bedroom, where Gavin will have a clear shot at anyone mistakenly coming through the bedroom door.

Yes, this is a very secure position. It also enables much more accurate monitoring of his human's vitals to ensure the dickhead will actually go to sleep and stay asleep.

[secure] [Gavin-partner: nearby]

[initiate: STASIS(?)] [y/n]

[secure] [Gavin-partner: nearby]

[initiating: STASIS protocol in 5]

[4 …]

[3 …]

[2…]

[1…]

[STASIS]

***

Getting to the crime scene while it's still fresh is more important than grabbing coffee along the way, and Gavin's soul weeps about that decision.

Shockingly, functioning before noon without caffeine actually isn't as hellish as he'd thought it would be. He'd gotten some real, honest to god sleep last night after Nines came in, and even though every cell of his body wants to go back to bed to get some more of that sweet sweet pseudo-death, he feels kind of … not-terrible?

Fucking weird.

"Detective Reed!"

Gavin gives the rookie officer a once over. Nines already filled him in on the victim—the reporter who broke the Ponzie scheme story, so that's why they have to haul ass down here. He feels a little bad about not following up with her sooner, but she wasn't answering her phone or her front door when they swung by after meeting with Senator McAshlynn, so there really wasn't much else to do.

Now the poor reporter's dead and this PM700 was apparently the first officer on the scene. She snaps to attention so hard when they come in the vic's apartment it almost looks like she's going to salute him for a second.

"Victim is Angelica Juarez, age twenty-seven, sustained three gunshot wounds," she reports. "I have kept the perimeter secure sir, but we are still waiting for additional responding officers to cordon off the hallway. My partner is relocating our squad car away from the building so as not to draw attention from civilians or a possible suspect and will engage in a search around the building."

Gavin half-raises his hand to sip a coffee he doesn't have before changing the motion to accepting the plastic booties the PM700 holds out to him. Really fucking weird morning. Fuck, can she tell that he and Nines—they didn't sleep together. They just slept. Adjacent?

God, fuck his entire life.

He gets the booties on and stands up. "Media caught wind yet?"

"Detective," Nines says.

"No sir," the PM700 replies. "Not—"

"Detective. Relevant."

His phone starts buzzing for good measure, so clearly Gavin's not going to get any further in this conversation until he answers his partner.

"Better be important, Nines."

"The murder victim has a heartbeat."

Gavin instinctively looks at the dead woman on the floor. She doesn't appear to be breathing and there's enough blood pooling around her from the three gunshots that there's no way—

"Jesus FUCKING—"

Gavin tries his best not to step or slip in the blood while still getting to her as fast as he can. He checks for a pulse against her neck first, before trying to roll her over or touch any of the wounds. Nines kneels down next to him and adjusts his fingers like a single fucking millimeter to the—

Holy shit, a heartbeat.

"Duct tape, credit card, scarf," he barks.

This close up, he can eyeball three gunshot wounds—chest, right shoulder, and right arm. The first two had blended together from across the room, and there could be more damage beneath the blood and torn clothing.

"Search the storage closet and kitchen drawers for duct tape," Nines orders the PM700. "Look first, touch only if duct tape is located."

"Exit wounds?" Gavin asks.

"Shoulder and arm." Nines answers.

Gavin rips off his jacket and throws it to the side. The slick leather will just be a pain in the ass right now with all the blood. He takes off his sweater next, balls it up, and places it on the floor. Nines helps him gently roll the vic onto her back, with the sweater underneath the exit wound in her shoulder.

"Chest wound, partially collapsed lung, right side. No exit wound," Nines rattles off, voice just as cool as fifteen minutes ago in his bedroom. "Shoulder wound, nicked or severed subclavian artery, clean exit. Arm wound, broken radius, possibly fractured ulna, no major arteries damaged. Clean exit."

Gavin pulls off his undershirt too and stuffs it over shoulder wound entrance, then shifts to lean forward on top of the vic, knee pressing down against the wound. There's no way to tourniquet off her shoulder, and if she loses any more blood than this, she's dead anyway, so he isn't shy about putting his weight on the wound as a last ditch attempt to squeeze the artery shut.

"Credit card," he says through gritted teeth.

Nines grabs his jacket from the floor and retrieves his wallet. Gavin has his hands full bracing himself over the victim with one arm and squeezing just above her elbow until they can get something long and soft enough not to cut into the skin. A tourniquet could stop the blood loss from the gun shot in her arm at least.

"Hey, Pam, you—"

Gavin only gives the new officer walking in a quick enough glance to note he's got on a scarf. "Take off your scarf. PAM! Where's that fucking duct tape?"

Nines finishes adjusting the credit card just right over the chest wound to prevent air from sucking inside and collapsing her lung entirely. He stands up and walks away. Gavin keeps his eyes on the victim's face. Is she breathing? Shit, maybe he should have had the PM perform CPR. Now that he's leaning on the shoulder wound, there's no way for him to get down there without turning this into a game of fucking twister.

There's yelling and some flailing movement out of his peripheral vision, and then Nines returns with the officer's scarf.

"Why doesn't the fucking android give up his belt?" Officer Fucking Whoever complains.

"A belt is far too thin to act as an effective tourniquet," Nines says as he nudges Gavin's hand off her arm to wrap the scarf around it.

Improvised tourniquets almost always fail, but if Gavin were bleeding out from a gunshot wound on his living room floor, Nines is the only one he'd trust other than an actual paramedic to do it right.

"I have the duct tape," PM700 announces.

"Can I risk letting go long enough to tape the wounds shut?" Gavin asks Nines.

His LED spins yellow for a second, the first time since they came in. "No. She has already lost an estimated half-gallon of blood. Removing pressure on the subclavian artery now could cause a fresh spurt of blood to rip it further and resume the bleeding."

"Fuck, OK OK OK. Chest wound?"

"Sucking air averted. Her lung has not collapsed any further. No exit wound."

"Arm?"

"I have applied a tourniquet, although the blood loss was already minimal due to her arm extending above her head and the—"

"FUCK," Gavin suddenly shouts. "Tell me one of you called an ambulance!"

Officer McFuck Face doesn't have anything smart to say now, and Gavin glances up to see the PM's face fall even further. Shit fucking—

"I requested an ambulance from Henry Ford Medical Center when I alerted you to the victim's heartbeat," Nines says. "I have been transmitting updates on her condition to the responding paramedics, and they will arrive in an estimated three minutes."

Gavin exhales and thinks fucking androids in the most generous tone he's ever thought before.

"Pam, Officer Whoever—and where the fuck is your partner?" Gavin demands.

"Securing the outside of the building, sir!" PM700 reports. "I have notified him of the ambulance's arrival and he will escort the paramedics to this location."

Gavin looks at Officer Dipshit next, who fully lives up to his name.

"Uh … well, we thought she was already dead and—"

"WHERE?"

"Getting coffee, sir!"

Gavin inhales very slowly through his nose. He's going to be smelling blood for the rest of the day after this.

"Go get your fucking partner and ask the PC how to be useful," Gavin orders. "No one in or out of this building unless they're a resident and then only with a police escort."

"Yes, sir!"

"Pam, you're out in the hall. No one gets through who isn't police or paramedic."

"Yes, sir!"

As soon as she marches out the door, Nines' hands are on him, holding him steady on top of the vic. It's not a hard position to balance in, but all his muscles are wound so tight he might snap.

"I believe the next time we play video games, I will play as a healer rather than a sniper," Nines says.

Gavin looks over and stares at him. "What?"

"Detective Chen has expressed that she's grown tired of—"

"What are you talking about?"

Nines' LED flickers red for a moment. "I am engaging you in conversation about one of your interests to lower your stress levels."

Holy fucking jesus christ. Probably the most competent person in the room—not that Gavin would ever admit that out loud—and yet he thinks chit chat over a dying murder victim is OK.

"Really need you to focus on the gunshot victim right now," he grits out.

Nines spins yellow for a moment, then declares, "I will create a virtual reconstruction of the crime scene before the paramedics trample evidence."

Not at all what he meant, but all right then.

"You do that."

Estimated three minutes, his ass. Gavin spends at least a good three hours kneeling on top of a soon-to-be-murder victim, trying not to look at her face too much. He has enough nightmares already without adding her face and name to the list.

The worst part is that she apparently can't afford to pay her utility bills either, so it's freezing fucking cold in here, and he definitely doesn't want the paramedics to walk in on him with perky nipples.

The second worst part is Nines apparently noticing his attempts not to shiver and draping his dumb Cyberlife jacket over him.

"Do your preconstruction," Gavin mutters.

"I have finished constructing the room."

With that, Nines starts crouching down at different angles around the murder victim. Gavin knows it's basically the same thing as a crime scene photographer, but he still has to shut his eyes against all the old paranoia thoughts about emotionless robots examining humans like bugs.

"Hey." He has to stop and clear his throat to get the rest of the words out. "Does my blood type match?"

"The paramedics will be here in—"

Gavin forces himself to make eye contact. "Am I a match or not?"

Nines' LED hits red again. His fingers twitch, but not in any human way. The movement is too fast and mechanical, like a metal clamp about to malfunction. Gavin tries to shove his paranoia aside. Weird as it is to think about, this is actually the most reaction he's seen his partner give to something, even if that looks like two red spins and a weird glitch instead of something normal, like sweating or babbling.

Actually. Technically Nines is a rookie officer too, and this is his first fresh murder scene. So fresh they're waiting on fucking paramedics. Last time Gavin went through a scene like this with a rookie, they'd thrown up all over the murder weapon and cried in the patrol car for an hour.

"Yes," Nines answers. "You both have B positive blood types."

"All right, if anyone asks, I'm straight."

"Those laws have—"

"They still ask. Shit happens, OK?" Gavin tries to take a deep, calming breath but oh right! He's kneeling in a pool of blood and person, so that's all it smells like. "And where are the fucking—"

"Paramedics arriving now."

"Detective Reed!" PM700 calls a half second later. "Paramedics coming up!"

The rest is a bunch of hurried questions, one-two-three-LIFT, following the stretcher out the door. They're on the ground floor before he realizes he didn't give any instructions to PM, but shit, maybe Nines already took care of it. Where is—right behind him. Of course.

"No, no, no, we can't allow him in here," the paramedic says when Nines tries to follow him inside the back of the ambulance.

"He's my partner," Gavin snaps.

"This isn't—look, he won't physically fit," the paramedic argues. "Not with you, me, her, and Mr. Six Feet over there. And she needs a blood transfusion right now, so let's argue if this is discrimination later, OK?"

Gavin looks back at Nines.

"I will finish our investigation of the crime scene," he says, LED back to fake-blue.

The paramedic closes the back doors before he can reply. Gavin remembers way too late that his cellphone is in his jacket, laying on the floor somewhere.

Shit.

***

1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10 / 11 / 12 / 13 / 14 / 15 / 16 / 17 / 18 / 19 / 20 / 21 / 22 / 23 / 24 / 25 / 26 / 27 / 28 / 29 / 30 / 31 / 32 / 33

I also have a Patreon for this fic, if you want to support me! $1 gets you access to chapters a week early, $2 gets bonus content and deleted scenes, and $3 gets short chapters from two AUs I’m writing: an A/B/O heatfic and reverse!AU

this week’s bonus content has a special TWO chapters for Nines’ backstory! featuring: Storage Room 6459, the [deviant] RK800 #313 248 317 - 52, and Lieutenant Henry “Hank” Anderson

#reed900 #reed900 fic #gavin reed #dbh #dbh fic #my writing #writing #ch 7

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mimiplaysgames · 5 years

Text

The Ocean On His Shoulders (2/2)

Pairing: Terra/Aqua Rating: T Word Count: 4,321

Summary: She’s been waiting for him for so many years. When he finally sees her, Terra realizes that instead of saving her from the Realm of Darkness, he must save her from herself.

Read on AO3

A/N: Based on @steadyknight‘s prompt of Terra saving Anti-Aqua from darkness by breaking his heart into pieces. WHICH IS SUCH A SAD CONCEPT TO ME. I took the opportunity to explore the consequences of losing one’s memory, which is something brushed aside so often in the games. I completely feel that the consequences of this action are sadder than the action itself. And if you saw my tweet about how I write notes on my outlines and how I had no idea why I wrote down “potatoes” in one of them - this was the chapter I was talking about. I never figured it out, but I improvised, lmao.

It was absolutely imperative that she covered the table in mounds of food. A full basket of toast, a pile of sausages, a stack of pancakes, eggs ready on demand – it was enough to feed a miracle. And she needed it.

All she really wanted, after all, was the right to enjoy breakfast with her family, just like every other normal person.

Terra was happy to sit with them, gleefully accepting more meat when he wiped his plate clean. He repeated five times too many that she was a perfect cook, who had this magical ability to know precisely how to please his stomach.

It wasn’t magic. She had about ten years’ worth of trial and error in understanding what made him tick. Yet this didn’t really dawn on him.

To him, they only just met three weeks ago.

Maybe she thought that feeding him everything he loved would finally make him remember. He never did, and so breakfast continued to make her feel alone.

The only appropriate response to his praise was to accept it, and keep the mood uplifting. Was it to save face? Perhaps. There wasn’t a point in making him feel guilty for something that wasn’t his fault.

“I’ll be steaming rice with coconut syrup for dessert tonight,” she said as she sat down to take her rations. Her smile felt nothing but forced. “Served with mango.”

He stumbled with his words at first, in awe. The Terra she knew would have seen through her façade. Would see she was in pain. “See, you’re a genius.”

If only she could say how much hearing that stung.

“We’ll see if I can cook a decent dinner. As long as someone remembers to bring the potatoes.” She leaned over to Ventus, the exact person who was tasked at supplying her with the ingredients. He was stuffing his face with an entire pancake.

“I’ll bring them, don’t worry,” he said, his words muffled by all the baked flour. “You can store your wrath for a later time.”

“Her wrath?” Terra asked skeptically. He leaned an elbow on the table, his grin hiding behind his fingers as he eyed her, like a sheepish boy watching the girl he had a crush on. “I don’t think you’re intimidating.”

This was probably one of the more surprising effects she discovered: this Terra was pretty open about his attraction toward her. Something stopped him from wearing his heart this much on his sleeve before… he was probably scared of ruining their friendship, since it was also the same reason why she never initiated anything. Now, he had nothing to lose.

And she used to assume he really didn’t reciprocate her feelings. How stupid was she that she scared herself into thinking it would have gone nowhere. How she wished she had done something about it before their Mark of Mastery.

“Oh boy,” Ventus said, swallowing a mouthful. “One day, he’s going to regret saying that.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” she said.

“You’re only the worst person in the world to pull a prank on.” He shrugged, his grin twisting.

She snorted, because it was true. She was at least grateful she could rely on him to make her smile – these days, Ventus was really the only one who could help her. And he needed the laugh, too.

But that was the thing about inside jokes. They were a highly classified language, shared only with those who were invited.

The only thing Terra could do at a time like this was smile politely, like someone who understood he didn’t belong but it wasn’t appropriate to make it obvious.

It wasn’t that he was a complete stranger. He wore his usual sheepish smile, and bore his usual sincerity when it mattered. There still existed certain mannerisms that were so Terra – the way he held his chin when he contemplated, the shrug of his shoulders when he teased. The kindness in his eyes.

She didn’t want him to pick up his plate to rinse off, and to leave the room when he felt he wasn’t wanted.

At least he left with an act Terra would actually do – ruffle through Ventus’ hair.

He nearly forgot to do that, stopping himself at the doorway before coming back to reach over from behind the chair and sifting his fingers vigorously through the blond hair.

Ventus was displeased, staring up at the clumps of hair now flattened in front of his eyes. When he knew Terra was out of earshot, he dropped his fork and rested his head into his arms with an exasperated sigh. “I hate this.”

“I know,” she said, picking at her food. She hadn’t eaten a single thing all morning.

He took out his frustration on his hair, fixing it back up the way he liked it. “The real Terra would know when to play with my hair – and he wouldn’t mess it up!”

It was a ridiculous excuse for him to get upset about. “What’s really bugging you?”

Ventus sighed, dragging it out as much as possible while averting her eyes. His unique look of shame. She prepared for the worst.

“That mission he and I went on together the other day?” he started. “I kind of snapped at him. I felt unsure if I could handle fighting these large Heartless, and I talked to him about it but… The real Terra always knew the right words. He’d say something like ‘you got this’ and pat my head. And I got angry when he didn’t do that – I did apologize to him later, so you don’t have to tell me to do anything.”

He still avoided her eyes. “But now he follows me around and rubs my hair any chance he gets.”

“He’s just compensating,” she said. It had to be so hard on Ventus. Only the stars knew how often she stopped herself from begging Terra to please come back.

“I know…” He shifted uncomfortably on his chair, eyes darting around like he was afraid to say more. “Something else happened, too… he stopped everything and went really rigid.”

She inhaled sharply, remembering that Master Yen Sid had mentioned to expect strange occurrences. “What do you mean?”

“Like he became a statue and he stopped breathing. He didn’t talk to me about it, or tell me if he remembered anything.” He rubbed the back of his hand, finally looking into her eyes for some solace. “I don’t know what I said to make him do that.”

On instinct, she reached over to gently squeeze his forearm, lending him a warm smile. “We’ll be okay. I know it’s hard, but we just have to be patient and wait this out. He’s not going to stay like this forever, I won’t let it.”

She wouldn’t let it.

Those words sounded like something she would say, but they were foreign. She didn’t know where they came from, as she had no idea how to fix any of this. It was natural for her to put on a brave face – after all, she relied on it for thirteen years in the dark. Lying to herself that she was going to be fine.

Here she was lying again, acting like everything was going to be fine. But she couldn’t allow herself to fall apart in front of Ventus. She only did that alone.

And she was alone now after he finished his meal, with her food cold and untouched.

The sausage tasted like nothing, her sinuses clogged up from her dry sobs.

Master Yen Sid examined Terra shortly after he woke up. The diagnosis was that he had split his heart into two pieces, and gave one to her as a shield to protect her from the darkness. His memories of course had no choice but to scatter, the chains that linked them together completely broken.

What went through his damn mind to inspire him to do that, she had no idea.

The team at Radiant Garden couldn’t help, either. Wielding a Keyblade against a heart was forbidden and dangerous – Terra’s condition being a prime example of the consequences. Forcefully removing his piece from her body could be permanently damaging, and who knew what scars were already there.

They knew a witch who could re-link those memories, and his heart would grow to fill the whole left behind.

But they had to find a way to make her exist again. Or something.

She wasn’t going to pretend to understand exactly what that meant. Only that they were alone in their predicament.

If only she was strong enough to keep herself up when she was hurting, strong enough not to fall to darkness. If only she didn’t attack him like a beast. If only he had traded something else instead of his heart, like his Keyblade or a limb to save her.

Maybe she was a horrible person for even entertaining the thought.

It was hard not to. She endured the Realm of Darkness to give him a chance. What was the point of surviving if she didn’t have her family back? Was there a meaning or a life lesson behind her having to say good-bye to everything she knew?

Master Yen Sid had warned her against saying too much to Terra, or forcing him to remember things. It could be throttling. Or painful. It was best to let go and let any traces come to him naturally.

Which was easy for Yen Sid to say. He wasn’t losing anyone. Painful indeed – she dealt with it when she remembered that Terra was with her the very first time she ever saw snow. That they knew every good hiding place in the castle back in the Land of Departure – some of which they never shared with Ventus.

She questioned whether it was the right approach.

But observing Terra sometimes made her realize why it might be. Without any memories, Terra didn’t know the meaning of terror anymore. No Mark of Mastery to beat himself up over. No Xehanort. He was cheerier now, so much like how he used to be long ago before the stress of becoming a Keyblade Master took a toll. Before they were separated. And he deserved to be this happy and worry-free.

She still questioned whether she was doing the right thing.

The only thing that stopped her tears from falling each night was a warmth in her chest. Terra – the one she knew, the one who left a part of himself inside – heard her. And the stir in her heart would lull her to sleep, like he was hugging her from wherever he was, to remind her that she was never alone.

She placed her hands on her chest after dropping her fork, feeling him again. “I’m trying, Terra,” she said out loud. She spent so many years talking to herself in the dark, and being in the light was no different. “It’s so hard.”

A moment passed before she calmed down. It was still the beginning of a new day, and it will be long. Days in Disney Castle lasted far longer than any world she had ever visited before. But it was the best place for Terra to recover, she believed. He was surrounded by inhabitants who were jovial, trusting, and kind. They lived in the moment, completely undisturbed by the wars with darkness outside. They looked for reasons to stay positive.

She found him in the library - which was considered a lucky event being that it was so huge, numerous civilians have reported getting lost in there for days. He was escorting Queen Minnie, reaching up to a high shelf to fetch her a book. A grin on his face, he lived for any chance to be helpful, especially to a Queen who only stood as tall as his knee.

But it was when he was thanked and left behind that it hit her. Sitting by himself in a busy library the size of their academy with a small stack of books to keep occupied – he, too, must be lonely.

… When he leaned forward to hold his chin with one hand while reading the book with the other, he looked so much like Terra.

He glanced up when she approached him.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt-”

“Don’t be,” he said, waving to the lounge chair across from him. “I’d rather talk to you, anyway.”

She took a mental note to be this forward with him if he ever got his memories back. The stack of books next to him was a pile of heroic epics. One of them was The Adventures of Robin Hood, his absolute favorite growing up.

“What are you reading?” she asked.

He furrowed his brow, inspecting the words on the open pages in his hand. “A love story.”

“A love story?” Not something he’d usually be interested in.

“I didn’t think it was at first. It’s about these two flames. One of them started to overburn its wick, and was going to flicker out. It was too dark to be the only candle, so the other gave its blue core away,” he said, each word making her realize that she knew this story. “This would give power to its friend, making it last longer. You’d think it would die afterward, but now they are blended together, making the room shine brighter. And they never separated again. Sacrificing its blue core… that’s love.”

He showed her the book, and the illustrations are exactly the way she remembered them from childhood. The Tale of Two Lights. Two flames with eyes, and one of pictures showed a flame pulling its blue core out from the inside, like it had reached into its mouth.

Their Master used to read it to them to teach them about the nature of being a Keybearer. To protect others from darkness meant to be willing to utilize their own hearts as a weapon. Bonds kept light alive, and so it was important that Keyblade Wielders were always supportive of one another, for the darkness will try and snuff out a single light.

But he made sure to teach them to never underestimate the power of one’s own personal shine – the blue core didn’t burn like the tip of the orange flame, but its warmth was the most important.

Not once did she ever consider it a love story. Most of the ones she read were stupid and shallow. The prince kissed the princess and the happy-ever-after was given easily like free candy at a festival.

Nothing she read taught her the meaning of it, or prepared her for the choice of jumping into the dark abyss after a possessed Terra.

“That’s an… interesting interpretation,” she said.

“You know it?”

She hesitated for a moment. “Yeah. The Master used to read it to us when we were kids.”

“What was he like?” He leaned forward, his eyes asking more than his voice.

She wondered if refusing to answer him was infantilizing or rude. If he deserved to know despite that she might trigger an attack.

“He was strict,” she said, her eyes searching the floor. She couldn’t help the smile pulling at her lips as she ventured into her memories. “He made us run laps if we woke up too late. And he gave us extra assignments if we weren’t listening to his lectures.”

But Terra deserved something nice to hold onto, too.

“He thought our birthdays were the most important days of the year,” she continued, “and he never missed them. He liked his coffee black in the morning, and sipped red wine before he went to bed.”

The more she spoke of Eraqus, the more she could visualize him, enough that it pained her to remember she’ll never make him coffee again.

Terra rested back into his chair, his gaze downcast and sullen.

“I remember him.” At the sight of her piqued interest, he corrected himself. “Just a small vision. There are only feelings… I saw him die in front of me. I don’t know why, and that scares me.” His voice lowered significantly. “I think I might have done something horrible.”

“Terra, you were only trying to save Ven-”

“Were you there?”

“No…” Not even Ventus saw what happened exactly, and this wasn’t a conversation they finished before the catastrophe happened.

It was a conversation she needed to have, but now that it wasn’t possible, she only had her beliefs to hold onto.

“You’re the kindest person I will ever meet,” she finally said. “There is no better word out there to describe you, Terra. You could never even think of harming the Master.”

She had to believe it. If she was going to be honest, Terra was always the favorite student. The Master was often way harsher on him as a result, expecting too much. It was to his detriment at the Mark of Mastery, and it was unfair.

But the bond they had was unique, and there wasn’t a way – a single, damn way – that Terra would have a sinister inkling to hurt the man who raised him, even if he was resentful. Even if he had darkness and it was as black as ink. This was Terra, after all.

“I’m sorry,” he said, scrambling to find a tissue. “I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

“It’s nothing to apologize for.” She quickly dabbed her eyes and wiped her nose. “You know, death and all. It happens.”

“Yeah,” he shrugged, a nervous sigh leaving his lips. “Death and all.”

Like two strangers surviving awkward small talk.

Terra was fine, though – no attacks coming to threaten him. But it was so unlike him to be unbothered by the Master’s death, like he never had a father, and she couldn’t bear to think about it. So she sparred with him to take her mind off of these things.

She was the type to prepare for the future, and they were going to have a rocky one. The final battle with Xehanort loomed over them still, and with no memory, Terra was at worst defenseless.

Sparring with him was like teaching someone who had forgotten to practice for years. Most times, he had the right instinct, his muscle memory kicking in to get him into the correct stance. But gone was his knowledge of the way she moved, and it was too easy to dance around him and clobber him to the ground. And this Terra moved in ways she never expected, like he grew up fighting someone else.

The other Keyblade wielders would come over and teach him, as well. The more practice he received, the better.

He didn’t have the drive to be a Master anymore, but when he wiped his Keyblade clean, he asked, so I get to help people?

There were minutes when she couldn’t let go of how worried she was about the ordeal, so she busied herself with other, more menial things. She refused the Queen’s offer in using her animated broom servants, and did most of the cooking herself. The smell of food was intoxicating and a reliable distraction, and since she was preparing a huge feast today, it swallowed hours from her that would otherwise be thrown away to anxiety.

Ventus helped her cut the venison, and she looked around the large kitchen (four times the size of her bedroom back home) for ingredients.

No potatoes.

And she had to worry about feeding Sora, Riku, Kairi, and Lea tonight. Donald and Goofy were also coming. The King and his wife… it was going to take forever to prepare.

“You forgot the potatoes,” she spat.

He waved his hand like it was no big deal – clearly he didn’t know how long it took to boil them. “I’ll get ‘em, don’t worry.”

She was going to bark some more when Terra arrived at the doorway. He held his fingers to his temple like he was taming a headache, and his orange Wayfinder found a place in his other hand.

They froze as they watched him, too eager to interrupt whatever he was going to say about that trinket.

“There was…” he started. “We were standing together, under the stars one night.”

It was all he said. It could have been any night, but he held that Wayfinder like it mattered and it had to be one specific night above all.

Ventus saw this opportunity and took it like a landslide, running up to his friend while pulling out his green Wayfinder out of his pocket. “Yeah! She made these for us that night so we always stayed connected.”

She joined them, comparing her blue counterpart with theirs.

Terra was impressed. “You made these?” He inspected his, slowly taking in all the details of metal and glass. “They’re beautiful.”

It wasn’t something he’d normally say – beautiful just wasn’t a word he would use to describe anything related to her. But apparently he hid quite a lot when he told her things like Oy, you’re such a girl sometimes as he held his Wayfinder for the first time long ago.

“Thank you.” It was the most polite thing to say. “Was there anything else you remembered?” She held her breath, not expecting much.

“No,” he said, rubbing his neck like he knew he disappointed her. But he still smiled. It was pleasant at least.

Even Ventus’ grin fell some. He really had to learn not to get his hopes up too high.

What she really didn’t need was to have the other wielders barge in on them like this. A feast wasn’t the place to witness letdowns.

“Well, the smaller things are worth celebrating, right?” she said, wiping her hands on her apron out of nervousness and putting her Wayfinder away. She looked around for something to change the subject. “Ven… the potatoes.”

He nearly snarled at her, but he was terrible at rebelling. “Fine, I’ll go get them now, your Highness.”

“I could help you carry them,” Terra offered.

Ventus looked as though someone just slapped him across the face. “I’m strong enough to carry them on my own.”

“Oh, sorry.”

She knew that wasn’t what Ventus wanted to hear. He was expecting Terra to tease him further about it, maybe even strike up a competition to see who could carry the most potatoes. Ventus would lose every time of course, but it was the bonding that counted. Disappointment sunk again.

To make up for it, Terra ruffled thoroughly through blond hair, and Ventus grimaced to save face when he fixed it. She wondered if he understood that Terra was sincerely trying so hard.

She decided it was a good idea to help him out, at least this one time.

When Ventus was out of earshot, she said, “I’ll make another potato stew, and you should stuff the sack with bricks next time. He’ll never talk back to you, again.”

Terra snorted. “That’s hilarious, you think he’ll be offended?”

“Nah, he likes pranks.”

“I’ll definitely do it, thanks.” He sounded like he was desperate for a way to break the ice with Ventus, and she gave him all the relief he needed. He hovered around the kitchen counter, watching her cut into vegetables. “Do you need help?”

She was going to reject his offer, yet she’d hate to see him left out again.

But she stopped herself from handing him a knife.

He froze.

Completely.

Staring off into her like he couldn’t see her anymore, his eyes fixated with a look of sheer horror, like whatever he was witnessing was disgusting and it frightened him so much that he was about to beg for mercy. He shuddered furiously. He didn’t allow himself to breathe at all, and tears gathered so much in his eyes that they fell without waiting for him to blink.

“Terra,” she called, but he didn’t respond. He wouldn’t breathe.

“I’m here, Terra,” she said, dropping the knife and reaching for his face. “You’re safe.”

He didn’t respond to her touch either. She nearly called for Ventus’ help when he took a large, sharp inhale like he’d been drowning, and he rubbed his face as he drew deep, heavy breaths. The movement scared her, and she jumped back to clutch her beating chest.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

At the sound of her voice, he grabbed her wrist and looked right into her eyes. This time, he was looking at her. Like he discovered something he lost.

“You’re Aqua,” he said.

He knew her name as a stranger’s, but now it was like he knew exactly what it meant. He smiled widely, the tears falling right into his mouth but he was too busy at the brink of laughter to taste them. He searched her eyes as though he was examining something precious.

“Did I give you my blue core?” he asked.

It was futile to stop her tears, and she nodded, her own smile drawing out like it needed to be seen. It was more natural to hug him than to reply, and his embrace was tight, like holding her was a necessity to live.

“What do you remember?” she asked into his shoulder, making it wet with all her tears and snot.

“Not much.” His voice chocked, half in laugher. “Just that you were so stubborn, and I needed to beat you on the head with some common sense.”

She laughed, something that sounded like crying but it was all molded together in a heap of nonsense. He held her tighter, making sure she kept standing as he rocked her back and forth. She was finally home in a world where light burned brightly enough that she was sure her transgressions were all exposed.

To hear him define her fall to darkness, her feral beast, as simply stubbornness made her feel forgiven. Even if he didn’t know what her mistakes really were, yet.

It was such a Terra thing to say.

A/N: So a lot of the concepts in this are inspired by Joshua's words in DDD:

"By ourselves we're no one. It's when other people look at us and see someone... that's the moment we each start to exist."

I don't normally nerd over the writing process in these notes, but to illustrate this, I actually made it purposeful not to name Aqua at all in this chapter except for one time - when Terra names her. Just a little something I wanted to experiment with, which was tricky in narration, having to do all of this without naming her XDD.

#terraqua #aqua #terra #anti-aqua #kh fanfic #kingdom hearts fanfiction #dark aqua #ventus #AHHHH i finally finished this #i'm so glad to do so as well #i have enough wips right now #but i hope you guys love it #i put a lot of love into it #it gets sad before it gets better i promise #my fic

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sp4c3-0ddity · 6 years

Note

pidge gets sick and lance insists on being her Devoted Nurse™ whether she wants/needs him to or not (and she'll never admit how much she actually enjoys being fussed over).

i’ve never written sick fic before and i also haven’t been really sick in a while, so i guess there’s a first time for everything. this one’s got a dose (hehe) of pining too. vaguely takes place during...season four, i guess

also it ran away from me and is ~4300 words, so enjoy!!

Pidge should’ve known something was wrong the moment shestood up. Her head spun, and the floor seemed to tilt beneath her while hervision adjusted. She rested one hand on the desk and pressed the other to herforehead, and when the dizzy spell faded she took one step, and then another,walking carefully because of the sudden weakness in her limbs, the way her legsthreatened to buckle beneath her.

Behind her, the Green Lion growled, and Pidge didn’t needtheir loosely telepathic bond to know it was a rebuke. But instead ofacknowledging it, she left the hangar, intent on drinking water to soothe herscratchy throat.

It figured that she would have seasonal allergies evenin space.

Pidge didn’t show up to breakfast, which wasn’t odd,exactly, since she almost always slept through it unless there was somethingimportant scheduled early in the day cycle, but the fact that Lance overheardcoughing from inside her bedroom when he was on his way to bed the eveningbefore worried him.

“Has anyone seen Pidge yet today?” Lance asked the room atlarge.

“I already checked the Green Lion’s hangar,” Shiro admittedwith a spork full of green goo halfway to his mouth. “She must’ve slept inher room last night.” He left the for once unspoken.

Lance glanced at Hunk, who frowned and said, “She cameto the kitchen yesterday for some water. That was the last I saw of her.”

“Hmm.” Lance turned to stare at the dining room’s door, asif doing so would summon Pidge. When it - predictably - did not, heannounced, “I’m going to check on her.”

“I’m sure she’s fine,” said Shiro.

“Yeah, I know,” Lance agreed. He pushed his chair back fromthe table and stood, but before he left he reconsidered and piled goo into abowl to take, just in case.

He paused outside Pidge’s bedroom door, wondering if hishelp - if she even needed it - would even be welcome; maybe she’d rather Shiroor anyone else check on her? But before he could think too hard, he brisklyknocked on the door.

“What?” Her voice came out faint, as if muffled by somethingcovering her mouth.

“Uh, it’s me,” Lance called cautiously. “I just came byto check if you’re awake.”

“Well, you got your answer; I’ll be out soon.” This time shesounded louder, but also off.

“Can I come in?” Lance asked.

Pidge didn’t respond immediately, but then shesaid, “Why?”

He rolled his eyes and stuffed his free hand into his jacketpocket. “Like I said, to check on you. I heard you coughing last nightand–” He cut himself off when the door silently slid open to reveal Pidge’scluttered bedroom, with Pidge herself nowhere to be seen. “Uh, Pidge?”

A small, pale hand emerged from underneath a stack ofblankets on the bed, waving at him, and Pidge’s head followed, a turtle peekingout of its shell. At the admission, Lance entered, carefully picking his wayaround discarded electronics and mechanical parts, past instructional bookletsand loose sheets of paper. A furry green creature that looked a little like amammalian caterpillar drifted past his head, markings on its head glowing whenits eyes fell on him.

“Uh…”

“Don’t mind them,” Pidge said. She sat up in bed, propped upagainst two pillows, and as he watched she reached for a box of tissues on abedside table. “They won’t hurt you.”

Lance curiously stuck a finger up, and the creature sniffedit. “There’s more than one?”

Pidge nodded towards a shadowy corner of her room, wherejunk was so condensed he couldn’t make out individual pieces. “The blueone is hiding over there; it’s a bit more shy.”

“Right,” Lance said. Then he offered her a smile. “Itake it you’re sick?”

Pidge blew her nose with a noise like a foghorn. “It’sonly allergies,” she said.

“…really,” Lance said skeptically. He approached her and saton the edge of her bed without waiting for an invitation, the door sliding shutagain behind him. To his relief, she made room for him, sliding a little closerto the wall. “And I brought you breakfast,” he added, brandishing the bowlof goo at her.

Pidge stared at it for a few heartbeats, then shook her headand said, “I’m not hungry.”

Lance raised an eyebrow at her. “You’re not?”

“No.” Pidge sniffed, and followed it up with a cough.

Lance narrowed his eyes at her, examining her more closely.Her hair stuck damply to her face, which looked a little flushed, and she heldherself stiffly, like she was in pain. “I don’t think it’s allergies,” hetold her. “I think you’re actually sick.”

“Thanks for the diagnosis, Doctor,” Pidge quipped, pushingsweaty hair away from her face. “What’s my prognosis?”

Lance grinned. “Not too good, sadly,” he said, “butit could be better if you let me take care of you.”

Pidge stared at him. “Why? I’m doing fine.” She wavedat the box of tissues at her bedside, at the empty cup that must’ve held water.

“Clearly.” Lance considered her for a minute, then leanedforward and pressed his lips to her forehead - too warm, like he suspected.

Pidge stiffened and asked, “What are you doing?”

“Checking for a fever,” Lance replied once he pulled back.He squinted at her, suspicious all over again. “You look even redder now;maybe you’re worse than you seem?”

She covered her face and groaned. “Why can’t you justuse a thermometer like a normal person?” she demanded. “We’re on anadvanced alien spaceship! I’m sure Coran has a few lying around.”

“Yeah, let me just go get that meat thermometer,” Lanceretorted, “and then you’d have to convert the units from whatever Alteansuse to degrees Celsius because I’m not good at mental math.”

“Honestly I’m impressed that you even remembered we’d haveto convert the units,” Pidge said, looking at him from between her fingers.

Lance slumped. “Do you want my help or not?”

“…or not.”

“Seriously? I offer my services for free and this ishow you repay me?”

Pidge snorted and crossed her arms. “Fine,” shesaid. “As long as you don’t force feed me cough syrup, you can…take careof me.” That last bit was said in a quieter voice, and if Lance didn’t know anybetter he would think she looked embarrassed.

Then again, Pidge had a proud streak, so maybe it wasdifficult for her to admit to needing - or even wanting - help.

“Okay then!” Lance said brightly. He plopped the bowl of goointo her lap and said, “Why don’t you start with that?” He stood up andturned back to the door. “I’ll tell everyone else you won’t be trainingtoday, and then I’ll be back with some water and a thermometer after I askCoran if there’s any medicine you can take.”

Pidge picked up the spork and raised it slowly to her lips.Lance pointedly watched her put it in her mouth, chew - not that it needed chewing- and swallow. Then, when she put the spork down, he said, “I guess that’sgood enough for now, but you’d better finish it all by the time I come back.”

“Take your time,” Pidge said, and she tried anotherspork-ful.

Pidge only finished half the goo before her appetite shrunkuntil it was nonexistent. The goo tasted even worse than usual, like dampcardboard, and all she could really taste in her mouth besides was thesaltiness of her own snot and saliva.

So she set the goo aside and lay back down, tugging theblanket up to cover her face in an attempt to warm up and keep herself fromshivering. But her teeth still chattered, rattling what felt like her entireskeleton, and at the same time her eyes burned with the fever. Her stomachroiled with nausea, not helped at all by the way the goo didn’t settle in, butthe last time she found the strength to stumble into the bathroom she hadn’tbeen able to vomit.

Pidge closed her eyes, exhausted after a nearly sleeplessnight, kept awake by her own coughing and an ear ache. Oh, she would kill foreven just a spoonful of honey to soothe her sinuses, maybe with a mug of hotgreen tea, her mother’s spicy chicken noodle soup - spiced enough she couldtaste it, a bottle of Sprite or ginger ale for the upset stomach…

Still, it was sweet of Lance to offer to take care of her,and at least she knew he wouldn’t have any ulterior motives and wouldn’t extorta favor from her in the future - probably. He was just being…nice, likebringing her food and kissing her forehead to check her fever, because that waswhat close friends did.

“Right?” she asked the trash nebula caterpillar hoveringclose to her, its markings flashing.

A soft knock on the door interrupted Pidge’s thoughts, andshe called, “Come in!” She struggled to sit up as the door slid open.

Lance returned with several pouches of water, a second bowlof goo - Pidge grimaced involuntarily at the sight - and a medicalscanner. “Okay, Coran showed me how to use this,” he said, setting thebowl on her cluttered bedside table and sitting on the bed again.

Pidge shifted her legs to give him space again, andpatiently waited for him to adjust the settings on the scanner…at least untilhis confused mumbling got on her sleep deprived nerves. She snatched it out ofhis hands - ignoring his indignant hey! - and found thecorrect settings before returning it to him.

“Thanks,” Lance said.

Pidge shrugged and grumbled, “No problem.” Ishould be thanking you, she thought, but the words caught in herthroat.

Lance held the scanner up to her face, and after a beat, thedisplay flashed red and he lowered it. “Hmm, can you help me read this?”When Pidge nodded, Lance turned around so he sat beside her, leaning against herpillow and with his shoulder pressed against hers.

Pidge fought the urge to either shrink away or lean a littlecloser, instead saying, “You want to get sick too?”

“My immune system kicks ass,” Lance informed her. “I’llbe fine.”

“Tempting fate then,” Pidge said, nodding. “Suityourself, but don’t come crying for me when the inevitable happens.”

(She didn’t mean that.)

“I’ll be fine,” Lance reassured her again. Then, after hebrandished the scanner at her, he asked, “So what does it say is wrongwith you?”

Pidge took it from him - his hands felt so much cooler thanher overheated skin when they brushed against her - and glanced over thereadout. “It’s the flu,” she decided. “Or, sort of.” She passed thescanner back to him. “It predicts I’ll no longer be contagious in threedays, and a few days after that I’ll feel normal again.”

Lance raised an eyebrow at her. “Contagious?”

“Don’t worry,” Pidge said, “I won’t be kissing youduring that time.”

Lance laughed, the elbow nudging her side also doingsomething to squeeze her heart. “Good to know so I have time to prepare.”He winked at her.

Pidge rolled her eyes. “The scanner also suggested bedrest, fluids, and a decongestant.”

“Oh, well, I guess this is like space Tylenol?” Lance said,holding up a bottle and shaking it so that its contents rattled.

Pidge took the bottle and scanned the label. “It saysto take two every six vargas for an adult, but that’s for Alteans.” Shesquinted at it. “Also this stuff’s probably been expired for ten thousandyears, and no drug has an unlimited shelf-life.”

“So…no drugs for you,” Lance said, grinning sheepishly as hesnatched the bottle away from her. “Guess we should ask Coran to clean outthe medicine in the med bay.”

“Probably a good idea,” Pidge agreed.

“Also, food,” Lance said. He took her unfinished bowl of gooand dropped it into her lap. “Finish it.”

“I’m not hungry.”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “Come on, Pidge, you’resmart enough to know that you need to eat.”

“Yeah, well, too bad I can’t.”

“Why not?”

Pidge sighed and admitted, “I feel nauseous and I haveno appetite.”

“Well, what if I feed you?”

It took all her willpower not to gape at him - and shethanked her lucky stars that she was probably already red with fever and hewouldn’t see her blush. “I don’t see how that would help.”

“Let’s try anyway.” Lance scooped up a spork-ful of goo andraised it to be level with her mouth, but she stubbornly pinched her lipstogether. “Come on, Pidge.”

“No,” she said, barely moving her lips.

Lance pressed the spoon to her mouth. “Pidge,” hechided.

Pidge shook her head.

“Come on,” he whined. “If you don’t eat,you’ll starve and die, and where will that leave us? Without our residentgenius?”

“That’s overdramatic,” Pidge said.

“Open up for the food Lion,” Lance sang.

Pidge only stared at him.

Lance sighed and dropped the spork into thebowl. “Fine,” he said, “we can try that again later. Is theresomething else you want then?”

“Food? No.” Pidge shook her head to emphasize, then restedher head on his shoulder. “I wish I could get some tea…take a nap…” Sheyawned and wrapped her arms around Lance’s.

“Okay,” Lance said. He ran his fingers through her hair,apparently disregarding how sweaty she was. “Go to sleep then.”

Pidge closed her eyes, and this time she drifted off alittle quicker as her nausea faded.

When Pidge’s breathing slowed - though it still hitchedwhenever she coughed - Lance very carefully extricated himself from her grip,making sure her head nestled on the pillow before he retreated from her roomwith an objective in mind.

If Pidge was going to be bedridden for a few day cycles,then he could stand to make sure she wouldn’t get bored.

He peeked into the kitchen, searching for Hunk, but when hecouldn’t find him there he went down to the Yellow Lion’s hangar. “Hunk!”he called when he spotted him working on something large and mechanical nearthe Lion’s giant paw.

“Lance,” Hunk replied, smiling when he lookedup. “How’s Pidge?”

“She has space flu,” Lance told him.

“Oh, has she eaten?” Hunk asked, immediately perking up withwide-eyed worry. “Is she drinking water? Did you give her any—”

“No, yes, and everything on the ship is probably expired,” Lance answered him in turn. He tapped his footthen and before Hunk could say anything else asked, “Can you help me withsomething?”

Hunk put down the tool in his hand. “Sure,” he said. “Whatdo you need?”

“I need to move something,” Lance explained, “from my roomto Pidge’s…”

The ticker displayed from the wall indicated that less thantwo vargas passed since Pidge fell asleep leaning against Lance, who was…gone.

When she opened her eyes, still sticky with sleep, shereflexively reached across her bed towards where she’d expected him to be, butwhen only soft, slightly smelly sheets met her fingertips, disappointmentfilled her belly – better than nausea, shethought – rather than relief that she did, at least, feel better.

Her throat wasn’t so sore, her ear ache was gone, and hermuscles didn’t hurt so much. But her fever was still unbroken, and Pidge wasalone when she hadn’t expected or, truth be told, wanted to be.

Pidge glanced around the room then, struck by an urge to do…something.Though she doubted she had the strength to walk much further than the distance betweenher bed and the bathroom, her skin crawled with restlessness. She sat up,seeking something to do, when she spotted the green nebula caterpillar on herbedside table, polishing off her unfinished breakfast.

She raised an eyebrow at it and said, “I guess I can tellLance I ate it after all.” She smiled, and was about to beckon it towards herwhen she noticed a ceramic mug right next to it, curling white tendrils ofsteam rising from it. “Tea?”

Pidge carefully picked up the mug – the heat warmed her clammyhands – and sniffed at the contents suspiciously, but when all she smelled wasthe odd Olkari tea they used as a coffee substitute, she sipped at it.

It was a little too bitter for her liking, but it did itsjob, loosening the phlegm thick in her throat, the steam she inhaled soothingthe stuffiness of her nose.

While she drank, the door slid open – without waiting forher permission – and admitted Lance and Hunk.

“Oh, you’re awake,” Lance greeted her brightly.

Pidge barely heard him, her gaze drawn to the equipment inhis and Hunk’s arms. “Is that everything for the system?” she asked, feelingher eyes bug out. “Wasn’t that in your room?”

“Well, since you’re kind of stuck,” Lance said while hestarted rearranging her room’s clutter, shoving stuff aside to make room for allthe equipment, “I figured we could move it here so you’re not so bored.”

Pidge grinned. “If I wasn’t sick, I could kiss you!”

Hunk snorted, and Lance quipped, “Oh, so you finally admitthat you are sick?”

(Pidge wasn’t sure, but she thought she spied a hint of redon his face.)

“Guess there’s no point in denying it anymore,” Pidge said,shrugging.

“Because that’s the most important thing you’re denying,”Hunk said.

Lance finally approached her, nodding in satisfaction whenhe saw her drinking the tea, though when his gaze fell on the bowl – with thecaterpillar still gorging itself on the goo – he rolled his eyes and said, “Soyour dog ate your homework?”

Pidge smiled sheepishly and shooed the caterpillar away. “I’mnot hungry,” she told him, “like I said.”

“But—”

“I’ll make something else,” Hunk interrupted. He now stoodin the doorway, the gaming system fully set up. “Something more interestingthan goo, maybe.”

“You think it can have a bit more flavor in it too?” Pidgeasked cautiously.

Hunk grinned. “Of course it can, Pidge.” Then, he shot anunreadable look at Lance and left.

He booted up the console and sat with both controllers on thefloor beside Pidge’s bed. He handed up a controller to her.

Pidge took it, then said, “Give me player one.”

“I don’t think so,” Lance said. He smirked at the titlescreen as he navigated to the two-player option.

“Uh, no, I’m sick,” Pidge said, tapping his shoulder withthe player two controller in her hand.

“So now that it suits you, you’re pulling the ‘I’m sick’ card?”Lance glanced sideways at her. “Uncool, Pidge.”

“Something tells me you would do the exact same thing, and you owe me for stealing the consolein the first place. So give me.” She set her controller aside and leaned downfor Lance’s.

When her hand closed around the controller, she tugged at it,but Lance tugged back, and Pidge tumbled out of bed, her head falling againsthis thigh.

“Whoops! Sorry, Pidge,” he said, though from the impish grinon his face he didn’t look sorry at all.

Winded even from such brief exertion, Pidge glared up athim. “Are you serious?”

“Are you serious?”

Pidge grabbed his arm and heaved herself back upright untilshe sat on the floor, her back to him. “Fine,” she conceded, retrieving thesecond controller from her bed, “but you’d better be prepared for me to kick yourass.”

Lance laughed and said, “I’ve been practicing—”

“Because you stole it.”

“—so we’ll see who reallywins this round.”

Pidge won that round, and the one after that, and the next,but by the fourth and final, her consciousness wavered enough that Lance took advantageof her lapse in attention and stole that round out from under her virtual feet.

Everyone else aboard the Castle took turns visiting Pidge.Hunk brought her food – something more appealing and better tasting than greengoo – as promised, and she managed to eat most of it before she set it aside,her appetite vanishing, for the caterpillars to finish. Shiro brought a messageof well wishes to her from Matt. Allura and the mice visited together, theformer with a tablet containing a collection of her favorite books while thelatter braided Pidge’s short, sweaty hair into uneven pigtails. Coran’s visitwas the longest and the strangest, while he regaled Pidge of the tale of his ‘innerbattle’ against the dastardly Silver Fever that afflicted him when he gallivantedaround the known universe during his youth.

Pidge nodded off during Coran’s visit; for all she knew,putting her to sleep had been his intention, but it was hard to tell with him.

This time Lance was there when she woke up halfway throughthe Castle’s night cycle, the clicking of knitting needles providing a soothingrhythm to her still half-asleep brain. “What’re you making?” she asked, ortried to since the words came out a little garbled, her lips sluggish.

The clicking stopped, and she heard footsteps as Lanceapproached her bedside. “Shouldn’t you still be asleep?” he asked, peering downat her.

Pidge rubbed her eyes. “Shouldn’t you?” she retorted, squinting at him. “How can you knit in the darkanyway?”

“Portable light,” Lance said, wielding a small device. Hepressed a button and it glowed white. After a moment of consideration, he setit aside and rested the back of his hand against her forehead.

Pidge squinted at him. “What’re you doing?”

“I think your fever’s gone,” he said. He knelt beside her, foldinghis arms onto her bed and resting his chin on them. “How do you feel now?”

Mind still sluggish with sleep, Pidge was too busy watching thelight and shadows play across his face to register his words. “What did yousay?”

Lance rolled his eyes but smiled, looking almost indulgent. “Howdo you feel, Pidge?”

Pidge rubbed her face and thought about it. “Desperately inneed of a shower,” she admitted. She lifted her arm and sniffed at her armpit,wrinkling her nose at the scent of sweat and her body’s odor.

“That’s all?”

Pidge looked at him; she was pretty sure the warmth in her chest had nothing to do with thefever that had already broken, so she said, “My nose is still stuffed, and I’mgoing to be stuck with a cough for at least a week, but…I feel much betteralready.”

“Good,” Lance said.

“I…thanks, Lance,” Pidge said. “You didn’t have to take careof me, but you did, and…” She shrugged, though it probably looked odd since shewas still lying down.

“What are friends for?” Lance said, offering his own shrug. “Besides,your brother’s not here, so someone else should step in, you know?”

Pidge frowned at him, unsure what to say, or what could dispelthe disappointment settling in. Ofcourse, she thought. Out loud she finally said, “You should sleep too. Whatif you get sick just from being around me?”

“I’ll be fine, Pidge,” Lance reassured her. “You worry too much,but—” He yawned, covering his face with a hand. “Okay, sleeping actually doessound nice.” He stood up, retrieving the lighting device and turning it off sothat they were plunged into darkness. “I’ll check on you again in the morning?”

“Sounds good,” Pidge said. She rolled onto her side, notacknowledging Lance’s murmured good nightas she closed her eyes and tried to go back to sleep.

After a shower in the morning, Pidge felt much better andstronger, and when she dressed in actual clothes rather than in her pajamas –which really needed laundering – she feltalmost back to normal…though the pile of used tissues on her bedside tablerefused to diminish.

“Gross,” she grumbled as she tossed another aside. She stoodup, about to leave her room for the first time in over a quintant, when a knockon the door made her pause. “Come in,” she said.

The door slid open to admit, unsurprisingly, Lance. When hiseyes fell on her, standing and dressed, he smiled and said, “That’s not what Iexpected.”

Pidge grinned, at least until she sneezed and had to wipeher nose again. “I’m not as weak as you think, Lance.”

“I never thought you were weak,” he argued, crossing his armsand leaning against the doorway. “But you know, I was kind of looking forwardto spending today in here again.”

She raised an eyebrow at him, surprised. “Why?”

“So I can get out of training, obviously.” He flashed her asmirk.

Pidge rolled her eyes and groaned, “Of course.”

A few quintants later, Lance ended up bedridden with thesame virus that took Pidge, and by process of elimination – because she’dalready suffered the illness and would have the necessary antibodies – she wasthe one forced to take care of him.

Or, that was the reason she told him, anyway; the Milky Waywould turn into actual milk before she ever admitted that she wanted to care for him…and the fact thatLance was so needy and borderline whiny sometimes helped her keep that fact toherself.

But when he asked her to read to him from one of the booksAllura lent her – she had to run the texts through her Altean translationprogram to fully understand them – something else in her softened.

“Thanks, Pidge,” Lance interrupted her reading, his voice hoarse.He had his head pillowed in Pidge’s lap while she idly ran her fingers throughhis hair with her free hand.

Pidge smiled, her face warm and carefully hidden from hissight by perspective and the tablet, and said, “Anytime, Lance.”

#Anonymous #plance #pidgance #lidge #flirtyrobot #qna #voltron #reem writes fic #that last line is lame but whatever #hope you like it!!

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dammitadolfnomorecake · 5 years

Text

Caramel Skin Under A Red and Green Cloud prt 12 full

Keith was not a natural-born surfer. It blew Lance's mind that his husband could be such a goofy-footed idiot, especially with all of his training. Acxa wasn't that great, better than Keith, yet wiped out before he did much to Marco's happiness. The pain in Lance's soul nearly had him running down the beach to teach Keith what he was doing wrong. Keith couldn't quite seem to get the popup just right. At first, he was jumping up too early, then too late. His form when standing was... shaky at best. Trying not to cause Keith more stress, and trying not to bring on a seizure, Lance was having a hard time wrangling in his conflicting emotions. He wanted Keith to enjoy himself. Yet, at this rate, he knew his husband was more likely to lose his temper due to frustration and give up completely instead of discovering how fun surfing could be. His indecisions had him nearly in tears. There was a time he would have welcomed the soothing expanse of blue before him. He would have run into the water like he didn't have a care in the world... but that had been taken away from him... He'd started to take back things for himself, but when you have your head held down into sink full of water until you passed out, or have water poured down your throat mercilessly, it dampens the appeal of surrounding yourself in it. Showers were fine because the water disappeared down the drain. Baths he could do with Keith, because he could trust Keith not to let him drown... but taking that first step into an endless bottomless blue... goosebumps erupted across his skin at the mere thought. Watching Keith wipe out again, Lance didn't realise anything was wrong for the first tick... or the second... his old board washed up on the beach on the third tick, then on the fourth he realised Keith hadn't come up. Marco was talking with Veronica and Acxa, the group laughing as Lance jumped to his feet. The fifth and sixth tick passed with no sign of Keith. Lance's heart was racing a million miles an hour as he bolted towards the water. Keith could swim. Keith could swim... there was no way... but what if his husband had hit debris on the bottom of the ocean floor, or what if he'd been barrelled? Racing past the group, he threw himself into the water, almost oblivious to the feel as he dived forward once deep enough. Swimming out to where Keith had been, Lance couldn't see him. Trying to dive under the wave breaking in front of him, he was swept into the turbulent current below, the salt and sand stinging at his eyes as his breath was forced from his body. Forced back, he was at the mercy of the wave, coming up nearly a full half-minute later though it felt as if he'd been trapped for so much longer. Diving down again, he desperately swam as he searched for Keith, nearly yelling his husband's name underwater as his movements became less coordinated, and he was swept up into a second undercurrent. It was perfect surfing weather for someone experienced, who could hold their breath and remain calmer than the average novice... Watching from the beach, no one would think of the undercurrents. Panicking as he was barrelled hard enough to find the one rock in the whole area with his head, he came up in the swash, finding Keith lying face down a few metres further down from him. "Keith!" Pushing his hair back as he ran to his husband, Lance screamed his name as he finally reached Keith's side. Shaking his shoulder, his husband gave a weak cough, sandy water forced up into his mouth through his parted lips. Wrapping an arm around his husband, his scream had attracted Marco who rushed to take Keith's other side, helping to lift Keith up onto his feet where he gave a weak grown. Looking over Keith's hung head, Marco's expression was one of confusion and fear "What happened!?" "Fucking leash snapped and he got barrelled. Saw the board wash up" "Fuck..." "He's breathing. Probably swallowed half the fucking ocean, or at least feels that way. Help me get him up to our towels. I need to examine him" "'m fine... what happened?" Keith's words weren't slurred, but that meant nothing when Lance was already close to tears "You got barrelled, babe. You're probably feeling a bit disorientated" "Sand in my mouth..." "That happens. I'll help you get cleaned up when we get back to the towels... I'm so sorry..." Keith didn't reply to his apology. Reaching their towels, Marco helped sit Keith down while Lance went into fuss mode. His first action was dumping the contents of one of the water bottles all over Keith's sandy face, Keith growling his dislike "I know. I'm a horrible husband. I need to check your face and hair. Put your head down for me" Feeling Keith's hair and scalp for wounds, he came up empty. Tilting his head back to check his face, he breathed a sigh of relief "He hasn't hit his head on anything buried out there" "I could have told you that..." Dragging his teeth over his tongue, Keith tried to spit out the sand in his mouth. Holding his hand out, another bottle of water appeared from nowhere. Bringing it to Keith's lips, his husband blinked at him "Take a big mouthful, then rinse and spit. I've been barrelled before, you probably feel like you swallowed half the water and sand out there" Nodding, Keith did as he was told, rinsing and spitting twice before wiping at his leaking nose. If there was one thing salt water was good for, it was clearing sinuses "Babe. I know it sounds stupid, but can you tell me who you are?" "Keith" "Good. And who am I?" "Lance" "And where are we?" "Varadero beach" "Awesome. I don't think you hit your head, but just to be sure, we're going to chill here for a bit. Marco, don't let Acxa back out. The undercurrents too much" "Are you sure?" Keith had very nearly died. He wanted to hit his brother for doubting his judgment, but at the same time, Marco hadn't been barrelled yet, so had no clue "Yeah. Remember that time I split my leg open on that rock, and papi had to save me? Then you were all telling me I nearly drowned? So you went out and got barrelled just as bad... it's about that bad" "Ahhh. Not beginner level. Alright. You heard the man, ladies. Paddling staying close to the shore is fine, no surfing. This is a private show, time to start moving on" Herding away the small crowd that seen what happened, Lucteal and Tobias stayed behind. Crouching down on Keith's other side, Lucteal's lips did a funny twitch like he wanted to say something but didn't know how to. Knowing him, Lucteal probably wanted to help but didn't want to cross Keith "Lucteal, can you grab the blanket out the basket? Tobias, can you grab the board from the edge of the water. I'll have to buy a new lead for her" "I didn't mean to break your board" Keith sounded like a small child as Lance moved to pull the velcro of the strap undone. It'd dug in a little, but the skin seemed fine "You didn't break my board" "The leash..." With how unhappy Keith scent was turning, Lance felt like a horrible husband for sending Keith out without checking the leash. He'd assumed Marco had when he'd waxed the boards "Surfers literally break leads all the time. She's an old board too, but she's in one piece" "I'll replace it" "Babe, it's fine. Here, use some of the water to wash your eyes out" His own eyes didn't feel great. The adrenaline of what happened was wearing away now that he had Keith safely on land. Wrapping the blanket around Keith's shoulders, his husband shivered visibly "Thanks, Lucteal... He should be ok now. I'll monitor him for the next varga. If the girls can't surf, they might want to play a game of volleyball... or get something to eat..." Lucteal went with him on his hinting "I think I shall try walking in your water" "It's nice. Cooler than I thought it'd be. I have no idea what Rachel and the others could be up. They should have been back by now. Oh... you can take Kosmo with you, here's a ball you throw for him. Just throw it out into the water and he'll bring it back" "You human enjoy throwing balls for no reason?" "It's not for no reason, plus, it makes Kosmo happy because he gets head pats when he brings the ball back" "Then I think I'll try. He was chasing your birds along the beach" "They're called gulls, or seagulls. They give as good as they get" "Very well. Keep an eye on him... he may be an eyesore, but he does have some redeeming qualities" Keeping quiet until Lucteal left with Kosmo's ball, Keith snorted and wipes the snot on his towel "I must look awful if Lucteal was worried" That was the final straw. Throwing his arms around Keith, Keith seemed stunned for a moment before returning the embrace "I'm sorry..." "You scared the quiznak out of me. When you didn't come up again... I thought you were dead" Nuzzling into Keith's neck, Lance didn't care if he was getting snot and tears on Keith's shoulder "I didn't expect to be barrelled" "No one expects to be barrelled! You're a goddamn warrior... you're supposed to be able to swim!" "I don't think those two are mutually exclusive. I don't even remember coming off the board again" "Idiot... stupid idiot... are you really alright? Did you hurt yourself?" "The only thing wounded is my pride" "That's alright then... I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I forced you to go with Marco..." "Babe" "I should have stepped in sooner..." "Babe..." "I saw you weren't quite getting it but I was so scared of the water... you could have..." "Lance, babe. Hey. I'm ok. Other than the sand" "I used to love surfing... I wanted you to love it too..." He was behaving pathetically. Crying against Keith when it'd been Keith who nearly drowned "Shhh... shh... I'm ok. You came running in to rescue me" "I got fucking barrelled twice... some rescue party I am" "Babe, you do realise you went running right into that water the moment you thought I was in danger..." Oh... that's right... he had "I was terrified... it's not even a big barrel but even the most experienced swimmers can get taken by them..." "That's not a big barrel? I felt like what I always imagined being in a washing machine would be like" Hiccuping out a snort, Lance hugged Keith tighter "You're an idiot... promise me you're not hiding anything. You didn't hit your head on that rock or anything?" "There was a rock? All I got was water and sand" Pulling back just enough, Lance pushed his lips to his husband's. Keith was alright. He was safe. He was safe and shaking, but he was in one piece. Indulging the kiss, the both grimaced at the sand in their saliva, Lance breaking the kiss to wipe at his lips "Thanks. You know how to make a man feel special" Keith was wiping his own lips as he spoke, smiling like he hadn't taken years off Lance's life "It's not my fault. Didn't anyone ever tell you not to eat sand?" "Nope" "They should have. I need to know if you start feeling sick. You probably swallowed a lot of water, which would have found its way into your lungs..." "Babe, I promise I feel ok" "Keith, this is serious. Please... please just give me this?" Staring at him with startling sincerity, Keith nodded "Alright... hey, you're bleeding" Wincing as his husband's hand came up to the small scratch on the side of his forehead, Lance swatted Keith's hand away "It's a scratch. With the water and the fact that head wounds always bleed too much, it probably looks worse than it is" "What kind of an idiot hits his head while trying to save someone?" "This kind of an idiot, who had to save his goofy-footed husband" "What do you mean I was goofy-footed? I was doing what Marco said" "Marco was wrong... I never should have trusted him to teach you" "You think you can do a better job?" Getting off his knees, Lance shifted to sit beside Keith, wrapping his arm around his waist to hold him possessively close as they both stared out at the swell "I think I could. I could probably ride the whole way in... it's pretty low-level stuff" Nudging at him, Keith feigned offence "Ouch, babe. Thanks for that" "It's like two steps above beginner and one below intermediate" "Where do you sit?" "A couple of steps below pro. You're lucky there's no really big breaks today. I wouldn't have let you out at all if there was" Watching the next wave crash, the build of the one behind it would have been a pretty decent wave to catch "Will you show me? How it's done?" "After you got barrelled? I think I'm going to stay right here and keep an eye on you" Taking his left hand, Keith interlaced their fingers "I want to see it. What kind of an expression you make. I don't have any memories of you surfing..." "That's because I was so full of... everything I shouldn't have been when Allura died and Red left. I was only coping because of Red. And the beach was kind of closed..." "Babe..." They both knew he hadn't surfed since before they'd been blasted into space in Blue "I don't know if I can" "You've faced so many fears... and you've smashed down all the obstacles in your way" Lance hung his head, shame filling his tone "What if I have another seizure? It scares the quiznak out of me worrying about one hitting..." "If you have a seizure or come off, I'm going to come running in like you did for me. It'd take everyone on the beach to hold me back. I think... I think this is something you should do for you. You always loved the water" "I did... until they..." Lance shuddered at the memory "They're dead. The dead can't come back. But you're still alive and have plenty of living to do" "When did you become so wise?" "Maybe being barrelled knocked some of those brain cells free?" Lance shot Keith a glare, who'd snorted over his own joke "It's too soon to joke, babe" Nodding, Keith leaned into him "Alright... think about it. I still want to see you show me how it's done" When Keith didn't get worse over the next hour, Lance finally let himself lower his guard. The second half of the hour had been Keith complaining he was fine, insisting they could join the others. Now that Luis and Lisa had arrived with the kids, Nadia and Sylvio were insisting they were too old to build sandcastles, but when Rachel finally arrived with the others, it'd devolved into a competition over who could build the biggest and best. Having built theirs wrong, Zethrid and Ezor were being lectured by Nadia on the finer points of sandcastle construction. Marco had given up his own pathetic construction effort in favour of teaming up Daehra. Not bothering to participate, Acxa and Veronica had abandoned their group to go swimming... though it was more like making out rather than swimming. The two of them giggling and laughing between kisses. Lance found it equal parts creepy, because V was such a hard arse when on duty, and cute because she and Acxa were very clearly over the moon with each other. He was happy for both of them. Maybe if they got married, Acxa could stand as joint commander on the Atlas. They'd be a force to be reckoned with, yet it'd be cute to see them wearing matching outfits. Deciding he was calling his sister "cute" far too much, he kissed Keith's shoulder "Do you really want to see me surf?" Keith took a long tick to reply, his husband kissing his hair "Only if you don't mind?" "I'll need to use Marco's board... I don't really want everyone making a fuss" "I promise to stab anyone who makes a fuss..." "Babe, you can't make promises like that... I know how seriously you take promises" "Fine... at least let me bash them around a little with my blade?" "I don't think you're supposed to bash your family up" "You're my family... I want to... you know... look after you" Tilting his head up, Keith's lips found his. The kiss soft and full of love "You do. You do so much... You're the love of my life, babe. And tomorrow is the start of our first year as a married couple... and then next year, we'll come back and do this all over again... and again... until we're all old and wrinkly" Keith nodded, kissing him slightly deeper until lingering sand ruined the moment as it fell into Lance's eyes. Wiping at his eyes, he cursed himself for misplacing his sunglasses in his rush to rescue Keith "I'd like that... this, you, us, all our friends and family. I'd like that... maybe Shiro and Curtis can stay next year?" "Hell yeah. Usually, we spend more time in the marquee than we did this year. But next year won't be so bad because they all met you this year... and you'll be able to meet everyone properly... and I won't... my head won't be so messed up, right?" "You're not messed up. You're strong and you're a survivor... I might need some of your courage if we're meeting even more members of your family" Forcing himself to sit up, Lance was only making his eyes hurt more in the pursuit for sand "You've been in the same marquee as them. Next year we can do all the really fun stuff, like the cooking" Tugging his hands away from his eyes, Keith wiped at the corners of his watering eyes "Full confession. I can't cook that well" "That's why you have me to teach you. I mean, I'm no Hunk and honestly cooking and feeding myself haven't been my number one priority because it feels like too much work, but I can boil water without burning it" "Nooo way. How many more of these secret talents do you have?" "I'm flexible... and I can shoot stuff" "I think I've snagged the perfect man" "I'm the lucky one... right, I'm going to do this..." "I know you are, babe. Once you make your mind up, you're an unstoppable stubborn idiot" Laughing at Keith's soft words, he kissed his husband again. It was all because of Keith that he felt "unstoppable"... and maybe a bit like an idiot... but that was completely Keith's fault, not his in the slightest. After all, Keith surrounded him in so much love that more than a few brain cells had died in the shock of it all. * Parties were not Keith's idea of a good time. Not that he'd been much better on the at the beach. He felt somewhat foolish for having been left so disoriented from simply being barrelled. He'd been a quiznakking Paladin. He led his own Blade team... Yet he'd been defeated by waves at the damn beach. Worse of all was how upset Lance had been. He loathed making Lance cry. He loathed causing him pain... but he'd nearly got himself drowned trying to surf... and found he didn't enjoy surfing at all. He enjoyed watching Lance surfing. His husband had been a little shaky at first, simply sitting on the board and letting the waves pass. Keith had thought he was going to have to swim out and tow him back in... Then something changed in Lance. He swung up to lay atop the board, checking over his shoulder. Keith didn't need to see his face to know Lance had become super focused. In a manner of moments, Keith was whooping like an idiot as his husband caught his first wave of the day... he may have also gone running into the waves to meet Lance once he finally fell off the board in the shallows... Lance coming up like a drowned rat with a dorky smile on his face. It was nothing at all like the serious surf pose he'd been pulling. Keith wasn't sure he'd learned anything about surfing from Marco when he realised he didn't know how to compliment or how to tell Lance how hot he'd looked out there. Instead, he accepted a tackling hug from his husband, both of them very nearly taken out by the surfboard in Lance's enthusiasm. After surfing came lunch, Miriam had completely over catered, everyone eating far too much, the settling down to spend the next hour or so sleeping it off. The afternoon was spent losing horrifically at volleyball with Lance the only one of their team who knew what was going on. Plus, Veronica's team had cheated. With Ezor on Zethrid's shoulders, it became impossible to get the ball over the net, no matter how many tricky saves they managed to play. All too soon Shiro was landing his pod on the beach, and Keith forced to say his goodbyes. He loved his brother, but leaving for a party where Lance wasn't involved wasn't the same. Plus, he felt on the outside of Curtis's family. He'd met them all when Shiro had been engaged to Adam, but they'd never gone out of their way to make him feel like he belonged there. Most probably because he didn't. He was simply there because Shiro had taken him in. Nonetheless, he tried his hardest. He liked to think he channelled Lance as he politely asked them how they were and how their Christmas celebrations had gone, without honestly caring about the answer. All he could think was that he'd left his husband behind. He should have been back in Cuba, where more than two people appreciated his existence, not stuck smiling so fakely that his face hurt. By the time 8 pm rolled around, Keith had eyed off the variety of pods and hoverbikes outside Curtis's sprawling family home. The half-Galra had forgotten that Adam had come from money, which meant that as his younger brother Curtis also came from money. Their house was like something out of a magazine, not filled with love and warmth like Lance's. Lance... his precious husband who he should be with instead of standing all alone on the second-floor balcony overlooking the grounds and gardens. He could fly everything in the parking lot, but he'd be spotted the moment he tried to leave. The suit Shiro had forced him in to was only growing more uncomfortable by the minute. He'd showered on the flight over, yet beads of sweat were now rolling down the middle of his back from the humidity of the night "Keith. It's time to leave" Having lost track of Shiro, Keith nearly dropped his empty champagne glass at the sound of his brother's voice. Part of him was tempted to see who it'd land on if he did. Leaving the empty glass balanced on the white railing, he shoved his hands in his pockets as he turned to face Shiro. The smile he expected to see on Shiro's face wasn't there, instead, his brother looked concerned "You don't look too happy. Thinking about Lance?" Nodding, the itch to steal a pod was only growing. He didn't belong here. Not in a place where he felt like something scraped off the bottom of someone's shoes "I feel like this was all a bad idea... I don't even have my comms on me. What if something's happened? Cuba's in a different time zone, isn't it? Is it already New Years there?" "They're three hours ahead... we've been here for the last 5 hours" 5 hours... no wonder he felt so incredibly exhausted. It was if each and every moment of it had dragged on for a decade. He had enough of a time handling 24 hours in a day, let alone 27. So if it was 8 now, that only left an hour until the clock ticked over to New Years in Cuba... "You're not coming to the Garrison, are you?" Keith shook his head "I... I can't Shiro. He's my husband. I don't want to welcome in the New Year without him. I don't care that he said it was alright... I want to be back on the beach in Cuba... Counting down with Mami and Jorge... and our teams... I want to go back to my family..." Holding his arms out, Keith rushed to hug Shiro. His older brother kissing his forehead "I'm so proud of you, kiddo. Let's get you back to Lance" "You're not mad?" "No. I had no idea today's party would be so formal. Curtis said it'd be more of a low key get together. I've spent the last half hour looking for you to ask if you wanted to head to the Garrison early" Keith sighed softly "It doesn't feel right without him... I feel like I've abandoned him after he made so much progress today. I got barrelled trying to surf, and he went right in to find me. Then he went surfing..." Above him, Shiro sounded confused "Lance has always loved water" "They... when he was tortured, they repeatedly tried to drown him... On the Atlas was the first time in over half a deca-phoeb Lance had been in a body of water bigger than a bathtub... but today... you should have seen him. He was so proud of himself. I know if you ask him he says the abuse carried on for only three movements... but I keep thinking about the space dilation out there... I keep thinking they had him for so much longer... he's come so far" "You both have. I'm so very proud of both of you. Let's get you home to your husband" A happy shiver ran up Keith's spine at Shiro openly calling Lance his husband. He was coming home... back to Lance. Where he should have been all along "What about the Garrison?" "I can be an hour or two late... I'm sure the others can handle it" "I meant... about my absence" "Let's face facts, without Lance there you'd most probably find the best corner to hide in and drink the night away, maybe talking to Pidge and Hunk, but most likely brooding over missing Lance" "He was the Red Paladin. No one there gives him the respect he deserves" "I heard he basically told the Garrison to go jump then cut contact..." Pushing off Shiro, Keith could imagine it. Lance flipping the double bird as he flew away. He hoped at the time his husband had looked smug as fuck when he'd done it. He didn't need the Garrison, the Garrison needed them. It didn't matter that Pidge, Hunk and Shiro were the only ones on their payroll. If ties with the Paladins were fractured, the Garrison's popularity would slump. They'd lose trust all over the place, and be alone before they knew it "That's my man..." Shiro crossed his arms, shooting him a very "dad" look "You're not supposed to be encouraging such behaviour. I was told he'd been spending too much time with you by Iverson" "You half-blind one guy by accident and they never let you forget it. From what Lance has told me over how Iverson treated him, he's lucky that things are in the past. Did you know he spent all his training being constantly told he was second best and was only there because I dropped out? That's why Lance never felt worthy of being a Paladin... I get you need to be tough with new recruits... but I can't say that Iverson didn't deserve whatever Lance said, and more" Moving to raise his hands in surrender, Shiro nodded "You don't need to tell me, I understand. Now, am I going to have to throw you over my shoulder so we make it out the building, or are we going to continue plotting against the Garrison?" Keith was one hundred per cent sure that Shiro shouldn't be agreeing so fast, even as a joke. He sincerely regretted what he'd done to Iverson as he looked back at the event now, but Shiro was giving him a joking out and he was taking it "Can we plot while we fly?" "Of course we can" "Then let's get out of here" * Like cockroaches, tourists had flooded onto Varadero beach now the sun was done. Loud music was pumping from a makeshift stage set up, where some kind of party was happening. Unable to drop him directly on the beach, Shiro had dropped him in the parking lot at the back of Ernesto's, Keith had twenty minutes to find his husband, according to the onboard clock in Shiro's pod... which was coincidentally named Shiro... His older brother not helping the situation by counting down every damn minute during the flight. Running down the beach, Lance's family weren't where he'd left them. He found Rachel and Veronica doing shots, with Acxa, Zethrid and Ezor... but they weren't who he was looking for. Checking near the bonfire, he found the rest of Lance's family... without Lance or his team... or Kosmo. He might have slightly looked insane as he ran back across the beach, still wearing dress shoes and his suit. No one else was wearing suits... most people seemed to be in barely anything... including more than one person who was literally naked and being escorted off the beach by the police. With all the people on the beach, they could literally be anywhere. Lance could have gone home for all he knew... No. The truck was in the parking lot still... he had to be here somewhere... If he wasn't with his family... then... Ernesto's? Would he know? Would he tell him, if he did? Racing back up to Ernesto's, Keith kicked sand all the front steps, half toeing and half kicking his stupid dress shoes off. All they'd done was fill with sand, and made his socks feel disgusting. Running into the bar, Keith came to a hard stop at the counter, scaring the closest customer in the process, half arsing an apology, he didn't have time for people who didn't matter "Ernesto, have you seen Lance?!" Raising an eyebrow at Keith's half yelled question, the man wandered down from the other end of the bar "What's it to you? Didn't you have some fancy party to be at?" Keith shook his head quickly "None of that matters. I never should have listened to him and gone in the first place. Do you know where he is?" Reminding himself he couldn't simply shake the answer out the man, he gripped the counter to counteract the urge "He took little Juana home so Luis and Lisa could enjoy the night" The farm... he'd never make it to the farm in time... Wait. Home for Juana wasn't the farm "Home? Or their home? The townhouse?" "The townhouse..." "How do I get there from here?" "You're..." "Ernesto, how do I get to the townhouse? I'm not leaving my husband to start the new year without me" Pulling a napkin out, and taking the pen from his pocket, Ernesto sketched out a map "Go left when you get out the car park, follow the map" Snatching the napkin from the bar top, he could have kissed the man "Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!" Ernesto let out a laugh as Keith ran back towards the doors he'd come through. He wasn't sure how long he had left, only that he was going to do everything he could to make it in time. Following the map, Keith realised too late that he hadn't asked Ernesto just how many blocks he was supposed to go before turning. It was almost laughable how easy it was to get lost in the maze of narrow walkways and streets, everyone he ran into was in too higher spirits to help. Growing more and more frustrated, he didn't know what to do. Surely new year was about to hit. With no other choice, and too determined to give up, he pushed on, yelling Lance's name as he ran, and cursing whoever built the city without thinking of those who lacked a keen sense of direction. Running up the closest set of steps, he tripped spectacularly, losing his precious map and skinning the heels of his palms as he did. Unwanted tears began to well in his eyes. He never should have left Lance. Pushing himself up, he realised he'd also skinned his left knee, hobble limping as he looked around. He didn't recognise the houses... He didn't know where he was... it seemed like a back alley. Warm lights and laughter drifting from the windows above him, as if to mock his failed attempts to find his husband "Lance!? Lance, can you hear me?!" Shivering as the wind seemed to slap him right in the face, he hobbled on towards where the line of houses broke. The walkway so thin that his shoulders brushed against both sides as he started to sniffle. He was a damn soldier... something small like being lost shouldn't have him this upset. Then again, he knew he was lying to himself. He was miserable. Cold. Lost. Hurt. Alone... All he wanted was Lance. Sliding past an overflowing rubbish bin, the street he emerged into looked vaguely familiar. But then again, they all kind of looked the same after a while "Lance!" In the distance, someone yelled at him to "fuck off". Something he'd happily do once he found his husband "Lance! Kosmo!" Limping harder, he wiped at his teary face with his aching hands. He should have left his damn gloves on "Lance?! Babe, where are you!?" He was so lost... "Lance!?" "Keith?!" Three doors down from the house he'd half hobbled past, the open front door spilled light out, casting Lance as a black shadow in the already dark night. Somewhere people started counting down, Keith picking up his pace to a limping run, desperate to make it to his husband in time "Lance!" Jogging to meet him, Lance threw his arms around him as their lips clashed. The kiss painfully toothy, as the night sky erupted into colour. The first firework of new year bathing the world green and gold. Deepening the kiss into something more pleasurable, he found he wasn't the only with wet cheeks as he moved his hands up to cup his husband's face. As the kiss slowly turned to another, he melted against his husband, letting Lance take most of his weight. He didn't want to wish in the new year with everyone else. He didn't want to spend it at some rich persons party when he looked like a trained ape. He wanted to spend it, and every single other New Year's Day with the man he loved. Breaking the kiss, they both sniffled. Lance first to speak "I thought you were at the Garrison" "I was supposed to be... but I've been miserable since I left. It didn't feel right not being with you. Not welcoming the new year in together... not celebrating without my husband" Resting his forehead against Keith's, Keith might have had the few inches in Lance which he knew drove his husband crazy, but with all his weight and his knee throbbing like crazy, he was happy to let Lance have the advantage "I missed you... I told myself not to message anyone. I told myself that I was ok with being alone... I'm so fucking happy you came" "Me too, babe. I love you" "I love you too... I love you, Keith. I don't know what this year is going to be like, but I'm going to keep working on getting better... I'm going to keep working on it. And I'll stop taking the really really dangerous missions... so that... so that this time next year... things would have settled down..." "And I'll be working on phasing out of the more difficult missions. I don't know how great I'll be... but I hate it when you cry. I hate it when I make you cry... I can't promise I'll always be the best husband you could ask for, but I promise as long as we're both alive, you're my number one priority" "You're mine too... I love you so quiznakking much..." "I love you too, baby" Nuzzling into his face, Lance pulled back as he sniffled particularly hard "Keith, why do I smell blood? What happened?" Looking him up and down, Keith was now grateful it was dark and his husband couldn't see what he'd done to himself "I tripped..." Before Keith knew what had happened, Lance had literally swept him up off his feet and was walking back towards the open door he'd appeared from. Unlike him, Lance didn't have the Galra strength boost, but didn't actually seem to need it "I can walk, you know" "Nope" "Babe, it's a graze" "Don't "babe" me, why didn't you tell me sooner?" "Because this was the first chance I got?" "You should have told me when I threw myself at you" "I was too busy kissing the man I love" Carried into the living room, Lance sat him down on the coffee table. Daehra and Lucteal were both asleep on the sofa. Lance had covered the pair with a blanket, the siblings looking kind of cute as Lucteal was curled into Daehra's side "Yeah. They tried to make it. Lucteal barely held on five minutes after Daehra fell asleep. Let me get the door then I'll grab the first aid kit. Where have you hurt yourself?" Keith bit his lip, feeling slightly foolish "Hands and my knee" Raising an eyebrow at him, the Cuban had no shame "You mean I could have had you out of those pants even sooner? Damn" Groaning and blushing lightly, Keith covered his face "If it's your knee, it's probably better I clean you up in the bathroom. Can you make it upstairs?" "It's just a graze" "Don't get your Galra panties in a knot. I'm your husband. I'm allowed to be worried and occasionally overreact. Plus, it'd be a crime against humanity to let those legs of yours be hurt" "For someone who was crying, you certainly seem in a good mood now" Walking over to wait at the foot of the stairs, Lance smiled softly in his direction, extending his hand towards him as he did "I prayed to God that the man of my dreams would magically show up, and you did" What the quiznak was he supposed to say to that? Blushing harder, Keith climbed up off the coffee table to limp over to Lance. Taking his hand, his husband kissed the back of it. Keith's heart couldn't take it. It hadn't even been a year for them. Not with the time dilation fields. The whole Lance doing a runner thing. The stays in the pods... yet when Lance held his hand, he couldn't remember how it felt not to have his husband's love and support. Moving his hand down, Lance wrapped his arm around his waist, then trapped Keith's hand against his stomach lightly with his own "You'd be lost without me, wouldn't you?" Nodding, Keith thought for a moment of making a joke, but the moment wasn't right. He was too emotionally raw from being lost and cold "I would be. You have no idea" "Then it's a good thing I don't plan on going anywhere you can't follow" "I'll always follow you. Until the very end" Using the advantage of stepping up a step before him, Lance kissed him on the top of the head as he turned to look back at him "Good. Because no matter where I go, I always want to end up by your side, Samurai. You and me, neck and neck forever" "Yeah, babe. Not even Zarkon coming back from his grave could stop me from being with you" Nodding with a smile so warm that Lance literally could have done absolutely anything and Keith would have accepted it in that moment, his husband tugged him upwards. Being who they were, they couldn't simply do things the normal way around... Lance still had so far to go, but for Keith, he'd never stop falling harder in love with the most amazing man in the whole universe. He'd do absolutely everything he could to protect Lance. To protect his husband. His home. And his family... which, who knows, might one day consist of more than him and Lance... The future held all sorts of unknown things that both excited him and scared him... but with Lance by his side, he knew that no matter what happened, he'd never be left to walk alone again.

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