#thought for sure the comments would be the little green men from toy story

[bellakitse]

Greener on the Other Side

“I’m sorry,” he gasps, not believing what she’s just said. “Say that again, please.”

“I said he’s married,” she repeats herself softly, giving him a pitying look. “And he has a kid."

+

Alex hasn't heard anything about TK Strand in over four years. That's about to change.

Alex Fletcher walks into Gramercy Tavern twenty minutes later than he agreed to meet his friends. He already dreads what is sure to be a lecture on his constant tardiness from the group, but more so, what he knows will be pointed looks when they see he’s come alone instead of with his boyfriend.

Spotting them to the left of the restaurant, he starts to make his way over to them. “Sorry, sorry,” he starts to say with a charming smile as all five of them look up at his voice, hoping to curb the scolding before it starts. “The 6 train was an absolute mess. It got the 33rd street and then refused to go forward.”

Liz and Becca share a look at his excuse, and Alex has to keep from rolling his eyes at them. He gets it. Being late is one of his less desirable character traits, and they find it annoying, but after over a decade of friendship, he thinks they should get over it by now.

“Yeah, the trains have been acting up all week,” Malcolm offers while his wife Patricia gives him a small smile, the two of them ever the peacemakers of the group. “Sit down, man.”

Alex offers his friends a more sincere smile, shaking hands with him and his other buddy Chris before giving all three women kisses on the cheek.

“Where is Dean?” Patricia asks politely, and Alex winces at her mistake. It’s been a while since he and Dean ended things, but it’s also been a while since Patricia has joined her husband at one of their dinners.

“We broke up a few months ago,” he tells her, his face feeling tight from his fake smile. “I’m dating someone new now. His name is Wallace.”

“Oh,” Patricia says softly, going a little red in the face at her blunder. “My apologies, Alex.”

He waves her off, wanting to move on from the embarrassing moment quickly. “No worries, Patty,” he says to her. “And Wallace wanted to come, but he had to work,” he explains, trailing off lamely, not believing the lie himself, but it’s not like he can tell his friends that Wallace simply didn’t want to come because he thought it would be boring.

His friends all give him understanding, if not quite believing looks, and Alex wonders just how pathetic his expression is that they don’t push for more.

The mood around the table is awkward and quiet, making his skin feel tight. Thankfully their waiter comes over to take their drink order, easing the moment, giving him something else to focus on.

He starts to loosen up once there is a vodka soda in his hand. He listens to Liz as she talks about her latest architecture project, laughs at the funny story Chris tells them about his 1st-grade class painting the class bunny with washable markers. He’s enjoying their company, forgetting for a moment that his boyfriend should be there with him getting to know his friends when Becca’s eyes light up as Chris wraps up another story about his students.

“You guys will never believe who I saw yesterday walking out of FAO Schwarz,” she starts, her brown eyes lighting up with the chance to share some juicy gossip.

Alex leans in, already intrigued by the look on her face.

“Who?” Liz asks with a grin, curious herself.

“TK Strand,” Becca answers, saying the name with emphasis, and Alex gets why even as he feels shock go through him. It’s been over four years since he has seen or heard from TK. Not since the night he stopped him from proposing, confessing he was in love with someone else.

Mitchell, he thinks bitterly as he takes a large gulp of his drink. In the end, he’d turned out to be Alex’s own personal karma for hurting TK.

Walking in on him and another guy from their gym eight months into their official relationship had been a kick in the teeth and a hard lesson to learn.

He shakes his head to clear it from the lousy memory just in time to hear Becca’s following comment, shocking him more than her first. “I’m sorry,” he gasps, not believing what she’s just said. “Say that again, please.”

Becca looks at him, hesitating as she bites down on her lip, looking remorseful for a moment, probably remembering that out of all of them, he’d be the one with the most invested interest.

“I said he’s married,” she repeats herself softly, giving him a pitying look. “And he has a kid. They were coming out of the toy store when I bumped into them, and he introduced them to me. His husband’s name is Carlos, and their little boy is Luca. Really cute kid – was talking a mile a minute about all the toys in the place, and given all the bags they had, they must have bought him half the store.”

“Wow,” Chris breathes out, his surprise evident. “I can’t believe he’s married and with a kid. How old do you think?”

“Four,” Becca answers instantly. “I asked Luca, and he held up his fingers.”

Alex shakes his head again. It’s been four years since he and TK were together, and he has a four-year-old son. “That doesn’t make any sense,” he says mostly to himself.

“I get the feeling he’s adopted,” Becca answers. “Or maybe Carlos’ son,” she continues with a shrug. “But he called TK dad.”

“What was the husband like?” Liz questions, and Alex is grateful because he can’t bring himself to ask.

“He was polite and friendly,” Becca pauses, shooting him another look before continuing. “Ridiculously hot, and hopelessly in love with TK. I spent maybe ten minutes with them, and you guys should have seen the way he looked at him. It was like TK hung the moon.”

The table is quiet for a moment. For his benefit, he’s sure, as he tries to process everything he’s learned, when Liz speaks up again.

“Good for TK. He deserves that and more,” she says with a smile on her face that takes a hard edge when he shoots her a glare. “What?” she questions, her whole expression challenging him. “You didn’t take care of him when you guys were together, and he’s a great guy. I always liked him even though we lost touch after you broke up. I’m glad he’s found happiness.”

Alex bites down on the urge to lash out at his friend, not only is it a losing battle with Liz, but deep down in the parts of him where he has buried his guilt and shame at his past actions, he knows he can’t argue with the truth she just laid on him.

 ֎֎֎

 The rest of the dinner is awkward to say the least. Even though they move on from TK, Alex can’t stop thinking about his ex and what he’s learned. He pulls Becca to the side as they’re leaving, grilling her for any more information she might have.

She finally tells him TK had mentioned they were staying with his mother and little brother – one of the few things he did know about TK and his family since Gwyneth and his father ran in the same legal circles. He’d learned about the woman’s surprise pregnancy almost three years ago.

Becca looks at him as he absorbs the information before letting out a heavy sigh, reminding him not to do anything stupid.

He’d given her an absent nod that even he didn’t believe. Which is probably why he’s outside of Gwyneth’s Park Avenue apartment in a hat and sunglasses like a stalker, hoping to catch a glimpse of his ex and his husband.

Whether luck is on his side or karma wants to teach him another lesson, he doesn’t have to wait long. He’s been outside of the swanky apartment building for maybe 15 minutes, trying to decide what exactly he thinks he’s doing, when the front door opens and out walks the person he wants to see.

He ducks behind a tree just in time to not be spotted, peeking behind it to look at the small family.

TK, at 26-years-old, had been a beautiful man; Alex remembers that well. But now, at 30, he’s even more stunning if that’s even possible. He walks out of the building with a tall, muscular man Alex instantly recognizes as the ‘ridiculously hot’ mystery husband. Each of them with a little boy in their arms.

“So what are we doing today?” he hears TK ask with a grin on his face as the little boys instantly start to chant, ‘Park, park, park!’

“I wanna see the penguins, Dada,” exclaims the little boy in the arms of TK’s husband. Carlos and Luca, he remembers.

TK smiles softly at his son before looking at the child in his own arms. “What about you, little brother? Do you want to go to the Central Park Zoo and see the penguins?” he asks, tickling his chin, getting a happy giggle along with a nod from the little boy.

TK’s grin grows before he looks over at his husband, getting a nod from the man too.

“It’s unanimous then,” TK proclaims in an animated voice that has the boys lighting up. “To the park! To the penguins!”

The pair of boys let out a ‘yeah!’ leaning over at each other to share a clumsy high-five that has the adults laughing.

“You just had to rile them up, troublemaker,” Carlos scolds TK, and he might be a stranger to Alex, but he can tell it’s said with amused fondness.  

“You love me,” TK teases his husband, going easily when the man reaches out to tug him in closer by his shirt, turning his face up as his husband leans in to kiss him, tilting to the side to keep the boys out of the way.

Alex swallows hard at the display. Even from where he’s hiding, he can see TK’s bright smile and dancing green eyes once he and his husband break the kiss.

“Always, my love,” Carlos tells TK as he kisses the side of his face adoringly.

“Dada, Papa,” Luca groans out. “Kissing later, park now,” he continues, much to the amusement of the two men.

“So demanding,” TK teases, leaning in to kiss the little boy’s cheek too, laughing at the face he makes. “Okay, let’s go.”

They start towards the park, and Alex hesitates for a moment. He’s seen and heard TK and his family with his own eyes and ears. It’s obvious his ex is happy and not at all thinking about him. He should turn around in the opposite direction and leave before his luck runs out and they spot him. It’s the reasonable thing to do, and yet he finds himself following them about half a block back, keeping his head down.

He can’t hear them from this distance, but he can watch them. He takes in the way the two men hold hands while each holding on to a child, listening and chatting with the two little ones. Everything about them screams family, and Alex can’t deny the dull ache it causes inside his chest.

Is this what he and TK could have had?

He follows them through the park until they come to a series of benches. He watches as TK hands over his little brother to his husband, the man easily carrying both kids. TK sits down, but no one else does. Instead, he waves at them as his husband walks away with the children, leaving TK alone.

Alex hesitates again. This is his chance to approach TK, and yet he’s frozen in place by indecision.

A moment later, his ex takes the choice out of his hand.

He startles as TK turns his head to look straight at him with a raised eyebrow. “Are you just going to stand there?” he calls out to him casually, the picture of calm as he places his arms on the backrest of the bench. It’s different from the TK he remembers, who was always constantly bouncing his legs with nervous energy.

“How did you – “ he starts, feeling awkward and off-balance.

“I didn’t,” TK answers with a shrug as Alex gets closer to him. “It was Carlos who realized. He’s a cop. Noticing weirdos is kind of his job.”

Alex cringes at the descriptor as he comes to a stop in front of him. “Hi, TK,” he says lamely, wincing again at the high pitch sound of his voice.

TK raises an eyebrow at him again. “Hello, Alex. Any particular reason you’re following us in that get-up?” he questions, pointing at his hat and sunglasses.

Alex feels his face grow hot at the question. He reaches up, taking them off. “Becca said she saw you,” he says uncomfortably, getting a casual nod back from his ex. “And I got curious,” he continues weakly. “I couldn’t help myself.”

“That sounds like poor impulse control,” TK mutters to himself. He moves to the side, leaving half the bench open for Alex to decide if he wants to take a seat or not.

Alex would be embarrassed by the speed with which he takes the offer, but the joy at being allowed to get closer overrides that. Neither says anything after he sits down, him because he’s nervous, TK it seems because he’s simply waiting him out.

“So,” he starts slowly. “You’re visiting?”

TK looks at him, seeming to study him before giving him a nod. “We try to see my mother and my little brother Robbie every few months. Sometimes they come to see us, but New York is always pretty in the spring, and Luca has never been.”

“That’s your son,” he blurts out, his face going hot again at the look TK shoots him.

“Becca shared everything, did she,” he questions with a dry smile, shaking his head to himself.

“The group had dinner,” he explains, not needing to add who exactly was there. There was a time when TK would have sat right next to him at one of those dinners, charming everyone with stories about fighting fires and daring rescues.

“Ah,” TK exhales softly. “It’s nice you all still do that. They’re good people. I liked them.”

“They liked you too,” Alex answers, giving TK a half-smile. “Liz was thrilled to hear that you’re married and have a kid. She’s happy you’re happy.”

TK smiles, this time more genuine. “That sounds like her,” he comments, looking nostalgic for the first time. “She was always kind to me,” he finishes, not adding anything else.

It goes quiet between them again, causing Alex’s nerves to fray at the edges. He’s not used to this TK. The one he remembers always filled the silence, even if it was just with nervous chatter.

“So, are you?” he can’t help but blurt out, swallowing nervously when TK gives him a curious look. “Are you happy?”

TK lets out a huff, and while he doesn’t smile or laugh, Alex can see a hint of amusement in his bottle-green eyes. “Is that why you’re here? You want to know if I’m happy?”

He feels the hairs at the back of his neck stand at the mocking he hears in TK’s voice. “Is that so crazy?” he questions defensively. “The last time we spoke wasn’t precisely the best encounter – “

“That’s because I was getting ready to propose to you and instead found out you were fucking around my back with a spin instructor,” TK interrupts him, surprising Alex with how calm he is. There is no anger or reproach in TK’s voice like Alex anticipated, just a simple fact. It hurts Alex more than he expected to witness how unaffected TK seems. “How is Mitchell by the way?”

Alex clenches his fists, his nails digging into his palms as embarrassment courses through him. He wants to stand up and walk away from this. He’s not sure what he’d hoped to accomplish by seeking TK out, but it’s clear now whatever it was, he isn’t going to get it.

He looks at TK to find a mild curiosity on his face, like Alex’s answer doesn’t really matter to him one way or another.

“We broke up,” he answers anyway, taking a breath to try to soothe the ache before his next words. “I found him in our bed with someone else less than a year after you and I broke up.”

“Well shit,” TK says quietly, letting out a breath of his own. He doesn’t look gloating the way he has a right to look. Instead, he looks at Alex with what can only be called compassion. “Karma didn’t just pay you back. It sucker-punched you in the face, huh?”

Alex lets out a startled laugh at the description. TK joins him with a chuckle of his own, and Alex welcomes it even if it’s at his own expense. They laugh for a few seconds before they let it trail off.

“To answer your question,” TK starts to say. He looks at him, bobbing his head softly. “Yes, I’m happy. I’m the kind of happy where I wake up in the morning, look at my husband sleeping, usually with our kid between us, and I can’t believe just how lucky I am.”

“You love him,” Alex whispers, not really needing an answer when he can see it clearly on his face.

TK answers anyway. “He’s my soulmate,” he says with a smile that isn’t directed at him at all. It’s directed at the man who walked away with two kids in his arms minutes before. “I used to think that was you,” he continues, his voice sounding far away, lost in the past while Alex aches in the present. “I was so sure of it once, and then I met Carlos. I was still a mess about you, and I wasn’t looking to fall in love at all, but there he was, and I fell. I fell so fast, Alex. Years later, I’m still falling in love with him every single day.”

“That sounds – “ Alex starts, exhaling through the dull throbbing in his chest. “Scary, honestly.”

TK smiles, bright and beautiful, just like Alex remembers. “It is,” he says with a short laugh. “It’s terrifying, but it’s also amazing, and I wouldn’t give it up for anything in the world.”

Alex nods quietly to himself.

“I’m sorry you haven’t found that yet,” TK continues softly because it seems that surprising Alex is the name of the game today. He gives TK a shocked look that has him giving Alex a compassionate look back. “I never wished you ill will. I was hurt and angry after everything went to hell between us, but in the end, I wanted you to find someone to love the way you couldn’t love me and for that person to love you back just the same.”

Alex swallows hard at TK’s words, feeling overwhelmed by them. “I’m sorry I hurt you.”

TK looks away from him, and Alex follows his gaze to find that his husband and the kids are coming back with ice cream in their hands. “Thank you for saying that,” he says softly as he stands. He looks down at Alex, giving him a slight quirk of his mouth. “Goodbye, Alex. I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

Alex watches TK walk away from him, knowing it will be the last time he’ll see him. “Goodbye, TK,” he whispers at his back, feeling the loss more now than he did four years ago.

 ֎֎֎

 “Dada, we got ice cream!” Luca exclaims happily as he slurps on his spiderman popsicle.

“I can see that. Can I have a taste of spidey?” he questions, leaning in when Luca sweetly offers him his treat. “Mmm, that’s yummy. Thank you, sweetheart.”

Luca smiles up at him, his face already a sticky red and blue mess. He looks at Robbie to see his face is yellow from his Spongebob popsicle. He smiles at them fondly as he turns his backpack to his front, searching for the wet wipes to clean their faces.

“We got you a cone with sprinkles,” Carlos says with a smile, though TK can see the worry in his eyes. “Is everything okay?”

TK looks at his husband, taking in his concern for him along with his ever-present love, and smiles as he remembers what he just told Alex moments ago. The love he and Carlos share is so strong – it can be frightening at times to feel so much and so intensely for another person, but like he told Alex, he wouldn’t change it for the world when it means Carlos loves him back just as strongly.

“Yeah, baby,” he answers, reaching out to touch Carlos’ cheek. “Everything is okay,” he smiles at his husband before looking down at his son and little brother. “Better than okay because we’re going to go see some penguins!”

Luca and Robbie cheer happily.

“Let’s go, Robbie,” Luca says to his uncle, throwing an arm over the other little boy’s shoulder.

TK and Carlos watch them walk a few steps ahead of them, chatting away the way only little kids can.

“You sure you’re alright?” Carlos asks as he hands him a melting ice cream. TK takes it, giving it a few licks to keep it from dripping.

“I swear, babe,” he assures him as he wraps an arm around Carlos’ waist. “We talked, and then we said goodbye.”

“What did he want?” Carlos asks curiously.

TK shrugs. He’ll be honest even after talking to Alex; he’s still not entirely sure what the other man wanted out of the conversation. “I’m not even sure he knows,” he answers after a moment. “He apologized for the past and asked me if I was happy. Maybe he was feeling guilty.”

“What did you tell him?” Carlos questions, a smile playing on his mouth when TK shoots him a look. “What?” he asks innocently, and TK can’t help but chuckle at his fishing.

“I told him,” he starts to say, making sure that he’s holding Carlos’ gaze, as usual falling in love all over again as he gets lost in Carlos’ soulful brown eyes. “That every morning, I wake up amazed I got so lucky to love and be loved by you.”

Carlos pulls him to his side, pressing his face into his neck. “I’m the lucky one, Ty,” he whispers against his skin.

TK smiles at Carlos’ words, his smile growing as Luca shouts for them to keep up; the penguins are waiting. “We both are, my love.”

#911 lone star #tarlos #911 lone star fic #tarlos fic #tk x carlos #outsider POV #my writing

[hallowed-be-thy-username]

Clothing Is Custom, No Labels

“No matches on prints, DNA, dental. Clothing is custom, no labels. Nothing in his pockets but knives and lint. No name, no other alias.”

Summary: You’re one of the last bespoke tailors in town, making suits and custom clothing for Gotham’s elite. Business men and women, well known lawyers, the Wayne family, and… the Joker?

Genre: Self-insert, porn with plot, longfic

Pairing: Ledger!Joker x fem reader

Warnings: angst!, threats, intimidation

Word count: 4,334

Author’s note: Oh my god, ok, I was stricken with a particularly persistent case of writer's block but I'm finally back! Here we are with part thirteen!! It took me SO long, as you can see 🙈, but I'm super excited for this chapter (even though I say that about every chapter, it's true!) and I'm sorry it isn't a bit longer! But we've got loads of plot development and dialogue, I hope you enjoy it! This one's smut free for now, but don't worry, it'll be back very soon 🔥

Please read the warning above and do not interact with this story if you are a minor! Comments and reblogs always appreciated ❤️

Musical Inspiration: Something In The Way by Nirvana

- Part Thirteen -

Sleep should have been the last thing on your mind as you followed Joker out into the warehouse, but your fatigue was starting to grow stronger than your anxiety by now. You actually had no idea what time it was, but it was late enough that exhaustion was beginning to set in behind your eyes. Or was that just from the wild range of emotions you’d experienced in only one day?

You worked on taking steady breaths while you carefully stepped behind him and watched the bottom of his coat sway around his calves to keep yourself from looking at the handful of men standing nearby. Because they were looking at you, you didn’t need to lift your gaze to know that.

Embarrassment heated your cheeks when you arrived at a table with a few folding chairs around it and looked across the table to lock eyes with the man who’d guarded the office door earlier. He stared back for only a second before averting his eyes and rounding the table to pull a chair out for you, making your face burn even hotter. It almost felt as though you were being treated like one of those posh wives that often accompanied many of your wealthy clients, so superior and self-important. The contrast was ironic, funny really. Instead of a ritzy downtown Gotham restaurant, you were in an abandoned warehouse covered in graffiti. And in place of an affluent husband dressed in a pristine suit, you sat next to the Joker, his distinctive purple coat falling open across his lap as he leaned back in his chair, showing where he’d missed a button on his green vest.

The comparison made your throat go dry and you almost choked when you swallowed against it. You had to get out of your own head if you wanted to get through whatever was about to happen without humiliating yourself further.

“Let’s get started then, shall we?”

Joker’s voice snapped you to attention and not a moment after his statement, a man with black hair slicked back against his head and a pointed nose was lead into the room. Your stomach dropped when you noticed what he was wearing. Black tie, white shirt, navy jacket with silver buttons and a shiny police badge over the left pocket.

The heat drained from your face and all of a sudden you felt compelled to run but you couldn’t move. Instead, you stayed firmly planted in your seat, failing to hide the terror in your face while they sat the man down in a chair across from Joker.

He sighed and licked his lips, lacing his fingers together to rest across his stomach before finally speaking. “What kept you so long, Thomas?”

You noticed the man was trembling slightly and starting to sweat, raising the feeling of dread into your throat before he answered, “I-I got news, boss.”

The cold sinking feeling that had fallen over you suddenly dissolved. You were preparing yourself for what he was about to do to this unfortunate police officer, but it seemed that things were more than they appeared, as you’d learned they often are with him.

“Do you? Well then, do tell,” Joker replied in a mocking tone, looking down at the knife from his pocket he’d begun to toy with.

The man, whose name was apparently Thomas, fought hard to swallow before speaking again. “Dent saw the name a-and started askin’ questions. He was gonna shoot me but the Batman-”

Joker’s eyes flashed up from the knife and Thomas froze in place. His mention of Batman instantly raised the tension level in the room, and you found yourself gripping the seat of your chair.

Keeping the knife in his hand, he leaned over the table and growled, “But the Batman wha-t?”

Thomas forced shaky breaths in and out through his nose, keeping his eyes on Joker’s with his jaw clenched tightly. “He… he stopped ‘im,” he managed to utter without his teeth chattering.

“My hero,” Joker answered derisively before leaning back into his seat.

You let the breath you’d been holding out from between your lips while the man in uniform, his forehead now beaded with sweat, blinked and tried to catch his own breath. Joker must enjoy the power he held over people. Inducing so much fear and anxiety by just looking at them. Your heart fluttered when you thought about the thrill it gave you. It was like you’d had been trained to feel more than fear. He stirred up such a complex arousal within you that was hard to explain, even to yourself. Was it because he made you tremble with pleasure and not with pain?

Then your thoughts were interrupted when Joker spoke again, “Now is there more to this little story of yours, Schiff, or have you wasted my very precious time?”

He kept his dull gaze on Thomas, blinking at him, seemingly bored by the whole situation while the man struggled to speak again, his pursed lips quivering. After his tongue slipped out of this mouth to lick the forked scar on his lip, Joker shifted to stand up and Thomas flinched before blurting out, “He’s turnin’ himself in!”

Joker whipped his head back around to stare at the now visibly shaking man with a new fire in his eyes and you stiffened in your chair. There was that thrill again. Your stomach churned a little as a new thought entered your mind. Yes, he enjoyed the power he held over people, and so did you. The way people would freeze, and their eyes widened. The menace that surrounded him came from so much more than a purple suit and smeared greasepaint. He was becoming some obscure figure or representation of fear. His name had been uttered by almost every citizen in Gotham, spoken with an undertone like it left a bitter taste on their tongues, and it wasn’t even his real name. But to the city of Gotham, it was his real name.

“T-…Tomorrow,” Thomas managed to stammer as Joker’s shadow cast over his face.

He approached him and leaned in close, his towering frame hunched forward at his waist. “Wanted to save the, uh, head-line for last, did ya?”

Thomas’s face grew paler, and he vigorously shook his head as Joker licked his lips with a loud smack before continuing, “My time is precious, Schiff, and it’s a terrible thing to waste.”

You took quick breaths in and out through your nose, the air almost burning the back of your throat, like gasoline. It was him. His scent reached your mind and turned your thoughts to how it felt to have him close, as if the smell of him was enough to absorb you. The shirt. Your eyes glanced down at the blue diamond patterned button-up that covered your body and goosebumps suddenly tickled your skin.

“Now. Before any more of it slips away, why don’t you go with these nice gentlemen so they can collect some de-tails from ya, hm?” he said with faux repose before patting Schiff on the cheek.

Two men that you hadn’t noticed approach made you flinch when they appeared behind the man before each took hold of one of his arms to stand him up from the chair. His gaze finally broke away from Joker’s face to scan over the men, making a soft sound, like a whimper, as they silently escorted him out through the side door.

It slammed and you felt like you’d just been dropped into your chair from where you’d been floating somewhere above it, blinking your eyes as if to clear fog from your vision. The warmth of arousal swiftly faded and the uneasy feeling of eyes on you began to crawl up your back. The room was eerily quiet now and you couldn’t seem to dare yourself to move, you just stared ahead into the darkness on the other end of the warehouse.

Then you nearly jumped out of your chair and gasped when you felt hands rest on your shoulders. “What’s the matter, doll face? Afraid of cops, hm?”

So much for getting out of your own head. Your face heated up once again and you fought against the cascade of nervous impulses trying to take you over before turning your head to see Joker’s gloved hand on your shoulder. Your heart fluttered relentlessly, as if trying to flee from your chest every time you saw him.

“Mm well, no need to worry. Thomasover there works for me.”

It was strange, the contrast between the way he spoke to that man and how he spoke to you. It was hard not to read into it. Part of you knew it was because he wanted something from you, but you couldn’t stop the little rising feeling that maybe you meant something to him. Why would you want that from a man like him? Had you been corrupted that much? The whole thing was enough to make your head spin all over again. But you took a deep breath before your thoughts could consume you and finally lifted your gaze to look at him.

He gazed back at you with heavy eyelids and your heart rose up into your throat, your lips parting as you blinked at him. This was all on purpose. Giving them a show, bringing you out here wearing one of his shirts, making sure they could see you. It should have made you upset, the way he paraded you around, but it made you feel something else. Tingles traveled up your neck and through your burning cheeks as a sense of gratification bloomed in your chest. You were his and he wanted them to know that. Maybe you wanted them to know it too. You wanted them to know that you were his… that you’d slept with Gotham’s most dangerous man.

A small smile appeared on your face, the air carrying the smell of greasepaint and burnt matches as the corner of his mouth stretched into a smirk. Still no sign of the bottom of this rabbit hole.

_______________

The deep darkness of a dreamless sleep lifted as your eyes slowly opened, blinking at the unfamiliar surroundings where you found yourself waking. This wasn’t your bedroom. Your mind, still somewhat shrouded by sleep, tried to make sense of where you might be instead before jolting you awake, and it all came back to you. It’d only been one night, but it felt like so many more.

You weren’t sure exactly when you’d fallen asleep. But you remembered following him back to his office, there were some passing remarks to the men in the room, you thought maybe then you sat down on the bed, but your exhaustion obscured any more details. What time was it?

Raising your arms over your head, you stretched beneath the blanket that had been placed over top of you and took a deep breath of the cool air. After rubbing your eyes, you heard a small sound coming from the little bathroom in the back of the office. Your breath caught in your throat and a flutter of anxiety came over you when you realized you weren’t alone. Holding still, you listened carefully and heard the sound of water running. It must be him, who else would it be? That maddening flutter grew stronger along with the familiar rise of heat in your face. Was that ever going to stop?

Swallowing against the tightness in your throat, you quietly pulled the blanket away and swung your legs over the side of the mattress, your bare feet making contact with the concrete floor. Once your weight settled onto your tip-toes, you carefully took silent steps toward the bathroom. As you approached the doorway, the sound of running water was accompanied by a metallic clink and a low hum.

You cursed your nerves for being so on edge, it was becoming embarrassing at this point. So, in an attempt to boldly ignore your meek apprehension, you took a breath and stepped into the doorway.

The warmth in your cheeks increased ten-fold as your eyes scanned the sight in front of you. Leaning over the sink while a steamy flow of water ran from the tap, Joker’s reflection in the mirror glanced at you without turning around. He was bringing a straight razor to his face, carefully gliding it along his jawline before rinsing it under the tap and bringing it back to take another row of shaving cream. He was wearing the same thin thank top with only traces of greasepaint left around his ears.

“Mmm well, there she is. A regular sleeping beauty, aren’tcha, doll?” he said, his eyes returning to his own face in the mirror.

Make that twenty-fold. You huffed a breath as you tried to come up with a response, too stunned by something so seemingly ordinary. Sure, you’d seen men shave before, but this was different. It was strange to see him move with such precision, so careful with his hands, running the sharp blade around the rough edges of his scars with ease. His penchant for chaos came with a certain finesse, an accuracy that he made appear so effortless. Perhaps you’d been staring too long.

“Now that you’ve rejoined the, uh, land of the living, we have some work to do.”

You blinked and tore your gaze away from the mirror, trying to look anywhere else before it finally landed on the tile floor. “Um… what kind of work?”

He chuckled and you could feel him looking at you in the mirror again when he answered, “The kind that requires some subtlety, a little nuance that no one else here can measure up to.”

Your eyes lifted from the floor after you thought for a moment about what he said and you asked, “No one else but me?”

“You catch on quick, baby doll,” he replied, clicking his tongue as he swiped away the last bit of shaving cream from his face. Then he set the razor on the edge of the sink and turned around, looking you up and down as he closed the gap between you. “It’s your time to shineonce again.”

That feeling had begun to fill your chest. That strange sense of pride tangled up with your willingness to do more, your desire to please. You didn’t seem to be in control of it, that was something you gave up days ago, but you could see it blurring the line between what was right and what was wrong even further. Soon you wouldn’t be able to tell the difference.

He stopped in front of you, keeping your gaze locked with his as you felt the ghost of his breath on your skin. The more he looked at you like that, the stronger that feeling was becoming. He knew it too, didn’t he? He knew that you belonged to him by now and you had no wish to put a stop to it, even after everything you’d seen.

“What do you want me to do?”

A small smirk appeared on his face and he answered in a low voice, “That’s what I like to hear, doll.”

The heat that had been rising in your body came to a sudden halt when he then turned to pass you through the doorway, leaving you taking slow breaths to regain what little composure you could manage.

“This one’s simple,” he called over his shoulder from his desk. “All you gotta do is blend in. Be a fly on the wall, so to speak.”

Were you ever going to be able to keep your mind out of the gutter whenever he got close? Probably not. But you could try to hide it. After letting out one more breath, you turned to follow him into the office where he’d sat at his desk with the small hand held mirror you’d seen before, dipping his fingers into a jar of white paint before starting to smear it across his face.

“Blend in where?”

He chuckled, scooping more paint out cover his jaw line. Then without looking up from the mirror he answered, “Check the suitcase by the bed.”

A tattered leather suitcase beside the bed quickly caught your eye. You weren’t sure if he’d ever answered any of your questions directly before and it seemed that was unlikely to change soon, so you tentatively followed his instruction. It wasn’t heavy when you picked it up to place it on the bed. Then after clicking the latches open, you shifted your gaze toward the desk. He’d moved on to smudging black around his eyes, still not turning to look at you. Those insidious butterflies in your stomach made themselves known and in an attempt to shoo them away, you hurriedly lifted the lid on the leather case.

Not sure what you were expecting to see in the first place, you blinked for a moment at the articles of clothing folded neatly inside before reaching in to pick them up. On top was a black pencil skirt, just the right length for the hem to lay above your knees, and beneath it was a deep purple cardigan with opalescent buttons down the front. The purple knit fabric matched that of his coat almost exactly. Heat returned to your cheeks then your eye caught sight of a pair of black heels in the bottom of the case.

“Can’t have you going out in that, hm?”

Your heart leapt into its familiar place in your throat as you looked down at his shirt you were still wearing, goosebumps crawling up your back before you turned around and nearly ran into him. He’d finished with the bright smear of red on his mouth and was now standing over you, the look in his eyes drawing even more warmth to the surface of your skin.

His fingers slid down your wrist before he took your hand in his, turning your palm upwards as his eyes remained locked with yours, your breath now a shallow huff. After reaching into his pocket, you felt him place something in your hand.

Holding back the excitement climbing up behind your tongue, you forced your eyes down. It was some kind of ID card. In bold letters along the bottom, it read “PRESS” and in the corner, you saw an image of yourself. Your eyes widened when you recognized it as the photo from your driver’s license.

Your eyes darting back up to his face, you asked, “What’s this?”

He raised an eyebrow and replied, “What does it look like?”

“How did you get my license photo?”

A chuckle vibrated in his throat and he turned away from you to go back to his desk where he took something from one of the drawers.

“Always so many questions, doll. But never the right ones.”

_______________

It was hard to keep yourself from fidgeting with the hem of the skirt. It was actually very well made and fit you like a glove, but your nerves were getting the best of you once again. You sat in the backseat of an SUV with tinted windows where Joker had just slid in next to you moments ago.

The brightness of the morning sun was only partially lessened by the darkened glass, it’s beams still nearly blinding where it peeked out from between buildings. Lifting your hand to shield your eyes, the other clutching the ID card, you squinted out the window to try to discern where you here headed. He’d left you to get cleaned up and dressed then took you straight to this car outside where a driver was waiting, not a word exchanged between anyone. He said this would be simple, but you couldn’t keep your stomach from tying into a tense knot while you worried over what you were expected to do.

“Ok, doll. Like I said, this one’s simple.”

His timing couldn’t have been better. You turned away from the window to see him reach into his coat pocket, retrieving something small that he held between his fingertips.

“With this, you can be my eyes and ears,” he said, holding it out.

It was a little black earpiece, small enough to fit comfortably in your ear. When you lifted your eyes, about to ask what it was for, you stopped before the words could exit your lips. He’d shifted closer to you and reached out to tuck some of your hair behind your ear. The leather of his glove brushed against your cheek, rendering it scorching as he placed the small device in your ear.

“You are now an esteemed member of the press and today you’ve scored the opportunity to report on the biggest story sweeping the city…” he grinned, taking the ID from your hand and clipping it to your sweater. “The Batman is turning himself in.”

Next thing you knew, the car pulled up to the curb then the man sitting in the front seat reached behind him and pushed your door open. The cool air rushed over your face and you whipped back around, mouth open but no questions left to ask.

“Your time to shine, baby girl.”

Your feet carried you toward the tall building in front of you, its ground floor lined with windows while your chest shuddered against the quick breaths you forced in and out of it. You hadn’t been given much instruction, but you knew standing around on the sidewalk looking confused wasn’t what you should be doing. Scanning the entrance in search of where you should be going, you noticed a small crowd entering the door on the far end of the building and turned toward it.

“Bingo. You’re gettin’ good at this, doll.”

His voice suddenly rumbling in your ear sent a rush down your back and you almost stopped in your tracks, but you pressed forward as warmth filled your face, trying to keep your expression calm and unassuming. You had to resist looking behind you to look for the car you knew he must be watching you from.

After taking a quick glance around you to make sure you were still alone, you swallowed and asked quietly, “Can you hear me?”

He answered with a low chuckle and said, “Mm loud and clear, sweetheart.”

Great, how were you supposed to stay composed when it felt like he was following right behind you? But the door was getting closer, and you didn’t have much time to ask questions. Now you could see inside where news cameras were all pointed in the same direction.

“Are you gonna tell me what to do?”

“Eyes and ears, doll. Your big story awaits.”

He probably heard the frustrated sigh you couldn’t hold back as you pulled the glass door open to follow the crowd, his giggle tickling in your ear.

The large conference room was packed with people sitting in rows in front of a small stage where a podium was set up, more standing along the walls and backed all the way up to the door. You quietly squeezed behind the group just inside the entrance and made your way toward the last spot against the wall, eyeing the handful of police officers to your right. As if your nerves weren’t weighing heavy enough on you, now there were cops here?

You looked down at the press badge clipped to your sweater and tried to relax. Just blend in, they weren’t there for you. Staring at the podium rigged with a handful of microphones across the room, his words echoed in your head, the Batman is tuning himself in.

Then the crowd gradually fell silent when flashes and the clicking of cameras followed a man with a head of sandy blonde hair as he stepped up to the podium. You recognized his face from his campaign ads right away.

“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming. I’ve called this press conference for two reasons. Firstly, to ensure the citizens of Gotham that everything that can be done over the Joker killings is being done.” Harvey Dent continued to speak over contentions from the crowd and said, “Secondly, because the Batman has offered to turn himself in. But first, let’s consider the situation. Should we give in to this terrorist’s demands?”

You couldn’t understand the rest over Joker’s burst of laughter in your ear. You quickly covered it with your hand to smother the sound before he held his giggles back and said, “Me? A Terrorist? Oh Harvey, you’re gonna make me blush.”

The crowd continued the argue against him until Harvey made a promise. “The Batman will have to answer to the laws he’s broken but to us, not to this mad man.”

A mad man. You supposed that wasn’t untrue. You’d seen enough to know that. But it still somehow didn’t feel true to you. Like it was what people said because they felt threatened by him. They were frightened and faced with a particular unease, unable to explain what it was. It gripped them and wouldn’t let them look away. You felt it too. But it didn’t scare you away, it only drew you closer, didn’t it?

Before you fell further into your thoughts, agitated demands for the Batman to turn himself in echoed through the room as Dent’s speech failed to bring any sense of righteousness to the crowd of cops and reporters.

“So be it. Take the Batman into custody.”

Everyone fell silent, waiting for the vigilante to step forward. Was that really about to happen? But Harvey waited only a moment before he stated to the crowd, “I am the Batman.”

Disbelief settled over the room, everyone watching as a few officers approached him to put him in handcuffs and swiftly lead him off of the stage. Then the hairs on the back of your neck stood up as a deep chuckle resounded in your ear.

“Ahhh, well there you have it. Now Harvey wants to play.”

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

Taglist: @amethystmoonprincess @call-me-harley-quinn @liz-rdwitch @germansarechill @thesadvampire @tsukiakarinobara @heavymetalnarwhal @neverputsaltinyoureyes @apocalypticwafflekitten @astheworlddturns @komatheterrible @jokersqueenofchaos @killingjokee @into-crazy @youmaycallmebrian @jslittlebirdie @vipervixxen

#heath ledger joker #the dark knight #tdk joker #ledger!joker #ledger joker fic #joker fanfiction #ledger joker x reader #joker x you #self insert #angst

[dimigex]

I Won’t Lie - Kakasaku

It’s finally done!! I started this piece years ago but never finished it. It’s the follow on to my story Distraction, but you don’t have to read that to understand it at all. 

Distraction, I Won’t Lie, Part One, Part Two, Epilogue 

Here’s the first part, the rest is linked above and also available on FF.

"So, have you put the moves on the Hokage yet," Ino questioned, applying black eyeliner with a practiced flip of her hand. Her aqua blue eyes stood out in sharp contrast, seeming larger than they had any right to.

Sakura groaned from the bed, falling back to cover her face. "I never intended to put the moves on him," she mumbled, hoping that Ino wouldn't be able to see the crimson flush of her cheeks. "And, it didn't work anyway. Kakashi doesn't know that I exist."

Ino jerked the pillow away and leveled her best friend with a stare. "He definitely knows that you exist, but you need to remind him that you're a woman now, not a little girl." Her gaze swept over Sakura from head to toe. "Why don't you put on something a little more interesting tonight?"

"What's wrong with what I have on?" Sakura frowned at her outfit. Okay, the leggings that she wore were more comfortable than provocative, and her mother would have approved of her shirt, but that didn't mean there was anything wrong with it. She always dressed like this when they went out. It wasn't her fault that Ino had more outfits than any other girl that Sakura knew, and an uncanny way of making everything look sexy.

"Nothing," Ino answered, with a smile curving her cherry-red lips. "As long as you want to die old and alone."

Sakura threw the remaining pillow at Ino's face, narrowly missing. "Shut up, Ino-pig," she grumbled, reverting to the insult that had become a friendly nickname over the past few years. Sakura tugged at her shirt for a moment, chewing her lip "If I agree, can you make it look like I'm not trying too hard?"

A grin split Ino's face. "Of course. We have to find just the right outfit to show off that body you worked so hard for."

Before Sakura could protest, the blond pulled her off of the bed and toward the closet. Nearly an hour later, Sakura examined her expression in the mirror, shocked at the illusion that Ino had created. Long lashes framed her green eyes, making them stand out against her pale skin. The faint dusting of freckles that Sakura usually hated had taken on a soft glow from the highlighter Ino used. Glossy lips completed the expression, in a shade lighter than Sakura ever thought she could pull off. Ino hadn't stopped there. She'd transformed Sakura's hair as well. The pale tresses piled on top of her head, falling in artful curls around her face.

Ino pulled Sakura from musing about how she looked like an entirely different person by tugging on the dress. The blond dragged the black fabric to the side, baring one shoulder. It draped Sakura's body, accentuating enough to suggest that she had more curves than she really did. Chuckling, Sakura pulled the fabric toward her knees. Ino slapped her hands away. "Stop that, it's supposed to be short."

"I can't wear this," Sakura complained even as she turned to admire herself from the side. It hugged her body in a way that none of her other outfits had.

Shaking her head, Ino walked over to the closet and tossed a pair of heels to Sakura. "You can, and you will. No one will be able to keep their eyes off you, especially not Kakashi."

Color flamed in Sakura's cheek, hidden somewhat by the makeup. "What if he isn't there?"

Ino's devious grin made Sakura nervous. "Then you'll go home with someone else. You look too damn good to go home alone tonight"

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

When Ino and Sakura swept into the pub nearly half an hour late, dozens of heads swiveled in their direction. Ino linked an arm through Sakura's and pulled her into the room before she could back away in a fit of self-consciousness. Her gaze swept over the people gathered for Naruto's birthday, trying to ignore the butterflies fluttering in her stomach. Kakashi wasn't there yet or not coming at all, everything they'd done had been a waste of time.

Forcing the hopelessness down, Sakura caught sight of an overbearing ball of sunshine cutting through the room. Naruto's grin probably had more to do with the atmosphere than alcohol, but she couldn't be sure. He threw an arm around Sakura's shoulder and pulled her into a side hug. "I was beginning to think nobody from my team was going to show up tonight."

When Naruto released Sakura, his blue eyes slipped lower than her neck. The blush on his whiskered cheeks was obvious even in the dim lighting. "You look nice tonight. I mean, not that you don't always look nice-" Sakura's laughter cut off the awkward exchange, and Naruto managed a nervous smile before rubbing the back of his neck. "I don't think Sasuke is going to make it tonight."

"Unfortunately, Sasuke's mission has him delayed outside the village." The proximity of Kakashi's voice made Sakura jump. When she turned, she realized that he stood just inside the doorway behind them. Their gazes locked, and Kakashi's eyes widened, perhaps only just now realizing that she'd been the one standing with Naruto. While pink hair was unusual in the village, a few girls had started imitating Sakura after the war. She hated it, but the element of surprise was nice.

Ino unwound her arm from Sakura's and moved away to speak to someone that Sakura didn't recognize. Completely oblivious of the tension of the moment, Naruto caught Kakashi with his other arm and pulled them both into a hug. Sakura felt the warmth of Kakashi's chest against her side. "I'm glad you two made it, at least."

Kakashi pulled away, chuckling in the back of his throat. "Of course I came, I have to keep an eye on you kids to make sure you don't get into any trouble."

"We aren't kids," Sakura grumbled, challenging Kakashi with a glare through her mascara lengthened lashes. "We're adults now."

"That's right, sensei. We don't have to listen to you anymore." Naruto laughed, giving Kakashi a cheeky grin.

Kakashi frowned, the barest movements of his mask. "I'm still Hokage, though."

"For now." Naruto's banter eased the conversation into playful jabs that allowed Sakura to stay silent. Kakashi hadn't even responded to her comment about being an adult now. Her heart sank lower in her chest.

As the men exchanged barbs, Ino reappeared from wherever she'd been. Grabbing Sakura's hand, she led them to the bar. "It's pointless," Sakura complained, leaning close so that the words would only be loud enough for Ino. "He'll always view me as a kid. I'd be better off chasing Sasuke."

"Absolutely not," Ino hissed, vehemence dripping from her voice as she raised a hand to order drinks. "Sasuke isn't even on the radar for you. Do not put yourself through that again."

Sakura nodded and toyed with the silver teardrop earring that Ino had loaned her. She knew that Sasuke was a bad idea. The boy had never acknowledged her, not really. And now, it was the same with Kakashi. At best Kakashi saw her as the child that he'd mentored years ago. At worst, the annoying girl that she'd been during those early days. She'd never change that.

"Let me tell you my secret, Forehead." Ino shoved a shot glass into Sakura's hand. "It just takes five seconds of insane courage to get whatever you want. That's it. Just five seconds of bravery, then the hard part is over. You either have the thing you want or you don't, but at least you'll know."

"Is that how you landed Sai?" Sakura asked, closing her grip around the glass of liquid courage without questioning what was inside it. The idea that Ino actually liked Sai and wanted to be with him when there were so many men that she could have had was something that Sakura had trouble wrapping her mind around.

Ino laughed and tucked a strand of hair behind one ear. "Yes, Sai. And, all the others."

Gossip suggested that Ino had worked her way through half of the eligible shinobi in the village. There was a great deal of truth to it. Ino had dated Shikamaru for a couple of weeks before the pair decided that friendship was less troublesome than a relationship. She and Kiba had been fireworks from the beginning, fighting almost constantly. Choji was too gentle, Lee too exhausting, Shino too quiet, and the list went on and on. Somehow, Ino landed on Sai and found that the man matched her surprisingly well. Sakura had already noticed the girl looking for him in the crowd.

"Drink," Ino commanded, nodding toward the alcohol. Sakura steeled her nerves and tipped the glass up. The liquid burned the entire way down, making her gasp for a breath. Ino clapped her on the back. "Good, now let's go and find someone to make him jealous over."

"Ino, no." Sakura pulled away from her best friend with a firm shake of her head. "It doesn't matter. It's just a silly crush."

The look on the blonde's face suggested that she didn't believe Sakura's excuse, but she didn't force it. Sakura let her gaze wander over the people brought together to celebrate Naruto's birthday. He had touched so many lives, and since the war, most people recognized that. Naruto had wanted to do something at Ichiraku, but the stand was too small for all their friends. They'd made arrangements for the celebration to be held here, but white bowls of ramen dotted most of the tables.

Kakashi drew Sakura's eyes like a beacon. He stood in the shadows beside Captain Yamato, heads close together as they spoke. It had surprised Sakura to learn that the men were old friends, especially since Kakashi held so many people at a distance. Sakura and Naruto had grown closer to him, of course, but there didn't seem to be many others. Tsunade and the other jonin perhaps, but the ease between Kakashi and Yamato spoke of actual friendship. Sakura felt a twinge of jealousy. Why couldn't it be that easy for her?

Ino leaned close, the scent of alcohol drifting from her lips. "You know, Yamato isn't bad looking either."

Sakura considered the words. While Yamato didn't hold the aura of mystery that Kakashi did, his easy smile and kind eyes made him attractive in his own way. Even so, no matter how much Sakura watched the pair, her eyes strayed to Kakashi. As she'd expected, he'd worn his uniform to the party. The sleeves of his black shirt were rolled up against the heat of the room, while his hands were tucked into the pockets of matching pants. Kakashi's mask remained in place, of course, but the headband that used to slant across half of his face was missing. Two charcoal eyes stared out at the room, silver hair falling into them.

"Oh, it's definitely just a little crush," Ino teased, pulling Sakura from her longing gaze. "Why don't you just go and talk to him? Ask him to dance or ask him back to your place. Just do something besides staring at him."

When Sakura started to protest, Ino rolled her eyes. "Come on, I've seen you kick ass so many times, but you're scared to talk to a boy? The worst thing he can do is turn you down. And, if that happens, it's his loss."

It isn't that easy, Sakura started to argue. Only, she knew that it was. She'd been pining after Kakashi for months, treasuring stupid, little moments that probably meant nothing: the way that his arms had curled around her on the training field, how his eyes lit up when he laughed at her joke about Tsunade trying to kill them both with reports, or the startle when her fingers had brushed his wrist. Those things made her wonder if there might be something more, but Kakashi was impossible to read. The sudden intake of breath when Sakura touched him could just have easily been discomfort as desire.

"I think I need another drink," Sakura declared, putting away the miserable thoughts for another day.

It didn't take long for the pleasant warmth of alcohol to loosen the tension that seemed permanently attached to Sakura's shoulders. She relaxed enough to dance a couple of turns with Naruto. He was far more awkward on the dance floor than any shinobi had the right to be. After two dances, Sakura begged off and pushed him toward Hinata. A few months ago, the girl had finally gotten brave enough to let Naruto know that she liked him. The pair was slowly turning into a couple, but the transition was painful to watch. They were both too shy for their own good.

Sakura stumbled back toward the bar, surprised to admit that she was having more fun than she'd thought she would, even if Kakashi ignored her. As she reached for her glass, Ino flashed a pleasant grin that warned Sakura that the girl was coming up with a plan that Sakura wasn't going to like. Without explaining anything, Ino linked their arms and dragged Sakura back into the crowd. Three steps into the walk, once she realized where they were going, Sakura tried to stop the inevitable. But, it was too late. Ino stopped beside Kakashi and Yamato.

The men looked up in surprise, their conversation stopping abruptly. Sakura felt Kakashi's gaze on her face for several heartbeats before it slid toward Ino's. With another signature grin, the blond moved into Yamato's personal space. "You sent my boyfriend on a mission just before the party, and now I have nobody to dance with. It seems only fair that you take his place." Ino held out a hand expectantly.

"Um-I-uh-it was unavoidable," Yamato stammered, a delicate pink blush tinting his cheeks. Sakura almost rolled her eyes. It was pathetic to watch how easily Ino turned him, or any man for that matter, into a stuttering mess simply by batting her eyelashes. She'd thought Yamato was better than that.

To Sakura's surprise, it was Kakashi who spoke next. "I think she has a solid case." Yamato gaped at the man, but Kakashi continued as if he hadn't seen it. "You deprived her of enjoying the evening; you should make up for it. Within reason, of course."

As the implication hit home, the pink on Yamato's cheeks deepened to crimson. Sakura struggled not to laugh at his expression. Ino cleared her throat, moving her hand closer. For a moment, Sakura wondered if Kakashi was going to have to push the man forward. Finally, Yamato dipped his head and took Ino's hand. Sakura couldn't stop her mirth as the pair disappeared onto the dance floor. "He's going to be furious with you later, you know that right?"

"It's good for him. Yamato is too shy." Kakashi leaned his shoulders against the wall, and for a moment Sakura couldn't take her eyes off of the smooth stretch of his body and the way his armor shifted with the movement. Half a second later, she realized that he'd said something. Deciding that it probably wasn't important, she nodded and he continued. "Of course, she doesn't mean anything by it, does she?"

Sakura shook her head, watching as Ino attempted to guide Yamato's hands toward her hips as she moved to the music. He kept moving them back to her waist, embarrassment obvious. Sakura chuckled under her breath. "No, she's quite taken with Sai actually."

"Our Sai?" Kakashi asked, eyebrows rising in surprise.

Sakura nodded, watching as Yamato finally relaxed into the dance and loosened up a bit. "She and Sai balance each other well, like Naruto and Hinata."

Kakashi followed Sakura's gaze toward the bar where Naruto and Hinata were talking. The blond leaned against the edge, telling some kind of story while the girl gazed up adoringly. Two years ago, she'd been too frightened and embarrassed to speak with him, and Naruto too stupid to realize why. With a little gentle prodding, they'd finally caught on.

Kakashi made a sound that might have been agreement in the back of his throat. "You're all pairing off these days, falling in love and getting married."

"Not all of us," Sakura grumbled. Frustration bled into her voice as she continued. "Some of us accepted the weight of duty instead."

A silver eyebrow arched skyward as Kakashi turned to face Sakura. A look of understanding crossed his features, but Sakura doubted that he realized she was talking about him as well. Undeniably handsome, Kakashi could have his pick of women in the village, but he remained alone. He had thrown himself into the role of hokage, even though he hated it. Sakura had done the same at the hospital, though she enjoyed her work for the most part. The two of them weren't as different as he seemed to think.

A stir went through the room. Naruto pushed away from the bar, his voice cutting through the din of music and conversation. "You made it!'

As much as Sakura wanted to continue admiring Kakashi, her attention drifted toward Naruto. He stood in the doorway, arms thrown around-Sakura's mind temporarily shorted out, taking several seconds to catch up with her eyes. Sasuke stood in the spill of light, Naruto's arms wrapped around his shoulders. Raven dark hair and equally black eyes swept through the crowd, taking in everyone and everything. His gaze slid over Sakura, then returned and lingered.

Despite everything, Sakura blushed under Sasuke's gaze. Beside her, Kakashi shifted away from the wall. A hand pressed almost imperceptibly against Sakura's lower back as Naruto approached, Sasuke trailing behind like a shadow. Sakura half turned toward Kakashi.

Naruto interrupted the pair before Sakura could get her thoughts in order. "Look guys, Sasuke made it back in time."

"So, he did," Kakashi answered for both of them, voice cool but not quite unfriendly. "Welcome back."

Sasuke turned, oozing arrogance as he inclined his head toward Kakashi. Dark eyes roved over Sakura a second time, an almost smile curling his lips. Even so, Sakura read the tension in his shoulders. Despite the years that had passed, Sasuke remained something of a pariah in the village. There were some groups who would never forgive or forget the time that he had spent trying to destroy the Leaf, despite Naruto's efforts to change their opinions. Sakura knew that Kakashi had helped save Sasuke from execution or life in prison, but the Hokage's intervention had ended there.

"Sasuke!" Ino appeared from nowhere, throwing her arms around Sasuke in a hug that the man shrunk away from. "Welcome back."

Sakura flashed her friend a thankful smile at the interruption. "You're looking well," Ino continued, pulling all of Sasuke's attention to herself by keeping her hands on his upper arms. "Can I get you something to drink?"

"Maybe later," Sasuke answered, voice sounding strained as he shrugged away from Ino's touch. When she released him, the man turned and smiled. "Hello, Sakura."

Sakura couldn't remember how to draw a breath. A thick strand of black fell across Sasuke's eye, adding an air of mystery to his already captivating appearance. Warmth suffused her face when he moved closer, near enough to reach out and brush her cheek if he'd wanted. "Hi," she answered, toying with a silver bracelet circling one wrist.

Sasuke slid between Sakura and Kakashi, angling his body to face hers. "How have you been?"

"I've been doing well." Sakura's answer barely scratched the surface of everything that had happened in her life since the last time she saw Sasuke. She couldn't seem to remember a single event that she wanted to talk about. Yamato approached the small group and squeezed in beside Kakashi while running an appraising eye over Sasuke. He didn't acknowledge the Uchiha's presence. Instead, he leaned closer to Kakashi and whispered something in his ear.

Pulling her attention away from the exchange, Sakura realized that she'd been asked something. It would be rude not to keep talking to Sasuke, so she smiled. "How about you? How have you been?"

"I stay busy following up on leads," Sasuke answered, revealing nothing about his time outside of the village. Maybe he thought that Sakura wouldn't accept his reasons for leaving her behind, or maybe, he didn't care if she did.

After all, how could Sakura expect Sasuke to understand the hours of work that she poured into the hospital, sometimes losing a patient despite her best efforts? Would he care that she pushed herself in training as hard as she's ever done in case they went back to war? Sakura imagined Sasuke teasing her efforts to create orphanages in Konoha. Would he understand Sakura's version of sacrifice when it didn't align with his?

Sakura's eyes drifted back to her group of friends. Naruto stood beside Ino with a silly grin on his face, undoubtedly because Sakura and Sasuke were talking together. He still believed the two of them could make it work somehow. Yamato and Kakashi watched them both without seeming to do so. Sakura couldn't help but wonder if they deemed Sasuke as a security risk, even after all this time. Her gaze settled on the tension in Kakashi's jaw, wondering why he seemed on edge.

Kakashi understood the passion that drove Sakura to fight for those causes. Or, if not, he humored her. Sakura and Kakashi had worked hand in hand to train additional medical shinobi, create orphanages, and work through various issues at the hospital. She'd assumed that Kakashi wanted to see the same outcome that she did. Would Sasuke want that? Did it matter? He wouldn't be in the village long enough for it to make any difference.

Despite the way that things between them had changed, Sasuke still reduced Sakura to a lovesick teenager. It wasn't that her feelings had stayed the same, but Sakura had spent half of her life chasing after Sasuke. She couldn't shake the memory of nipping at his heels, of being willing to throw everything away if he'd only acknowledge her. As Sasuke spoke, Sakura's mind responded on autopilot, answering with soft laughs and smiles.

After several minutes, Ino caught Sakura's attention and half nodded toward Kakashi. He and Yamato had fallen silent, allowing the conversation to flow around them without interruption. Sakura raised her shoulders in a helpless shrug, silently asking what she was supposed to do about the situation. Ino frowned, then leaned in to speak. "So, Sasuke, did you know that Naruto and Hinata are dating?"

The question cut off the conversation. Surprise flitted across Sasuke's face as he looked over at Naruto. The blond's cheeks flamed crimson and he sputtered over his words "Well, Ino is dating Sai," he managed, red from his hairline to his chin.

Ino grinned, tossing her long hair over one shoulder with an air of dismissal. "You say that like it's a bad thing. Sai happens to be far more interesting than you'd anticipate. Not to mention adventurous."

The suggestive nature of Ino's comment made Naruto choke on his breath. His eyes bulged and Sakura couldn't help but laugh; he was still so innocent. Naruto grabbed Sasuke's arm. "Come on, it's definitely time for a drink."

Without waiting for an answer, Naruto pulled the Uchiha toward the barkeeper and further away from Ino's insinuations. Laughing, the girl watched them go. Then, she turned back to Yamato. "I thought you were going to dance with me? And, you," Ino studied Kakashi, "should dance with Sakura so she isn't left alone over here."

For all the nudging that Kakashi had done when Ino asked Yamato to dance, the man seemed less than enthused about taking his own advice. "It isn't befitting of the Hokage to indulge in-"

"Oh no you don't, senpai," Yamato interrupted, already pulling Kakashi away from the wall. "I did my duty, and now it's time for you to do yours. Off you go."

Yamato's brown eyes shone with an inordinate amount of amusement, and Sakura didn't know whether to be thankful that he was pushing Kakashi toward the dance floor, or embarrassed at being some type of twisted payback. Either way, the indecision lasted only a moment. Ino grabbed Yamato's hand and guided him toward the dancers, leaving Sakura alone with Kakashi on the edge of the room.

Kakashi rubbed the back of his neck as he turned to face Sakura. Embarrassment raised the temperature of the room several degrees until it felt impossible to draw a breath. "You don't have to dance with me," she murmured, trying not to sound as disappointed as she felt.

"Ino and Yamato would never let me hear the end of it if we didn't." Kakashi held out one hand, and Sakura slid hers into it. Her pulse pounded in her ears when he leaned closer. "Besides, we only have to dance long enough to get them off our backs."

Sakura didn't trust her voice to speak without breaking, so she nodded and followed Kakashi onto the dance floor. Music blared over the speakers, bass line making her heart pound in tempo. She drew a deep breath and looked into the eyes that had been hidden for so long. Even now, months later, Sakura hadn't gotten used to seeing more of Kakashi's face. She remembered the intensity of his gaze on the training field and the way that she'd wanted to pull him close and lose themselves in the storm.

Just five seconds of insane courage, Ino's voice whispered in the back of Sakura's mind. She could press her body against Kakashi's under the guise of dancing and admit that she wanted more than that. Butterflies the size of elephants trampled over Sakura's chest. If Kakashi rejected her, it would hurt, but she could mask the pain long enough to make it home. Then, she'd be free to deal with fallout. She had done the same thing over Sasuke nearly a year ago. But, if Sakura never took a chance and told Kakashi, she'd never know if there could have been anything between them.

Kakashi spoke, interrupting Sakura's momentum. "You look different tonight."

"Ino begged me to let her try something special for Naruto's party." Sakura chewed her lip, wondering if the words were technically a lie. She wanted to look more enticing as well, more like Ino and less like herself, in hopes that she'd capture Kakashi's attention.

The tempo of the music increased; Sakura allowed her body to follow. She felt the hem of her dress riding up her thigh and tugged it down with one hand. Kakashi followed the movement then snapped his eyes back to her face. He asked something, but the words were lost in the din of the crowd. When Sakura scrunched up her face in confusion, he leaned closer. "For Sasuke?"

For you, Sakura thought, holding the words tight between her lips. The accusation in Kakashi's tone surprised her. "I didn't know he'd be here."

Kakashi inclined his head at the words, expression unreadable. He rested his hands at Sakura's waist without a hint of familiarity or desire. Kakashi moved to the music, half a foot between their bodies. Sakura flashed back to the way his arms had wrapped around her like a glove on the training field. He moved on protective instinct, not to get close to me. The realization left a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach.

Sakura surrendered to the rhythm of the music, turning to present her back to Kakashi's chest so she wouldn't have to meet his gaze. She closed her eyes, willing the ache in her heart to stop. This entire situation was so stupid. Ino was right about everything; Sakura needed to tell Kakashi how she felt so that she could pick up the pieces and move on. She had done it before, and she could do it again.

Fingers curled against Sakura's hips, the thin fabric of her dress hardly masking the feel of Kakashi's touch. Sakura wasn't sure if he pulled her back, or if she moved of her own accord, but she felt the warmth of his breath against her neck. She focused on the sensation, electricity rushing through her body. His damn flak vest separated Sakura from the heat of his chest, but she imagined that she could feel it anyway.

The song ended and the weight of Kakashi's hands fell away as if it had never been. Light pulsed around them as another song started. Sakura turned back to face Kakashi, drawing a shaky breath. "Do you think that dance met their requirements, or should we do another, just to be sure?"

Sakura's name left Kakashi's lips in a strangled sound. Whatever he'd been planning to say was lost when someone bumped hard into his back. He stumbled through the almost nonexistent space between them. Sakura heard an apology, but she couldn't match the voice to a face before her arms were full of Kakashi. She stumbled backward under his weight, tripped over her heels, and then they were falling. Vaguely, some panicked part of Sakura's mind wondered if she was about to give everyone in the room a free peep show.

Kakashi twisted in the air so that Sakura wouldn't be crushed beneath him. His left shoulder absorbed most of the impact half a second before she hit his chest. The air whooshed out of Kakashi's lungs in a soft hiss as their bodies pressed together. Exposure forgotten, Sakura felt his hands grip her, one near her shoulder and the other dangerously low on her back. They were close enough for their noses to brush, Kakashi's eyes wide. The charcoal tone wasn't as dark as Sakura had anticipated, but shot with silver through the iris. She noticed the outline of Kakashi's lips beneath his mask. Kami, it would be so simple to—

"Hokage-sama?" Genma's familiar voice cut across Sakura's thoughts. The man pushed through the crowd to reach Kakashi's side, undoubtedly on guard duty for the night. Sakura raised her head to glare at his poorly conceived timing.

Kakashi released Sakura like he'd been burned, hands coming to the floor instead as he pushed into a sitting position. She half fell into his lap from the sudden change of position. "I'm fine," he answered the unasked question. "I'm hardly old enough to get injured from falling down."

"Especially beneath a beautiful woman," Genma quipped, flashing his senbon-studded grin. Then, his leer slid toward the woman in question and his expression changed to something contemplative as he offered a hand. "Oh, hey, Sakura."

Sakura had no choice but to accept Genma's offered hand. Cheeks flushed with embarrassment, she let the tokujo pull her away from Kakashi. Belatedly, she remembered to adjust the slinky dress lower on her thighs and higher over her chest. Hopefully everything had happened so quickly that she didn't have any reason to be embarrassed. A small crowd gathered around them. Kakashi pushed through them as the music started back up; Sakura followed him to the edge of the room.

"You aren't hurt are you, Hokage-sama," Ino gushed as she hurried to the pair's side. Her brow creased with worry when Kakashi tried to wave her off. Sakura barely resisted the urge to roll her eyes at her best friend. The ploy was obvious.

"I'm fine," Kakashi grumbled, looking distinctively embarrassed by the attention. "I'm not made of glass."

"Still," Ino pressed, reaching out like she might touch Kakashi's arm. "You hit your shoulder hard when you fell. I saw it."

Sakura could see the wheels turning in Ino's mind. No, please, Ino, don't do this. Sakura's silent plea fell on deaf ears. Kakashi raised his arm to prove that he could, but Ino didn't drop the subject. "You should let Sakura take a look at it, just to make sure. I'm sure she wouldn't mind."

And, there it is, Sakura grumbled internally. Annoyance bled through Kakashi's embarrassment as he tried to wave the blonde's concerns away. Sakura interrupted the exchange before it could get out of hand. "Doesn't anyone care about me? I fell too."

"I could take a look at you," Genma offered with a cheeky grin from his position at Kakashi's shoulder. "In fact, it'd be my pleasure."

"No," Sakura and Kakashi answered in the same breath, dragging a knowing laugh from Genma. Kakashi looked almost as surprised as Sakura felt. Cheeks warming at the insinuation, she continued. "I don't need anyone to look at me, I am fine. But, shouldn't you be more worried about me?"

Genma chuckled in the back of his throat. "Because you're such a delicate little flower? I saw the damage you did to the training grounds the other night. I think I'd rather take my chances with Kakashi, to be honest."

"Probably for the best; she's stronger than you think." Sakura's stomach clenched at the unexpected praise from Sasuke. She hadn't noticed that he and Naruto had rejoined them in the chaos.

"Damn right she is," Ino answered, fighting to keep the attention on anything but Sasuke. Her eyes met Sakura's with silent pleading. While Sakura knew what Ino wanted, some things were easier said than done. Sasuke watched them with a smug satisfaction on his face that Sakura couldn't begin to understand as Ino continued. "What will Tsunade say if you leave Hokage-sama injured until tomorrow?"

Kakashi shook his head as Sakura groaned under her breath. She loved Ino, but sometimes the woman went a little overboard with her matchmaking. "Tsunade would say that it's nothing, and no more than I deserve if I can't keep my feet under me. But, if it'll put your mind at ease, I'll get it checked out."

"It would," Ino breathed out, her concern almost palpable. Sakura wondered why the woman didn't become an actress; she certainly had a knack for it. Ino pulled her forward. "There's no time like the present."

Kakashi cast a withering glance at Ino, then faced Sakura. For a moment, the rest of the room disappeared. Even the overwhelming presence of Sasuke shrank to insignificance. The sheepishness that Sakura had noticed earlier had evaporated, replaced by something darker in Kakashi's gaze. Though Sakura couldn't put her finger on it, the expression made chill bumps erupt on her arms. "Would you mind?"

It wasn't the first time that Sakura had healed Kakashi, not by a long shot. But, it was the first time that he'd asked. Sakura's heart did somersaults in her chest. "I don't mind," she breathed, forcing strength into her words. "But, not here. I need somewhere quieter, with better light."

Kakashi inclined his head as if the words made perfect sense. Naruto groaned, his voice turning whiny. "You're going to miss my party? This is the first time we've all been together in years."

"We won't be gone long," Kakashi assured the boy. "Just long enough to satisfy Sakura."

Ino choked on her laugh, eyes shining. Sakura's cheeks flamed crimson at the insinuation. Kakashi either didn't notice or didn't want to draw attention to it. He nodded toward the door. "Come on, let's get this over with, shall we?"

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

As she and Kakashi emerged from the pub, Sakura drew a breath of the chilly air. Naruto had been the only one to raise an objection to them leaving the party together, but Sakura felt the heat from a dozen gazes as they crossed the room. When they stepped into the street, Sakura's hand slipped out of Kakashi's, and neither made a move to retake it. He stared at the darkness, the stars above, and the benches by the door as they stood under the hazy light of the neon sign.

"I'm sorry that this took you away from the party," Kakashi began with a sigh. When his gaze turned to Sakura, it swept over her body in a way that suggested that he hadn't missed the tiniest facet of Ino's hard work. "You clearly wanted to be there."

"I can always go back later," Sakura answered, knowing that she wouldn't. She didn't want to face Sasuke or Ino after leaving with Kakashi, regardless of what happened next. Kakashi's shoulders seemed to tense at the response, but Sakura wasn't sure if it was her imagination or not. Undeniable nervousness settled in her gut.

Kakashi rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. "You don't really need to look at my shoulder. It's fine, but I needed an excuse to get out of there."

"I know," Sakura agreed. She would have realized if Kakashi was hurt, probably before he did. "But, I gave my word, so we should at least check it."

"Do you want to go to the hospital?" Kakashi moved down the street as he asked the question, forcing Sakura to follow on his heels. He didn't turn back when he continued. "Or, would my apartment be okay? It's closer."

Sakura's breath caught in her throat. She knew where Kakashi's apartment was, of course, but she'd never set foot inside of it. That he'd allow her into his world, even for a moment, stunned her. He continued walking, shoulders tight and hands stuffed into his pockets as he waited for an answer. "Your apartment is fine."

The silence gave Sakura unwanted time to think back over the night's events. She had seen appreciation in more than a few eyes when they noticed the changes that Ino had made, but she couldn't be sure that any of it had registered with Kakashi. He'd said she looked different, not better, not beautiful, just different. That word could mean a million things, or nothing at all. Ino was right though, if Sakura couldn't have Kakashi, she could always go home with someone else. Hell, even Sasuke had noticed and appreciated the extra effort in her appearance. There was only one problem, Sakura didn't want to go home with anyone else.

Sakura nearly walked into Kakashi's back when he stopped in front of her and nodded toward the steps leading up to his apartment. Though she knew it was entirely platonic, Sakura's heart pounded in her throat as she followed him higher. Kakashi unlocked the door, flicked the lights on, and pushed it wider. Sakura slid under his arm and into the room, taking in a million details at once.

Kakashi closed the door behind them and bent to remove his sandals. Sakura admired the smooth stretch of his body for a heartbeat longer than she should have. Tearing her eyes away, she rested one hand on the wall and bent down to unbuckle her heels. It felt good to be out of them, if it was only going to be for a few minutes.

"Does your shoulder hurt at all? They're notoriously fragile as far as joints go." When Kakashi didn't speak, Sakura opened her mouth to repeat the question, then had another idea. Five seconds of insane courage. She took two steps forward and reached for Kakashi's arm, the healing glow surrounding her hands.

When Sakura touched his shoulder, Kakashi startled and jerked away. 'I'm fine," he ground out. "You don't have to—"

"Your heart is pounding," Sakura responded in awe, letting her fingers fall away from his arm. The touch had been brief, but the spike in Kakashi's pulse was obvious.

Kakashi forced a harsh breath through his nose. "You're supposed to be checking my shoulder, not my heart."

Five seconds of insane courage. "Your shoulder," Sakura repeated, trying to think over the blood roaring in her ears. Just five seconds. She reached for the straps of Kakashi's flak vest.

#My writing #Dimi Writes #Naruto #KakaSaku #Kakashi Hatake #Sakura Haruno #Mutual Pining #Don't read this at work #Smut #and fluff #There's a lot of fluff

[echoes-of-the-clockwork]

Book One: Gold (Prompto x Reader) Chapter III

Back at the chocobo outpost, (Y/n) waited patiently for the boys to finish talking with Wiz. She wandered over to the pens and immediately made eye contact with one of the birds. It had (f/c) feathers. It watched her every moment as she approached. A faint 'chirp' came from the chocobo as it wiggled its tail feathers excitedly.

The guardian smiled sweetly, reaching out to pet the bird. It lowered its head and allowed her to place her hand on its head. It closed its eyes, enjoying the feeling of her fingers stroke the top of its head.

(Y/n)'s hand gravitated toward the chocobo's neck, resulting in the bird to come closer. Its body bounced against the wooden railings of the pen, but that didn't stop it from snuggling into her embrace. With a giggle, the girl wrapped both arms around the chocobo's neck as it placed its head on her shoulder. It chirped lightly before nuzzling its beak into her (h/c) locks.

What surprised (Y/n) the most was the bird's lack of fear. Most animals were able to detect her aura and became frightened, but this chocobo seemed to find joy and comfort in her presence. A giggle fell from her lips at how affectionate the bird was. "You're really friendly, aren't you?"

The sound of a camera shutter grabbed her attention. Pulling away from the chocobo, she looked toward the sound and saw Prompto. A grin manifested on her face when she saw his cheeks turn slightly red from being caught. "Sneaking more pictures, huh?"

The boy lowered his camera, scuffing the tip of his shoe against the ground. "Wh-What can I say? A photographer never misses a perfect opportunity to take a picture."

(Y/n) then noticed he was alone. "Where're the others?"

"They're still talkin' with Wiz," he said, walking towards her. As he stood by her and waited for the others, he reached out and petted the chocobo. "So...exactly how're we supposed to explain this to them?"

"Leave it to me," she said. "This'll be easier than I thought it'd be."

"Why's that?"

"By Ignis' reaction earlier, it seems he already has a comprehension of what I am. With his assistance, I'm positive Noctis and Gladiolus will be able to understand." She lifted her left hand, clamping it over the gemstone located on her right arm.

A few minutes ticked by before Noctis, Gladio, and Ignis regrouped with (Y/n) and Prompto. The young girl directed them to a place on the chocobo ranch that was void of prying eyes before giving them her full attention and introducing herself. "My name is (Y/n). It's a pleasure to finally meet you all."

"So, uh..." Noctis rubbed the back of his neck. "Thanks for the, y'know...help earlier."

She smiled gently at him. "No need to thank me. After all," she turned her gaze to the marksman. "It is my job to protect Prompto."

"If I'm not mistaken, you are a guardian, correct?" Ignis asked.

She nodded. "Indeed, I am. You knew the moment you spotted the gemstone what I was. I'm impressed by your analytical abilities, Ignis."

"Hold on," Gladio interrupted. "Guardians are from fairytales. There's no way they really exist."

"Far from it, Gladio," the advisor replied. "Guardians are no mere figment of one's imagination. You stand in the presence of one. (Y/n) demonstrated her abilities during our skirmish with the behemoth. There are a multitude of texts explaining the existence of spirits, or as we commonly refer to them as guardians."

The shield still wasn't convinced the fairytale story he was told when he was little wasn't fiction. "If you really are a guardian, how the hell do you know blondie?"

The golden-eyed girl glanced at Prompto for a brief second before looking back at the brute and explaining who and what spirits truly were. "I'm not sure what to say about the guardians you are referring to in fairytales, but a real life spirit is born from a fragment of one's soul. Not all humans are capable of manifesting a guardian. In fact, it is quite rare. A strong emotional tie to the world around you is necessary to birth a spirit. Just so happens, Prompto is one of those people who does has a strong connection."

It took a few minutes of silence after (Y/n)'s explanation for Noctis and Gladio to fully understand her words. Ignis, on the other hand, took no time at all for him to wrap his head around the truth behind guardians. While he needed no other evidence of the truth due to seeing all the proof he needed, Noctis and Gladio were still unable to swallow everything. Of course, the two displayed their uncertainty and (Y/n) was more than understanding.

After (Y/n) answered any and all questions they had, Prompto placed his hands together and begged. "Can (Y/n) come with us, please?"

"What're you talkin' about?" Noctis asked. "Hasn't she already been with us?"

"Well, yeah, but I mean can she travel with us outside the bracelet?" He clarified. "She could help us in battles! I mean, you guys saw how awesome she was earlier, right?"

"I don't see why not." The prince glanced at his shield and advisor. "What do you guys say?"

"A guardian would prove beneficial in battle," Ignis stated.

Gladio shrugged his shoulders. "Fine with me. She's already proved herself by taking Deadeye down."

Prompto pumped his fist into the air with a triumphant cry. "Yes!"

"Now we know why you've been demanding seconds at dinner," Ignis commented.

The blonde lowered his hand. "Oh, y-yeah. It was the only way I could think of getting something to eat for (Y/n) while we were camping."

"Now we don't have to worry about that," the spirit said. She then clapped her hands together, grabbing the boys' attentions. "So, where to next?"

"Lestallum," Gladio answered. "Gotta check on my sister."

"Well then, shall we?"

"Aw, yeah! Let's go!" Prompto cheered.

<-----------<<<<<

When the group reached Lestallum, (Y/n) materialized from Prompto's bracelet and excused herself from the group as they headed to the Leville to speak with Iris. She wandered over to the outlook and stared into the distance at the Disc of Cauthess before her eyes drifted upward to the sky. Her attention was drawn to the sound of footsteps approaching from behind.

Turning her head, she spotted a man with spiky black hair and piercing jade eyes. He wore a faded green jacket and a black t-shirt with matching combat pants and boots. The small jingling she heard as he walked was due to the dog tags he had hanging around his neck. By his attire, (Y/n) assumed he was a hunter. But what she didn't understand was why he was walking directly towards her. She wondered if he was just coming to take in the view instead of talking to her, but she was proven wrong when her golden eyes locked with his emerald ones and a smirk appeared on his face.

Sighing, the spirit turned her gaze back to the sky in an attempt to ignore the man. She prayed to the Astrals he would be able to tell how uninterested she was and simply walk away. Morosely, her prayer went unanswered as the stranger stood directly beside her and followed her line of sight. "Beautiful day, don't you agree?" He asked.

(Y/n)'s shoulders drooped as she sighed. Her eyes reverted back to gazing at the Disc. "You want something. That much is clear. Skip the sweet talk and get straight to the point. What do you want?"

The man chuckled at her snappy response. "A man can't talk to a beautiful woman without having a motive?"

"They can, but you're not one of those men. You clearly want something. What is it?"

He sighed, removing his hands from his pockets and sticking them up into the air. "You caught me red-handed. I was gonna ask if you could accompany me to the market and then I'd be able to convince you to join me for dinner."

(Y/n)'s eyes narrowed as she crossed her arms. "Of all the beautiful women walking around Lestallum, you chose me. You've horrible taste."

"Does that mean-?"

"No," she promptly interrupted him. "I wish you luck on your hunt for someone who will fall at your feet and follow you around like a lost puppy dog."

The man placed a hand over his chest and feigned a painful expression. "Ouch... You wound me, my lady. I'll need a potion to help heal my shattered heart."

(Y/n) uncrossed her arms and placed one of her hands on her hip. Turning her head, she glared at the stranger. "You really can't tell when you're not wanted, can you?"

He snickered and reached out to touch the guardian's arm. "Hey, listen, I'm-"

All of a sudden, the girl heard someone shout her name and felt an arm wrap around her waist. A faint gasp of shock fell from her lips as she was pulled into someone's side. Without having to look, she knew exactly who it was. "Prompto. When did you...?"

Prompto pressed his cheek against the side of the girl's head, his cheeks dusted with a light pink as he smiled widely. "Sorry I'm late, babe. Did I keep you waiting long?"

"B-Babe...?" The (h/c)-haired guardian murmured to herself, clearly confused as to why he used an affectionate nickname. After a few seconds, the pieces assembled in her head and her eyes widened. "O-Oh, not at all!" She wrapped both of her arms around his torso and hugged him tightly.

The man, who still had yet to properly introduce himself, glanced between the two. "Ah, I see. My apologies. I had no idea you were already spoken for." He smiled at the girl, which caused her to tense up slightly from the strange aura she detected from him. "I do hope we meet again, (Y/n). I would enjoy a proper conversation with you. You are a mystery I'd love to solve." He turned on his heels, waving over his shoulder as he strode off.

Once the nameless man was gone, Prompto loosened his arm around the girl's waist but kept his arm wound around it. "Who was that guy?"

"No idea," (Y/n) answered honestly. "He never told me his name. I'm glad you showed up when you did, Prom. He was starting to give me the creeps."

"You looked like you were about to toss him over the side of the outlook," the blonde chortled.

"You've no idea how close I was to turning him into a chew toy. By the way..." She kept her arms secured around his torso as she peered up at his face. "How'd it go at the Leville?"

"Good. We'll be spending the night here."

"Does this mean I'll get to sleep in an actual bed?" She asked, hope gleaming her golden-slitted eyes.

"You know it!" He smiled.

She smiled back, unwinding her arms from around his waist. When she tried to step away, Prompto's arm didn't budge. "Um, Prom? Could you let me go?"

"What?" He looked down and realized he was still latched on to her. "I-I, uh..." He quickly removed his arm and stepped away from her, flustered. "S-Sorry 'bout that, (Y/n)..."

"Don't apologize," she giggled. "I quite enjoyed it." She saw his cheeks turn an even brighter red all because of her. She knew exactly what to say and do to fluster the boy.

Just then, Noctis, Gladio, and Ignis wandered over. (Y/n) looked at the three, noticing the prince was staring at her. She tilted her head in confusion. "Everything all right, Your Highness?"

That was when Noctis realized he was staring at the spirit. "Uh, no, just...kinda freaked out by the eyes."

"Noct!" Prompto whined.

The (h/c)-haired girl snorted with laughter. "It's okay, Prom. I'm not offended." She offered them a smile. "Pushing that aside, did you three need something?"

"We were hoping you both would join us for dinner," Ignis said.

She blinked in surprise. "Me too?"

"What's with the look?" Noctis asked. "You think we would just leave you out?"

"Maybe just a little," she laughed nervously. "After all, I am a stranger to you. Shouldn't you three be more weary?"

"Nonsense, (Y/n)," Ignis replied. "Your origin and dedication to Prompto are proof enough to earn our trust."

Her eyes widened. She was expecting it would be more difficult to earn their trust. She then smiled happily. "Then let's get something to eat."

The group headed back to the main thoroughfare and made their way to Surgate's Beanmine. They sat down at one of the tables and ordered their meals. While waiting, Noctis was once again staring at the (h/c)-haired girl. Prompto was the first to notice and groaned, "Dude, you're staring..."

The prince blinked a few times before apologizing to (Y/n). "Sorry, it's just...I'm trying to figure something out."

"And what's that?" The marksman asked.

"How come I never saw (Y/n) when I came over to your apartment?"

The spirit laughed at the question. "You never checked the closet. That's where Prompto stuffed me whenever any of you came over."

Ignis sighed, shaking his head in disapproval. "What an awful way to treat a lady, Prompto."

"I-I know! I just...wasn't comfortable introducing (Y/n) to you guys," the sharpshooter explained.

"But still. The closet...?" Noctis muttered.

Gladio casted a smirk in Prompto's direction. "Why? You think one of us would've stolen her from you, blondie?"

Prompto hung his head. "Guess so..."

The shield was taken aback at his honesty. "Well, damn. Wasn't expecting that response."

(Y/n) saw how uncomfortable Prompto was and changed the subject. "So, what's your plan from here?" She looked around at the four faces around the table.

"Find the royal arms," Noctis said. "And something called the conduit."

"Conduit?" The girl muttered.

"Cor didn't really explain," he answered.

"I see..."

Just then, their meals arrived. Everyone ate in silence, enjoying the delicious food. Once they finished eating, they sat at the table a little longer. Noctis, Gladio, and Ignis were still curious about (Y/n) and asked her some questions about herself. She, of course, was more than happy to share a few things about her. In exchange, she learned a little about them.

As she chatted with the three, Prompto felt relieved and happy to see how well they all were getting along. He slumped back in his seat, listening to them converse.

After their chat ended, the group headed back to the Leville. They went to their room. The four boys gathered around the coffee table and pulled out a deck of cards. (Y/n) wandered across the room towards the open balcony door. She strolled outside, the cool air whipping through her (h/c) locks.

Casting her golden gaze to the sky, she watched as the sun set and gleaming stars filled the sky. Her eyes trailed across a certain cluster of stars-the Celestial Crescent. Ever since leaving Insomnia, she felt a strange presence from the cluster of stars and thought she heard someone trying to speak to her whenever she gazed upon them.

"(Y/n)?"

The guardian tore her gaze away from the sky and smiled as Prompto joined her on the balcony. "Hey, Prom. I thought you were playing cards with the others."

"You do realize you've been out here for a couple of hours, right?"

She blinked in surprise. "I...did not realize."

"Y'know, you look up at the sky more often than when we were in the city," he said. "It's almost like you're in some kinda trance."

(Y/n) leaned against the railing and looked back up at the night sky. "There's this cluster of stars only spirits can see. It's known as the Celestial Crescent. As the name states, it's a collection of stars shaped like a crescent."

Prompto looked up at the stars. "Is it pretty?"

"There're so many colors," she sighed contently. "I wish you could see it too."

Suddenly, Gladio poked his head out of the room and eyed the two. "Hey, you two comin' inside or staying out here all night?"

Prompto and (Y/n) went back inside. The blonde flopped down on the bed while the girl remained standing. She didn't know what to do with herself when seeing the other bed was occupied by Noctis and Ignis.

The shield noticed and placed a hand on her shoulder. "You take the bed with blondie. I'll sleep on the couch."

"I couldn't do that," she retorted. "You take the bed. I'll return to the bracelet."

"Prompto already told us how stuffy and uncomfortable it is inside that gemstone of yours." He nudged her towards the bed. "A soft mattress sounds better than that bracelet. Besides, I can handle the couch."

"Well then, um... Thank you, Gladio." She climbed on to the bed, curling up into a ball. She stared at Prompto's back for a few minutes until he flipped over.

The blonde gasped when his cerulean eyes met gold-slitted ones. Realizing his face was a few inches from (Y/n)'s, he stumbled over his words as he tried to apologize. He scooted back to put some distance between them, but wound up falling off the bed with a shriek.

The girl crawled over to the edge of the bed and peered down at him. His arms and legs were sprawled out across the floor. "You okay, Prom?"

He nodded with a faint blush. "I-I'm okay..."

"If sleeping next to me makes you uncomfortable, I can-"

"No!" Prompto shot up and immediately crawled back onto the bed. "I-I'm not uncomfortable. I was just surprised to see you there instead of the big guy."

"So that means I can stay here, right?"

He nodded. "Yeah. Sorry for freaking out..."

"It's fine." (Y/n) laid back down on her side of the bed, making herself comfortable. "Good night, Prom."

Prompto laid down with his back facing the girl, cheeks still tinted a bright red. "'Night, (Y/n)."

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#ffxv #ffxv x reader #final fantasy xv x reader #final fantasy xv #prompto x reader #prompto argentum x reader #prompto argentum

[middleearthpixie]

Someone to Watch Over Me ~ Chapter Four

In honor of Fanfiction Writers Appreciation Day, I thought I'd move up tomorrow's chapter and let it go out into the wild today. So, if you enjoy it, please let me know - comment, reblog, recommend, what have you! <3

Author's Note: Here is where the story will begin to mirror the events of The Hobbit, with some poetic license taken, of course.

Summary: Thorin and Seren arrive in the Shire, and she meets the Company, as well Bilbo Baggins.

Pairing: Thorin Oakenshield/Seren (female OC, formerly of Dale)

Characters: Gandalf the Grey, the Company, Bilbo Baggins

Rating: T

Warnings: The sexual tension between Thorin and Seren ratchets up a bit now.

Word Count: 4,359

Tagging: @tschrist1 and if anyone else wishes to be added, just let me know!

Thorin stared up at the ceiling, only just barely able to make out the stains on the plaster. Water stains, most likely. He couldn’t imagine what else they might be. Didn’t want to imagine what else they might be.

To his right, Seren was sound asleep in her bed. Every now and again, she let out a snore that made him smile. At least one of them could sleep. He was far too busy mentally berating himself for his idiocy earlier.

He hadn’t meant to try to look down her tunic. It simply… happened. He didn’t know why he asked her about it, either. Up until the words crossed his lips, he had given no more than a passing thought about the fact that she was a girl pretending to a certain extent to be a boy. Her reasoning made perfect sense, after all, and he could hardly fault her.

But once she’d told him her secret, his eyes slid of their own accord to her chest. There was no indication whatsoever of any sort of curvature. Which made him wonder. Which made images pop into his mind. Images he neither wanted nor needed.

Trouble was, they were there now and that was why he couldn’t sleep.

Perhaps it would be easier if she looked more like a mountain troll. Or a goblin. But, in fact, she was actually cute. Pretty, even. Her hair was a pale, shimmering gold, like that of the elves of the Woodland Realm. She kept it back in a neat braid, which she then tucked into the neck of her tunic (stop thinking about that damn tunic!)

But her eyes were by far her most striking feature. They were wide and green, but unlike no green he’d ever seen. The outer ring of her iris was the deep green of a forest in summer, but as the color swirled nearer to her pupils, it softened to paler green, and finally yellow. They were almost mesmerizing in their tranquility. By far the most beautiful eyes he’d ever seen.

And that was also why he stared up into the darkness, at the questionable stains. The fire smoldered on the grate. The fire she’d ended up having to start because all he was successful in doing was crumbling the flint like a fool.

That seemed to amuse her as she took it from him, saying, “Perhaps I should do this. I have the feeling that nasty little man at the desk wouldn’t be too keen on giving me another flint, knowing I’d be using it to keep a dwarf warm.”

He’d rolled his eyes. “I’ll go down and get a new flint. He won’t dare try to put me off.”

“You don’t know that.” She’d shaken her head. “He might have steel of his own or worse. It would be better for me to deal with him, if it comes to that.”

His gut twisted with irritation over that. A girl coming to his defense. Of course, it wouldn’t be the first time she came to his defense, much as he hated to admit it. He appreciated it, but would rather not think about it, if at all possible.

Which led his mind right back to what happened earlier. He groaned softly into the darkness, rolling over to punch his pillow as he tried to will himself to sleep. It didn’t help. All he could think about now was what she kept hidden beneath that oversized tunic. And that was enough to drive him mad. His imagination ran wild, torturing him as the night wore on and the logs on the fire were slowly consumed by the flames.

He rolled onto his side, facing Seren. A mistake. She lay on her side, facing him, with only the light sheet drawn over her. In the darkness, without the shapeless clothes to hide her, the curve of her hips, the slope of her waist, were as plain as the nose on his face. And when he closed his eyes? It made things worse. Now he saw her in the rain, peering up at him as she had that first night. Rain beaded on her cheeks, caught in her eyelashes, shimmered against lips that he suddenly wanted to taste.

He squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to will alway the sudden rush of desire he felt for this woman. No. She wasn’t for him. She was of Man and should stay of Man. Dwarves and Men would do well to remain far apart from one another. Nothing good could come of his desiring Seren Gilwynn, nothing at all. He would enjoy himself in the moment, no doubt, for he had the feeling she would be far different from any woman he’d known prior to meeting her, but in the end, it could never work. They were far too different and their paths would never be the same.

Now if only he could convince himself of that.

Finally, sleep crept in and his eyes slid shut. But, his dreams were every bit as frustrating as his waking thoughts; steamy and erotic and when he woke at the first light of dawn, the ache that settled into him was all too real.

He opened his eyes slowly, his entire body humming from the force of his dreams. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d dreamed so vividly and as his gaze fell upon Seren, whose back was now to him, he bit back a groan. Perhaps letting her accompany him was a terrible idea, after all.

No. He’d overcome this. It would pass, as every other infatuation did. He had far more important matters with which to concern himself, and with that, he threw back the quilts and sat up. His trousers were draped over the foot of his bed and he slid into them before crossing to Seren to catch her shoulder.

“We need to move on,” he said, giving her a gentle shake. “Seren?”

She rolled over with a low sigh and her eyes slowly opened. She gazed up at him and his belly gave a sharp flip as a sleepy smile lifted her lips and she said, “I was dreaming about you.”

“Were you?” He tried to keep his voice as neutral as possible as he turned away.

“I was, yes.” The linens rustled and he peered over his shoulder to see she’d sat up and was now rubbing one eye with a fist. “It was interesting, really. We were in an earthen cavern, surrounded by goblins. And one was about to stab you through the throat, when Gandalf appeared.”

He spun around to face her. “What?”

“It was so odd,” she said softly, looking up at him. “But so vivid. I’d swear it was real, but we are right here in Bree, and there are no goblins here, so…”

He sank onto the edge of his bed. “Perhaps you should remain here, or in the Shire. If we are to go to Erebor and face a dragon—“

“That dragon destroyed my home as well,” she told him, her voice low and soft. “I want it to pay as much as you do.”

He looked over at her. Her eyes held a sadness he hadn’t seen before, and his first instinct was to offer her comfort. “So, you and I fight for the honor of killing Smaug?”

To his relief, she offered up a sleepy smile. “I don’t delude myself into thinking I could kill a dragon. But I would like to be there when it happens.”

“How is it you lived in Dale, yet I only ever saw you that one afternoon?”

She lowered the hand that had been rubbing her eye. “I didn’t wish you to see me.”

“You hid from me?”

“More or less, yes. I watched you, but after that day, you thought me a pest. I’d follow you if you came into Dale, with my little sword at my side, just in case anyone thought to give you trouble.”

“I thought you a pest?”

To his discomfort, she nodded. “You caught me once, around Athluna Farydale’s shop. I’m sure you’ve put it from your mind, but I remember it as if it was yesterday. I confess, Mr. Oakenshield, I had a bit of a crush on you back then. You were so handsome and fearless… But then, you laughed at me and said I was but a child and I should go home.”

He tried to bring up the memory, and little by little, it came into focus.

He’d first spied her as she ducked behind a table displaying Miss Farydale’s goods, and had thought nothing of it. But then, the distinct feeling of being watched had settled over him and at least twice more, he’d turned to catch a flash of blonde hair disappearing around a corner, behind a table, lost in a crowd.

It went on that way as he’d made his way from one end of the square to the other, when finally, he ducked behind a corner and as the girl passed, he stepped out to grab her by the arm, growling,“What are you doing?”

The tiny girl with long blonde curls and wide green eyes blinked up at him, gazed up at him as if the sun rose and set on his shoulders. In one hand, she held a sword. At first glance, he thought it was a toy, but then realized it was anything but. Small, perhaps, but honed to a lethal degree from the looks of it.

He released her, folding his arms. “I’m waiting.”

Those green eyes met his and to his surprise, her fair cheeks grew pink as she stammered,“I—that is, you—well… I mean… I’m here for you to watch over.”

They winced in unison and he’d replied, “I beg your pardon?”

“I’m here to watch over you. In case Alfryd tries to make good on his threats.””

“Watch over me? Whatever for? I need no one to do such a thing. Especially not a child. Run along now, and bother me no more.”

“But—“

He didn’t wait for her to finish, but turned and stalked off, shaking his head at the very thought of that child thinking she was protecting him from the people of Dale, from Alfryd. Laughable.

“That was you?” he murmured, reaching for his tunic, draped over the foot of the bed as well.

As he drew it on, she said, “It was. Do you remember? I made a fool of myself.”

“I remember I was far too old for you at the time.”

“Yes, you probably were.” She kicked back the coverlet and rose and he swallowed hard at the sight as, once again, she was in only her tunic.

To make matters worse, her trousers lay draped over the table, before the windows, and as she stepped before them, the sunlight streamed in behind her and the effect stunned him into silence. No matter how he tried not to look, he couldn’t help but see the outline of slender, shapely thighs, softly curved hips, the slope of her waist, and the faint hint of those bandages of which she spoke last evening.

He turned about, the only way he could avert his gaze. “I was and I still am and we need to go.”

“Well, it no longer matters,” came her pert reply and he breathed a sigh of relief as the swish of fabric against skin reached his ears. Her trousers, hopefully. Unless of course, she was trying deliberately to drive him mad. “I’m not that same girl any longer.”

A relief that. He turned back to find her dressed once more, which came as another relief for him. Now, they just need to make for the Shire and once the entire Company was assembled, his thoughts would no longer center on the girl in his room at the moment. In time, she would just be one the others.

Or so he hoped.

“So,” Seren was saying as she tugged on hose that had seen better days, “how long will it take us to reach the Shire?”

“No more than a few hours.”

“Good. And do you know where we’re going?”

“Haven’t the foggiest,” he replied as he fastened his scabbard about his hips. “But, we’ll find it.”

“And if we don’t?”

He offered up a long look. “We will.”

“Very well.” She tugged on her left boot, then her right, and straightened up. Her brows pulled low as she peered at him. “Is something wrong? You look a little flushed this morning.”

“I’m fine,” he told her, shrugging into his fur wrap and then his cloak. “We need to move.”

“If you say so.”

He held open the door for her. The sooner he put this room, and its two comfortable beds, far behind them, the happier he’d be for it. Perhaps then his thoughts would stop torturing him.

Seren shielded her eyes from the sun as she waited for Thorin to emerge from the inn. Something bothered him. He avoided meeting her eyes, or even looking directly at her, and that made her smile. He had no trouble doing so until she teased him about catching him trying to peek down her tunic. It wasn’t until she’d teased him about it that this sudden change came about.

Was it possible that he really had tried to look down her tunic? She thought that’s what he’d been doing, but it was entirely possible she was wrong.

Or so she’d thought.

Then, he came thudding down the steps and out into the road and she smiled up at him. “I thought you’d gotten lost.”

“It seems our innkeeper friend thought we damaged the room. I don’t know what he thought we were doing, but he charged us an extra fifty for it.”

“Fifty?” Her belly kinked sharply. She didn’t have much more than a hundred or so left in her purse. Still, she set her sack on the ground to open it. “Well, let me—“

“Worry not about it,” he said, catching the sack to lift it in one smooth motion and thrust it back at her. “I let him think we’d had the time of our lives up there and paid him. It was the quickest way to get out of there.”

She bit back a smile. “I wonder what he thought we were doing?”

He shrugged. “I neither know nor care. Now, come along. We still have a way to travel.”

For the first time since catching up with him at the bridge, when he’d dragged her into the underbrush, she fell into step alongside him. “How far is the Shire from here?”

“About half a day’s walk. We will be there by nightfall.”

“And is there an inn there?”

He shrugged. “I couldn’t tell you. But no matter, we will find somewhere to sleep.”

She cast a sideline glance up at him. The sunlight danced along the dark strands of his hair and highlighted the silver streaking through it. The small silvery cube braided into his hair caught the light, threw it off in flashes of blue and white light. “What is that?”

“What is what?”

She gestured to her own ear. “That block in your hair. What is it?”

“It’s a rune. Woven in by my nephew, Kili, when he was a toddler.”

“And how old is he now?”

Thorin glanced down at her. “Not much older than you, I’d wager. He would like you.”

“Really? What makes you say that?”

He shrugged. “Kili likes pretty girls. Fili as well, but he isn’t quite the flirt as his brother is.”

Hearing him say he thought her pretty did something odd to her. It made her belly flip in a way that was as delicious as it was unnerving. But, she didn’t wish to embarrass him again, and so merely smiled and said, “Tell me more of them.”

“Kili and Fili?” He glanced down at her, then looked ahead once more. “They are the sons of my younger sister, Dis. They are typical boys—reckless and headstrong and eager for a fight. You will meet them at some point in the next day or so.”

“I look forward to it,” she replied.

Perhaps it was but her imagination, but it seemed to her that his shoulders tensed with her words. But then, he said, “And they will most likely thank you,” and smiled down at her.

They walked on in silence a bit longer. As the sun warmed the air, she unfastened her cloak to drape it over her arm, and winced at the hint of sweat trickling down between her breasts. The linen wrapped around her was even warmer, and she wished she at least had the satisfaction in knowing she’d be able to unbind herself soon.

But, the truth was that as long as she traveled with a group of men, she would have to pretend to be a boy. And that mean remaining wrapped tight.

Not exactly the most pleasant of thoughts.

She tugged her braid from her tunic. The ends of it rubbed oddly against her skin, which irritated her as the healing blister on her foot irritated her, as the cut on her arm irritated hers. But, she kept her complaints to herself. Mama always said it did no good to complain and that energy was best spent trying to find a solution instead. Trouble was, the only solution was to confess her true gender and she wasn’t at all certain that would be wise. Thorin, she could trust. The others? She didn’t know them. And anyone else with whom they might cross paths, such as orcs, goblins, or trolls? She definitely did not want any of them to know the truth about her.

“Thorin?”

He peered down. “What?”

“Do you think I should come clean about who I am to the others? To Gandalf?”

He stopped and faced her. “Why?”

She also stopped and shrugged. “It’s warm. And that makes me a little… uncomfortable.”

She half-expected his gaze to lower, as it did the night before, but to her surprise, he held her gaze as he said, “It’s up to you. No one will touch you, if that is your fear. But, I cannot say the same for anyone we might meet along the way.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” she said softly, looking off into the distance, where the fields rolled an even deeper emerald green than the woods from which they’d come. She saw curious buildings in the distance, ones that looked as if they’d been built into the countryside. It all looked so lush, so peaceful, it was unlike anything she’d ever seen. She’d never been this far west before.

“How uncomfortable are you?”

“Fairly.” She resisted the urge to tug at the bandage where it rubbed along the left side of her ribcage. “My skin gets sore.”

“How quickly can you rewrap, if necessary?”

She smiled up at him. “I’m quick. Maybe a minute or two. As I said, I haven’t much to wrap.”

He looked around, only there was nothing but rolling lush fields, beautiful lush trees, and those odd buildings in the distance. Behind them, Bree was but a smudge on the horizon. “Unwrap yourself then. At least for a night or two.”

“Here?”

He nodded. “No one is around and I promise,” a hint of mischief glinted in his blue eyes, “I will not try to peek.”

She couldn’t help but smile. “Do you really promise?”

Another nod. “I really promise.”

And with that, he turned his back to her. She looked around, then dropped her sack, shrugged out of her scabbard and set the knives down, then tugged her tunic free to reach beneath it. The bandage was knotted between her breasts, and it took her only a minute to work it free and then, with a low sigh, she unwound the length of linen. At first, the sore patch just below her left breast stung, but after a minute or two, the sting faded. The relief was so great, she couldn’t hold back her lusty sigh.

Thorin turned back to her then. “Are you all right?”

She held up the roll of bandages, tossing it into the air and catching it in the same hand. “Freedom feels wonderful.”

He grinned and she didn’t miss the hint of blush that crept across his cheekbones. She couldn’t resist teasing him a little. “You are blushing, Thorin Oakenshield.”

“The deuce I am,” he retorted, turning away.

But she wasn’t letting him off that easily. She darted about to stand before him again. “You are, you know.”

Then, she tossed the bandages at him. “Catch!”

He did just that. “What are you about?”

“Did you ever have a splinter that hurt. That hurt no matter what and when you finally got it out, it just felt so good, that your mood improved tenfold?”

“I have.” He tossed the roll back to her. “If it hurts so much, why do it?”

“Because I have to. You don’t understand. You’re a man. A dwarf warrior. No one will trifle with you. I, however,” she pressed a hand against her chest, “have no such luxury. I have to pretend to be what you already are and hope no one learns the truth.”

“I know the truth.”

She dropped the roll into her sack and gazed up at him. “But I know you won’t tell anyone. I trust you.”

“No one will harm you, Seren. Not as long as I walk this earth with you.” He stepped closer. “I give you my word. If you wish to remain unbound, know you will be safe with us. With all of us.”

He sounded so serious, his eyes holding not a hint of mischief and his blush had vanished. She knew her trust had yet to be misplaced or unfounded. She nodded. “Will you tell anyone?”

“Not if you don’t wish me to, no.”

“Can I let you know once I’ve met everyone?”

“Of course.”

She nodded. “Good.”

“We should keep moving. We still have a bit of a way to go.”

She nodded and crouched to slip the sack’s strap over her shoulder again, then stood and they continued along the road to the Shire. The sun sank low, streaking blue and coral across the sky. Red skies. A promise of good weather to come. Thank the maker the rain had finally come to an end.

But the landscape was deceiving, as it seemed they wandered from one end of the Shire to the other. She began to wonder if Thorin had any clue as to where they were actually supposed to be when he stopped for the third time, muttered something under his breath and said, "There it is!"

It was a house built into the hillside, with brilliant green trim and a round door that looked like the bottom of a barrel. On the brilliant green door, someone had carved a sigil and Thorin sighed as he grumbled, “Easy to find, my foot.”

Seren peered through one of the windows. Warm light filled the interior, and she heard the cheerful stamping of feet and the muffled voices rising as one in song. A party? It seemed odd that this was where Gandalf had sent them, and she was about to say as much to Thorin when he rapped on the door with a fist.

She held her breath as it swung open and Thorin leaned in to say, “Gandalf! I thought you said this place was easy to find? We lost our way. Twice.” He ducked as he stepped through doorway. “We wouldn’t have found it at all, had it not been for the mark on the door. You remember Seren, don’t you?”

He turned, saw she still hung back, and reached to catch her by the wrist. As his fingers brushed hers, a jolt rippled along her arm, strong enough that her head snapped up and she looked at hi. But he didn’t seem to notice as he tugged, pulling her through the doorway into a small house. For the first time in her life, she felt tall—almost giantlike—in that house. Everything was small. The furniture was tiny, the ceilings were low, she almost had to bow her head as she followed Thorin into a cozy, warmly lit dining room and found herself staring at twelve very curious dwarves and one very stressed halfling.

“Who’ve you there?” A dwarf with huge white hair and an even bigger white beard, gestured to her.

“Everyone, this is Seren Gilwynn, of Dale. He will be accompanying us and—” he held up a hand as a chorus of protests rose—“Enough. I’ve seen him with steel and his fists. He will be an asset.”

Then, he turned to her. “Seren, this is the Company.” He pointed to the white haired dwarf and moved along the crowed, “Balin. Dwalin. Oín. Gloín. Bofur. Bifur. Bombur. Nori. Dori. Ori.”

Then he moved to two young dwarves, both strikingly handsome, one blond, the other dark. “Fili. Kili.”

His nephews. She smiled. There was no way she would ever remember all their names, but at the same time, she nodded and said, “It’s a pleasure to meet all of you.”

They all greeted her with friendly, if confused smiles and minutes later, she and Thorin sat at the table, plates of something delicious before them, and she just listened as Gandalf outlined their plan for retaking Erebor, with the halfling being the burglar who was going to take something called the Arkenstone. The halfling who looked terrified at the very prospect of doing so.

With a sigh, she settled back in her chair and just listened. And as she did so, she couldn’t help but gaze over at Thorin. Had he felt that jolt when they touched or was she just projecting what she wished he would feel? Because truth be told, she still had a crush on him. Only now, she was no longer a child and that could mean serious trouble for both of them.

#The Hobbit #Thorin Oakenshield #Hobbit Fic #Hobbit Fanfic #Fan fiction #The Hobbit fan fiction #Thorin x OC #AU #Thorin Fic #fanfic writer appreciation day

[writers-thoughts09]

True Mind, True Heart

Act 1 Chapter 1

Title: True Mind, True Heart: Act 1 Chapter 1  Word Count: 9.6k words Pairing: Zuko x Oc (or reader, however you wanna look at it) I zon’t own Avatar Rating: PG, sometimes I’ll sprinkle some 13 to add some spice ;) Warnings: PTSD, a wink of abuse of power (not caused by Zuko, though I am using his season 1 roughness. I won’t make him abusive in this story, we don’t vibe with that). A/N: I’m baaaack, sorry for any grammar errors and taking so long. I really wanted to make sure I was getting what I wanted to get in with purpose. I started it a few weeks before Zuko spots the avatar, but I still go through episode 1. Enjoy please like and comment if you wish. Next chapter is based off episode 2′s plot.

|Prologue| 1 | 2 |

*

Act 1: Salvation

“Sometimes life is like this tunnel. You can’t always see the light at the end of the tunnel, but if you keep moving, you will come to a better place.”

- Iroh

Panda Lilies. One of the rarest flowers in the Earth Kingdom. Grows only on the rim of volcanoes, usually found on Mt. Makapu, and holds deep meaning. Although its black and white color is simple, panda lily petals are as soft as velvet. Its stem is such a vibrant green I’m sure it’d rival the Earth King’s jewelry and robes. Even though it may not be the most unique in appearance, for some reason I can’t help but find it enraptures me. So small, rare, fragile even; but enduring…

As a child, I always wondered what panda lilies meant. I’d often see my father come home with it behind his back after a long trip from the northern Earth Kingdom to surprise my mother. He’d present it to her in such a way it reminded me of Chan -the little five-year-old that used to live next door- childishly. My father had such a child-like admiration for my mother. I always found it comical, and sometimes a little embarrassing with the things he’d do for her attention…even though they were already married. Yet my mother would always gasp in delight, smile, take the flower from him, and plant a panda lily of her own on dad’s lips. A kiss. She'd do this every year when he’d bring one home.

Yeah, my dad said let’s set the standards uncharacteristically high for the other people back in our town.

Of course, as I grew a little older, I finally understood the meaning behind panda lilies. It was a symbol of the love my dad held so deeply for my mom. I guess over time, even after they married, my father never lost his passion for her. To me that’s beautiful. 

Usually, the flowers are used to win the hearts of those we have affection for. A crush so to speak. So, it was like my dad used the flower’s tradition to tell my mom every year, “Hey, I loved you then, I love you now, and I still want your heart.” Did my mother know this? Yes. She was actually the one who told him about those flowers in the first place way before I was born. Did she play along with my dad’s antics? Of course, because she loved him just as much.

I wish I could go back to when times were simpler, brighter. I wish I could go back to when my mother would teach me about flowers and the other nations. I wish I could go back to when my father would tell me about the different elements of bending. I wish I could go back to before-

Knock

Knock

Knock

The sound of knuckles rapping on metal echoed around her quaint quarters as a curt voice jarred her from her thoughts.

“Servant girl, where’s the general’s tea? He’s already above deck waiting!”

Two hands scrambled to shove everything away under her mattress. The journal she used to write in, along with the ink and brush that she, borrowed, one night from a crewman’s room while everyone was above deck. With everything hidden, Lila scrambled up from the edge of her bed and rushed to the door with shaky hands. Tanned fingers strained as they jerked the heavy hunk of metal open and came face to face with none other than Lieutenant Jee, a senior officer on this ship. The tall man held nothing but a frown on his face as he looked down at her.

Lila thought back to her first few days aboard, she considered him to be middle-aged by the state of his graying hair. A good few feet taller than her. An accomplished military man he was…and an accomplished singer too. Though she doesn’t dare tell him the last part.

As the lieutenant stared her down, expression unreadable, Lila couldn’t help but curl in on herself. Her good eye staring up at him sheepishly as he huffed out an unimpressed sigh.

“General Iroh’s been waiting for ten minutes now. Hurry it up if you know what’s best for you.” It was meant as a warning, and Lila knew better than to take her time and make the General wait any longer.

Quickly sliding out of her room, the door shutting behind her with a loud slam, and into the dimly lit hallway the girl squeezed out a, “Yes, sir I’ll get to the tea right away”, and hoped her words sounded as firm as the lieutenants. Though the only indication she got was the quirk of an aged brow before he swiftly turned away to walk back up the stairs that led to the main deck. No doubt to tell the General that Lila was on her way with his tea. Once the lieutenant was out of view, Lila spun on her heels and borderline ran through the dingy halls to get to the kitchen. All the while praying her tardiness wouldn’t result in any form of punishment; even though she’s never been on the receiving end of one during her time on this ship.

As she rushed through the halls of the ship's lower deck Lila knew it wasn’t the lieutenant or any of the other crew members that intimidated her. It wasn’t even the General. If anything, General Iroh was the nicest one to her compared to the others here. No, it was the person in command of this ship who truly frightened her. She’s seen the intensity of his rage when directed at his men many times throughout his three-year search for the Avatar.

Although he wasn’t much older than her, he still carried himself in a way that you wouldn’t think of him as someone younger. In Lila’s eyes his mere presence was imposing and domineering enough that she thought he could pass as a Fire Nation General. Maybe even an Admiral. A force to be reckoned with. Although he was exiled, he didn’t look at all like a banished prince.

All Lila knew was that she didn’t want to start slipping up now. From what she experienced firsthand, the Fire Lord’s family and his military were truly terrifying. 

When her boots rounded the corner to the kitchen’s entryway a stifled gasp flew from her lips as crewmen, specifically the firebenders, ambled out of the mess hall. The majority of them shoving past her without a second thought, knocking her off balance, their heavy fire nation armor clanking as they passed. Swiftly but awkwardly Lila caught herself from falling. Her back bumping the wall as her hand latched onto the door frame. After the last helmeted soldier left, she righted herself and set off to brewing Iroh’s usual. Jasmine tea. Once she was in the kitchen, she gently set down a pot of water to boil as her good eye ringed with a dark circle glanced about the empty kitchen. 

Deeming the area fully empty, broken fingernails ghosted over the cloth covering her other eye. Memories from long ago, ones she didn’t want to remember forced their way to the forefront of her mind. 

Visions of fire.

Men in red uniforms.

A burning house invaded her thoughts. 

Until the image switched as she remembered the Palace Gardens along with a girl dressed in fire nation clothing and forehead tattoo. She was hurling bursts of flame after flame, cackling as a young Lila ran through the fire lily bushes screaming crying out-

“Stop it.”

The one-eyed girl whispered. Shaking her head, jagged fingernails toyed with the edge of the cloth. 

Just like that, like dunking someone in cold water, Lila resurfaced from her haunted daydreams once she heard the boiling water bubble and hiss for her attention. 

“Oh my goodness!”

With her seeing eye, Lila snatched the pot of water, grabbed a clean teapot from the dish rack and hastily prepared the rest of Iroh’s afternoon tea all in one motion. This was all routine for her, except today she was late. Now panicking, Lila arranged everything on a serving tray and scurried as fast as her legs would allow without spilling, or worse, dropping anything.

The sound of her baggy uniform pants rubbing together and her dark boots tapping against the metal floor could be heard as she raced through the torch lit corridors. Past her sleeping quarters, and up the main flight of stairs leading to the ship’s main deck.

“Oh spirits, I’m extremely late!” Lila anxiously cried to herself as she slinked up the last few steps, forcing her rushed pace to a normal walk. On this ship she always had to make sure she kept her composure around the others. A habit she developed from her service in the Fire Lord’s Palace.

When she came out into view on deck, the afternoon sun shined brightly over her features. If it were any other place besides the south pole Lila would’ve appreciated the sun’s warmth, but it wasn’t. The subzero temperature seemed to overpower the sun as the cold hugged her through her heavy servant garbs anyway. A slight shiver crawled up her body after a particularly strong gust of southern wind blew past.

With her head bowed Lila made her way toward Iroh and his pai sho table. The old man was seated in the middle of the deck observing both his game and the banished prince’s training. Peeking up to look a few feet past Iroh, Lila caught sight of prince Zuko and the men he trained with. Another shiver traveled down her spine. One of fear.

Judging by his lack of clothing and sweaty face, the prince seemed to have just finished his training session once she walked on deck. Prince Zuko grabbed a towel from his uncle and wiped down his face and chest. Without sparing anyone a second glance prince Zuko marched off toward the command tower, barely brushing Lila’s shoulder as he went. Memories of her tardy punishments given by her last master flashed by. However, when prince Zuko didn’t stop to question or berate her for her late appearance, Lila released a breath she didn’t know she was holding.

Once certain that prince Zuko was completely gone and she wasn’t in trouble, Lila continued walking and closed the distance between her and General Iroh. Once she reached the old man’s side, Lila bowed in respect, a few wispy curls tumbling from her bun as she kneeled beside him. As always, every day for the past three years, the chubby man welcomed her with a bright smile and boisterous laugh. Now Iroh was a pale portly man with long grey hair and bright amber eyes to complement. Even though they never properly talked, he was always kind in greeting whenever he saw her around.

“Ah! There you are, I wondered where you were. I was scared you got lost on the ship.”

Knowing that Iroh was joking, Lila cracked a carefully practiced smile as the old man joyfully laughed.

“No, no, I didn’t get lost. Though please accept my deepest apologies, I hope my tardiness didn’t upset you, sir.”

Professional and sweet her words were, but rehearsed in nature. Iroh could tell, but he watched with kind eyes anyway as the young girl placed his tea on the table with steady hands. He was pleased to see she didn’t tremble near him like she did with his nephew. Unbeknownst to the blinded girl, prince Zuko’s uncle always noticed her reactions when it came to the boy. He’s always wanted to know why she’d become so small and nervous every time Zuko was near; but he knew better than to out-right ask. 

The retired general quickly took a sip from the cup she placed before him, the wondrous taste of jasmine tea dancing along his taste buds. This girl knew how to make it just how he liked it!

“You know Lila, that is your name, right?” Iroh questioned casually. The young girl stiffened in response as she awaited his next words with bated breath, “after three year of being on this ship together, we have never really sat down and talked over a nice calming glass of your tea.”

Still kneeling, Lila released a breath in relief and couldn’t help but look at him with slight confusion but quickly remembered her place and schooled her expression into poised neutrality. She glanced down before murmuring, “Well, with all due respect sir. I’m a servant placed on this ship by my master. I didn’t think it was expected of me to dine and drink with you and your men.” 

Remaining quiet Iroh regarded her as he took another sip. To Lila, it seemed her answer didn’t satisfy him as he shook his head in disagreement. Afraid she spoke out of turn, Lila fidgeted slightly with the empty tray in her hands.

Remember your place.

Mentally shaking the voice from her head, she began to rise from her spot beside the general. Before she could fully stand, Iroh’s voice cut through.

“Of course, it’s expected of you. You are important to this ship, just like how prince Zuko and his men are important to each other. Every person on this ship has a purpose and a duty that benefits us all. Just as you have yours. But before you go, sit. Have some tea with me, you deserve a moments rest.”

Her eye, ladled with exhaustion, widened in surprise at his bold comparison between the prince, the crew, and herself. Especially prince Zuko. All she did was fulfill orders and make sure everything on this ship was clean. Lila was nowhere near as valuable as the Prince of the Fire Nation, banished or not. Years at the Caldera Palace has surely taught her where her place was, and it wasn’t on the pedestal of fire nation royalty.

Even with that reminder, it didn’t stop the dust of pink from tinging Lila’s ears while she adamantly refused his words, “Sir, you mustn’t say such things-”

The retired military general smiled, kindly interrupting the stuttering girl’s babbling, “Please, sit. I’d be graced by your kind presence if you’d give an old man like me some company on this lovely day.”

Seeing that Iroh wasn’t going to relent, Lila let out a small sigh and sat on her knees before him on the other side of the pai sho table. Back straight and hands polieltly placed on her lap. Over the rim of his teacup Iroh peeks at her and couldn’t help but feel pleased. Like a chink in a wall, a little part of her mask breaks without her even noticing.

Once fully situated across The Fire Lord’s brother, Lila couldn’t help but still feel incredibly small and vulnerable. Never in her life has she ever been requested to sit with someone of such high nobility before, as equals, even if they were banished. For a while, they sat in complete silence. An awkward one on Lila’s end and a serene one on Iroh’s. Lila watched as Iroh wordlessly played pai sho and sipped his tea. Crisp south pole air blew past every now and then, gently running through Lila’s dark curls like invisible fingers. Genuinely the girl was at a loss of words so she stayed quiet and waited until Iroh had something to say, chosing to watch the tall walls of glaciers slowly drift by. While Lila was distracted by her captivating surroundings, Iroh threw back the last of his tea like nothing and let out a loud long sigh of satisfaction.

“So,” He chirps, “Where are you from if you don’t mind me asking?”

Remember your place

“Well, I come from a small town near the Fire Nation Capital and served the Fire Lord and his family growing up,” Lila responded without missing a beat. Though she doesn’t miss Iroh’s unconvinced look as he cocks an eyebrow at her. Lifting the teapot, he pours himself a second cup.

“No offense, but if you’re going to lie, at least make it a little more believable. Not laughable…although some good lies are pretty funny…” he quips. An aged hand coming up to stroke his chin.

‘He caught my lie,’ defeat briefly colors her face and Lila wonders if it’s okay to take off her mask, even if it’s just for a moment. Can she trust him?

“General Iroh-”

“Just Iroh or uncle Iroh is fine, I’m retired. You don’t need to keep formalities when you’re with me,” the old man laughs as he pours a cup of tea for Lila. The warm assurance Iroh gives off disarms Lila, even if she didn’t want that to happen, allowing her to relax just a little more. Her mask slipping from her fingers.

“Okay…Just Iroh,” Lila teases.

It came out a bit awkwardly, but she peeked her eye up anyway to gauge his reaction at her failed attempt of a joke.

However, she’s pleasantly surprised when she sees the stale joke earns her a guffawing laugh and she had to fight off the beginnings of a grin that wanted to push past her lips, “why do you want to know?”

“Just curious, but since you asked,” passing Lila her cup Iroh playfully narrows his eyes, “you don’t look or sound like you’re from the Fire Nation capital. Don’t get me wrong you’re a very beautiful girl,” Iroh clarifies, “but your facial features are different from the people in the capital. You also have a slight accent. Not only that but Lila isn’t a name commonly used in the Fire Nation.”

As Iroh spoke, each sentence had Lila’s eye lower, all the way down to her cup on the table. This man figured her out in a matter of seconds! To Lila part of her felt embarrassed for thinking she could out-smart a military leader. Retired, but still. An experiensed military man no less. 

Though she knew he didn’t mean any harm by what he said. He claimed to just want her company, and she was trusting that he only wanted to get to know her. No one has done this with her before so this was new territory, and Iroh has never given her a reason to fear or distrust him before during these three years, so she decided why not? And let her mask hit the floor. She looks at Iroh and he catches her good eye soften.

Words roll around her head for a moment before speaking, “My mother was born in the Northern Water Tribe, but she left. In her travels she met my father who lived in a small town not too far from Omashu. They married a few years after meeting. My dad really helped her out when she had nothing and no one to help her.” Iroh’s lips curled up into such a wide and infectious smile at the girl’s words, and funnily enough Lila found herself mirroring him, too.

“Wow, that is wonderful! Two completely different people, from completely different parts of the world meet and fall in love. That’s rare,” Iroh gushed as he teasingly added, “On top of that they made such a soft and gentle spirit too!”

Giggles, that were actually quite loud, erupted from Lila as she flushed at this witty old man and his compliments. “How do you know I’m soft and gentle?” She asks, taking a large gulp of tea, the warm brew filling and puffing her cheeks. Slowly she guzzles it down, cheeks deflating, before adding, “I could be really mean in reality.”

Golden eyes worn with years of life crinkled in amusement at her newly surfacing playfulness, “I have been around for many years. You can tell when someone has a genuine spirit and when someone doesn’t. You, miss Lila,” said girl freezes at the respectful use of her name. No one’s ever used ‘miss,’ or her name, at all when talking to her, “have a very soft and sprightly spirit, when given the chance to bloom,” Iroh declares with satisfied finality. To show he was set on his opinion, Iroh sat with his eyes closed, blocking out any protest Lila might’ve had as he reverently drinks his tea and moves a pai sho tile.

‘Miss Lila’ in turn sits in stunned silence, her brow deeply lined with thought and her mouth agape. Genuinely she couldn’t see what he saw in her but didn’t have the heart to correct him. It’d be futile to argue against him and win. So instead, she shyly thanked him, and awkwardly filled her cheeks again with more tea to distract herself.

For the rest of the afternoon and well into the evening, as no one seemed to need Lila’s assistance, she got to know her first friend since little Chan from her village. They went back and forth talking about many things. Lila discovered that during his younger years Iroh learned and observed techniques from the waterbenders which in turn helped enhance his firebending. He regaled her with many stories of what he learned and how he learned it. A smile etched deep into Lila’s face as she tried to absorb everything he was saying. It was heart warning for Lila to see someone from another nation appreciate her mother’s culture. She also found out that he’s a decent tsungi hornist and can’t tell the difference between certain tea plants and the poisonous ones.

Iroh learned some things about Lila, too. He discovered that she had vast knowledge about plants and flowers from all over the world. Even the ones about tea! Thanks to a book about flowers her mother gifted her as a child. He also found out that under her pillow she keeps an earth kingdom bracelet her father made and can play the kalimba. They even taught each other songs native to their nations. Both of them found such wholesome companionship with each as other they kept this up every day for a few weeks during Iroh’s afternoon tea.

One day as the two friends sipped on a new tea Lila decided to try her hand in making, ginseng tea, Iroh decided it was time to discuss his nephew. However, the tea was too good for him to just leave it half finished. ‘I’ll begin once I finish this cup,’ he said to himself. So, they sat together in comfortable silence. In the background the rowdy voices of the ship’s crew could be heard, they too took a moment to relax from today’s work. Prince Zuko seemed to be on edge more so than usual so the men were taking in all the peace and quiet they could from their makeshift break.

Back to the main pair though, the clink of Iroh’s teacup being set on the table barely registered in Lila’s ears. She was currently taken by her surroundings as she watched a piece of ice fall from a passing glacier. A chilly breeze brushed and caressed her cheeks. Usually she’d shiver at the winds touch, but it seemed that over the past few weeks of Prince Zuko navigating these waters, the southern climate didn’t seem to bother her as much anymore. It was still cold though.

Feeling ready to talk Iroh clears his throat, “You know, I don’t really think you have much to be afraid of when it comes to my nephew Zuko.”

In an instant Lila’s revere for the beautifully cold landscape is broken as she meets Iroh’s steady gaze in surprise and discomfort. This was definitely a topic she wanted to avoid.

“I know Zuko is a very coarse person and rough around the edges, much like the rocks back home. But he really isn’t as bad as people make him out to be. Though he may be banished, he is still very honorable,” and for a moment Lila sits there taking in his words. She didn’t really know what to make of it. Her perception of the Prince vastly opposed Iroh’s. Although she understood why Iroh would say that about his nephew, he did seem to have a love the boy. Lila tries to muster the courage to say something but again she hears that voice,

Remember your place

Echoing in the back of her mind. After moments of her struggling to gather herself and Iroh waiting patiently, Lila stammers out, “Sir, I assure you I’m fine I do not fear-”

To which uncle Iroh chooses this moment to remind her, “Lila, you don’t need to be so formal with me, nor do you need to hide yourself. You know me. You can tell me how you really feel.”

Again, she hears that same phrase, remember you place, but louder this time attempting to drown her out. She tries to push back a little harder so the voice would go away, but to no avail. Lowering her eye in submission, specks of brown glinting in the sun’s rays, Lila quietly chokes out, “I shouldn’t say anything at all negative…concerning the Fire Lord or his children. Whether they are banished or not,” the rehearsed tone Iroh heard when he first spoke to her returned. The man could clearly see the internal struggle warring within her. The deep line crinkling between her brows, the downturned tilt of her lips, to the flicking of her eye as she couldn’t look at him dead on. It was like he was watching a two headed viper fight itself.

Choosing to divert his attention to his game he allows Lila the time she needs to fight the thoughts that overshadowed her. Once he noticed she’s calmed down a little he quips, “But, I’m not the Fire Lord nor am I the Fire Lord’s child.”

“I know,” Lila squirms a little and averts her gaze to her hands, “but you are the brother of fire lord Ozai and the uncle of prince Zuko. It would be rude of me to say anything negative about anyone from that family…and I don’t want to get in trouble with prince Zuko.”

Taking in the sight of his friend, her fingers fidgeting softly, Iroh gently counters, “I just want to know how such a soft and gentle soul like yours, has become so scared and broken.”

For a while, Lila sits in hesitant contemplation. Many times, and many ways Lila has only tasted pain and hurt her entire life. One of her eyes has complete loss of vision for goodness sake! No one ever bothers to give a passing glace to those seen as lesser than themselves. To peasants like her. No one cares for little servant girls…but Iroh does. Iroh, out of every person she’s ever met in the fire nation, has been the first and only one who’s truly treated her like she’s worth more. Worth more than a servant. Iroh always treated her like a human and a friend. In his eyes, she is a friend. Iroh is, someone she can trust…regardless of his bloodline. With that, her mind was made up. Like a baby bird spreading its wings to jump, Lila opens her mouth to speak – but closes it and freezes once she spots prince Zuko emerge from his quarters. The usual fire nation uniform adoring his body.

Red uniforms.

Just like that, the flower that Iroh saw trying to bloom, closed in on itself once more.

Saddened by the state of his friend, amber eyes close as Iroh shakes his head. Looking at his last pai sho tile he places down the fire symbol. ‘How ironic’, Iroh thought.

Finished with his game Iroh looks toward his nephew, a wide goofy smile now replacing the disheartened look before.

“Hello nephew, nice of you to join us on this lovely day! The sun is out, a nice breeze is blowing. Miss Lila here has even made a new delicious tea for me to try today, you should have some.”

Unphased by Iroh’s excited suggestion, prince Zuko maintains a cold and silent expression. As he makes his way next to his uncle his sharp gaze cuts through everyone on deck. Immediately his crewmates stop what they were doing as Zuko examines each person, silence being the loudest noise on the ship. Once his glare shifts to Lila for a moment her eye darts away, avoiding eye contact.

Prince Zuko then begins barking orders at the crewmen who were idling about. “Lieutenant Jee, care to tell me why all of my men are not where they’re supposed to be?”

Sensing the rapidly brewing eruption that was about to explode, Lila cautiously rose from the little table she and Iroh occupied. Yeah, she fully intended to creep away from the banished prince’s tirade and busy herself with work, until she felt a calloused but tender hand hold hers. Her eye shot to Iroh as he encouragingly motioned for her to sit back down, “If my nephew really needed something from you or felt like you weren’t doing your job right, he would’ve said so already. You’re okay, either way you don’t need to do anything until dinner time…which is in another hour.” He stated smugly. After those weeks of getting to know one another Iroh memorized her schedule like the back in his hand. Lila knew Iroh again wasn’t going to let her win this round, again, so she slowly sat down.

Once prince Zuko was done ordering -well more like yelling- at his men to get back to work he looked at his uncle, completely ignoring Lila, and rigidly mentioned, “If you need me uncle, I’ll be in my room meditating.”

“Good, good! Practice your breathing, it’ll help you with your control.”

Judging by the upturned eyes and smile Iroh gives his nephew, completely disregarding his attitude, Lila could tell he held a deep love for the prince. For her, she didn’t hold any of that. Prince Zuko was part of fire lord Ozai’s family. She just didn’t understand.

Then just before he turned away prince Zuko’s piercing gaze finally caught Lila’s as if finally realizing she was there.

“You. Servant girl”, his voice was hard as stone. His inflection unwavering and clipped, while hers was wavering and small.

“Yes?”

With prince Zuko’s attention fully on her, Lila’s brown eye flitted between his intense stare and her hands. The discomfort of being trapped under his gaze grew too much for Lila as she squirmed and tried to keep the fear from taking hold. He only acknowledged her presence, that’s it. ‘I don’t think I’ve done anything wrong today’, she rambles to herself, prattling off anything she might’ve done for him to call her name in such a way.

Cutting through her mental check list, terse words, “Get. To. Work,” are spat from between the prince’s teeth. His scarred face now inches away from her. Up close Lila could vividly see his raised skin, burnt red and irritated, marring the left side of his pale face. The disfigurement of the scar left his eye squinted in comparison to the other eye. Thoug she had to admit, the eybrow that wasn’t burnt off was perfectly arched. Within his amber gaze, Lila could see the anger that always seemed to linger there. However, she knew better than to test his already thinning patience.

With a breathless, “Yes sir,” Lila clambers to her feet, collects Iroh’s tea set as fast as she could and rushes away from the two. Heart pounding within her chest. Faintly, she could hear Iroh complain to prince Zuko about how he didn’t need to scare off his friend and how he should’ve tried the tea she made. To which Zuko yelled, “I don’t care! She doesn’t get special treatment just because she made you tea!” That, she heard loud and clear.

Lila powers through the corridors below deck and even though it’s an hour early she decided that she might as well help the chef prepare dinner since she did all her work earlier. This time as she rounds the corner, teacups clanking with every footfall, she smoothly side steps any shipmates that may be bustling out of the kitchen. ‘Don’t want a repeat of before,’ she notes to herself.

Upon entering the kitchen, she sees the chef and he raises his knife in greeting before continuing with the meat cutting. Last week prince Zuko docked at a nearby harbor to restock on any necessities the crew might’ve been running low on. Specifically, hygienic items and food supplies. “Servant girl!” the chef calls, keeping his eyes on the task at hand, “You’re just in time. I need you to start on the rice.”

Offering a timid smile, which he didn’t notice, Lila carefully placed the tea set in the sink, rolls up her sleeves and stands beside him to start on the rice. Like clockwork they quickly but efficiently finish dinner for everyone on the ship, with Lila scooping the last bit of rice into bowls to deliver to the prince and his uncle. Soon enough the rest of the men file in for dinner. Lila attempts to give one last smile to the chef, which again falls on blind eyes, before tiptoeing out of the now lively kitchen and right into lieutenant Jee.

“Lieutenant Jee!” Lila gasps in startlement, “I’m so sorry I didn’t see you there!” She bows as best as she could while balancing the two trays of food. Jee waves it off with his hand, “You’re fine, just be careful next time.”

As he starts to make the line for dinner Lila haltingly calls his attention once more, “Um, mister, Lieutenant Jee, sir…” he hums. “Just to be sure, do you know if the prince and his uncle are in their rooms? I don’t want to be late again, especially with prince Zuko.”

“Yeah, last I checked that’s where they were.” Jee dissmisively responds before laughing with the other men at a joke the chef said. Lila’s presence completely ignored.

Laced with a hint of despondency, Lila whispers, “Thank you,” and continues her trek up from the lower decks, up onto the main deck, and to the command tower. All the while balancing the two hefty dinner trays. The tower was where those in charge slept. Reaching her first stop, Lila found herself in front of prince Zuko’s room. She began to feel her hands shake and quickly but carefully placed Iroh’s dinner tray down by the door. No way did she want to drop anything in front of her leader’s door and really risk getting punished for the first time. Reigning in her nerves Lila breathes out deeply and knocks.

No words of entry could be heard.

Trying her luck, she knocked harder one more time but still received no answer. Usually on any other day he’d call for her to enter and she’d place his food on his table, but this is the first time he hasn’t responded. Which leaves Lila at a crossroad. She wasn’t really sure what to do, she didn’t want to leave his food outside, but she didn’t want to just barge into his room. His privacy. And anger him. Then again, standing in front of his door doing nothing wasn’t going to solve anything either.

“I guess we won’t know until we try,” she sighs wearily.

The door squeaks as she apprehensively opens it and cautiously peeks her head in. The room is in its usual state, clean and very minimal. No elaborate decorations, just a few fire nation banners on the wall, a mattress in the corner of the room, a weapons rack, and a rug. The only time Lila would go in the prince’s room was when she’d do her daily cleaning rounds and food deliveries, like now. Then, her eye catches sight of him with his back facing her. Candles sit in front of him on the table, the flames rising and falling with every breath she hears him take.

“Prince Zuko?” Lila slips a foot past the door as she shakily squeaks, “I have brought you your supper, do you want me to place it where I usually-” a loud huff escapes prince Zuko’s mouth, flames shooting up in tandem sharply.

“If you wish I could come back later with-”

“You really seem to have forgotten your manners, haven’t you? I’m meditating.” Prince Zuko drawls, irritation filling his voice as he maintains his meditative position. Lila stares at his back in puzzlement, she didn’t mean any disrespect to her prince, she was only doing what she thought was right in this situation.

Even though Lila knew prince Zuko couldn’t see her she still bowed her head in apology, rushing out, “Please forgive me my prince. You didn’t answer when I knocked, a-and I didn’t want to leave you without food-”

Like a bomb, prince Zuko’s aggravation toward her initial interruption and her rambling explodes, “I don’t care as to why you felt the need to come in my room unannounced! You see I’m in the middle of something, and just because I’m quiet doesn’t mean you can start talking like I gave you permission to, when I didn’t! I’m not my uncle. You’re a servant, remember your place!”

Lila stands in stunned silence at Zuko’s verbal barrage, she was doing so well with her streak of staying on his blind side. Although she knows his words are nothing compared to what he’s said and done to his other men, tears still flood and gloss over her eye. Violent scenes she repressed played through her mind as clear as day. Mocking her.

Remember your place

Remember your place

Remember you place

Tears of pain and anguish flow down her burning cheek. The intensity of the man’s punch could still be felt as she cradles the side of her face. Sobs heave from the little girls mouth as she watches the flames engulf her home. When suddenly a large hand yanks a fistful of her hair. A shrill scream ripping through her busted lips as he drags her closer to the carnage he and his men waged. All dressed in red uniforms. She could hear her parents yelling her name from somewhere afar, and she tries to tear away from his grasp to find their voices. Though the vice like grip in her hair harshly jerks her head back, causing the girl to whimper in pain.

“Ah! Mommy, daddy! Where are you?” She can’t see them, but she could hear them fighting in the background. The sound of the other men in red wrestling with her parents could be heard too and it amps up the fear seizing her heart.

Tiny nails dig into the hand on her head, scratching and hitting the with all her might to escape. Though her attempts failed as she is aggressively thrown in front of the burning house, the heat of the flames licking for a taste of the child. Suddenly a blood curdling wail, that could be heard all around her terrorized village, shreds from her raw throat as searing pain erupts all throughout and within her eye. Vision becoming an all-consuming black.

The words, “Remember your place, you little brat!” Are roared in her face.

Finally, the tears silently bubble over her cheeks like a stream of water. Stifling any noise, Lila bites her lip and bows deeply, even though prince Zuko barely gives a sideway glance over his shoulder.

“I am, so, sorry my prince,” she chokes out hoping to the heavens above that he wouldn’t punish her or hear the strain in her words. She can’t be crying like a fool in front of her leaders, that’s not what she was taught. Serving was what she was there for, nothing else. Her master before made sure she knew that. Swallowing all the sobs she could without a sound, Lila carefully places his food by the door and quickly leaves shutting it with a soft click. All the while a slight frown could be seen on Prince Zuko’s lips. He caught sight of the tears falling from her eye.

Outside Lila takes a few deep breaths and leans against the door, the muscles in her lips twitch as she tries to stop the upcoming torrent of tears; but the dam breaks. Smothering her mouth with the sleeve of her shirt, her other quivering hand covers her face. Lila starts bawling. Muffled sobs and gasps wrack her body as her eye squeezes in grief, hot tears spilling even faster. Now it wasn’t necessarily Zuko’s words that made her react like this, even if they were hurtful. It was what he inadvertently triggered. Memories too painful that she didn’t want but was forced to keep. After a few minutes of her trying to keep her mourning silent, she hears a door creak up ahead at the end of the corridor. With hitched breaths Lila drops her snot and spit stained arm as the hand covering her face quickly retrieves Iroh’s forgotten dinner tray. It was a little cold, but nothing a firebender couldn’t handle. Lila sniffles and schools her features back into a poised appearance and continues to her last stop. A trail of quiet tears streaming in her wake.

Upon reaching Iroh’s room, Lila wipes off any evidence of her crying and knocks on the door. This time around Lila hears a tired, but nice beckon to enter. Opening the door, she sees Iroh sitting on his bed and he beams at the food Lila has in her hands, until he sees her face. As quickly it appeared his smile is gone as he takes in her damp sleeve, tear stained cheeks, runny nose, and wet eyelashes. Iroh had an idea of what might’ve happened.

“Sometimes, life can be like a hurricane. It’s harsh and unforgiving at first, but they always end and the sun shines after. No matter how bleak the storm looks.”

At that, Lila breaks down again. Crying all the while, she fully enters the room and places her friend’s food on his bedside table before rushing to hug him. As she engulfs him, Iroh gently rocks her from side to side, rubbing her back. The motion reminds Lila of her father when he’d rock her to sleep, her arms tightening around Iroh. She missed her dad deeply. Softly her old friend began to sing one of the songs he taught her a few weeks ago.

“Winter spring, summer, and fall. Winter spring, summer and fall. Four seasons four loves, four seasons four loves.”

Although his voice wasn’t perfect, it still pulls Lila to join in, sniffling. Iroh’s voice strong and comforting, while Lila’s was weak and quiet. They sing it a few times until Iroh sees her tears and hiccups slow.

Feeling slightly better, Lila breaks from the hug and sits a few feet from Iroh.

“Thank you. I really needed that,” she croaks and rubs at her teary eye. The patch on her other eye was pretty damp so she knew before bed she’d have to clean it.

“Of course. As your best friend it is my duty to make sure you’re okay and laughing.” To which Lila giggles.

“How about this?” Iroh offers, “I tell you more about what I learned from waterbenders and you teach me more about the flowers you know?” Lila tiredly nods in response; her crying drained all her energy for the day. The two friends share dinner at Iroh’s behest, saying how she shouldn’t skip her meals, and chatted for a few hours. They talked about flowers, tea, and history -mostly Iroh teaching her what he knew- until Iroh noticed how exhausted Lila was and urged her to get some rest.

The next day was like any other day for Lila. In the morning she’d wake up at dawn, do her shower routine, clean her teeth, and tend to her eye. After that she’d set off to make breakfast with the chef for all of the shipmates. Deliver breakfast to Iroh and prince Zuko, and luckily for her today the prince wasn’t in his room. She only found a note that said he wasn’t hungry. Then once all the men were at their usual posts Lila would go ahead and tidy up all their sleeping barracks. By the time she’d be done with cleaning everyone’s rooms she’d have an hour or so to herself, which was filled with journaling or writing all Iroh has told her about waterbending, until she had to help prepare lunch. After she’d finish that, there’d be a fifteen minute window of nothing to do before Lila would make Iroh’s afternoon tea. Which was what she was doing right now.

Again, like before, Lila make her way from the kitchen, through the corridors, past her room, and up the stairs to get to the main deck. However, instead of sitting across from Iroh Lila places herself next to him as he greets her with a joke. Thankfully he doesn’t mention what happened last night as they laughed and talked as they usually do. Today Lila was trying to explain the differences between the white jade bush and the white dragon bush to Iroh. The white jade bush being a poisonous flowering plant. During her explanation, Lila couldn’t help but notice Iroh somewhat dazed off, and she snorted as she thought, ‘I really hope this doesn’t bite him in the butt’ when a question flickered in her. Checking her surroundings to see where prince Zuko was, she saw him a good few feet away facing the front of this ship. The scarred boy looked to be distracted with his own thoughts, so Lila figured it be now or forever hold her peace.

“Hey, uncle Iroh?”

“Hm”, he grunts, liquid gold eyes ever so focused on today’s particularly tricky game of pai sho.

Lila’s already soft-spoken voice lowered to a whisper, “Why did you agree to go with prince-”

Unexpectedly, from far away, a huge ethereal beam of light shoots up into the air, cutting through the sky! The beam cast a blue shadow over everyone and everything in the south pole, blue ripples rippling across the sky. Lila literally falls back in wonder from what she’s witnessing at this moment. No one on prince Zuko’s ship has ever seen anything like this during their three year search. When she looks to see if anyone else is seeing what she’s seeing her eye catches the banished prince’s reaction. Prince Zuko himself is also snapped from his own thoughts by the sight of this strange but amazing light. His jaw dropping in awe, but realization dawns as his features shift to one of aggressive determination.

“Finally,” he growls. Turning to Lila’s companion, who’s surprisingly unphased by what just happened, prince Zuko continues, “Uncle, do you know what this means?” His words seemed to be filled with something akin to…dare Lila say, hope? Desperation?

While keeping his eyes on his pai sho table Iroh asks, “I won’t get to finish my game? And Miss Lila won’t finish telling me about the…what was it called again?” Being in such close proximity to the prince after what happened last night, Lila wasn’t sure if she wanted to answer with him so near.

However, Prince Zuko answers for Lila declaring that the beam of light means his search for the Avatar it about to end. Though not sharing the same optimistic thought as his nephew, Iroh shakes his head and places down another pai sho tile. Still unwilling to relent, Zuko points to the shinning beam and snaps,

“That light came from an incredibly powerful source! It has to be him!” Looking back, he sees the light disappear, causing the blue shadowing that was cast over everything to disappear as well.

“Or, it’s just the celestial lights,” Uncle Iroh suggests, lifting his arm to the sky with a tile in hand to further prove his point. “We’ve been down this road before, Prince Zuko. I don’t want you to get too excited over nothing.” The absent-minded tone is apparent in Iroh’s voice although he means well. He’s just looking out for his nephew. For Lila, well she had a whole cauldron of mixed feelings. If that light really was from the Avatar then they could all finally go home. She should be happy, right? Three years of searching finally over. Except, she has no home, all that’s there waiting for her in the fire nation is a cold and malevolent palace. Nothing good was waiting for her there.

Again, Lila is pulled from her thoughts by Iroh, “please, sit. Why don’t you enjoy a cup of calming Jasmine tea Lila so kindly brewed?”

Like an awkward, and slightly uncomfortable middleman, Lila’s honeyed eye worriedly gauges Prince Zuko’s increasingly riled posture. Her eye slowly shutting to a cringe; she could tell the prince was about to explode from the continuous dismissal of his claims.

She was correct.

Prince Zuko barks in exasperation, “I don’t need any calming tea! I need to capture the avatar!”

As he ordered the helmsman to set a course for the light, Lila withdrew back to her thoughts. In a small way, she kind of understood why he was being so snappy. Though his attitude was usually foul. Still, he’s trying to go home after three years of banishment. Everyone on this ship wants to go home. Even if she had no place to call home, Lila could empathize in a way with why he’s so rude, and somewhat desperate, when speaking to his uncle the way he does. The Avatar is his ticket home.

Suddenly the wind picked up, whipping the dark hairs that fell from Lila’s bun. Turning to Iroh as he puts down his last pai sho piece, an air nomad symbol, Lila can’t help but blurt, “What does this mean?” Her words uneasy as she watches Iroh imploringly. Brown eye dancing over his form.

Iroh turns to her and gives a meaningful smile before laughing out, “It means our days of tea and pai sho together are coming to an end.” Lila looks on in confusion, “It’s almost time for you to help with dinner. Go, and make sure you bring some roasted duck for me tonight!” He jokes.

Later that night Lila finds herself repeating the same delivery process as before, rushing up the main deck and to the command tower. However, when she goes to knock on Iroh’s door she sees him coming from around the corner, “Oh uncle there you are. Where were you?”

“I was just coming down from the observation deck trying to tell Zuko he needs rest. Of course, my brooding nephew wouldn’t listen.” Iroh sighs dramatically as he walks to his door. However, all Lila can think about is the discomfort she feels with the possibility of being alone with prince Zuko again…and the stairs she has to climb to reach him.

“B-but, that’s a lot of stairs though…”

“Ha! How do you think I feel? An old man like me shouldn’t have to do workouts like that anymore!”

Iroh smiles when Lila giggle in response. Opening his door, he turns to his friend and gently takes his dinner tray bidding her goodnight. Left alone Lila continues her walk to find prince Zuko. “Up the stairs I go…”

By the time she reaches the observation deck she’s winded and breathing a little deeper. Her heart felt like a drum about to beat out of her chest, she did climb like four flights of stairs. Leaning against the opening of the door to the observation deck, she sees prince Zuko there with a simple night robe draped over his sleeping attire. He stood alert and focus despite it being dusk. Unlike him everyone else was getting ready to retire for the night. A little hesitant to address her presence in fear of repeating what happened last night, Lila waits for the scarred prince’s permission to let her speak. A few minutes pass and a breeze flows by, stray pieces of curls tickle Lila’s neck as the prince still stands in silence.

“Pardon my intrusion prince Zuko, but it’s dinner time and I have your food ready for you…”

Looking over his shoulder at her for a moment he simply rasps out in a gruff voice, “I’m not hungry…” before continuing to watch the darkening horizon.

“But, you haven’t eaten anything today, are you sure?” Regardless of the fear prince Zuko strikes in her heart, he’s still human and needs to eat.

Again, like yesterday an aggravated and abrupt huff leaves his mouth as he deeply drawls, “What, did I just say?”

Wanting to avoid another outburst tonight Lila timidly stammers, “You’re not hungry…” as the feeling of embarrassment from being talked to like a child washes over her.

“You may leave my presence.”

Lila turns and was about to head back down to the kitchen before a thought struck her. Quickly but silently she takes the bowl of rice and the bowl of roasted duck meat and pours half of it onto the serving tray, before leaving it near the doorway. That way if prince Zuko changes his mind the food will be there. Satisfied with herself, Lila walks down to the now empty kitchen, grabs a pair of eating utensils, and eats what was left in the bowls. “Well I’m not letting the food I made, which I know is good, go to waste,” and the food really was good too.

Once she was done eating, Lila washes the tray and grabs a cup filling it to the brim with water. Double checking the empty kitchen Lila carefully makes her way to her servants quarters. She takes gradual and slow steps in order to keep the water from spilling over.

In the safety of her room, Lila closes the door with her foot and nimble fingers lock it behind her. She sets the cup down in the middle of her room and goes to get the journal she’s been writing in from underneath her mattress. Lila pulls out the journal and returns to where she placed her cup. Sitting down with her legs crossed, she flips to the pages filled with information she wrote from the times Iroh would tell her about waterbending. Lila takes in a deep breath, holds it as if she were underwater, then slowly exhales through her mouth. Closing her eye, her hand reaches up and unwraps the cloth covering the other side of her face.

The cloth falls in Lila’s lap as her hand hovers over the cup of water, beginning to practice her waterbending. Although as she tries lifting the water from the cup Lila feels no connection to the energy inside of her. Her control is weak and shaky as the water spills over. Shutting both eyes Lila tries to concentrate harder, but all she can see are the memories from her past burned deep within her mind. 

Fire

Screams

Laughing

Fingers

Eye tattoo

With a shuddering breath Lila drops her hand and sighs in disappointment.

Remember your place.

The next morning Lila is on the main deck with Iroh, Prince Zuko, and some of his men. At Iroh’s invitation Lila watches as the prince does his firebending training, though she didn’t know as to why he wanted her there. The young servant had a very deep fear of fire, every blast of fire prince Zuko or his firebending companions made, memories of that little girl in red would flash by. Screams of her younger self and cackling of the little girl ring through her ears. So, Lila stood by the railing of the ship a few feet behind Iroh, not too close to prince Zuko and his fire but not too far in case they needed anything. With her eye on the ground Lila watched in fascination of the elongated shadows the morning sun created around her, until she heard Iroh begin to lecture prince Zuko on his firebending.

“No. Power and firebending comes from the breath, not the muscles,” Iroh clarifies. It’s clear there’s a tinge of stress in his words as Zuko failed to truly grasp what his uncle was trying to say.

“The breath becomes energy in the body,” Iroh continues and begins to demonstrate each point of his explanation, “the energy extends past your limbs and becomes fire!”

Lila gasps at Iroh’s last demonstration. A strong but controlled and precise stream of fire shoots from Iroh’s fist at prince Zuko who stood unflinching. The fire dissipated inches from the prince’s face. At the sound of the small noise Lila made, Zuko’s eyes flicker to hers for a quick second before settling back on Iroh. She could see how the prince’s muscular shoulders began to tense as he walked menacingly toward his uncle, so she tuned out the impending argument and turned to look over the ship's railing. The morning rays glistened over the water lapping at the ship below, creating a lovely twinkle. The shimmering water looked like diamonds to Lila as she mulled over the words Iroh tried explaining to his nephew.

Vaguely she could hear him call his nephew impatient in the background, but Lila’s mind was still committing what uncle Iroh said to memory, “patience,” she softly whispered to no one in particular.

Power comes from the breath…not the muscle.

Lila glanced behind her and saw that prince Zuko was still arguing with his uncle as some of the firebenders looked on. Zeroing in on the sea water once more, she suddenly felt a small beckoning from below…

Breath becomes energy in the body

With her hand extending over the railing, her heartrate picked up and her body tingled with nerves when she realized she’s really going to try this in front of firebenders. The ones who once tried to wipe out her people…but the push and pull of the water was too enticing, its seductive call too strong to ignore…

With a flick of the wrist-

The energy extends past your limbs and becomes-

Water! 

Water shoots out in the form of a wave away from the side of the boat. In no way was it a large or impressive wave, it was actually very small. However, it was enough to make Lila laugh and light up in elation. A huge smile decorating her lips. A smile she hid behind her hands. However, when she tried to recreate what she did, nothing happened, the feeling…the connection, was gone. Her smile dissolved and fell, the light in her face dimming as she turned back to the men on deck.

Her honey colored eye widened in surprise at seeing both Iroh and Prince Zuko’s golden gazes pinned on her.

“…Um, hello.” Lila shyly breathed with a small wave of her hand. A twinge of fear twisted in her heart at the off chance of her getting caught waterbending.

“I was just telling my nephew how even you have more discipline and patience, and you’re not even a bender,” Iroh says bellowing a loud laugh. The imaginary weight on Lila’s chest disappeared as she awkwardly forces out a laugh too -in relief- before catching the sneer on prince Zuko’s lips. His hands closing into a fist, Lila was sure he probably didn’t like that comparison.

“I mean, but sir I’m just a servant it doesn’t matter what I have or don’t have,” Lila responds as she lowers her gaze. Iroh opened his mouth to object but the young servant girl beat him to it, “anyway, if you are in no need of assistance,” she casts a look between both Prince Zuko and Iroh, “I must go help with lunch. If you’ll excuse me.” Demurely Lila bows her head and turns to go.

With Prince Zuko was back to sparing with the other firebenders, Iroh took the chance to call out, “Wait.” 

Lila turns and regards him curiously as he begins to pour a cup of water, “Here, have this before you go. You might need it if you get thirsty.” He carefully hands her the tin cup. It looked like it was about to overflow. Lila looks at him questioningly but all he gives her is a knowing smile that she couldn’t quite place.

Later, after she finished helping the chef with lunch, Lila made her way back to her room, the cup still in her hands. She only took one sip from it today, either way she was going to meet with Iroh for afternoon tea soon, so she didn’t think much about it. Once inside she sat at the edge of her mattress and placed the cup on the floor in front of her. Resting her elbows on her knees, she folds her hands and places them over her lips as she stares at the water. A thought struck her, debating whether or not she should try bending again.

“I shouldn’t, I can’t even properly control it!” Lila hissed to herself.

Until Iroh’s words about breath and energy filtered through the back of her mind. Then another image appeared. The image of prince Zuko meditating with the candles in his room a few nights ago. Releasing a sigh Lila gave in and sat on the floor in a crisscrossed position, straightening her back like how she saw prince Zuko do it. Like the night before, she untied the cloth covering her face and closed her eyes. The palms of her hands braced on her knees. Deep breath in, she inhaled, and a deep breath out, she exhaled. Slowly a sense of calm and peace crept over her. Concentrating on her breath and the energy inside that she couldn’t really feel yet. Lila repeated the technique over and over, and even though she didn’t see it, with every breath she took the water rippled.

*

Thank you for reading, let me know what you think in the comments. I hope you enjoyed it.

#zuko x reader #zuko x oc #avatar zuko #atla zuko #fire lord zuko #fire lord ozai #avatar the last airbender #avatar #atla aang #atla sokka #atla katara #atla toph #zuzu #zuko #prince zuko #avatar the legend of aang #uncle iroh #iroh & zuko #iroh #fire bender #water bender #earth bender #air bender #fire nation #avatar gaang #sokka #aang #toph #zuko fic #zuko fanfiction

[aphrodites-law]

A Bit of Clarity 🍂 (9/?) The visions had started last autumn, a year ago now. It had caused a bit of chaos for some, a bit of clarity for others. Two days ago, Clarke Griffin had been perfectly fine managing both her Café and her stress. But now she was curious - so deeply curious about the vision of herself entwined with the aloof Lexa Woods that it was leading her to complete distraction. (ao3)

[part 1] [part 2] [part 3] [part 4] [part 5] [part 6] [part 7] [part 8]

When she opened the café the following week, Clarke didn't expect the first customer to be Gustus. He walked toward her with a slight hunch in his shoulders, holding a large paper bag in front of him.

"Hello, Clarke."

"Hi, Gustus. How are you?"

"Lexa said you were looking for help in the kitchen. Am I too late?"

Clarke blinked in surprise. "Not at all."

Gustus set the bag on the counter. "I don't have much of an education and I don't know proper baking terms. I haven’t worked for anyone in twenty-five years, but I have made and sold baked goods on my family's apiary since my childhood."

He pulled out several containers. "I've brought honey muffins, blueberry tartlets, and a chocolate-walnut pie. Please, have a taste when you can."

"You're… applying to work here?"

Gustus nodded. "I'd like to help in the kitchen."

It was certainly unorthodox, but they had yet to find anyone and Clarke's mouth had already watered at the smell of the pie.  

"Gustus, are you sure this is what you want? The hours can be long and we can't afford to negotiate on salary for now."

"Money doesn't matter to me. I have my own land and grow my own food."

"What about your apiary?"

"A hobby more than a business these days. The market made me realize how much I miss…" His eyebrows furrowed as he thought of the word.

"People?" Clarke guessed.

He stroked his beard. "But not so much that I would leave the kitchen."

Clarke chuckled. "I see why Lexa likes you."

"She may pretend otherwise, but Lexa enjoys company too. She would not write the way she does if it weren’t the case."

"No, I don't suppose she would."

They both looked toward the entrance when a customer walked in. Gustus moved to the side.

"I won't keep you longer. Thank you for humoring an old beekeeper."

"Wells will have the final word, but he's badgered me to get more of your honey so the odds are definitely in your favor."

Gustus inclined his head gratefully, a heartwarming sight given he was a foot taller than Clarke and quite intimidating at first glance.

"Have a good day, Clarke."

"You too. And thanks for the treats!"

* * *

Clarke walked over to Lexa's table later that afternoon, finding her deep in research on her laptop with her half-eaten croissant on her plate. They hadn't been able to speak much between orders, but Lexa had looked her way at times and Clarke had managed to catch her eyes. Each time made her stomach swoop, but Clarke was determined to be the one to surprise her for once.

She put her hand on her shoulder and kissed her cheek.

"Hi, you."

Lexa turned her head with a slight blush. "Hello."

Clarke sat in front of her, propping her chin on her hand. "Oh I get a hello today. Very formal."

"Is hello formal now?"

"With that tone and those glasses? Yes."

Lexa took off her reading glasses. "Am I being kicked out?"

"Not at all. Stay as long as you want. You can even stay after closing hours."

Lexa's eyes fell to her lips- Clarke's knowing grin. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"Mm probably not."

Lexa closed her laptop. "So. Saturday. Doors open at 7pm."

Clarke sat up. "I'm excited. Though Wells has already warned me he'll poison my coffee if I drop any spoilers."

Lexa had offered tickets to Lincoln's play again, though this time she had made it very clear she intended it as a date. Clarke was thrilled to go to the theater after so long, especially since the play was fully booked for a solid six months. Nowhere Ground was a critical darling and word of mouth had worked like a charm.

"I was thinking we could hit Cocoa Street after," Lexa suggested. "Try some of the food trucks?"

"A woman after my heart."

Lexa smiled, her hand inching toward Clarke's on the table. "I figured I'd keep the upscale restaurant for our third date."

"Oh there'll be a third date?"

Lexa looked up from their hands, fingers not quite yet touching. "I would hope so."

"Well I don't know, I'll have to see if you have game."

"I thought you'd gotten a preview already." Lexa's fingers brushed against hers.

Clarke bit her lip. "Not that kind of game."

"What kind, Clarke?" Lexa asked smoothly as her thumb brushed over the back of Clarke's hand.  

Clarke shook her head and sat back, letting go of Lexa's hand. "Nu-uh. I'm not falling for that again."

"What's that?"

"That- look. And your voice. You know what."

Lexa let out a small laugh. "I really don't."

"It's like a switch you have. It drives me crazy. But I'm not falling for it. I see you."

"Alright, I'll just be broody and quiet then." Lexa cleared her throat, amused. "Did Gus stop by today?"

Clarke brightened. "Yes. Speaking of, very sneaky of you. Wells is already raving about the chocolate-walnut pie."

"I'm glad. Gus kept asking me if he should make more. I'd never heard him so nervous."

"I didn't even know he baked."

"Never in a professional setting like this, but I can vouch for his impeccable manners. And his food."

"How did you meet him anyway?"

Lexa picked up the last bite of her croissant. "When I was doing research on the Mountain Men, I found out his property is the closest to the bunker site. A few miles down the mountain but still - I figured he had some information that could help me. I introduced myself; said I wanted to honor their story…"

"And you charmed your way into his life," Clarke guessed in a fond tone.  She still had a few minutes before Gaia started side-eying her for flirting on the clock (not that it was a regular instance, but Lexa did come in often these days…) and then got Harper to ask endless questions to fuel their gossip mill. "I'm glad you did. I think he'd fit right in."

Lexa nodded, giving her a soft smile while they lingered in their last few seconds of privacy.

* * *

When Saturday night finally came, Clarke thought she might burst from the anticipation. Lexa lived close to the theater, so Clarke had suggested she be the one to pick her up before they walked over. She'd settled on her fancier boots, tights and a red dress, ever aware of the increasingly cold nights. She had her coat on but left it open when she finally arrived, fully leaning on the power of her own cleavage tonight. Slow didn't mean she couldn't have her fun.

"Wow. Um. Hi," Lexa breathed out as soon as she opened the door, eyes darting south of Clarke's lips.  

"Now I get a hi," Clarke replied with a grin. She extended the flowers she'd brought on the way. "For you."

"Oh they're beautiful," Lexa said, genuinely surprised. Clarke wondered if she’d ever gotten flowers based on that expression alone. "Thank you," Lexa murmured.

"You're welcome," Clarke hummed. She waited for Lexa to come closer to reach for the sleeve of her shirt. "This is new."

"You don't like it?" Lexa asked.

Clarke almost scoffed. She was fairly certain Lexa knew exactly what she was doing, with her tight slacks and her dark green shirt just a hint sheer enough to see the outline of her bra. Paired with her loose curls and faint perfume, Lexa was already making her dizzy and it was incredibly unfair.

"I didn't say that," Clarke replied, pretending not to notice Lexa was going to kiss her. "Aren't you going to invite me in?"

Lexa frowned briefly, only to smile a second later as she realized what game Clarke was playing. She'd asked for slow and it seemed like Clarke was taking it to heart. Perhaps a bit too much.

"Please, come in."

While Lexa went to find a vase, Clarke looked around. The apartment was on the small side, but during the day it was most likely brightly lit thanks to the two large windows. The balcony was filled with plants and flowers just as Gaia had once told her, but she hadn't mentioned the various hanging pots throughout the living room. Of course she couldn't have known. Clarke wasn’t sure if she was the first date Lexa had invited here since moving, but the progress in their relationship wasn’t lost on her. She’d never imagined being inside Lexa Woods’ apartment; not even when they’d started their little dance. It had seemed like another world. 

Lexa came back with a vase that she set on the table by the window. "They're lovely," she reiterated.

"If I'd known you were so into plants I would've gotten a succulent or something."

Lexa looked around. "Oh those - the hooks were already there when I got here. Indra said the woman before me used to hang candle lanterns. I think she's relieved this place isn't a fire hazard anymore."

"Gaia said you're her favorite tenant."

Lexa smiled sheepishly, but didn't further comment. She glanced at Clarke's neckline before clearing her throat.

"Are you ready?"

Clarke nodded. "Very."

Lexa stepped closer. "You know… I sort of imagined this going differently."

"Oh?" Clarke asked, rooted in place.

"I figured after we'd kissed things would become easier," Lexa explained as she stopped inches from Clarke.

"You imagined us kissing?"

"Yes," Lexa answered honestly. "But I told you that before."

Clarke remembered the confession Lexa had made that night at the café and felt desire pool in the pit of her stomach again. How she’d thought about her; how she’d wanted this- them. She reached for Lexa's shirt, pretending to toy with one of the small buttons.

"It seems like we imagined a lot of things you and I," Clarke replied, swallowing. 

Lexa brushed her nose against hers, testing her. Clarke felt her warm breath on her mouth and nearly tasted sweet mint. Her heart beat loudly in her ears until finally she gave in, tilting her head and pulling Lexa in.

The kiss was slow at first; Lexa's full lips pressing firmly against hers. Then Clarke felt her hand cup her neck and Lexa angle for something else, something deeper. She moaned when their tongues brushed and Lexa played with hers, chasing, teasing, while the lingering smell of the flowers mixed with her perfume and saturated Clarke's senses. It felt like she was drunk.

It wasn't the small hello or goodbye kisses they'd exchanged in the week; the hesitant pecks that had preceded the date that had seemed so far away on Monday.

"Are you sure this play is good?" She asked, slightly dazed.  

Lexa shook her head, kissing her once more. "It's horrible. Mediocre. Let's bail and stay in."

Clarke let out a small laugh before kissing her again, deeper and slower, wondering if her heart would ever calm down tonight.

"If only."

-

[part ten]

#clexa #f: a bit of clarity #clarke x lexa #short chappie to get back into it #w

[therewasatale]

A toy's life

/It’s an older story of mine./

On Ao3.

The night finally fell. Every human member of the household went to sleep, but not everything. As the noises in the house quieted down, and Andy's breathing turned into a steady rhythmic, the toys started to move.

Woody was the first one to raise his head, and look around in the dark room. He knew that his companions were waiting for him to act. Every one of them heard the screams coming from the kitchen while they had to remain motionless as Andy played with them. A toys first and only reason to exist is to be played with. They had to do what they had to do no matter what. Still, those screams echoed in their ears even hours later.

From the side of the bed, a voice spoke, empty, and haunted.

"Woody..."

The cowboy sighed, even though he had no lungs, or ability to breath. He slid out of Andy's arms, and climbed down on the blanket to the floor. When he landed, he was unable to read anything from the actions figures face who was standing down there.

"We have to go."

Woody gave him a nod, and turned his head towards the toy box. His friends were looking at him, but nobody talked, or moved. Not Hamm, nor Slinky, not even Bo or Jessie. The cowboy adjusted his hat, and whistled. Bullseye climbed out, and solemnly trotted in front of him. The smaller container, where the plastic soldiers where, popped open too. Sarge jumped out, and hopped all the way to Woody.

"I'll go with you."

"No." The answer was an obvious order, but it was not enough for the soldier. Not this time.

"With all due respect sir, they are my men."

"I understand Sarge, but I still can't let you to come with us. It will be only the three of us. Me, Buzz, and Bullseye. I swear as soon as we know anything we will inform you. But you cannot come with us."

The fist of the plastic soldier became even tighter. "But they are…"

"Sarge" the cowboy placed his hand on the smaller figure's shoulder." How long have we been friends?"

"I don’t know. Never counted." The soldier let himself reminiscent for a moment, before shaking his head. He shouldn’t let himself become sentimental. "For years."

"During that time, I might have done things that would make you second guess my decisions but now, I still ask you to trust me. I will tell you everything." The cowboy looked into the eyes of the green figure, who, after a couple of seconds of silence, nodded.  Woody let the Sarge's shoulder go and waved to his friend to follow him.

"Let's go Buzz."

Both of them climbed on Bullseye's back. The plastic monkeys and Lenny were already waiting on the door to let them out. They formed a chain, the lock made a small click and the door slowly creaked out.

They didn’t see Sarge hopping back to his remaining soldiers. He sat down without a word and buried his face into his hands.

Bullseye moved towards the living room. Somehow his movement felt slower than usual. If they get through it, they will reach the kitchen, and they will discover what really happened.

It was a usual afternoon. Andy was playing with them, this time the Potato Head family thought out something dastardly for Buzz and Woody to foil. They recruited an army, and they hired the plastic monkeys to abduct Rex, the last remaining dinosaur on the world. They were just about to liberate the beast, when they heard the screams. In the eyes of the toys, pure horror appeared, and even Andy's hand stopped for a second. After that only the voice of the microwave, and the play continued. Andy then eat in his room and played a little before going to bed.

Woody knew that his friends were thinking the same. Yesterday Andy's mom gathered couple of the soldiers. They got bent when a shelf fell on them, it happens sometimes when Andy don’t put his toys away before the autumn cleaning. Happened before, probably will in the future. Woody was sure that Andy will ask for them back from his mother and he will bend them back into shape before putting them into their box. Maybe they will be a bit crooked, and get a couple of humours comment, but that’s it.

How stupid was he.

Bullseye slowly stepped down on the stairs, and before the cowboy could have sunk more into his self-blame, Buzz started to speak.

"It wasn’t your fault."

Woody gave out a small, sad laugh. "Right…"

"Woody…"

"I was the one who let them behind."

"Mom was paying attention to them. You know it. We would have been unable to get them back without being noticed. Not from the kitchen."

He knew that Buzz was right, but that didn’t make it any easier at all. "We broke the rules before!"

"We can't be lucky every time, Woody."

Bullseye stopped in the living room. All of them heard the faint groaning from towards the kitchen table.

"Stay here, Bullseye." The cowboy stroked the horse's head, and hopped down from his back before starting to climb up on the sofa to reach the table.

As they pulled themselves on the table, they immediately froze up. Woody was struck by cause. He was close to falling off, but his partner managed to grab him before that happened. The faint groaning noises came from the centre of the table, and became more distinguishable.

"S…sir."

Woody was still unable to move. The voice came from a soldier, but he was only barely able to recognise its form. His body was half-melted, and distorted just as his companions, but the others were unable to speak.

The cowboy realised exactly what had happened. The microwave. The screams.

The realisation made his legs weak. He fell to his knees, unable to tore his eyes away from the nightmarish scene. His friends were made into some kind of twisted ornament. They were melted, just enough that their bodies became malleable, and they were formed into the shape of a bowl. As a finishing touch, they were coloured golden. A fruit bowl. They were made into a fruit bowl because he didn't act in time.

"Woody." It was Buzz's voice that dragged him out of his self-blame. "Look at me. You can't let this destroy you, we have to be there for them. Come on, sheriff!"

He slowly stood up, and walked towards the bowl. When he reached it, he noticed the knife laying beside it. "I'm here, I'm here." His thoughts were frantically chasing each other. "We will get you out from there. Buzz come here, I will need your hel-"

"Sir."

The soldiers head was unable to move much, but he managed to turn his eyes towards them.

"Just…keep it together soldier, we will…"

"Please, don't worry about it, sir…" the soldier gave him a sad smile.

"What?" The Sheriff looked at him with a shocked expression. "Don't say it like that! We will get you all out! We won't leave you behind!"

"It's okay, sir. It wasn't your fault. None of us thought that it was." The soldier didn't look towards his companions. It would have probably break his mind that what they have become really.

"I won't let you give up, soldier!"

The cowboy words obviously didn't fully reach him. "Please, tell Sarge that it was an honour serving with him."

"No." Woody shook his head. "I won't let you give up! Keep it together, that's an order!"

The other toy raised his golden painted eyes, looking straight into his, and remained silent for a second.

"Please, the only thing I ask is to make it quick."

Buzz stood there, silent, and horrified.

During the years they lived to numerous adventures. But this time, it was truly unsettling. The feeling when he looked upon the grotesque scene have shaken him to his core. This was something that he couldn't even imagine actually Sid would do. Truth to be told, he would have been unable to imagine anyone doing something like that. Yet here it was, in their home.

"No" mumbled Woody, without much life in his voice.

"Sir…please."

Buzz started towards the knife. It was a small peeling knife. Andy's mom must have bought it only recently. The edge was clean enough that the moonlight reflected on it.

"Let me do it."

The space toy stopped beside Woody, dragging the knife behind him. The cowboy watched the slowly moving blade, and then raised his eyes towards his friend with a blank look. Buzz never seen him this tired, and empty.

"No. It's my responsibility."

Woody stepped toward the knife, and slowly raised it. He was able to lift it alone, but he needed to balance it a little bit. The knife looked sharp enough to make any necessary cut.

A toy can be damaged, taken apart, repainted, even parts can be broken down, and it will still remain alive, for lack of a better word. But only to a certain point. Do enough damage, and they will start losing themselves. Their personality warp, and change into something that doesn't even know what it was before. Do even more, and they will die. Not like a human, but they will cease to exist. Most toys didn't believe in the afterlife. A few even considered it before they ever faced the prospect of destruction. Buzz and Woody, had faced that prospect more than enough time to know the feeling.

"I won't leave you alone in this." Buzz took the end of the knife. Together, they were able to keep it steady, even when they were moving.

The cowboy looked back above his shoulder, and gave him a small nod. The toy soldier nodded a little.

"Thank you, sir. It was an honour, to serve with you two, too. "

The knife struck down.

The next the morning Andy's mother hopelessly searched for her new, homemade bowl, that he assembled according to an internet video. When she reached the living room, he was surprised to find out that the apples were scattered around the room. Not only that, but somehow the peeling knife was stuck into the table.

That day, when Andy left to school, the toys held a funeral.

#toy story #Woody Pride #Buzz Lightyear #toy story fanfiction #dont look at me #Bullseye (Toy Story) #i saw a video ages ago and it inspired me #in a way #copper

[queerchoicesblog]

Ghost of You (SC Titanic, Zetta x Adele)

So this is my very first SC Titanic fanfic: I am excited to post it and well I suppose I should warn you that probably Zetta x Adele fictions will be rather long as this love story features themes that are very dear and meaningful to me, such as 1. well, obviously the Titanic story, 2. references to beginning of the century cinema (love very old and b&w movies), 3. sapphism and 4. femminism/suffragette movement. It’s basically everything I could have ever asked for. The Gentleman Jack fans out there might find a reference here...

So here I tried to imagine what brought Zetta to write that little note to Adele after basically disappearing. Loved that scene and I had to try and portray her turmoil, her missing Adele but also, as any historical lesbian (maybe not only historical), fearing the strings of society and their effect on their love and her beloved suffragette. Hope you enjoy it!

Disclaimer: I quoted some pieces of dialogue from the original book

Word Count: 2555

Zetta x Adele Tag: @marmolady @animus-and-anima @hayley-carter19 @escako @everlastingchoices @andrxrneda @aestheticsayeed @eleanorwaverrley @indescribablechoices @ahrielstuff @lvcley @nazario-sayeed

________________________

Two rapid knocks on the door then:

“Are you there, doll? Can I come in?”

Richard’s voice abruptly brought Zetta’s back to reality, involuntarily making her jump in her seat.  She blinked twice as if wakingg from a dream and took a quick look around. She couldn’t recall how long she had been sitting at her vanity lost in her thoughts with a brush in her hand. She just couldn’t focus that day as she was haunted by memories of the past. But Richard didn’t have to know, mustn’t have to know. She put down the brush and quickly fixed her hair before adjusting her robe to limit the skin exposure to the minimum: after all, they weren’t married yet…and her heart didn’t belong to Mr. King. Only after that, she answered loud enough to be heard on the other side of the ebony door:

“Sure, darling”

She resumed her interrupted makeup session, pretending to be fully taken by that routine that didn’t bring her the usual joy anymore. She looked at herself in the mirror and put on a practiced smile: it would have been enough to fool her fiancé.

Richard entered her boudoir and theatrically opened his arms as a seasoned professional: he mentioned that he started as an actor before becoming a stellar director.

“My love, every time I see you I’m completely blinded by your beauty. You’re the brightest star in the sky, even brighter than Venus itself” he said moving closer and kneeling beside her chair.

“…And you’re gonna be the most radiant woman at the party tonight. The belle of the ball, la plus belle” he added, courtly taking her free hand and placing a kiss on her knuckles.

He looked up at her with a dashing smile.

“Trés charmant, Richard…but are you done with poetry?” she smirked, retrieving her hand and resuming her previous core.

“Ah, la belle dame sans merci!” Richard exclaimed before falling back to the floor holding a hand on his chest.

“Silly” Zetta laughed and she was soon joined by Richard who stood again and leaned on her table.

“I can’t help it around you, doll, apologies” he shrugged, flashing her another smile.

Zetta had to summon all her acting expertise not to cringe at “doll”. She hated it when every fiber of her being when Richard -or any other men- called her “doll”. Even her first director called her so, even her husband…doll, as if that was all she was to them: a beautiful toy, maybe a collectible but not truly a woman. Not truly Zetta.

Instead, she mirrored his smile and threw him a quick look before methodically applying some rouge on her cheek.

“So, what are you dying to say that can’t wait?”

“Seeing you isn’t a reasonable excuse?”

Richard was a charming man, without doubt. He wasn’t a bad man or so it seemed to her but she had been deceived by men who swore to only want the best for her that it was hardly possible for Zetta to fully trust any of them. And a man could have never won her heart.

As she flashed him just one of her enigmatic smile, he spoke again:

“Fine, you got me: I just wanted to see you and to remind you that our producers are expecting us at Rao’s for dinner in an hour. We should leave soon” he gave an apologetic smile and lowered his voice to a whisper. “Will we be there in time?”

“We will, I promise you” Zetta confirmed then made a show of shooing him away. “Now shoo, call Sabine and let me get dressed or else we will be late”

Richard raised his arms in surrender, laughing. Then he pressed a kiss on the crown of her head.

“I’ll get off of your hair, doll”

Zetta resumed her makeup as Richard moved towards the door. He was halfway out when

“Oh I almost forgot! I spoke to Alan yesterday and he loved the movie: the story of the two sisters reunited in the midst of chaos on the sinking ship is just perfect, so heart-warming-“

“Yes, it truly is heart-warming” Zetta commented, losing focus again.

“The story is real, right? You met at least one of them on board, didn’t you?”

Zetta’s voice lowered as memories started surfacing back.

“Yes, we were…rather close”

“If they survived, we should track them down and invite them at the movie: it would be great if they could talk to the press. Journalists love stories like this: I can see the headlines alrea-“

“We’ll see, Richard. Now please go call Sabine”

She tried to keep her voice from betraying her feelings, but she could feel a rush of anger surging. She would have never handed the Carrem sisters and such a private and tragic moment of their lives to those shameless sharks who go under the name of journalists. The subtle hint of heartbreak and they prey the unfortunate victims like vultures over a corpse: they wouldn’t stop until they had dissected those aching hearts, leaving them to bleed out. No, she would have done everything in her power to prevent this.

The story she wrote down when asked to bring the grim fate of the Titanic on the big screen was fiction: inspired by true facts but fiction. Zetta was smart enough to know that life and fiction are two separate things and that an edulcorated tale of those most tragic hours was all the world could take: the people of New York, who weren’t there that night, would have been overwhelmed by the real story.

Still, when she sat at her desk and started writing a draft of the script her mind immediately turned to…Adele.

She didn’t even notice Richard leaving the room as the silhouette of Miss Carrem clouded her thoughts. Finally alone, her face fell and she shut her eyes as if to prevent the memory from fading away.

Adele, most gracious, fearless Adele…

Her lips curled into a sad smile as she reminisced their first meeting. She was sitting in her suite smoking and listening to James making some pointless speech when the door opened and Teo stepped in followed by Adele. She had the beauty of a Greek goddess and the look of someone who was going through a lot. She clearly felt out of place among finely dressed first-class passengers in the lavish room but she kept her head high. Zetta remembered feeling the urge to know what troubled her but she put on her mask, the sardonic film star ever out of reach. And then…was it a brave move or just an insane one? Adele told her of her arrest, of prison. Everyone else would have hidden from her, a new employer and Zetta Serda…not Adele. She handed her everything she needed to destroy her life as if it was no big deal. Zetta was taken aback and searched her green eyes for any sign of mockery but find none: the stranger girl truly trusted her with her life. That’s when she realized how unique Miss Carrem was.

Adele found a way to her heart effortlessly as if she had the map from the very start. When she placed her hand over hers in the projection room, she startled Zetta: whenever she had made the fatal mistake to show her vulnerable side to anyone, they would have used it against her to make her feel weak or small…clearly in need of someone who would tell her what to do, to guide her. They would have refilled her glass with wine again and again instead of going for the simplest gesture: taking her hand into theirs and comfort her. Making her believe with that touch that everything would have been fine, and she was stronger than whatever life threw her.

For a moment, as Adele held her hand, she felt safe, pacified, something she had never experienced with any of her supposed lovers. She couldn’t even be mad at her secretary when she revealed her James’ plan and the true reason behind his bailing her out of jail. She was shocked, obviously but she also couldn’t believe that Adele, brave foolish Adele, had put her life into her hands again. “I’m perfectly aware of the risk I’m taking by revealing this to you but you deserve to know. I cannot keep this from you” she said, looking her right in the eye.

Those eyes…they took Zetta’s breath away whenever they ignited with the fire sparking inside her. She could have lost herself in their green depths when they gleamed with pride and mischief as she proposed a toast to the vote to women or whenever their eyes met. She got lost in them when their lips touched, and they grew dark with desire. How daring and foolish they had been in the Turkish baths…but she couldn’t bring herself to regret that moment of ecstasy when she felt free and truly loved, for once. She could still shiver remembering Adele’s touch, the way her lips traced down her body with reverence and adoration, the soft moans the tender girl in her arms suffocated hiding her face in the crook of her neck as she melted under her caresses. In those stolen embraces she knew happiness.

How happy she felt whenever Adele was around: just exchanging a brief look across the room would make her heart flutter.

Then other memories surged and Zetta felt tears welling her closed eyes. Her birthday night, that cursed birthday night…Adele and her sneaking away from the party to find a private spot on the deck. The wine, the cold breeze of the ocean, Adele’s silvery laughter at her tipsy enthusiasm, how she craved those sweet lips all night.

“If I’m honest, I don’t even want to reach shore, I don’t want to go back to the party…I just want to stay out here with you. Forever.”

Adele’s tender smile in agreement.

“Let’s just make a tent of this blanket – we can live off seal meat and rainwater”

Her tipsy proposal made the two of them laugh again.

“What about your acting career?” Adele inquired, a smile lingering on her face.

“We’ll make our own plays. Whaddya say?”

God, how those words sounded different now…how she would have given everything to have Adele there to cup her face and give her a slow, deep kiss. But Adele wasn’t by her side anymore…she lost sight of her when her agent and Richard dragged her and James away from the crowd at the New York pier.

She hadn’t written her ever since that day and she felt so impossibly guilty because of that: Adele must have thought she had forgotten about her after all her words of love on the ship. Maybe she felt used, maybe she hated her by now and cursed the memory of her. She would have reasons to hold a grudge to her…the truth was that happiness and love are hard to accept if you have never truly had them before and if they came from a woman loving another woman.

Zetta had tried to write her a thousand time but every time she had made an effort to put her feelings into words, her lines rang hollow. Yet the words that got stuck in her throat when Adele pulled her into a corner and confessed that no matter what happened that night she needed to tell that she loved her were clear in her mind.

The months spent parted from you are the saddest time of my life. I’m haunted by you, the ghost of you. You’re everywhere: even if I’m silent, not an hour passed where I haven’t thought of you. I tried not to, but whenever I closed my eyes, there you were. I love you and I can’t live without you, without your smile, your wit, your touch. I just can’t but how can I ask you to be with me in the dark? I can’t step back from this wedding and I don’t want you to be a secret mistress: that would squalid and offensive when you are the one I want to give all of me. To marry, if that was even a possibility for us so that I could spend every single day of my life with you, waking up with you by my side, taking care of you…making you happy. Your absence makes even breathing hard, not to mention smiling to strangers, “capitalist pigs” as you would say…I even try and talk like you do, you see? But I find myself wondering: will I make you happy if I have to hide our love from the world? Kiss you only behind closed doors? Let you see me marry a man? You’re a free spirit, my love, I don’t want to put you in a cage because our love, our pure love would be a scandal and a scandal would ruin everything I worked for since I was even younger than you. I don’t want you to spend your life as a ghost yet I find myself craving to see your face one more time as living without you is barely surviving but all the light has gone as I lost you.

Suddenly she felt someone placing their hands on her shoulders.

“Let me help you here, Madame”

She opened her eyes and saw Sabine, smiling sympathetically down at her. She tried and failed to mirror her smile as her mascara was now running down her cheeks.

Sabine helped her to her feet and took care of everything. Zetta let her washed up her face and helped her into her shiny evening dress: she felt like a child in the hands of a loving mother. When she was putting on her earrings, the final touch, Sabine handed her a small stack of envelopes.

“The invitations to the movie screening and party” she explained. “It’s October first, I would suggest to send them first thing tomorrow to ensure that everyone get the invitation within reasonable notice. It wasn’t easy to find all the addresses, but I did my best”

“I’m sure you did, Sabine. Thank you for taking care of it.” Zetta said as she checked the succession of familiar names of former passengers and famous colleagues. “I will sign them personally when we come back from the party”.

“Excellent” Sabine nodded.

Then as Zetta placed the stack on her desk, she presented her a single envelope.

“I hope you don’t mind if I requested a faster delivery for this one” she added before bowing her head curtly and leaving the room. “Have a nice evening, Madame”

Zetta read the name handwritten on the last envelope where a different stamp had been appointed.

‘Mademoiselle Adele Carrem’

A lump formed in her throat but she forced herself not to cry and just smile, mentally thanking Sabine: she had found her. Following nothing else but her instinct, Zetta picked out the invitation and signed it with her fountain pen. Then, as Richard called her name, she grabbed a slip of paper and wrote a brief note:

“Please come, my love. I must see you again. Yours, Zetta”.

She folded everything back into the envelope and finally left her room as a newfound hope kindled inside her.

#storyscape #titanic sc #zetta serda #adele carrem #zetta x adele

[elfwriter1088]

Old Guard (Chapter 1)

A/n: 2 chapters in one day! This is all that I got for now. Again, I blame @badassbaker for getting me to post my story up. Go check out their blog! (They’re so AMAZING! I can’t stress them enough).

Disclaimer: Again, I don’t own any of the Old Guard characters: they belong to their respectful owners. I only own those that you would not recognize from the comics (i.e. Nyx, Erik, etc)

---(chapter 1)---

Upon setting foot on Moroccan soil, Nyx was quick to get directions to the hotel that the others were going to gather. Preferring to walk to the destination, Nyx was treated to the luxury of sightseeing of a whole new different world far from what the woman was used to seeing. Merchants trying to sell their goods to those that passed by their stalls; children laughing and running around while playing with each other. Nyx smiled at the sight while making sure to keep her old military scarf covering her hair from falling out of place. Armed only with an old army issued pack slung over her shoulder while a small duffel bag held her xyili, a couple of SOG tactical knives and her ‘hidden blades’, she ventured her way to the meeting place.

Once checked into the hotel, she made her way to where she was sure to meet with the others. At the door, she raised her hand to knock but paused. She hesitated in knocking right away...why? She was going to be amongst her friends, her team...her family. Releasing a soft sigh, she then proceeded to knock three times. She eagerly awaited as to whom would answer the door. Biting at her lower lip, she didn’t have to wait long before the door opened up and…

“Hi…” she greeted the person on the other side of the door.

Nicky grinned as he leaned in to kiss at her cheek before giving her a big hug. He was pretty fond of the petite woman ever since he met her and Andy all those years ago and has never once been at more ease than with Nyx and Joe. He had wondered if she was going to show up at all, given that Book had to call all of them to meet here; Joe and himself had arrived first before Booker and Andy came to the room not even a half hour ago.

“È bello vederti, Nyx. Com'è stato il viaggio qui??” he asked once they pulled away.

*It is good to see you, Nyx. How was the trip out here?*

“Lungamente ... ricordami di sculacciare Book per avermi fatto usare la scusa dell '"emergenza familiare" per l'altro lavoro. Spero che valga la pena usarlo per fare questo lavoro..”

*Long...remind me to spank Book for making me use the 'family emergency' excuse for the other job. I hope it was worth using that to do this job*

Nicky laughed at the comment as he led Nyx to where the others were sitting around and awaiting her arrival. Joe was the first to spot her and rushed over to bear hug the other brunette.

“آه ، نيكس الصغير. فاتنا وجودك معنا في المنزل. آمل أنك لست غريب الأطوار على بعض الحلوى ، عزيزي” Joe said as he lifted the newly-arrived woman up in the air a couple of inches.

*Ah, little Nyx. We missed having you stay with us at the house. I hope you're not too cranky for some sweets, dear one*

“You’re too kind, sir. I’m sure that you saved whatever delicious treat you have from Andy eating it,” Nyx replied back, surprised that everyone wanted to test out how fluent Nyx could get with it.

Once Joe pulled away from her arms, she glanced over to see the woman in question clearly enjoying some baklava.

“Ελπίζω πραγματικά αυτό που νομίζω ότι είναι, Andromache.” she glanced at the other woman with a soft smile.

*I really hope that's what I think it is, Andromache*

“You know I can’t speak our native tongue for shit nowadays, Nyx. Stop showing off and get some of this,” Andy replied back, making sure to not choke on the flavorful treat she had in her hands while passing one to her oldest friend and comrade.

Nyx took the piece offered to her and took a small bite. She closed her eyes to pinpoint what she thought was in the dessert.

“East Turkey...however...there’s anise in this. There’s only one place that makes it...and she has Persian roots,” Nyx remarked as she opened her eyes and saw Booker looking at her with a soft glance in his eyes.

“Pay up. Nyx always seems to find that one detail that everyone misses,” the Frenchman replied with a chuckle.

“What was the bet? Andy guessing where it’s from? How much?” Nyx asked, one eyebrow quirked up in piqued interest.

“Cinq cents ... et tu viens de me rendre riche à nouveau, ma chérie” he simply replied back with a smirk only reserved for her.

*Five hundred...and you just made me rich again, sweetheart*

“Oh per favore. Nyx, ha bisogno di scopare. Sono sicuro che voi due potete trovare Booker una donna che gli farà una bella scopata”

*Oh please. Nyx, he needs to get laid. I'm sure that you two can find Booker a woman to give him a good fuck*

Nicky’s comment had Nyx laughing her butt off as she felt tears forming at the corners of her eyes. This was one thing she missed being in Nicky’s presence--the Italian knew how to get her to laugh off a bad situation with a joke or two.

“Sai ... potrebbe non aver bisogno di trovare una donna della notte se continua a essere tutto scontroso intorno a noi mentre parliamo nella tua lingua madre, amore mio” Joe replied as he came to hug Nicky from behind the Italian.

*You know...he might not need to find a woman of the night if he continues to be all grumpy around us while we speak in your native tongue, my love*

Nyx, unlady-like, snorted at Joe’s remark; her sides were starting to ache from the constant laughter she was experiencing at the moment. Booker gave a dirty look to the other two men before he rose to his feet and went to give the newly arrival a hug of his own.

“Si seulement ils savaient ...” he whispered in her ear.

*If only they knew...*

“Je ne le passerais pas devant eux pour savoir ... Andy ... peut-être pas.”

*Would not put it past them to know...Andy...maybe not.*

“Ok, enough with the teasing. So...how do we meet Copley?” the leader announced, breaking up anymore time for testing out Nyx’s vast knowledge of languages and getting to the reason they all assembled.

After the meetup with Copley, the group was getting ready for the assignment. Most of the small details were taken care of and now was time for catching up on some needed sleep before diving right into the mission. Nyx was sitting on the railing in the balcony, sipping on a cup of tea that was made by Nicky prior to him going to bed a couple hours ago. Dressed in a pair of shorts and a baggy sweater that allowed one shoulder to peek out, Nyx’s eyes were hidden behind a pair of big framed glasses while her hair was piled up in a topknot that looked messy, but intentional. In her hand was a SMOK RPM 40 vape mod--yeah, she had her vices, like the others have theirs; however, one of hers was smoking. She gave up on cigarettes, which was the hardest vice to give up after having smoked them for over a hundred years and forty years. Drinking...Nyx knew that both Andy and Booker drink to forget of their ‘lonely’ states of mindset of being without their families. Nyx would know better, she had to watch her kids and grandkids and their kids grow old and die. Raphael and Erik, although young in her eyes, were just among one of the last remaining descendents still alive and in somewhat good health.

Taking a puff and blowing a smoke ring into the somewhat stifling night air, Nyx’s eyes closed to take in the sensation and breathe in the calmness of the night before a big assignment. Although, this is how Nyx always would do prior to one of the ‘big ones’, as she would call assignments that would take a lot out of her emotionally and mentally. She was so engrossed in the serenity that she wasn’t paying attention to movement behind her until a pair of arms wrapped themselves around her waist, making sure to keep her on the railing and not have her fall and hurt herself. Nyx literally jumped in the air a bit, grabbing at the arms and holding onto dear life.

“Détends-toi, chérie. Je ne voulais pas te faire peur, ma reine.” His husky voice caused  echoes of a shiver to run down her spine, sparking desire and lust throughout her entire body. *Relax, sweetheart. Did not mean to scare you, my queen.*

“You know I wasn’t a queen, Book…” she replied back as she turned her head to the side, seeing hazel-muted green eyes looking at her with a soft side that was only for her.

“You are to me, Alexina.”

The petite woman slowly maneuvered her body around so that she was facing Booker. Her topknot flopped to the side as Nyx tilted her head a little bit while she looked to the Frenchman.

"And what is that you see in me that justifies you calling me such a title, Sebastian?" Nyx asked; her voice gave away hints of insecurity and low esteem to being called a queen when Nyx knew that she was not one.

Booker was a little taken back of her using his given name from birth, but once again: this was Nyx. She usually fell back to using anyone's given name once in a while. Here, she was using it as a way to show her true colors with him. After all, she found him and mentored him when the group all dreamt of him. One of his hands reached up to where the hair tie held her hair and took it out, allowing her dark brown hair tumble down to her shoulders in loose waves. He carded his fingers through her hair, causing her to close her eyes and lean her head towards his hand.

"Is mian liom go bhfeicfeá cé chomh hálainn atá tú faoi láthair, a ghrá. le gruaig seo silky agus lush, déanann tú gach scéal faoi mhná de do chuid ama cuma plain i gcomparáid leatsa ag an nóiméad seo." He simply stated as he stared at her. *I wish you could see how beautiful you are right now, my love. With hair this silky and lush, you make all stories of women of your time look plain compared to you at this moment.*

Nyx opened her eyes, confusion on her face at his words. Ah, there was a language she never learned, Booker mused to himself as he took in the newly found knowledge. He smirked as he brushed her cheek with his other hand.

"Ní bhfuair tú aon smaoineamh cad atá á rá agam anois, an bhfuil? Bhuel, is faoiseamh é sin. Ba mhaith liom a bheith trína chéile dá dtuigfeá cad é a dhéanann tú domsa, Sparta beag." *You got no idea what I'm saying right now, do you? Well, that's a relief. I would be upset if you understood what it is that you do to me, little Sparta.*

"Ω, ξέρω τι είπες, Σεμπάστιαν. Αυτά είναι εύκολα χρήματα εκεί. Αλλά, και πάλι, τα ελληνικά είναι τόσο ξένα για σας που είναι σαν να οδηγώ ένα ποδήλατο μετά από τόσο καιρό για μένα. Αν μόνο ήξερες πόσο μεγάλο μέρος της καρδιάς μου ανήκει σε εσένα, πώς όλα περιστρέφονται γύρω σου και ότι θα πεθάνω αν με πάρεις τόσο ξαφνικά." Nyx said as she raised her hands to cup his face. *Oh I know what you said, Sebastian. That's easy money right there. But, then again, Greek is so foreign to you that it's like riding a bicycle after so long for me. If only YOU knew how much of my heart belongs to you, how everything revolves around you and that I'd die if you were taken from me so sudden.*

Booker leaned his head forward, closing his eyes as he felt her forehead against his and let out a sigh of content. He could feel her breath mix with his as his other hand grasped at her hip gently.

"Coming to bed?" He asked softly.

"I'll be there in a bit. Unless you can convince me otherwise," she replied back, her voice hoarse from holding back all the emotions she was feeling at that moment.

Booker only smirked before closing the gap, ghosting his lips against her before pulling back slowly. Opening his eyes, he could see Nyx staring at him with a sense of admiration and tenderness only reserved for him. He then grabbed at the back of her thighs, lifting her up from the railing; this caused Nyx to scramble to wrap her arms around his neck and shoulders to prevent falling out of his arms. He chuckled as he walked them back inside the room, closing the door with his foot behind them.

#old guard #fanfic

[prince-claremont-diaz]

from outside looking in

An introspection into isolation, finding yourself and finding your people.

Or essentially, a stream of consciousness about Arthur's life leading up to the events of the season 5 trailer.

Warnings: internalised homophobia, general angst

Word count: 2.4k

Ao3 version

Yes, I wrote an Arthur fic because why the fuck not

For as long as he could remember, Arthur had felt like an outsider. When he was little, he used to play with his action figures alone on the playground, launching them off the swings or scrambling up trees and slides to pretend he was way up high in outer space, simply looking down at the rest of the world. He read comics and books and kept to himself for the most part. As he grew up, his classmates laughed at him for his 'toys' and 'picture books', on one occasion going so far as to flush one of his comics down a toilet. He knew there was something about him that generally kept others away from him, knew he didn't quite act or feel like the rest of them.

Like an alien sent right from one of his stories.

When Arthur first met Basile, however, it was the first time he felt like he belonged.

They met when they were 10 years old, when Basile transferred to his school after moving to the area. Arthur remembered the day vividly. It was the first day back at school and his dad had dropped him off on his way to work early, so he was one of the only kids that had arrived yet. He had been sitting alone at his new desk, flicking through his Hawkeye comic, idly glancing at the other kids chatting at another table when the door to the classroom unceremoniously burst open. With a tiny, high pitch yelp, somebody stumbled into the room, nearly taking out another desk on their descent to the floor. Arthur put his comic down as he watched the newcomer, who had wild curly black hair, getting awkwardly to his feet.

The now familiar bright grin immediately met Arthur from across the room. Dressed in an ill fitting Star Wars t-shirt and sporting a too-big orange backpack, the new boy immediately started walking over to Arthur, ignoring the jeers of the other classmates. He stopped in front of Arthur's desk and held out a marker-covered hand, grinning. "Hi! I'm Basile! But you can call me Baz! I like your comic, too. Can I sit here?" the boy babbled away, already sitting down in the seat opposite Arthur.

Arthur had nodded, his own wide grin melting over his face. "Thanks! I like your shirt!" he exclaimed, pointing at the other boy's t-shirt.

And from then on, Arthur had one other person in his life to keep him company.

For a while, Arthur tried to ignore most of the other people around him. He had Baz, so why should he care about everyone else? Why should he worry about the rest when he was playing video games or watching movies or discussing comic books with his best friend? It was easy to brush away the comments about his glasses or his comics if he just focused on the person that actually liked him. Baz was virtually the only person he cared about and he cared enough for the rest of the planet.

But as he got older, the retorts became harder and harder to let go. The name calling turned from "Four eyes" to whatever slurs they could come up with, chasing him down with jeers and taunts he had no choice but to listen to. Flushing his comics or throwing his action figures turned into pushing him into the lockers or throwing things at him.

It is almost impossible to ignore what stares you right in the face, after all.

The question of "am I gay?" swirled around Arthur's mind for years. Whenever he caught himself looking at Baz for too long or caring a bit too much about a male character, the smallest of voices wondered somewhere in the back of his head whether it was true. Was he gay? Or did everyone else look at their friends the way Arthur did with Baz?

His browsing history was meticulously deleted, all of his secrets hidden away in the depths of the internet where no one else would ever find them. He never lingered long on websites, always sure to keep safer tabs open should someone come into his room without warning. He only ever searched up the burning question or scrolled through the endless chat rooms in the dead of night, looking for the answers in the depth of internet forums and 12 question quizzes. He felt like he was on some quest to find an answer that he was simply keeping from himself, never fully allowing himself the truth.

Soon enough, Arthur couldn't handle it anymore. He hated himself when he caught himself daydreaming about his close friend, cursed himself for being a 'pervert'. He wasn't gay, surely. He'd had crushes on girls, after all. That meant he was straight, right?

Instead of acting on anything or letting himself even look at Baz, Arthur hid away. He spent his lunch periods in the school library, avoiding his friend in the halls in favour of keeping his nose tucked into the latest comic books. He took the long way to and from school to avoid walking the same way as Basile, ducking through side streets and crossing the street with abandon. Whenever Baz tried to talk to him, he shrugged him off, insisting he was busy with school work. His heart raced every time he saw the dark curls at the other end of the hall going to class, dread overflowing his body like a broken tap, shoving him into the corner of the hallway to avoid being seen by his friend.

It is agony to avoid the unavoidable magnetic pull of longing.

"Arthur? Can we talk?"

It had been in the middle of November, the wind unusually violent and unforgiving, rattling the windows of the small cafeteria. Arthur was sitting at one of the big circular tables by himself, poking half heartedly at his lunch, feeling light years away from the rest of the tables in the room. When he looked up to his name, his heart dropped as he made eye contact with a pair of familiar, sad brown eyes standing over him. Arthur had never seen Baz looking so forlorn, like a kicked puppy, clutching his green lunch bag with an iron grip.

Before he could dismiss him, Baz dropped into the seat next to him, dropping his lunch onto the table and pulling out his food. "Baz, what are you—" he had started, glancing over at the sandwich in an attempt to avoid looking up into those damn eyes.

"You're avoiding me," Basile blurted, "Why? I thought we were friends." Arthur glanced up finally, feeling his face flush at the look Baz was giving him. His eyebrows were knitted together and his bottom lip trembled in a frown like Arthur had never seen.

"We are friends," he insisted, "And I'm not avoiding you. I've just been busy."

"You won't even look at me anymore," Baz whined, taking a bite of his sandwich. "I know I'm not the smartest–everyone always reminds me–but I can tell you've been avoiding me for weeks. Just tell me why and I'll leave you alone for good."

But Arthur couldn't tell Basile why he had been avoiding him. He could barely admit to himself just why he felt the need to avoid the only person who had ever made him feel less alone. Deep down, he knew exactly why he forced himself to look away, forced himself to stay away.

But despite this, Basile was his best friend. Neither of them had any other friends besides each other and in his pathetic self-isolation to avoid his own feelings which were staring right at him, Arthur had ultimately abandoned Baz. Baz, who had treated him with nothing but kindness since the day he literally fell right into Arthur's life. Baz, who liked the same things as him and let him talk about his silly fantasies and hobbies. Baz, who never ever judged him for anything at all.

"I'm sorry," Arthur had said that day, swallowing back tears and forcing himself to look into those bright brown eyes he loved yet hurt him so much. "I-I can't explain why, but I'm sorry for avoiding you. You of all people don't deserve that."

No matter what, Arthur knew he couldn't just leave Basile just because he couldn't handle his own feelings. And so, he stopped avoiding Baz. He let them go back to normal, going over to each other's houses to play video games or rewatch movies, bickering about their favourite characters over lunch. He talked to Basile about the pretty girls in their school and let Basile plot out his futures with them, pretending he didn't think it was futile. He vowed to never let his emotions get the best of him. He prioritised their friendship over whether or not he did in fact have a crush on Baz. They had more important things to worry about like going to Lycée in a few months and going to a new school again. It did not matter if he thought Basile's eyes looked nice the way they seemed to glow in the sunlight or his desire to touch his hair or hug him. What mattered was that Baz was still his friend, despite him acting like a dick for weeks.

When they went off to Lycée together, picking different classes from each other, of course their dynamic changed slightly. That had been expected. They no longer shared as many classes together or had time to just play video games together. Basile talked and talked and talked about the hot girls in the years above or the girls he was crushing on for weeks, hardly seeming to notice that Arthur never contributed more than advice and support. They both made friends in other classes, spending more time with them than each other.

Slowly, as Arthur got more used to his new school and new people everywhere, he started to feel better about himself. Sure, he was still a bit of a nobody, mostly drifting from group to group, never quite a part of things. But he still had Basile and he liked his classes enough to get by.

One night, buried beneath his bedsheets, Arthur stumbled upon an article which changed his entire life. Hunched over his laptop, scrolling through the billionth website that night, his jaw dropped. His heart hammered against his chest, blood rushing past his ears and a gasp falling from his lips as he read.

Bisexuality is the sexual or romantic attraction to both men and women or to two or more genders.

With this newfound knowledge, Arthur continued to keep it private. He held the word deep inside his chest, locked away for safekeeping, only to be released in the darkest of nights. He whispered it to himself in the mirror, muffled by the rushing water of the sink, shrouded by the midnight stars twinkling above. He saw blue and purple and pink in everything, in every sunrise and sunset, in every rainbow and article, allowing himself only the smallest of glances. He kept the word safe from the rest of the world, blanketing it and boxing it away with the rest of his old yet sacred possessions.

Even as he kept his secret to himself, he slowly, gradually learned to accept himself. He wasn't wrong for how he felt. He allowed himself to be closer, to reach out and touch, to tease and to smile. He no longer held back as much, caving into his near constant desire to touch. And Baz didn't seem to mind, so what was the harm?

In their second year of lycée, he and Basile befriended Lucas and Yann. He sat next to Lucas in a few of his classes, sharing jokes about their teachers or whispering about the homework. Yann was also a delight, teaching him to skateboard and always lending a helping hand.

Arthur even befriended Alexia, whom he was forced to sit next to in Biology. She was a whirlwind with colourful hair and a friendly smile, making jokes left and right, sending his heart out the window. She was caring and energetic, far more intelligent than he was and beautiful.

Of course, Arthur couldn't stay away from his sexuality forever. When his close friend Lucas came out as gay and suddenly he had a new pansexual friend from the year above, Eliott, it was unavoidable to think about. Alexia talked about being bi often as well, making his whole face flush violently every time. Sexuality and attraction were common topics of conversation in their friend group these days.

When Alexia kissed him on the dance floor at Daphné's party, Arthur felt his entire body erupt at every nerve ending, a force so powerful he could taste static. It was the softest and the shortest of kisses, but it felt like belonging. Arthur could barely believe his luck, holding on tighter to her like he would lose her if he wasn't careful. For weeks afterwards, through flirting and teasing, Arthur fell harder and harder for her, finally getting the guts to kiss her again at Imane's party. And she had kissed him right back.

With Alexia, Arthur no longer felt the need to hide or to repress. He could be open and honest with her, knowing she wouldn't judge him. He no longer felt constantly on edge because of the potential disaster of Baz finding out about his feelings or of the potential reaction of their friends, seeing how they had reacted to Lucas and Eliott. Alexia was special and she liked him for who he was and Arthur could only thank the universe every time he had the luck to even be in her presence.

And now, as he was dancing the night away, preparing to count down to yet another year, yet another decade, Arthur looked around the crowded room. He looked at his gorgeous girlfriend Alexia as she danced with Daphné and Imane and he looked at Lucas and Eliott so captivated and entangled together. He looked at Yann and Emma jumping around as they talked and he turned to Baz as he moved closer. They danced together briefly, smiling, closer than his younger self would ever have imagined.

He looked through the blinding white strobe lights and the flood of blue, grinning around at his friends. He thought back to his entire life and as he looked around the room, he felt a lot less like an outsider than before.

#skam france #skam france fic #arthur broussard #arthur x alexia

[antihero-writings]

Jack of All Trade, in This Masquerade (Ch2)

Fandom: Pandora Hearts 

Fic Summary: Jack's stream of consciousness describes how society is like a masquerade, while his dreams show his own hypocrisy

I'll put the link to ch1 in a reblog, as well as do a reblog-version of this chapter that includes both chapters!

Notes: 

Nope, I didn't forget about this fic, haha! Actually this fic has been sitting on my computer taunting me for WAY too long. This is probably the fic I open and try to work on, and then close again, unable to work on it, more than any other...

Lately I've been going through old fics that I left unfinished on my computer and trying to post them by whatever means necessary. For a number of them, those means are simply cutting it earlier than I planned to. I desperately wanted this fic to be included in the mix. First I only wanted this fic to be one chapter, then I wanted it to be two...now it's gonna be three or more XD I've just been super unsure about how to write the next part for a very long time, but I have had this part done for too long...and the dissonance between the two made it hard to go anywhere with it. I hope posting this will help me be able to figure out the next part, haha!

Another reason I was hoping to write the next part too is because I wanted to use the second chapter of this for the "Lock" prompt of Phmonth19... but this chapter doesn't really work for it. So just know that was my goal, haha!

I mentioned this in the other chapter, but the song "Masks" by Aviators is absolutely perfect for this fic, and I highly recommend listening to it during or after you read it, haha!

If you enjoyed this, I'd really really appreciate if you could leave me a comment to let me know!! They truly do motivate me to continue, and make my week!! If you want to read more of this fic, I can assure you I'll be faster at writing the next chapter, if I know people are actually going to read it!!

Chapter 2: The Color of Tragedy

The scene shifted, paint on a canvas smearing, and Glen became a black satin stain beneath layers of paint, the crimson and commanding presence disappearing as the world rearranged itself.

The many Jacks faded into the background too, until he couldn’t tell if they remained mirrors—(mirrors hidden within the many halls and rooms, built within the walls of his heart)—or if they were strangers and friends again; other people, not himself.

The pillars to the ballroom slowly dissolved, as if in water, changing into a courtyard green sprouting up all around.

The music had always been an unfamiliar tune he was expected to inherently know the moves to. And no matter how much he listened to it, it never became innate. Now, after all this time, it morphed into something familiar. But familiar did not mean un-painful or un-maddening.

The soft tune of a pocket watch tiptoed on his brain, each footfall a syringe in his thoughts, dripping cold beautiful insanity slowly into his soul, one drop at a time, infecting it until it blocked out every other melody, and his feet forgot the moves he had so ruthlessly sewn in.

When he turned, the source was behind him; a man standing in the courtyard. All black now; black hair, black cloak. No crimson. Like he never spilt her blood. Like she never existed in the first place. All black…except for the eyes. Gaze fluctuating between daggers…and some emotion he was struggling to keep from escaping; the leader, and the broken boy, crying on the ground. Soot with sparks buried within; glints of violet, glints of gold. Glitches of empathy in the perfect program. His eyes focused on the pocket watch—(a glint in the dark itself)—until they flicked to him, and Jack felt those eyes as a sword at his throat.

At the shift in his gaze, the scene itself turned over again, wind blowing by him, a single spark of violet glowing in the blurred tapestry, and ever, ever that melody, slowly corroding him.

Glen sat in the grass on a sunny day, those violet blades sheathed as he bathed in the afternoon sunlight.

The first respite from the dance in all these years. A rest in the measure.

Glen, sitting in the sunlight. Glen, playing the piano—always that single, haunting melody, laced with a name, filling up Jack’s mind with the harmony until he was drowning in its sound, and could think no other word.

That melody, that word, and her voice—(A memory of her voice, soon given to him by a bloodstained black rabbit)—pulling him through the blurred universe to a balcony, drawn there like he was ink on a canvas, subject to the whims of the artist.

Brown hair, like hers.

Violet eyes, like his.

White dress.

Black dress.

Her existence was not tied down. As if it was a part of the smear itself, and not the concrete picture beneath it. She was a part of all these mistakes the artist tried to smudge out.

Jack pulled a white rose from his pocket.

He offered her a red rose.

“Would you care to dance, Alice?”

******

A little girl held the keys to those chains—held them, held by them all the same; that is to say her world would fall into the dark too, if the bounds were to break. A little girl chose the music, the steps. A little girl ruled the world.

Is that why they call it insanity?

Her daughter.

Gods may be fixed in the sky, watching all our misdeeds, and we believe in them, not they us, but children can be made to believe anything. Such as: men who come down the chimney do so to give them presents, that putting their teeth beneath pillows is anything more than gross. One can make them believe the world isn’t made of malice. You can make them believe you haven’t sewn your mask—and the things you stole to get those jewels, things like lives—into the skin. You can make them think you’re a hero coming to save them, make them more than a blur, a mistake, a prisoner of their own creation, but a part of something real and concrete, when you’re just using them, like everyone else will. Naiveté is powerful and dangerous in that way.

I heard her voice one day. Lacie’s. Not just in my memories. This was real, one piece of her reaching out to me from the black.

She had this toy rabbit. A toy, yes, but to a god, a toy can be a thinking, living, breathing, thing, with nothing more than a thought to animate it. Dolls and figures can be princesses and princes, and their knights and soldiers. Children dream. And lonely children dream the most. And a lonely god is a dangerous thing indeed. Especially a child god, surrounded by lifeless toys. Dangerous, because of the stories they tell themselves in the silence can become real indeed.

It was this toy that brought her voice to me, like a gift, physical thing. Packaged up a memory and sent it off to me.

So it was back to the dance. But this time it was different. Because even if there were other melodies out there somewhere, other moves to know, my ears only heard one twinkling pocket watch, my feet would only obey one conductor.

And this melody was not bound by little girls, and lonely gods, and broken, blood struck leaders. This one I could make up my own moves to, intertwine them with the motions and melodies of the rest of the world, so no one would know I was dancing to my own song.

This rabbit, the one who brought her voice to me had a name. Oz—(like Oswald…but not like him at all)—was to be my chain. A chain different from the rest. A chain that was not friendship, or love, or hate, or malice. A chain that was not sanity or insanity. A chain that was not keeping the world upright. A chain to break all other chains. Bringing her to me. Tying me to her. My chain, to destroy all the chains keeping me from hearing her voice again, and her from the world she loved.

A god who creates something that can destroy their world is dangerous indeed.

Little girls and their dolls, toy rabbits and puppet kings, a tear or two, and some spilled blood couldn’t stop me now.

******

The world blurred in black and white, gold and red, violet and green.

Which color was real?

Was it the black and white; just the game of chess?

Was it the endless violet in the king’s eyes?

The gold of shimmering lights, and the eyes of scared little boys just trying to help?

Was it the green, the vibrant, envious green of his clothes, his eyes?

Or was it all the red they spilled?

And there was. So much red. One could have painted with it. He did. The floors. The walls. The roses he once promised she’d see. The world.

But even within those colors… nothing was quite solid, quite sure.

Because the gold didn’t shimmer anymore. Those golden eyes were full of fear, determination. They didn’t gleam with false riches, but with real poverty; a poverty that comes not from losing your money, but losing your friends, or your sanity.

Because that green wasn’t the vibrant bloom of a garden. It was not envy or eternity or ephemerality and it—he—too was dyed with red.

Because when Oswald truly put a sword to Jack’s throat his eyes held no sting. Those violet blades held nothing more than infinite sorrow. He called him his friend. But he saw him at the end of a sword, at the end of themselves, at the end of the world.

Or at least, that was Jack’s goal.

But the king made sure the only world that ended was their own, cutting off the hand for the sake of the rest of the body. Gouging out the eye for the sake of the face.

And there was another Jack trapped within the reflection on the sword—(mask or real?)—looking like a broken thing determined to hold itself together. And when something gets to that point, is broken enough…it doesn’t care. About much of anything. Not itself. Not the friend on the other end. Just whatever it is holding itself together.

The king’s head is lying on the board.

“Glen?”

Jack is calling his name, cradling his red-stained head in his hands, tears smearing the green of his eyes.

How did he die? Who killed him? How can he make them pay?

But his hands are covered in blood.

What’s the mask? The blood? Or the tears?

And now everything, once too blurred, once just a smear on a canvas, a move in the midst of a dance, is too real, too concrete, too irreversible.

Checkmate. But he doesn’t feel like he’s won the game.

And as he cries, as he screams and demands why, the masks peer out of the corners of the board, stare his way, snickering at him from the hidden passageways deep inside him.

The closer he got to his goal, the more those chains fell apart, finally creating his own moves to the dance…the less he he noticed something wrapping around his arms, his legs.

He rushed to the tower where the god-girl will grant his wishes at last—the bottle for the genie—where he will be free.

And she would have granted him all, if only he would have freed her from her bottle.

She wouldn’t have hesitated to destroy the world for him.

Were it not for her other half, the rabbit’s tears, and a pair of scissors.

At last the machine remembers the wrench; the one that tried to change the patterns, the melody, long ago, all for a single distortion in the system that shouldn’t have been there in the first place. The one whom its gears once kicked to the bottom, the one who clawed his way back up. And it knows kicking him back down there again won’t be enough.

Fine. If he wanted to change the system, the dance, the melody, then the system would exclude him, treat him as an error. The dance will leave him with everything he wanted, everything he was, everything he created.

He opens his eyes.

There is no ballroom. No dance. No dancers. …Maybe there never was.

A cell. Or at least, he thinks it is, but he doesn’t see any walls or floors, just navy darkness, and a crack in the dimension above, like a slit in the prison door, letting in the tiniest bit of light.

He takes a step.

There’s a sloshing noise.

So there’s water in the bottom of this cell. Is the prison’s being flooded? He ought to tell the guards.

One more step.

Something cuts the air. A terrible sound; like somebody took a beautiful thing and melted it down, and melded it into something it was never meant to be.

Laughter. Twisted, reckless, mirthless, soulless laughter. As if he stepped on a malfunctioning Jack-in-the-box, with no need for the song.

There’s no music anymore. And the the absence of it threatens to suffocate him.

Another step, another laugh, different, but no less jagged.

He doesn’t want to look down. Doesn’t want to see. To face it. He knows. He knows what he’ll find there.

But he does it anyways.

Beside his foot is a mask. A fine porcelain one, like from a theater, that would cover the whole face. The slit-eyes are curved down, the mouth curved up, to signify happiness.

It’s the ugliest thing he’s ever seen.

But he knows, if he were to put it on, it would fit his handsome face perfectly.

He puts a hand over his mouth to barricade the sick, to cloister his silver tongue, and takes a step back.

But when he does, another warped sound wrenches open the air. This time it’s crying.

He spins around. His heel is on another mask.

But, as he looks upon it, his eyes are pulled upward as if on strings. There is something far worse behind him. It’s like a snowy mountain.

Masks, endless, empty, lifeless masks. This place is surely built upon them.

All the masks he ever wore.

Does he even have a face anymore?

#jack vessalius #oswald baskerville #pandora hearts #glen baskerville #lacie baskerville #pandora hearts fandom #Pandora Hearts fanfiction #pandora hearts fanfic #pandora hearts fic #tragedy trio #pandora hearts manga #the tragedy of sablier #tragedy of sablier #ph fandom #ph fanfic #ph fanfiction #ph fic #jack vessalius fanfiction #jack vessalius fic #jack vessalius fanfic #angst #tragedy #character study #mild horror #dark

[until-we-fall-in-love]

Ingénue: Chapter Three

-Read Chapter Two-

Ingénue Masterlist

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Reader, Steve Rogers x Reader, in later chapters Sam Wilson x Reader, Natasha Romanov x Reader, and Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Summary: You take a job as a showgirl in an illegal speakeasy owned by two of the most notorious mobsters of New York City in 1921. Caught up in the glamor and mystique, you go spiraling into a world a little more dangerous than you had originally thought. 1920s AU.

In this chapter, your relationship with Steve and Bucky develops. Natasha keeps a close eye on you. 

Warnings: Smut, cursing, in later chapter there will be violence.

A/N: hello everyone!! thank you all for the kind comments and feedback about this story! i have a lot of fun writing this series and it makes it even better to know others are enjoying it, too! this chapter got a little long and mostly just smut and fluff but at the ending, we finally get into a little bit more plot. Or like....a hint of what might come. thank you for reading!! your comments mean a lot to me so please let me know what you thought of this chapter!

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You lean over the counter in front of the mirror, hips digging into the edge slightly as you adjust an earring that dangles prettily, catches and shimmers in the light of the dressing room. You are running slightly late for curtain call, simply because you’d been going over some changes to one of your solo songs while most of the girls got ready. You are left alone with the warm, perfumed air and your reflection in the mirror.

Heels click against the wood floors and your eyes dart at the sound, turning slightly to see Natasha striding towards you languidly. Her movements are easy, graceful, fluid; almost lazy, as if she knows she is the best in any room.

“I’ve been looking for you,” She begins, stepping nearer, coming to stand behind you. You look at her reflection in the mirror, your eyes catching and holding.

For some reason, it feels intimate, especially as she takes another step nearer. You feel warm beneath the hot bulbs above the mirror. You pretend to fix your earring again so you won’t meet her eyes.

“Is there something you need from me?” You ask lightly, your eyes focusing on a rhinestone in your earring.

She closes the distance, so she presses herself along the length of your back. A squeak of surprise gets caught in your throat as you straighten up slightly, but you’re pinned between her and the counter. Her body is soft and lean against you, unlike the hard lines of Bucky or Steve. You flush deeply and you shouldn’t feel a low swoop of excitement deep inside, but you do.

Her hand reaches around, tugs at the golden chain Steve had given you; the one with his ring dangling from it. Bucky had also added his when you’d seen him next and they chime and twinkle as they knock into one another as she lifts it from its resting place against your chest.

Her face is at the crook of your neck as she peers over your shoulder at the gold. “No.” She murmurs and you can almost feel her lips on the sensitive place at your jaw. Your fingers dig into the countertop. “But now that you wear this,” And her fingers nimbly slip down to toy with the two, sparkling rings at the end of it, “You’re under my protection.”

“Oh,” You exhale on a trembling breath, eyes fluttering, “F-from what?”

A sharp, wicked smirk touches her lips, nearly against your neck. “You really have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into.” She murmurs, pressing suddenly closer. “Surely, you understand that Bucky and Steve have enemies.”

“Well, I guess I knew I just didn’t--”

“Think of it?” Natasha asks, soft against your ear, but her eyes are focused on the rings around your neck still, expression suddenly less amused. “They don’t want to worry you.” Her free hand touches your waist, green eyes sharp, gutting you as you lock eyes in the mirror. You feel suddenly exposed as she gazes at your reflection, straight through it and into you. “But I think you should know considering there are already rumors.”

“What kind of rumors?” You ask and wish your voice could be stronger, but it's breathy and delicate. Your pulse is jumping, feeling like prey pinned by a predator, rabbit-heart pounding furiously in your chest and you aren’t sure if it’s excitement or fear for all the danger Natasha seems to promise.

 “Only that they’ve met a girl they’ve got a real soft spot for.” Natasha says, her own face softening a fraction, nose skimming along the line of your jaw and under the haze of her, you tilt your head and offer her more room. “Which, makes you a target.”

You blink, “A target?”

“Yes,” Natasha breathes, almost hisses, “Which is why I want you to stay near me.” She murmurs and her lips finally brush the barest hint against the vulnerable vein in your neck.

You gasp, soft and small.

“Can you do that?” She insists, voice lowering to something smooth and warm, almost domineering. Her lips suddenly settle into a gentle, sucking kiss at your pulse point.

 “Yes,” You get out, tipping your head back against her shoulder. You feel the skim of her teeth, the way in which it becomes harsher, more brutal.

She pulls away, lips hitching up into a sly smirk, her hand comes up to squeeze your jaw, forcing you to turn and face her now, your noses brushing. She holds your eyes, peers down at you until you cower a little against her. 

“Try not to worry too much.” She tells you, “I’ll look out for you, darling.” She then coos, almost teasingly, her fingers at your jaw squeezing so your lips pouted out a little before she drops you out of her hold and steps away. She slinks towards the door.

“You’re on in five.” She then adds over her shoulder, slipping out of the dressing room and disappearing as if she’d never even been there at all.

You blink back at your flushed face in the mirror, wondering what on earth had just happened. Steve’s words rattle around in your head, though;

You can trust them, too.

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

The following day, Steve and Bucky swing by to pick you up from your apartment and spend an afternoon in the park and conservatory, beneath the honey rays of the sun and cotton blue and white sky.

It isn’t your first date as a trio, but you feel just as giddy for it.

You’re dressed in a linen-cream day dress, light fabric that falls around your figure and flutters in the early summer breeze. Lace traces the edges, along the short, loose sleeves and hem. White, dainty kitten heels and a pair of short, satin, white gloves fit over your hands. They had cost too much when you’d gotten them, but you’d been so enamored with the pearly fabric and delicate finish that you’d had to have them. A soft, robin’s egg blue hat adorns your head, a cream sash around it to match your dress quite spiffingly. Instead of a string of pearls that’s in fashion, the infamous golden chain which you have only come to remove while you shower or bathe, finishes off the simple outfit, their rings glinting in the sun against the skin of your chest.

Bucky greets you by taking quick steps, arms going around your waist as he lifts you clear off your feet and spins you.

A surprised laugh falls from your lips, carrying on the breeze, twinkling and light.

“You look like a movie star!” Bucky gushes, “A true starlet. Don’t you think, Stevie?” He asks into the crook of your neck, your hair brushing his cheeks and nose. Your magnolia, sweet jasmine scent, soft and mellow clary sage makes his head spin already.

Steve smiles fondly as he watches Bucky set you back down easily, steadying you, before he plants a sloppy kiss on your cheek in formal greeting, forcing out another giggle from you as you scrunch your nose.

“Yeah,” Steve agrees, “You look incredible as always, sweetheart.” He then says and leans close to plant a much sweeter kiss to your temple.

 “Thank you,” You murmur shyly, demurely peaking up at Steve and he has to fist his hands in his pockets to keep from grabbing you by the back of your neck and crushing his lips to yours--

The drive to the park is simple and quick and you eagerly walk and strut along the paved trails beneath the patterned shadows and light that the trees cast on you through their leaves and reaching branches. You’re full of energy and vitality, a girl grown but still so new and fresh, the dew still clinging to you and sparkling.

Bucky and Steve trail behind you, watching you gush over flowers or hum to yourself, twirling to face them and say something witty and wonderful. They’re enraptured with you, Bucky more affectionate than Steve, chasing after your skirts as you squeal and laugh, his lips curving against your cheeks, the corner of your mouth. But Steve will drop his hand to the small of your back, against the line of your waist when you come near enough.

The fresh, strawberry-summer air is sweet and cleansing. It’s the perfect day to walk around outside, to step inside the tall, glass walls of a conservatory as the sun shines in on the exotic palms and flowers. The blue sky surrounds the sleek, clean glass, a background for the lush green of all the tropical plants within the massive greenhouse.

You’ve never seen anything so extraordinary; as if you’ve been transported right into the thick jungles of the rainforest, humid and tangled with emerald plants and their jeweled, bright flowers. There are even colorful, fluttering birds that squawk and chirp and soar over your head. Little peach parrots and yellow, blue, or green birds that hop from branch to branch.

“I love the birds,” You gush, face awash with awe and tenderness for the little creatures that playfully chase each other, your face tilted up to the skies to watch them.

The sun kisses your face, honeydew rays that caress you the way the men at your sides want to, fingers twitching; Steve would brush your hair from your cheek so it curled around your ear. Bucky would touch your bottom lip, run his thumb over it with a tenderness he didn’t know he possessed until he’d met you.

“Want us to get you some?” Bucky asks, fingers reaching out and snagging your waist, pulling you into his axis and drawing you into his arms with your back pressed to his solid chest.

“Oh yes,” You laugh, thinking he’s joking, “Because they’ll do just wonderfully in my little apartment--”

Bucky noses at your neck, “Well, Steve and I have room at our--” He stops, pulling back slightly, his fingers coming up and brushing a spot on your neck, “Stevie, you make this mark?” He asks over his shoulder.

“Huh?” Steve starts, shifting to peer at your neck.

Heat overcomes you as you realize that Natasha must’ve left a love bite. Shame flurries through you, too. Fear settles deep into the pit of your stomach. Will they be upset? Have you ruined it all by allowing Natasha so close?

You whirl away from Bucky, turning to face him, hand going over the love bite on your neck to shield it from their gaze. Your heart hammers a little too hard.

“I didn’t-- it wasn’t--” You stammer, just as Bucky’s eyes get a little darker, “Natasha did it!” You suddenly burst, feeling your face go as red as some of the flowers that perfume the thick air around you.

Bucky barks out a laugh, much to your surprise.

“Oh,” Steve exhales.

Bucky approaches you again, snagging your wrist and forcing your hand away from your neck.

“She caught me off guard, is all. I didn’t--” You try to explain, eyes flickering up to him, to gauge his reaction as he studies the small, blossom red mark that was left on your neck by her. He takes your chin in his rough hand, tilting your head away slightly to further expose the line of your neck to him. You feel vulnerable, small, especially as Steve steps behind you, caging you in as his broad palms settle onto your waist.

“Did you like when she did that?” Bucky asks and you feel your breathing catch and stop from within your lungs.

You stare up at him, wide eyed, perhaps fearful. Was he testing you?

Yes, you want to say honestly, it’s Natasha, you think. With her curves and jade eyes, sly smile and low, lullaby voice that coaxes you into offering up your neck like sacrifice to those ruby lips. 

“I--” You start, stop.

Bucky then lifts your chin to catch your eyes. “Be honest, doll.” He says in a stern voice, just on the right side of domineering that has you practically melting into Steve’s chest.

You nod slightly, the shyest dipping of your chin as you gaze up at Bucky through your lashes. You feel half-mortified, wishing to hide, but being caught between them and feeling helpless.

It shouldn’t make you warm with arousal, but it does and now your breathing is quick, pupils dilating.

A slight, dark smirk touches Bucky’s lips. Almost wolfish and now you really do try to squirm away, but all you do is ease further into Steve’s arms and warm chest. Bucky crowds you further, dropping his hand from your chin and nosing his way along your neck. “Minx,” He calls you before his teeth nip, pinch, then settle into his own sucking kiss over the love bite.

You squeak, high and sharp, especially as the already tender skin of your neck is then bruised further by Bucky. His knee forces apart your legs and you whimper, undignified and desperate before Steve hushes you softly, whereas Bucky only seems encouraged by the noise, a rumbling growl escaping him as his lips and teeth at your neck do turn painful.

“Bucky,” Steve warns, but Bucky pays him no mind as his knee brushes your center, making you cry out pitifully--

Steve sinks a hand into the hair at the nape of Bucky’s neck and tightens it into a large fist, pulling hard and forcing Bucky away from your neck. “Ease off,” Steve says lowly and you have to bite your bottom lip to keep back another mewl at the sound.

Bucky’s flushed as he looks at Steve, eyes so dark and shining. You’re breathless because he looks handsome and a little unhinged, like he wants to devour you, like he wants to absolutely wreck you and you-- you want him to, you think. The warm heat of the pain from your neck radiates, almost makes you want more. The darkness in his features excites you more than it should. You’d liked the way he’d growled and pushed you harder into Steve, feeling trapped and precious and small between them.

Your head is foggy, but you catch Steve scolding him about how you are in public still. To have some sort of control. Bucky eases away, making you blink. Steve soothes a hand over your shoulders and back, seeing the tell-tale dazed look of arousal in your eyes that he’s come to know.

“Poor honey,” Steve murmurs, pressing gentle, placating kisses to your cheek, your jaw. He brushes over the tender skin that’s been marked twice now, “Jesus, Buck,” He murmurs, “What are you, a vampire?”

“I’m sorry, doll.” Bucky says, but he doesn’t seem very sorry at all.

Your lashes flutter, “So, you aren’t mad?” You ask tentatively, “About Natasha?”

Bucky scoffs, shakes his head, “Nah,” He says, “It’s just Tasha.”

You glance at Steve for his own opinion; he shakes his head, too. “I told you, we trust Sam and Natasha with everything that we care about.” He assures you, slipping his hand into yours and guiding you further into the greenhouse, through the winding trails and beneath the wide, palm leaves.

“But I’m still,” You start, take in a slow breath to steady yourself, to try and clear your head, “Confused. Are there--” You pause to consider your words carefully, “Boundaries? How far is too far with one of them?” You glance between them, “I’m supposed to be with you two, right? I don’t want to be disloyal, then.”

Steve’s eyes soften, a fondness touching his features at your devotion, so sweet and pure and deep.

“Would it make you feel better if one of us was always around?” Steve asks, squeezing your hand.

You exhale, finally finding an answer that suits you. It’d make you feel more comfortable, more at ease. You’ve already begun to see them as safety and protection, too, already feel bolder with them at your sides, taking solace in their arms. “Yes,” You tell him, “It would make me feel much better.”

“Then it’s settled.” Steve replies, bringing your hand up to place a reverent kiss to the inside of your wrist, right at the delicate pulse, the softness of the gesture melting your heart.

You spend the rest of the day with them at the park, end up lounging in the shamrock grass, rolling around in a clover field and laughing with wide smiles and flushed cheeks, the blue sky open and wonderful before your eyes.

You fall for them further, gentle, like a feather in the wind, a petal on a stream.

 --------------------

A few more weeks of whirlwind dates during the day; they spend all the time they can spare with you, but they’re busy men. They take you shopping on more than one occasion, spoil you rotten with clothes and jewelry, anything your heart desires and you knew they were wealthy but you’re starting to wonder how wealthy with the designer brands they gift you with; Coco Chanel, Madeleine Vionnet, Schiaparelli. It’s overwhelming, in some ways, but infinitely fun to wear the dresses they bought you out on dates. You’re catching eyes, suddenly fashion forward and unique, hanging off the arms of two of the most powerful men in New York, highlighting at one of the most popular speakeasies in the city.

It’s a thrill.

And they’re lovely to you, absolutely smitten. Natasha is convinced you have them wrapped around your little fingers. Sam is just as enraptured.

Wanda is constantly quizzing you and asking you questions, most of which make you blush darkly under her gaze but you tell her, anyways, in soft whispers about what you have and haven’t done with them. You try to be vague with her, though, despite recalling in detail memories that make you squirm;

Steve with his head between your legs as you sit in Bucky’s lap, who holds you still despite all your squirming and begging. He likes to wrap his hand around your throat delicately, tip your head back onto his shoulder and look down the length of your bare body as Steve’s mouth makes you tremble.

Sometimes Bucky pushes his fingers into the soft warmth of your mouth, groans when you wrap your lips around them to try and stifle your whimpers. It’s dirty and lewd and you buck against Steve’s mouth, which opens against you and makes you fall apart.

Or on your knees in front of Steve, nervous flutters in your stomach, Bucky beside you on the floor of your bedroom, his lips at your neck.

“I’ve only done this once.” You tell them meekly, wide eyes glancing up at Steve as your small hand wraps around him. He hisses, hips stuttering forward and into your palm.

“S’okay, doll.” Steve murmurs, fingers treading lightly through your hair. He has to find his control, though, with the way you’re looking at him, so hopelessly innocent and soft--

“Don’t worry, I’ll guide you.” Bucky murmurs, all sin and darkness as his hands roam your body.

“Good girl,” He praises when you take Steve between soft, parted lips and close around the tip. Steve groans, a little broken, desperately trying to stay gentle with you.

“How’s she feel?” Bucky asks eagerly, glancing up at Steve’s face, twisted in pleasure.

“Amazing.” Steve gets out, just as you take him a little deeper, breathing slow, lashes fluttering against your cheek.

Or the times that Bucky makes you see stars so much that you start crying, babbling, unsure what you’re even begging for as Steve kisses away the tears on your dolly pink cheeks. Bucky likes to make you cry, you find out, tells you how pretty you are when you’re made a mess by him.

“But you haven’t…?” Wanda trails off and you know what she’s asking, feel sheepish with her wide eyes on you.

“Not yet.” You tell her softly, in the hazy dark of the dressing rooms after most have gone home. “I haven’t been to their house yet, either.”

That changes in a few days time, though. You haven’t seen Bucky or Steve in a week or so because of how busy they’ve been, but Bucky phones you to tell you that he’s going to pick you up after your performance that night and bring you back to their place. He assures you that you can stay the night, if you’d like, or he can take you home whenever.

You have every intention of staying the night, despite not exactly knowing what to expect of their home. And though you’re aware of their wealth, you aren’t at all prepared for the manor that sits atop a hill on the bay in Long Island. Like a modern castle on the outside, all pointed roofs and proud brick at the very back of their lot. The expanse of green; manicured shrubs and a pond with a fountain that bubbles prettily, even in the dark of night, lights casting it in a silver, pearly glow.

The inside is even more incredible, all glittering marble and tall ceilings, chandeliers, and winding staircases. Tall windows beneath arches, plush sofas and extravagance. It’s incredible, takes your breath away.

Steve promises you can explore more in the morning when it’s light out, since you’ve decided to stay the night. And with that, Bucky grabs you firmly around the middle and  tosses you over his shoulder. You squeal, laughter bright and pinging in the cavernous house as he leads you to a bedroom. Steve’s specifically, you think, but you wonder if Bucky usually stays here, too.

He tosses you down onto the bed, which is large and spacious, plush blankets beneath you that your fingers spread out on and feel. Bucky covers you then with his own body, crawling up the length of you, lips dragging over your skin as he murmurs, “Missed you all week, princess.”

You giggle at his eagerness, his lips finding your smiling ones. “Missed you, too.” You get out before he deepens the kiss further. You feel the bed dip, Steve’s body stretching out to lay beside yours and you squirm under Bucky, breaking the kiss and leaning over to catch Steve lips, too.

“Missed you, too, Stevie.” You sigh against him and he returns the sentiment with a low hum into the kiss, making your fingers twist in his hair.

You can feel Bucky’s straying hands, impatient as he is, already working off your stockings and bloomers. You kick your leg a little at him, just to be a brat, even if you’re just as impatient, the heat inside of you becoming pressing and needy as you continue to kiss Steve. Bucky gives you a sharp nip to your inner thigh, just above your knee as punishment.

You yelp against Steve’s lips, the place sensitive and stinging now.

Cool air hits your bare legs, followed by Bucky’s plush mouth, warm and yielding against your inner thigh. You squirm, your body moving and pushing along the length of Steve’s and his lips part from yours, hovering. His breathing is rougher, broad palm reaching out to grasp and slide along your ribs, up beneath your chest.

Bucky’s lips move upwards already, wrestling you into being still when your hips begin to jerk and arch at the warmth of his mouth.

You cry out sweetly, right against Steve’s lips when Bucky’s mouth finds where you’re most sensitive.

Steve glances down the length of your body, catching Bucky’s eyes. “What’s the rush?” He gets out, voice gruff, but his fingers are running over your breasts through the fabric of your dress. There’s an urgency in their actions, which makes you feel dizzy and lightheaded, fingers sinking into Bucky’s dark hair to try and anchor yourself.

Steve never gets a response. Just your bitten back moan as Bucky rolls his tongue against you, eyes darting up to find your face scrunched up in pleasure, soft little cries falling from your honeyed lips that he fucking loves.

Their hands are everywhere; Steve’s pushing up your dress, rough hands on the delicate skin of your hips and stomach. You arch under the starlight for them, feeling half-possessed with the heat and their mouths and hands, the ferocity with which they grab you. The mercury slick light, silver and sparkling catches the planes of your cheeks, your hair spread out around Steve’s pillow.

He thinks he wants to draw you like this, the fabric of your dress catching and bunched, ripples or sparkles from the sequence under the light of the stars. Your lips open and soft, tempting and ballet pink.

Steve slips his fingers between your lips because he can, because it drives him crazy to feel the warmth of your mouth, the tentative brush of your tongue.

You mewl around them, fuss and try to squirm in Bucky’s arms but he’s got you-- he’s got you tough and hard, even when you fracture, falling apart into what feels like thousands of pieces, Steve’s fingers falling from your mouth as you cry out.

“Bucky,” You plead, voice high and desperate; Steve can tell you’re getting too sensitive already. “Bucky, s-stop.” You try to get away, try to push his head away but he pulls you tighter, forces you flush to his mouth again.

You almost sob, begging and whining as you twist and turn on his sheets. Usually Steve forces Bucky to back off, but he’s suddenly far too intrigued with the tremble in your voice. He takes your chin between his fingers and turns you to him, pressing his lips to yours, petal crushed and slick and gasping beneath him.

He catches your wrists, pulls your hands from Bucky’s hair and forces them above your head. You keen, all precious and perfect beneath him.

“Keep your hands there for me.” Steve murmurs against your lips.

“Steve--” You gasp, begging.

He kisses you hard, silencing you, leaving no room for argument before his lips fall down the line of your neck, down to your chest in heated, sloppy kisses. He pushes your dress up, wriggles it over your head and you’re left in a lavender and creme bralette, soft lace that covers your chest.

You strain, desperately trying to keep your arms where Steve placed them. Bucky groans against you, vibrations making you gasp, glancing down at him where he rolls his eyes up to meet your face, fever bright and dazed, drunk off you.

You whimper, lashes fluttering. Steve’s hands rid you of your bralette now, too.

You’re completely bare, soft skin turning dewy against the silk sheets, hands grasping at the bed board above your head for an anchor, anything--

All it takes for you to fall apart again is Steve’s broad hand on your breast, followed by his warm mouth on the peak, Bucky still greedily, happily between your legs. The pressure builds sharp, then bursts inside of you and you let out a broken cry, raw and high as you tense up, tears caught on your lashes.

Bucky finally lets up, looking too smug for your swimming eyes, tears brimming in the corners, as he crawls up the length of your hypersensitive body, hips still squirming.

He settles his hips in the cradle of yours, just as Steve pulls him in for a bruising kiss. You’re heady with them, watching as Steve tastes you on Bucky. It’s a rough kiss, makes Bucky groan darkly, makes you whimper, hips canting forward and into Bucky’s. Eagerly, his hips rock into yours, too, just before he pulls away from Steve to look at you.

“God, look at you,” Bucky breathes, eyes flying over you wildly, hunger still burning in the blue of his eyes, “Such a sweet girl.” He croons, sinful and low and you can’t believe your hips twitch again against his. 

You already feel wrecked, and yet, horribly empty and craving. Insatiable.

“Listens so well.” Steve praises, pressing wet kisses to your cheek, your jaw.

You hitch your leg over Bucky’s waist, arch your hips and try to entice him into rocking into you again, which he obliges, so you can feel the hard line of him where you want him most-- where you want Steve.

Your head is spinning.

“I w-want you.” You blurt out, looking up into Bucky’s face, just as he rolls his hips again. Your eyes flicker to Steve, desperate for him, too.

“Greedy little thing,” Bucky hums, and then, “You have us, sweetheart.”

Your cheeks heat up, unable to say the words, but pushing your hips back into Bucky’s. “No, I want you.” You try to say, flustered with the whininess in your tone, feeling utterly exposed, stretched out beneath Bucky, Steve at your side.

Bucky cocks a brow, tilts his head slightly. “Oh?” He says lightly, “How do ya want us, doll?” He croons, teeth dragging over your ear lobe, “Huh? Use your words.”

You try not to grow too frustrated or flustered; wish you had the grace or confidence to tell him blankly what you desire from them, but you’re already on the brink of tears, made messy and impatient for them. You shudder out an exhale.

“I want you inside me.” You whisper, ducking your head shyly into Bucky’ shoulders.

“What? Like my fingers?” Bucky teases cruelly, as if for emphasis, his fingers dig into the supple skin of your thighs.

“Buck,” Steve finally warns, catching your eyes as you turn your face to him. Steve’s fingers brush your hair from your face, gentle and patient where Bucky’s are rough and prodding.

“Are you sure, honey?” Steve asks and it’s infinitely soft, prying gently to see the truth of your admittance.

You leave yourself open, expressive, nodding quickly with your glistening eyes and damp lashes, cheeks gone cherry blossom and lips fruit-punch sweet and stung; pretty, prim girl that’s been made debauched and still begging for it.

“Get up, Buck.” Steve murmurs and to your surprise, Bucky complies with little complaint, easing off of you, cold air suddenly rushing over your bare body. Your arms are still stretched above your head, just as Steve told you. He now takes Bucky’s place, hips finding yours and he snakes his arms around you, pulling you up to his chest. “Wrap your arms around me.” He murmurs and eagerly, you comply, pulling yourself flush to him, burying your tear damp face into the crook of his neck as he eases you both up, so you’re in his lap.

“You’re sure?” He asks again to be certain, holding you like your precious.

“Yes, I’m sure.” You say into his neck, holding fast to him.

Bucky pouts a little about Steve being the first but he still helps undress him, loses his own clothes in the process until you cling to Steve’s naked chest and shoulders, straddling his waist. He’s hard and pressing against your inner thighs and when you shift slightly, he brushes between your legs, slick and warm.

It isn’t your first time; you’ve done this before, but it wasn’t like this, it was never like this--

Steve stills you with a huge arm around your torso, muscled and strong, protective and half-possessive, lifting you slightly. “I’ll go nice and slow,” He promises lowly, kissing the tender juncture of your shoulder as he reaches down, angles slightly. Bucky presses up against your back, the hard line of him along the curve of your waist.

You nod barely, lust hazed and heady with them.

You feel Steve press against your core, his hips tipping, angling into yours. Bucky kisses your shoulder, hands lifting your waist for Steve and then there’s a burn, a stretch--

You cry out; baby, kitten cry into Steve’s skin.

Steve eases you down, just as Bucky coos and hums in your ear;

Perfect girl, look at you taking Steve.

I’ve got you, it’s okay, angel.

Good girl.

“Oh,” You gasp brokenly, feel Steve bottom out, deep and filling and aching.

Steve bites back a groan, stilling to give you time, to be gentle and slow, just as he promised. Molten heat settles into your core, sticky warmth and Steve’s breath against your chest. Your tense muscles suddenly go slack, boneless, little doll that rolls her head against Bucky’s shoulder.

You shift your hips, arch your back, mewl and sigh and burn.Steve lifts you, pushes back into you in a slow, deep stroke. You groan, Bucky’s lips suddenly crashing down onto yours just as Steve begins a steady, lovely pace. His grip turns rougher, Bucky’s kiss desperate to taste you, hands bruising near Steve’s.

The kiss turns sloppy, your fingers tugging and twisting in Steve’s hair, whose mouth is open and works against your chest, messy, imperfect and warm. You can’t help the soft noises you make into Bucky’s mouth.

“That’s it,” Steve encourages as you grow relaxed and eager and desperate.

Bucky pulls away from you sharply, breath ragged and all he’s done is kissed you, “How’s she feel, Stevie?” He asks, voice rough, lips hovering over yours.

“Fuckin’ perfect.” Steve grits out, the slick slide of him making your back arch, “So tight, so fuckin’ good.” He says roughly, strokes growing deeper, faster. You keen, pliant and bathed in silverlight, heavenly and darling, hair spilling onto Bucky’s chest and shoulder. 

Bucky moans just at Steve’s words, just at the thought of you, right against your lips.

He shifts then, fisting himself, needy and pressing against your side. Steve takes the opportunity to ease you down, back hitting the bed with a gasp, followed by your sweet moan as he pushes back in on an easy stroke.

“Steve,” You get out, nails dragging over his shoulders.

“You gonna come for me, sweetheart?” He husks against your ear, hitching your hips up, shifting the angle so your mouth falls open, brows pulling together, fingers curling into hard muscles.

Steve eases back, shifting, making room for his fingers as he continues to move in you. Your nerves flare, making you whimper, needy and dizzy. You turn your eyes to Bucky, wanting him, too, letting your lips part and he presses himself there, let’s you draw him into your sugared mouth.

He groans when you close your lips around where he’s swollen and aching, too, grabbing onto Steve’s shoulder so he doesn’t rut into your mouth as his eyes burn and flare as he desperately watches where you and Steve meet.

Your lids go heavy and sated, lips spit-slick and messy, and your legs are sticky, dewy, glistening but its just you three, just the dark thunder blue of Steve’s eyes and the curses and praises that keeps spilling from Bucky’s pouty, kiss-stung lips.

It’s heaven and sin and hell all at once and you don’t last much longer, pulling off Bucky because you feel like you’re going to lose it, fingers twisting in the sheets.

“There’s our girl,” Steve praises as he feels you tighten, growls low and quickens, hitting deep and sweet inside of you until you’re falling apart all over again; all halo heat and blooming pleasure until you’re trembling, crying all over again.

Steve doesn’t last, either, pulling out of you spilling messy onto your stomach and hips, some onto your thighs. He eases off you, settles back by your side and presses kisses all over your wet cheeks, praising and murmuring softly as you feel Bucky shift, take his place.

His hand comes down on the mess that Steve made on your stomach, fingers sliding through, ruining you worse. His sticky fingers prod at your lips and you open automatically, all dazed and soft, close your lips around his fingers, tongue tasting the salty tang of Steve and you flush deeply with another bout of arousal somehow, head floating and hazy. 

“You got one more in you for me, princess?” Bucky asks and you can feel him already against where you’re still pulsing and slick and sticky. He purposefully lays his body along yours, makes more of a mess, spreads it between you two and it’s dirty and lewd and you give a broken little cry before Bucky eases in suddenly, trying to be slow but he can’t help himself, and you give a soft yelp with the rough thrust.

“Easy,” Steve warns him, sitting up slightly, gripping the back of his neck. Bucky groans, half-whines, but slows into a more languid pace that makes you glow and arch again, rubbing your cheek to his. He turns his head, lips fall over yours again, heated and insistent and he feels different than Steve but good still, rougher, teeth nipping against your plush, lower lip.

He pulls away to bury his face in the crook of your neck, tucking himself there as he ruts into you, strokes growing more and more desperate. Steve’s broad hand runs down his flank.

Bucky’s hand slides down your body, back between your legs, “C’mon, angel, one more for me.” He purrs but it edges onto more of a growl, his voice tighter, a little more desperate. His thrusts grow sloppier.

“Don’t you dare come before her.” Steve warns him and Bucky does growl now, low and rumbling through him and right into you, half-irritated and fingers quickening against your peach-slick flesh. You whine, fussing slightly at the overstimulation, already feeling the rise of another wave though, this time sharper, almost scarier. You grit your teeth, eyes screwing shut.

“B-Bucky,” You whine, maybe try to warn, voice raw, another tear slipping down your cheek. 

“Come for me, baby.” Bucky commands darkly, a little more wild with you, sinking teeth into the fluttering heartbeat on your neck and that’s it, that’s all it takes for you to rupture.

This one is somehow the strongest, your mouth falling open in a soundless groan, digging your nails into Bucky’s shoulders, half-crescents and kitten scratches burn red against his back. It’s sharp and almost painful, bursting hot and quick inside of you, turning inferno and white-flame.

And then Bucky’s finishing, too, pulling out and spilling onto your thighs, onto the already sticky mess of your stomach. His own abs glisten with Steve’s still, cheeks flushed, his mouth open and breathing ragged before he collapses over you. He covers you and holds you as you cry and squirm and mewl in the sensitive, nerve-shocking aftermath.

Steve hushes you, stroking your hair and face, praising you reverently under the ivory, blue moonlight, Bucky’s lips trying to soothe you, gentle and sated and mellow.

You doze in their warmth; boneless, exhausted, blissful.

 It’s Steve who urges you and Bucky up not long after, drawing a bath in the porcelain, clawfoot tub from the connected bathroom. It takes Steve lifting Bucky off you, but he manages to get you both in the warm water, frothy and soft seafoam to clean you. You sink into the warmth, hair curling with the humidity and Bucky kisses you slow and sweet against the lip of the tub. Wipes your face with warm, dripping fingers, clears you of tears and makeup.

Steve watches from the doorway, striped pajamas slung low on his waist, blue eyes heavy and loving. He’s there with a plush towel afterwards, bundles you up in his arms.

“Are you alright?” He murmurs, “How are you feeling?”

You blink up at him, slow, sleepy. But your heart is rosy and warm, sated and sanguine.

“Absolutely perfect.” You tell him earnestly, little voice hushed, as if you’re telling him a precious, jeweled secret.

He looks at you in awe for a moment, mesmerized by something in your features, as if you’re as bright and brilliant as a star in the sky. Then he kisses you fondly, lifts you easily and brings you back to bed as if it’s where you belong.

You had brought a nightgown for sleep, but care little now as you lay against Steve’s naked chest, feel the lullaby beat of his heart. Bucky’s body curls around yours, fingers dragging gently over your bare shoulders and you slip into perhaps the easiest, sweetest sleep, like a babe in her cradle, like a lamb in a meadow.

 --------------------------

You sleep late; wake up with Bucky’s face in your chest, arm half-asleep and your legs slung over his waist with all the twisted sheets. Steve is missing, though enters just as you’re blinking, easing awake.

He wakes Bucky then with a hint of a mischievous smile, roughly jarring him from sleep. Bucky groans and drags you closer and it takes nearly fifteen minutes to squirm free to ready for the day.

But when you do, you’re full of new energy and life, excitedly uncovering new parts of their mansion in the bright, lovely daylight.

Sam lives here, you learn, nearly tackle him in a hug; perhaps too excited but he holds fast to you, your arms going around his neck. His lips press little kisses to your cheek, the corner of your lips, just as eager to see you. 

He falls back beside Bucky and Steve as they watch you explore, now rushing outside to the glimmering, sapphire water of the swimming pool in the backyard. The birds sing, twinkling and infinitely happy. The wind tousles your hair.

“This is incredible!” You gasp, kneeling beside the pool, letting your fingers drift through the glittering water, it sparkles beneath your fingertips. Your smile is radiant.

“She really brightens the place up,” Bucky says softly to the two men at his sides, eyes soulful and touched, watching you with a warm gentleness. Steve isn’t sure the last time he’s seen his face so open and vulnerable.

“Yeah,” Sam agrees softly, his smile fond, serene, “Like she belongs here.”

And all Steve can do is watch, enamored; hopelessly falling, heart softening and melting for you at a rate he should be frightened by.

But it’s just you against an open sky, and there are no words for the way he feels, just the need to see you like this forever, tucked safely by his heart and in his home; laughing and open and free.

 -------------------------------

The next night, at the Valkyrie, Natasha acts rather strangely for awhile. She lingers around you, eyes caught on you sharp and hard.

At the end of your performance, when you try to leave for the night, purse clutched between your hands, you are stopped by a man with dark hair, dark eyes, and a hard face.

He snags your wrist, almost viciously, “What’s the rush, babydoll?” He asks, “Why don’t you hang around?”

Worry prickles through you, “I’m sorry, I’d like to get home for the night.” You tell him politely, pulling slightly, but his grip around your wrist is an iron cage, insistent and unmoving. Your heart rate spikes, fear slinking slowly through you. Your eyes fly out, towards the crowds, towards the bar, for Natasha.

“C’mon now,” He says and it’s tight and forced, pulling you towards him.

You stumble into his chest, try and push yourself away but he’s got you hard and fast suddenly, viper grip, poisonous touch.

“Please, I-I don’t--” You babble, struggling against him.

“Rumlow.” A familiar voice warns, cutting and dangerous.

Natasha. Relief floods through you like cool, crisp water.

The man picks his head up at what seems to be his name. His eyes narrow on Natasha.

He lets you go without another word and you quickly ease back to Natasha, let her step in front of you to shield you. Your small hand buries in the back of her dress, ducking your head behind her shoulders.

“I don’t want trouble, Romanoff.” The man, Rumlow, tells her, “Just a little fun.”  He tries to grin but its hooked and sets you on edge. 

“Not tonight.” Natasha says, voice like steel and blade, “Not here.” She tilts her head, “You know you’re not welcome here.” She says and your heart races.

Rumlow holds up his hands, as if he means no harm, “Alright, alright, I’ll leave.” He concedes easily, perhaps too easily. Natasha’s eyes narrow, you can see the skepticism in her features, even in the shadows of the club.

Rumlow dips his head low, tries to force you to meet his eyes, “Goodnight, sweetheart.” He tells you pointedly and you can’t look at him, focus your eyes on the red curls around Natasha’s neck.

You duck further behind her as he eyes you more fully. Natasha steps into his line of vision and he concedes after a lingering, heavy moment.

She waits for his shadow to leave, tracks him all the way out.

You can tell something inside of her sinks, worry settling heavily around her shoulders. Her face is tighter, a little pinched as she turns back to you. 

“Are you okay?” She murmurs, fingers brushing the wrist he grabbed, eyes flying over your features.

“Yes,” You exhale, “Thank you.”

She shakes her head, as if she doesn’t want your thanks at all. “I’m going to walk you home tonight.” She tells you instead.

You don’t argue, but you do press, “Who was he, Natasha?”

Her ruby lips turn downwards, she debates telling you, before settling on, “Brock Rumlow. He’s from a rival mob.” She shakes her head, “I don’t like the way he was looking at you.”

“Oh,” You say, a little dumbly, very unsure suddenly. Should you be worried? Whose mob was he from? How dangerous was he? You become keenly aware of all that you don’t know, feeling suddenly lost.

“Hey,” She catches your chin, brushes her thumb along your jaw, “I told you I’d protect you.” She murmurs, “You’re okay,” She assures, half-coos, “You’re safe.”

You nod lightly, softening under her gaze. “I know.” You sigh lightly. She holds your gaze for a moment before lowering her hand. “Now, c’mon, let’s get you home.”

You tuck yourself against her side, hook your arm through hers and let her lead you home in the darkened streets, the cloudy night shielding moon and stars. Just the glow of streetlights, manmade and iron.

She ends up staying the night, upon your quiet request when you've reached your door. She watches you fall asleep, hair splayed out on a pillow, silk nightgown trussed up and twisted around you.

You sleep fitfully, only comforted with Natasha’s lingering, soothing touches. She murmurs to your sleeping form; caressing words, promises of safety and gentleness and care, perhaps phrases in a foreign language.

But she stays until morning light, vigilant at your side, until she presses a kiss to your temple and disappears with the slipping of dawn into day.

She heads straight for the estate, for Steve and Bucky and Sam, to warn them about who was so interested in their girl, in you. You who seemed so defenseless to Natasha with your wide, wondering eyes and untouched innocence, sleeping curled up and tucked delicately into bed;

Like a babe in a cradle, a lamb in a meadow.

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