#just realized i color corrected this piece with night-shift turned on so its not nearly as warm-tinted as I thought and all the greens | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

officerjennie · 3 years

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You'll Never Be Too Much

CW: ED adjacent thoughts, weight gain thought of negatively (by Eskel), spiraling thoughts, weight gain spoken of positively (by Jaskier), tummy kisses, scar kisses, stretch mark kisses, brief mentions of witchers not eating well on the path, soft!Eskel, hurt/comfort. Starts out rough but ends up Soft. WC: 7.6k+ Rating: T Prompt: Tickling Summary: Eskel injured himself at the start of the winter and ended up resting throughout it, and when it's time to meet up with Jaskier in the spring he fears he will be unattractive to him. But Jaskier is determined to do his best to show Eskel just how beautiful he is when he's soft and healthy.

Dedicated to @all-hail-the-witcher who kept yelling at me to stop hurting Eskel. And a special thanks to @lindianaj0nes for betaing for me <3

It was a mistake coming here.

Eskel rode Scorpion through the small town streets, apprehension tensing through his body until he was just one knot of it, his eyes unable to look further than the stones straight ahead of where his horse took him, unable to look up and see the faces around him.

Sometime the fall before, when the trees were all but bare and the scent of rotting leaves was thick in the air, Jaskier had shooed him home. It had made his heart ache though he knew Jaskier’s decision had not been one made of emotion - no matter how difficult that might be to believe. Jaskier, following logic instead of his heart or cock, but the regret and the worry and the love had been so clear on his face that not even Eskel could deny it.

Jaskier was many things, but an outright liar was not one of them. And there was so much proof to his love that, after almost seven years, Eskel was finally comfortable and confident enough to relax into it.

But that had been before the winter, and dread sat rotten in his gut as he rode slowly towards their agreed upon meeting place.

It was a nothing town in the middle of a nothing country, named but nothing to that name. They’d chosen it because of its location more than anything else. Nestled nicely an equidistance between both Kaer Morhen and Oxenfurt, in an area that wasn’t too keen on driving away witchers, not really known for much monster nuisance or trouble. It was a bit dull and boring for the both of them but when it came to spring meetings dull and boring was nice, a pleasant if brief respite from the world they’d be flinging themselves into shortly.

Jaskier would be there at the inn, waiting for him. As he always was. Singing the crowd into a joyous lot, using a rickety table as his stage, his bright colors splashed against the dull and dark of the rest of the world - and Eskel would be joining him soon, slipping into a booth in the corner to see how long it took for Jaskier to notice he’d shown up, because if the way his bard’s face lit up upon noticing him couldn’t convince him of his love then nothing else ever could.

But this year, this spring, he feared the lust might not follow.

Eskel shifted, feeling his shirt too tight against his skin, and when he looked up at last the inn was far too close. But he’d come this far, and he’d made the mistake of skipping one of their meetings before. Not entirely on purpose, but it hadn’t stopped Jaskier from hunting him down and giving him several pieces of his mind. For several months.

And the songs that followed felt like they’d never end.

The inn had a dingy stable built right next to it, one with only a few stalls and one single, rather sleepy stable boy who always had hay sticking out from his dirty blonde hair. Eskel slipped him a few extra coins after settling Scorpion in, nodding as the boy settled back onto his bucket, coins shoved into his pockets before he rested back against the wood and pulled the hat back over his eyes.

He could already hear his singing. One of Geralt’s songs, a grand tale that was more hyperbole than anything else - anyone who knew Geralt would know Jaskier was embellishing but no one in the inn had probably laid eyes on him before. Or, if they had, they only knew the gruff exterior and the character that Jaskier spun with his words.

It was enough to distract him momentarily from his worries. He entered the inn and slipped easily past the crowd, not drawing more than a pair or two of eyes his way, the barkeep sliding him a tankard without even bothering to demand payment up front. Eskel’s face was a memorable one, and he was good for his coin; there were some benefits to returning every spring and fall.

Jaskier had not changed much since he last saw him, Eskel noted as he slid into a booth (not the same one as the last time, never the same one. That would have ruined their game). His hair was a bit longer, curls a bit wilder from the length, looking as if he’d recently run his hands through them a few too many times. Doublet open, chemise white and almost see-through and far too visible to be decent, black curls begging for fingers to run through them. He was wearing red and Eskel colored at the sight, eyes slipping away as Jaskier drew the crowd into a roar of laughter at his raunchy lyrics.

Not a single bit of Jaskier’s performance was ever unplanned, and his clothes were part of his every day performance. There was a reason he wore red.

Eskel managed to get through a few tankards of ale as he waited, eventually going back to watching him play, letting himself let go enough to be drawn into the music. It was a bit too loud, a bit too much for his liking, but for Jaskier he could put up with it. The crowd, the noise, the scraping of wooden chairs against the floor and the slamming of cups down on the tables. All of it could be tuned down if he tried hard enough, focused hard enough on something else, and that something else was how expertly Jaskier’s long fingers worked the strings on his lute, how he poured every emotion into every lyric and word, and how he could see those cornflower eyes scan the crowd every once in a while looking for a matching splash of red.

When Jaskier finally spotted him, it was enough to make Eskel’s heart flutter. His words did not stumble, his fingers did not stutter, but his eyes found him and blew wide. From across the room Eskel watched as his pupils grew, drinking in the sight of him, eyes flickering as if to sear the memory of him into his mind. His lips drew upwards in a smile he couldn’t hold back nor could he ever fake - Jaskier’s grin, his true and joyous grin, was lopsided and silly, not thought through and perfected like the rest of his performance and Eskel adored it all the more for it. Treasured each moment it was sent his way as he did just then, forgetting his worries as he heard the lilt of excitement weave into his bard’s music.

Jaskier didn’t even attempt to make it through another song, bowing out quickly and hopping off of his table even quicker, the crowd nearly forgotten as his grin spread and his feet brought him straight to his waiting witcher.

“And here I thought you’d forgotten me,” he teased, though the hurt that once edged into those words was long gone. Didn’t stop Eskel from thinking he was a little shit for bringing it up still, after all of those years, but Eskel had grown up around little shits and knew how to deal with them. Mostly.

“Hard to forget someone like you.” Eskel winked just to hear Jaskier laugh, leaning back in his seat with his arms crossed over his chest - and the movement reminded him of why he’d sat with his back to the wall, table in-between him and Jaskier’s makeshift stage, the worries and fears coming crashing down on him as he made to tug his shirt back into place.

Jaskier didn’t seem to notice, not yet. Too busy shaking his head fondly and chattering away, holding onto his lute strap with one hand while the other gestured and flourished through the air, spinning his fingers as he spun the tale of his journey there. Eskel caught a good bit of it, whisps of familiar words as Jaskier joined him at the table, his bard pressing a leg against Eskel’s as he went on about how one fork in the road had nearly been his downfall when his turn had been blocked.

“It was luck and Melitele’s blessing alone that got me here,” he concluded, dramatically heaving a sigh as he fluttered his eyelashes, looking up through them in the way that usually had Eskel’s insides melting. “We must truly be meant to be, dearheart, if not even the most formidable of foes can keep us apart.”

“A fallen tree and a couple of bandits aren’t that dangerous,” he pointed out, keeping at least one hand in his lap and hoping the position was normal. How was it that he usually sat? Did he usually have his hands on the table? Arms across his chest? Nothing like trying to act inconspicuous to make one realize they knew so little about their own behavior, and Eskel felt disdain at not knowing how to act like himself.

“You feeling alright, love?”

Eskel could have cursed himself, doubly so because he didn’t know what had given him away. But Jaskier’s lips had turned down, his eyes searching his face for any hint of something, one of his hands reaching out to hold Eskel’s where it had been resting on the table.

“I’m fine,” he lied, the words heavy on his tongue. Heavy like the fears that had turned into stones in his gut, heavy like every step had been on the way here. Heavy like him. “Just a bit tired. Traveling down a perilous mountain is a bit more exhausting than some formidable trees.”

The teasing worked at least. Distracted Jaskier enough for his nose to scrunch up cutely, for the frown to disappear from his face. But it was only a delay of the inevitable as Jaskier leaned towards him, bringing his hand up to brush his lips against the back of his knuckles, the tender touch followed by a few soft kisses to his fingers.

“I’ve already got us a room. Upstairs, window overlooking the stable, just like you like. Always best to leave the crowd wanting so why don’t we retire early tonight?”

“It’s not anywhere near night,” Eskel said, the correction in place of the irrational words he wished to say. ‘Let’s stay down here’, he wanted to suggest. ‘We can eat and drink and stay here, on opposite sides of the table. We can stay here all night and all through tomorrow and don’t look at me, I don’t want to see your face fall in disappointment’.

His hand tugged at the end of his shirt, trying to hide the soft skin that refused to stay contained. But Jaskier intertwined their fingers so sweetly, his voice like honey, lips so soft where they ran across his own rough skin.

“I’ve missed you,” he admitted, voice full of all the nights they’d spent far, far away from each other. “So what if it’s not night; maybe I’d rather spend the day in your arms than around all these drunken fools.”

“You’re sappier than a maple,” Eskel accused, his cheeks dusted pink, but they both knew Eskel didn’t hold it against him - just as they both knew Jaskier would get what he wanted.

It meant standing up, however, and Eskel was not looking forward to that. But he let himself get tugged up, making sure to not let Jaskier feel the weight of him, pushing himself up instead of reveling in the strength in those deceptively slender looking arms. Jaskier laced their fingers together the moment they were both standing and Eskel counted his blessings as Jaskier led the way, eyes elsewhere and ahead of them, his bard quiet for once as he led them past the bar and up the stairs, halfway down the hall on the left, their door not even locked much to Eskel’s chagrin.

“Not worried your bags will be pilfered through?”

“I was in a hurry,” Jaskier pouted, dropping Eskel’s hand and making a show of locking the door behind them, tossing the key onto a table that looked a little out of place with no chairs to be seen. “Now, on the bed, mister. I’ve walked a long road and sang my throat raw countless nights to reach you, and I’m not wasting another moment outside of those arms!”

Eskel hesitated. He hated that he did, with his back to Jaskier as he heard him gently placing his lute on the same table he’d carelessly tossed the keys onto - and it occurred to him that Jaskier had probably requested it specifically for that purpose, using his exceptional charm to get his way as usual, and the coin toss had landed on success rather than backfiring in his face as it sometimes was wont to do.

He shifted his weight, feeling the pull of the muscles he’d fucked up in his leg at the start of the winter. Not even the start of it; on his journey up the mountain, too cocky for his own good, not taking care with his steps and leading to a nearly fatal fall that had left him limping and dragging himself the rest of the way home.

If he’d been human - if he’d still been human - it would have been a permanent injury. As it was his own stubbornness had made it worse over the winter, and it was one he could still feel a few months later. One that had cost him.

He should be grateful he’d survived, and he was grateful of it, but as he stared at the bed he was supposed to climb in he wondered if it really would’ve been all that bad to skip their meeting until fall. Skip the few months they’d get together now, the nights he could spend in Jaskier’s arms, for a chance to work past the rough winter and resemble more of himself before Jaskier caught sight of him again.

It wouldn’t do to stand there in the middle of the room any longer. He started towards the bed a bit too quickly, almost forgetting to take off his armor and boots as he went, the rest of his pack having been left to Scorpion to defend with his viscous bite and deadly kicking aim.

Eskel was under the covers before Jaskier was even ready to turn towards the bed, his bard ever slow with getting ready for even the simplest of things despite how he rushed and shooed others on. The doublet had been folded neatly and moved around until he deemed a place suitable enough to stash it away, his boots aligned neatly near the door while Eskel’s had been kicked off towards the wall. Jaskier scratched his hair as he sighed, his shoulders sagging, the performance melting away and leaving a disaster of a man that Eskel could not love more if he tried.

The sheets sussed together as Jaskier crawled into them as if he’d never felt a more comfortable bed, not stopping until his nose was nuzzling into Eskel’s chest, legs tangling themselves in Eskel’s as his hands, to Eskel’s growing horror, quickly found their way under the back of his shirt to circle around him and tug him close. But not as close as they used to be able to be, not with his stomach in the way, pushing Jaskier away as Jaskier’s cold fingers leeched the heat from him.

Jaskier hummed, and Eskel counted the seconds as they rolled over into a minute. Two. Three. He knew it would come eventually. The questions, the ‘why’s, the ‘what happened to you’ and the disappointed pursing of those pretty pink lips. He managed to wrap his arms loosely around Jaskier as he waited for it all to come. There was no doubt in his mind that Jaskier would love him no matter what - he’d proven that point time and time again - but love wasn’t the only thing that held them together, that kept them company at night, and it wasn’t something he’d struggled to find throughout his long life.

After all, his family loved him. Vesemir had raised him and they’d become closer after the sacking of the keep, feeling like family rather than what they’d been before. His brothers as well, no matter that they got under each other’s skin like no one else could. Eskel knew love, knew it well, it was no stranger to him - but Jaskier had brought so much along with it that Eskel couldn’t- he just couldn’t.

How many times had Jaskier run his hands all over him, over even his scars, over every part of him that he hid from the world in shame and Jaskier had called him beautiful. Every place Jaskier’s fingers had traveled so had his lips, brushing against him as if Eskel was a precious thing and not some mutated imitation of a human. And Eskel had gotten used to it, that tenderness, the way his heart would flutter and feel so full at every honeyed word of praise that would drip from Jaskier’s lips.

What must he think of him now? The strong arms that Jaskier had purred about the first time he’d pressed a palm into Eskel’s erection through his pants, the strength that used to have Jaskier fawning over him - it was covered, now, hidden under a thick layer of fat from all the nothing he’d done all winter.

“If you think much harder the neighbors will hear your thoughts.”

Eskel blinked out of the darkening spots of his mind. When he tilted his head down just enough to look at Jaskier he found his love frowning up at him, a bit of his lip worrying between his teeth, brow furrowed but only just.

Guilt tinged at the edge of the self-loathing that had been building a nice home in his chest, because that was a look he’d only ever seen once on Jaskier. It was concern, nervousness, and the way he so carefully held himself back instead of pushing all of the emotions to the forefront meant he was feeling something he wanted to hide.

Jaskier didn’t hide himself. Not unless he thought he wasn’t good enough, and that self-doubt was only reserved for those closest to his heart. And Eskel had made him doubt himself somehow, some way, and he had no right putting those feelings on him.

“I’m fine, Jask.” Those weren’t the words he meant. ‘It’s fine. Everything’s fine, everything’s alright’, he meant, and he soothed a hand in circles on Jaskier’s back, bringing him as close as his protruding stomach would allow.

“You’re not.” He could tell by the worrying of his bottom lip that those weren’t Jaskier’s words either, but Eskel wasn’t sure what doubts had wriggled their way into his mind and nor did he know the why’s.

Words weren’t his strong suit, and personal communication wasn’t Jaskier’s. But seven years they’d been together and Eskel wasn’t going to let his own shortcomings get in the way.

“Something the matter, songbird?”

Jaskier snorted lightly, but he nuzzled into his chest. A good sign.

“You’re the one who’s so tense. Stiff as a board, which is entirely unlike you. Are you hurt? Did something happen?”

‘What happened to you?’ Eskel swallowed against the thick lump in his throat, leaning his cheek against the top of Jaskier’s head and willing himself to relax.

“Not currently,” he admitted. His injury might still bug him but it wasn’t a pressing issue, didn’t even get in the way of him sparring or fighting anymore - not like it had all winter, after his damned brothers had noticed it, much to Eskel’s frustration. He’d tried to hide it and carry on like normal, but one misstep had caused his leg to give out under him, exasperating the injury and making his brothers and Vesemir infuriatingly stubborn over him resting and not doing a single task that might upset it further.

It had meant no sparring. No training of any sort. Just laying or sitting around or only doing the simplest of tasks while he got fat off of Vesemir’s home cooking, the muscles in his arms and legs softening from lack of use, and soon the definition that had been built on the path was nowhere to be seen. Eskel had never been more self-conscious about his body which was saying something given every waking moment someone found some way to remind him of what he looked like.

People were afraid of him. Of what he was, of what he could do. They saw his scars and the scent of fear always lingered, like they knew in the back of their mind they weren’t safe no matter how careful he was to make his presence known and not sneak up on anyone, how he kept his hands visible at all times, how he moved slowly and deliberately so they knew he meant them no harm.

He’d lived with all of that for so long, but none of it prepared him for this. For knowing he could have stopped this, could have kept himself in shape.

So, no, he was not hurt. His leg only cramped every now and then, the injury more or less healed, but Eskel was not fine and he wouldn’t be until-

The spiral was stopped with a kiss. Nothing lingering, nothing passionate, just a peck to his lips that brought him right back from wherever his mind had been trying to drag him to. And he was met with the softest expression he’d ever seen Jaskier wear, with fingers caressing his cheek, the sound of his love’s heartbeat a little faster than it should have been.

“Where were you going, dearheart?” His words were soft with emotion, the self-doubt nowhere to be seen anymore. A small blessing within whatever curse Eskel was winding around them, ruining their long awaited meeting with. “Don’t hide whatever it is from me. If you can, if you want, you know I’ll listen.”

Eskel wanted to laugh at that, because how could he hide it when not even his shirt could cover up his shame. But he didn’t. Instead he curled up tighter around his songbird, tucking Jaskier up under his chin once more so he didn’t have to see the concern on his face anymore.

Talk about it... would that do them any good? Would facing it head on, ripping off the bandaid, be any better than waiting for Jaskier to eventually say something? Maybe it would be. Maybe it would be worse. But Eskel was tired from the road, tired of second and third guessing whether he should have showed up at all, and when he was tired the small, small parts of him that dared to reach out for comfort had more sway in his thoughts and actions.

“It won’t take long to get rid of it.” Eskel murmured the words into his lover’s hair, as if hiding them could hide his shame. “Just a month or so at most. Then I’ll be back to normal.” He’d be better then. He could do it by then. Just...a month, maybe two, he could ask Jaskier for that much.

“Normal?” Jaskier tried to peek his head back up but Eskel held him too tightly, not wanting to face him, so Jaskier gave up with a sigh pressed into his collarbone alongside a few soft kisses. “So something is wrong then - I can’t help you if you don’t speak clearly, dearheart. What are you getting rid of? Are you ill- should we be seeking out a witch? A healer? Oh please don’t tell me I have to see Yen already, that is not how I want to start out my year.”

Bringing up that old rivalry was enough to draw a chuckle out of him, no matter how short lived the humor was - and no matter that Yennefer and Jaskier apparently got along just fine. Half of the time, anyway. Eskel did not envy Geralt any of that nonsense, though it had seemed to calm down significantly once Jaskier had switched his witcher hyperfocus onto Eskel.

The old rivalry aside... Eskel shifted around, a little uncomfortable that Jaskier was going to make him draw such blunt attention to his issue. That he was making him say it flat out instead of letting him talk around it. Bluntness was usually how Eskel dealt with his issues anyway, most of them at the very least, but when they were so personal he preferred to not and just...not bother anyone with them in the first place.

Bothering Jaskier with it was unavoidable, given that he hadn’t stayed away. That was something he was going to have to live with until he fixed it. The right diet might help him do that faster, a stricter training regime, he could do it, would do it.

But if Jaskier wanted blunt, wanted him to throw it out open and ugly between them, Eskel didn’t have the energy to keep talking in circles around him.

“I got fat.” As if to mock him, with his next deep breath he felt his stomach press against Jaskier, putting more distance between them as it pushed him away. And when Jaskier made some sort of gargled noise in his throat Eskel had to shut his eyes tight against it.

This was it. This was when Jaskier would tell him how he’d noticed the instant he’d seen Eskel from across the bar. How he’d seen his shirt straining to contain the lot of him back, how it had made him hesitant to touch him - maybe that’s why he’d rushed them off to the room, Eskel thought suddenly. Jaskier hadn’t wanted to be seen with him, hadn’t wanted to be embarrassed by him, and this was when he’d hear what he’d been dreading all along.

Jaskier would still love him, Eskel did not doubt that. But how could he still be attracted to him like this? How could he still trace his scars with calloused yet gentle fingers, murmur words of praise against a body that had hardly deserved it before and certainly didn’t now. It had been a stretch of anyone’s imagination to call Eskel beautiful but he’d wanted to believe it, but not even Jaskier, his beloved songbird who’d seen good in the darkest of places, seen the good in those who wanted nothing more than to shy away and hide from the world - not even he could look at him now and see-

“And?”

His thoughts stopped again, and Eskel had to circle back to that word. Circle back and puzzle on it, puzzle on the question, because he wasn’t sure why the question was posed in the first place. There was no ‘and’, it was...just that. It was what it was, and wasn’t...wasn’t that bad enough?

Jaskier didn’t wait for his answer. Or perhaps the minute Eskel took trying to catch up with what the question might mean was too long and he continued without one anyway. “What’s so wrong with gaining weight? We do it every winter. Lucky enough to, even, I’ve seen too many starving people begging for food during the worst of them.”

That… Eskel tucked Jaskier up closer before he had a chance to try to escape his lax arms, ignoring his grumbling when he did. It was true that they both tended to gain a few pounds over the winters. No matter if Jaskier went off to see his family (a very rare occurrence) or spent the time teaching at his old academy, he always came back with a nice layer of plush to him that Eskel loved to knead and feel. Hips softer, stomach making for a wonderful pillow, his thighs becoming squishable in a way that made Eskel want to bury himself between them.

And Eskel himself usually left home with a more rounded shape, but that was…

“That’s different.” It was nothing like this year, nothing like how he looked like now. No matter that he didn’t feel all that different, that perhaps it wasn’t that much more weight than the previous years, this time it was so much more.

Some thought reminded him that didn’t quite track, but the thought didn’t stick, tossed away because this time was different.

“How is it any different? Eskel just- your neck and chest are gorgeous, love, but can I please look at your face while I’m talking to you?”

Eskel relented, reluctantly letting up his hold so Jaskier could move back far enough to meet his eyes. At least he didn’t look as disgusted as he thought he might, his nose scrunched up in a way he’d always found rather cute, his lips pursed and promising him a tongue lashing if he wasn’t careful.

But his words weren’t harsh accusations when he continued, and his hands had yet to leave Eskel’s body. One came back up to stroke a thumb over his cheek as Jaskier spoke softly to him, his words filled with the wrong kind of wonder.

“What’s wrong, love? What’s different? Tell me.”

There had only ever been two people who could make him squirm under their gaze like that, and it was one of the main reasons Vesemir had had much better luck with him than any of the other wolf teachers. It was difficult to not listen, to bite back his tongue and not talk when leveled with that exact look and maybe it was a little concerning that Jaskier and Vesemir both shared that power over him.

Eskel sighed. Refused to look up at Jaskier, fixing his gaze somewhere in the dark curls that peeked up over his loose chemise. Fidgeted and tried not to fidget and only ended up fidgeting more.

“I didn’t,” he started, then stalled, not sure how to put all of his shortcomings to words. But he had to at least try, lest that look turn to the worse disappointed one. “I could have done better. Didn’t do anything all winter, really, just…”

As he went along, it didn’t get any easier, though Jaskier’s fingers had started to rub a soothing pattern into his back. The ones resting on his cheek held him softly even over his scars, never flinching away, never twitching in annoyance. Jaskier just held him and waited patiently, as if he had all the time in the world for Eskel to chew out what was wrong and different.

“On the way up the mountain, I fucked up my leg. Couldn’t train. Couldn’t help.” It all tasted as bitter then as it had during the winter. Forcing his brothers to pick up his slack, not being anything but a burden on the lot of them. Even when he tried he’d only made things worse, pissing Lambert off and making Geralt grouse at him like he was some baby witcher who’d never even gone out on the path before. All he’d been able to do was laze around and grow fat, muscles flabby and losing their strength, he should have been better and he could get better- would get better, for all of them.

Jaskier brushed his lips lightly against his jaw, and Eskel couldn’t help but look at him then. The way his eyelashes fluttered against his cheekbones, the way sunlight lit up his features and made his skin glow. Gods but his songbird was beautiful; how could he possibly deserve him, now especially?

Those lips brushed all the way up to his own, pausing every so often to leave soft kisses in their wake, until Jaskier was kissing him. It was one Eskel slowly melted into, pressing back, soft and slow and lingering until his hand was tangling in soft brown curls as he gently nipped the lip Jaskier had been worrying between his teeth.

“Dearheart,” Jaskier murmured between their kisses, his cornflower blue eyes gentle as they met Eskel’s, “I’m not sure I understand. Can you help me try?”

Eskel would be willing to do anything if Jaskier requested it in that voice. All he could do was nod and continue to brush their lips together, breathing him in, letting their noses brush together as well just to feel the soft contact between them.

“Thank you, love.” And he meant it, Eskel could hear it in his tone, could feel it in the rhythm of his heartbeat. “Now, please, can we try this again? You’ll have to talk to me like I’m the single most oblivious person in the world just to make sure I follow every step of the way. Alright?”

Eskel did. He started with his fall, how it had fucked up his leg so badly that Scorpion was the only reason he was still alive. Continued on to how he tried to hide the injury - and did not miss the pinched look that promised him they’d be revisiting that little fact at a later date, but Jaskier, somewhat out of character, managed to bite his tongue and save the lecture for later - and how it had ended up making it worse. How he’d been refused to contribute in any fashion after that, burdening his family and growing fat off their food anyway, his injury preventing him from keeping up with himself until he got worse and worse from it.

At some point, the hand that had been soothing circles into his back moved, slowly coming forward until it rested on his stomach. Eskel tensed when it did, though he fought past the urge to bite off his words and stop speaking. But eventually it wasn’t up to him anyway, Jaskier gently cutting him off with another kiss, and then another, and another until Eskel was melting though he hadn’t even realized how tense he’d become.

“Okay. Alright. Now, I’m going to repeat what I believe you’re trying to say, but love,” Jaskier kissed him again a few times, then reached up to kiss his nose, and Eskel wasn’t sure why he was being so extra tender with him today. “I need you to know I don’t believe these things, and that I’m not teasing or judging you for them. Alright?”

Eskel managed to nod but his words were gone. All he wanted to do was sleep, perhaps roll over so his stomach wasn’t pressing into Jaskier - it was probably uncomfortable though Jaskier hadn’t tried to pull away from him quite yet.

“You think you’re fat, and you think that’s a bad thing.” Eskel tried to nod at that as well but Jaskier shook his head, kissing his nose again as his hand began to gently caress the front of Eskel’s stomach. “You think that you...that you were a burden on your family, and that- this is the part that I’m struggling with, Esk, I’m having to make some assumptions here but- you think you’re not...worthy? If you’re not thinner and more visibly muscular, is that it?”

Jaskier’s face was pinched up when he said that. It wasn’t an expression Eskel had an easy time reading. His own lips pursed, but that sounded about right. He wasn’t good like this and was only holding them all back.

But Jaskier shook his head, such concern written in the wrinkle of his brow that Eskel could only frown at his own thoughts. “Esk. Eskel, dearest, dearheart. Why would you ever think that?”

His words were gentle but they were breathed in a rough whisper, Jaskier’s fingers finding their way underneath the shirt that could barely hold back Eskel’s stomach. But instead of pinching or grabbing the fat they found they just gently soothed over his skin, rubbing circles there as they’d done so many times before. As if he wasn’t different now, as if it was normal.

“I’m not…” He struggled to find the words, licking his lips, not for the first time wishing he was better at talking about this, talking about himself. Sure, he would never be as bad as Geralt, but Eskel struggled and floundered so much when the attention was on him that he could never begrudge Geralt’s stunted emotions. “Jask, I’m just not… I’m not attractive like this.”

Jaskier gasped, and Eskel’s eyes snapped back up to his face to find so many emotions flickering across it that he couldn’t keep track of them all. “Eskel you- you take that back this instant! You are the single most handsome man I’ve come across on this whole continent and that’s saying something.”

Even with Jaskier being so earnest with his words, Eskel would never believe him about that. Though his heart wanted to believe that Jaskier believed it, or at least believed him to be attractive, handsome, beautiful, precious, all of the things Jaskier had pressed against his skin and whispered in his ear over the years they’d been together.

That hand continued to caress his stomach as if it wasn’t pushing them apart, the calloused fingers pushing through the hairs there. Rubbing, lightly brushing the back of his fingers against him, gently painting patterns onto his skin as if there was a picture there that only Jaskier could see. Eskel had wanted to move away from the touch, had wanted to flinch at it, hide his shame, shy away, but under the gentle affection he found himself relaxing. It soothed the ache in his chest until he couldn’t listen to his own thoughts anymore, focused in on what Jaskier was telling him.

“Esk, there’s nothing wrong with this.” His touch became just the slightest bit firmer, massaging his stomach as he brushed their noses together, his other hand still on Eskel’s cheek. “This is good, this is healthy, it’s not something bad or wrong.” Jaskier kissed the protest that was forming right off of Eskel’s lips, not letting his mind catch up and throw out how Jaskier was very wrong about that. “Eskel I would much much rather see you like this - healthy, soft, thick and sexy - versus when the path gets rough and you’ve not had anything to eat for a week.”

“Sexy?”

“We’ll get back to that.” Pink suddenly splattered Jaskier’s cheeks and his eyes flickered down to Eskel’s stomach, though Eskel made no move to hide it from view. “Look, just, this is good. I need you to hear that, know that. The soft protects your muscles, something I know you already know, but it’s a good thing. Dehydration, starvation, those are terrifying and very much not what I want my beloved witcher to deal with during the winter.

“Speaking of, what is so wrong with getting some rest for your injured leg, which you could barely stand on let alone walk and fight and train on.”

Ah. There it was. Eskel had the decency to at least blush when he shot Jaskier a grin, though it earned the tip of his nose a nip - the whole while Jaskier’s hand never once pausing where it was slowly massaging and caressing his stomach.

“Bloody witchers, the lot of you are ridiculous.”

“You love me,” Eskel teased, half just to hear him admit it.

And Jaskier did, without a single moment’s hesitation, without any regret to be heard in his voice, “I do, dearest. I do. Every single inch of you.” Eskel’s heart picked up as Jaskier kissed down his jawline, peppering kisses down his neck, stopping at his collarbone as his hand slipped from his cheek to follow him. The hand at his stomach was still tracing idle patterns, not caring if his skin was scarred or not, as if every single inch of skin there deserved the attention - no matter how much there was.

“I love you,” Jaskier whispered again, right over his heart, and Eskel’s breath caught in his throat.

Jaskier kissed down, down, down all the way to his stomach. Kissing his shirt on the way as if it wasn’t there, as if it was Eskel’s bare skin he was adoring with affection. And when he reached his stomach Eskel tried for a moment to suck it in, to make it appear smaller, but Jaskier was having none of it. He wrinkled his nose and scowled up at Eskel with a firm, “be nice to it, I love it,” and Eskel didn’t have it in himself to argue then.

Though Eskel was much stronger than Jaskier, he moved easily when Jaskier pushed him onto his back. His beloved songbird made himself cozy between his thighs as he gently caressed his stomach and sides, his nose brushing just above his naval before his lips joined in. And Eskel had to blink the tears away because Jaskier continued on. Peppered him with kiss after kiss, tracing the stretch marks that stood against his tanned skin, showing him over and over without poetic songs or honeyed words that he was loved. That this part of him was loved.

Kisses on his soft skin wherever Jaskier could reach. Gentle fingers caressing and tracing patterns. Eskel almost squirmed over it all, just the side of too much, but he wanted it. Wanted to feel loved, wanted to be loved, to deserve all of this. Though he didn’t believe he did, he wanted desperately, reaching out a hand to grasp one of Jaskier’s and hold onto him tightly.

“Jask.” It sounded like a request, though he wasn’t sure what he was asking for. Jaskier continued on kissing him, stopping to press his lips against a rather nasty burn scar on his side, kissing all the way up and pushing his shirt out of the way as he went. He made sure to love every scar he passed along the way, knowing each by heart though he knew so few of the stories - Eskel kept most of his past to himself, much to Jaskier’s usual chagrin, but today was not a day for pressed questions.

Eventually, Jaskier worked the shirt off entirely, throwing it off to the side and kissing Eskel’s lips once firmly before going back to his chest. He laid mostly against him, showering his softened chest with love and affection..

Careful with his grip, Eskel held him tight. Blinked away some of the more stubborn tears as Jaskier kissed soft words onto him, murmurs that etched their way onto his heart, and Eskel knew without a doubt that he would never forget this day no matter how long he might live.

But there were some doubts wriggling around in his head that he couldn’t quite shake. Instead of letting them fester, instead of letting them spiral out of control, Eskel held onto Jaskier tight, and with a small voice he reached out to him.

“Is it too much?”

Jaskier pressed a kiss right over his heart, blue eyes fluttering as he looked up at him, a look of sheer adoration that was just for him clear on that pretty face. “Is what too much, love?”

It took all that he was not to fidget or look away. “Me. My stomach. My- well, just me.”

“No, love.” Another kiss over his quickening heartbeat. “You’re perfect, you’d never be too much.”

“It didn’t fit anymore.”

“What didn’t?” Yet another, before Jaskier laid his ear against his chest, fingers tracing idle patterns into his side.

“My shirt.” Eskel turned his head to see it laying crumpled on the ground.

“We’ll buy a new one.” The fingers lightened their touch on his skin, and Eskel had to bite his lip as they traveled across his ribs.

“I don’t have the coin to waste on new clothes.”

“I do.”

The fingers at his side continued on running over his ribs, and finally Eskel couldn’t keep back the fidgeting, his mouth quirking into an unintentional grin at the ticklish feeling. All of which did not go unnoticed as he jostled Jaskier with his jerking. His songbird first looked up at him with momentary confusion before he understood what had happened, a mischievous grin spreading across his lips as his stalled fingers started to tap against Eskel’s skin.

“I’m sorry, love, but is there something wrong?”

Eskel rolled his eyes but snickered when Jaskier poked just the right spot between two of his ribs, unable to help himself. And Jaskier, having discovered after all this time that Eskel was ticklish, of course descended upon him, assaulting both of his sides until Eskel’s laughter was booming in the air around them.

He could have shoved him off. Could have tossed him off the bed or held his hands above his head. But instead Eskel allowed it until a different emotion prickled at the corners of his eyes, and then he flipped them, laying on Jaskier and nosing into the crook of his neck and just. Just laid there, the ends of laughter still keeping him light, his beloved songbird doing a horrible impression of pouting while snuggling him close and kissing his hair.

“I love you.” The words caught on a lump in his throat but Eskel meant them so much, closing his eyes and burrowing himself into his songbird. And Eskel believed Jaskier when he said “I love you too,” believed him with his whole heart.

One afternoon could not erase the thoughts that had clouded Eskel’s mind, but it was a good afternoon, and Eskel could not find a single regret over coming to Jaskier that spring. He could never regret not hiding from him, not hiding his softer stomach and softer thighs, because in that moment he knew that Jaskier found him beautiful and beloved all the same with or without them.

The rest could come later. The rest of his mental healing, but for now this was enough of a start, and Eskel reveled in the tender love Jaskier showered him in.

@witcher-rarepair-summer-bingo

#jaskel #eskier #eskel x jaskier #jaskier x eskel #eskel/jaskier #jaskier/eskel #the witcher #fanfiction #mywriting #my summer bingo #someone please explain to me how i got this #-gestures vaguely at whole story-#out of TICKLING

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direnightshade · 3 years

Text

Inferno

Warnings: Violence / Gun Violence, Post-Apocalyptic Themes, Angst, Unhappy Ending, Death / Major Character Death, Pandemic, Major Injury Word Count: 6,705

As always, you can find this over on AO3.

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An arid landscape stretches as far as the eye can see. The familiar rows of brownstones and businesses of Brooklyn have long since vanished, replaced by a sun-baked desert. On the horizon, two figures stand facing one another, their muscles tensed and their focus solely on the other. Neither notices Sackler’s advance toward them.

The leather palm of the fingerless glove that the gunslinger wears creaks with the brief flex of fingers. You are itching to reach for the weapon holstered at your hip, eager to pull the warm steel from its confines to unleash the fury that you’ve been waiting to deliver for years now. But now, you know, is not the time. You will not be the first to make the move. No, this is dependent upon him , the man dressed in all black who stands opposite you with a look of smug determination.

The rough terrain crunches beneath Adam’s shoes and the dust that kicks up clings to them with each step forward that he takes, but as he draws nearer he notes how the sky grows increasingly darker. Large, grey clouds, swollen with an impending storm darken the sky and blot out the sun until a familiar rumble in the distance can be heard. It isn’t long until the first bolt of lightning strikes, effectively halting his steps. The electric current crackles and sizzles on its path downward and it’s then that Sackler realizes the strangest thing: the bolt does not disappear into the ground but rather into the fingertips of the man in black who now holds his hands upwards towards the sky.

Adam’s gaze shifts to where you stand. Your hand has since migrated to the gun at your hip and your thumb has lifted the leather snap of the holster, making for a quicker, easier draw of the weapon. It’s like slow motion, watching the scene unfold before him as your head swivels while your hand grips the gun and lifts in one fluid motion. With a squeeze of the trigger, a bullet rips through the air, the bang of the gun mirroring the echo of the thunder that accompanies a second bolt of lightning that careens down towards the parched Earth.

The moment that the bullet nears the man in black, it’s as if someone has flicked a switch and time has resumed its correct rate of movement once more as the man lowers his hands and faces his palms out towards you, both deflecting the bullet and sending a stream of electric current in your direction. Your eyes widen and just as the current reaches you...

The familiar blare of an alarm clock startles Sackler awake, immediately causing his eyelids to part to now take in the sight of the stark white ceiling above him. Gone is the dry landscape of some foreign desert; he has found his way back to the comfort of home. A large hand settles atop his chest and he takes a moment to puff out his cheeks and exhale a long breath whilst he feels the steady rhythm of his beating heart beneath his touch. This is not the first that he has dreamt of you and the man in black, nor does he suspect that it will be the last, but this time, he realizes, was different. This time the man in black had seemed to have the upper hand, something in which he’d never managed to in dreams prior.

Sackler had never believed much in astrology or dream meanings and the like, but the brevity and the sheer vividness of each one chipped away at his stance little by little until finally he’d found himself up and out of bed, pouring over page after page of varying dream meanings. From the cracked, barren wasteland of the desert to the storm that raged above, every meaning—if Sackler looked close enough— could feasibly be tied back to one problem or another in his life. But even with the research and the meanings loosely tied to reality, he still found the tiniest seed of doubt sprouting in his gut—a little flutter of worry that something just wasn’t quite right .

The scrape of a wooden chair across the linoleum floor sounds out into the small apartment when he rises up from his spot at the table, suppressing the unease for the time being. Sackler grabs his backpack and slings a strap over his shoulder before making the short stroll across the space to retrieve his bike. He’d forget about this for now, chalking it up to nothing more than a dream. Because that’s all it could possibly be...couldn’t it?

***

“You’re coming tonight, right?” Shoshana stands beside Adam, her hand gently swirling the wooden stirrer to mix her cream into the coffee that she holds.

The noncommittal hum that she receives in response isn’t to her liking, however. She huffs and nudges Adam’s ribs with her elbow, careful to not waste a single precious drop of the still piping hot liquid.

When Adam turns his head to look at her, she speaks up again. “You have to come! Marnie already said you’d told her you’d be there.”

“Yeaaaah, yeah. I’ll be there,” he replies, eyeing the board overhead that contains a multitude of hand-written items available to order. A brief moment of silence follows and then: “Wait, what time does it start?”

“Adam!”

A pinch is delivered to his side, eliciting a dramatic yelp in response to minimal pain. “Wh— ow! What?!”

“It’s six o’clock. And don’t be late,” Shoshana says, pausing momentarily to blow gingerly across the heated surface of her coffee before taking a long, thoughtful sip. “You know how Marnie gets.”

Sackler’s lips purse, thumbs hooking around the straps of his backpack while his eyes continue to peruse the board overhead. Another moment passes before he feels a nudge, this time another elbow, in his side. “Why bother, just get it black like you always do.”

He huffs out an amused breath and smiles down at Shoshana who mirrors the expression prior to excusing herself and pivoting on her heels to make her exit. He watches as she steps out of the door, the bell overhead ringing to signal her vacation of the premises; when the familiar blonde head of hair disappears among the crowd on the other side of the exterior wall’s windows, Adam’s gaze slides over to the clock that adorns the nearby wall. One thirty.

With a sigh, he turns back to face Ray who is already in the process of sliding him the usual: one black coffee in a plain off-white insulated cup complete with lid. Tossing down enough money to cover both the coffee and tip, Adam flashes Ray a grin and turns to follow Shoshana’s path back out onto the street.

***

The unassuming brick building that sits on Willoughby is lit by a pair of skyward pointing spotlights, illuminating the red brick against the dark backdrop of nightfall. Inside, the stark white of the walls and grey concrete floors reflect the blinding fluorescents overhead. Art is dotted sparsely along the walls, ranging from geometric abstraction to realism. Hushed tones fill the space as would-be patrons, guests, and painters alike all speak to one another among the art.

The soles of a pair of scuffed tan leather boots carry Adam further into the gallery while his gaze sweeps the area, roaming from one piece to another. The hands that are shoved deep into his one good pair of pants flex within the stiff material of his pockets as he stops in front of a painting by someone with a name he doesn’t recognize. Like nearly every other piece of art in this place that he’s laid eyes upon, this one is loud; bold, bright colors are splashed across the canvas in such a way that it almost appears angry, as if someone had been in the throes of being upset when making this. Though, what the fuck does he know about art?

Adam snorts to himself and pivots, stepping away from this piece and moving on, one after another until…

“Hooooly shiiiiiit,” he murmurs quietly to himself.

“It’s a masterpiece isn’t it,” says a familiar voice abruptly to his right. “I’d say it’s my best work yet.”

Sackler’s gaze slides over to the nameplate that sits beneath the painting, though he doesn’t have to. He knows precisely this belongs to by their voice alone.

“I call it The Duality of Life and Death,” says Booth with an air of smugness. “You see, the Gunslinger, they’re the embodiment of life; all light and warm tones, whereas Death here is in all black, being kept at bay by the Gunslinger’s trusty weapon.”

He cannot believe what he is seeing. In fact, he is so focused on the painting before him that Sackler fails to register any and all words that leave Booth’s mouth. It is as if this artwork has been pulled straight from his most recent dream. Everything, right down to the bolts of lightning, tinged purple by the storm, is an accurate portrayal of the vividness of the dream he’d lived through the night prior. Impossible. And yet…

“Shut up,” Sackler mumbles just loud enough for Booth to hear.

“Excuse me?” Booth balks at the audacity of Adam’s sudden intrusion upon his well-rehearsed pitch and not so modest boasting about his talents.

“How much?”

The conversation lapses, and for a moment, all that can be heard is the sound of the murmurs of the other patrons. Booth huffs out a laugh, unsure of whether or not this is a genuine inquiry.

“Too much for you.”

“How much,” Adam asks again, this time more forcefully. His head turns and, for the first time since Booth’s arrival, he directs his full attention to the man beside him.

Another brief silence follows. “Fifteen hundred.”

“I’ll give you seven,” Adam counters.

A scoff follows the attempted negotiation. “Absolutely not. Fifteen hundred and not a penny less.”

Sackler’s jaw twitches in irritation and he knows without a shadow of a doubt in his mind that Booth is taking him for a ride with the price, but he simply cannot walk away from this. Not when the coincidence is far too great for him to ignore.

“Fine. You have yourself a deal.”

***

Hours later, Adam finds himself back in his apartment fifteen hundred dollars lighter and one painting in hand. Having disrobed down to the grey pair of boxers he still dons, he settles his weight heavily onto the edge of his mattress, his eyes fixated on the acquired painting that now hangs on the wall directly opposite of where he sits.

It’s uncanny, he thinks to himself, unable to shake the familiarity of it. Just as in his dream, the Gunslinger— you —are looking at him, and from even this great distance, your stare seems to pierce right through him. He stares and he stares and he stares until finally, sleep begins to wrap its tendrils around him, pulling him further down into a groggy state until he gives in and lies back against the mattress.

His eyes slowly slide closed, thoughts still on the painting, on his dream, on you . In the distance, an impending storm rumbles.

***

‘As many of you in the city have noticed, there has been a rather unusual weather pattern that’s settled over us, bringing with it an unsettling amount of rain and near hurricane level winds. Our storm tracker seems to indicate that this weather pattern is swirling in place, only delivering more debilitating rain that’s quickly turned to flash flooding in the area. The Hudson and East Rivers have both begun to breach their respective banks. But this isn’t the only unusual thing to come from the storm. There have also been strange electromagnetic pul—’

The nearby lamp flickers and then shuts off just as the television screen turns black, cutting off the meteorologist mid forecast. This has been, provided Sackler’s been keeping count accurately, the twelfth time this morning that the power has cut out. If this time is like the others, he can expect it to come back within the next five minutes.

He puffs his cheeks out prior to exhaling a deep breath, his eyes casting downward towards the phone in his hand—the very one he’d only just allowed himself to be talked into purchasing a mere three days ago. A large thumb taps the darkened glass screen to bring it to life. Twenty-eight percent, reads the small battery icon at the upper righthand corner. He sighs, opting not to waste more of the battery life by calling anyone. There’s no use, he knows. Instead, he tosses the device to the side, watching as it bounces against the worn cushions of the couch he sits on.

Outside, the storm rages on.

Rising up from his spot on the couch, the old wooden floorboards creaking beneath his weight, he crosses the small space of his living room to approach the window that gives him the perfect vantage point of the street below. Rain batters against the window, blurring his view, but below he spots a figure striding with purpose down the street.

Behind him, the microwave beeps and the light of his lamp clicks back on with the sudden return of electricity. Static sounds from the direction of the television and then:

‘In other parts of the world we’re seeing an emergence of a previously unknown virus. To date, there are no cases that we are aware of within the United States, but the CDC is urging anyone with the following symptoms to make a report—’

The story fades into the background as the figure draws closer and grows more visible even through the streaks of water that continue to distort the view from the glass in front of him. His eyes widen in recognition of the long, brown leather duster that hangs down nearly to the pavement. The holster isn’t visible beneath it, but the gun held firmly in hand is a dead giveaway.

“You,” he murmurs to himself in complete disbelief.

Without hesitation, and without allowing his mind to catch up with the actions he now takes, he pushes himself away from the window and makes a break for the apartment’s door, leaving behind the nearly dead phone on the couch.

***

ONE YEAR LATER

Plants of varying nature have long since begun to sprout through the cracks in sidewalks and pavement alike, their tendrils crawling up brick exteriors of buildings and brownstone homes. The hustle and bustle that the city is known for has quieted to a deafening degree; where once there were horns and shouts, now there is nothing more than the occasional whipping of the wind and, if one were so lucky, the rare sound of another survivor’s voice.

The illness that had swept across the globe crippled economies and decimated nations, including this very one. Businesses shuddered, families suffered, and in the end, no hope for a cure had been found.

Except for you, that is.

Ever since your arrival to the city where the man in black has taken up residence, it has been claimed by you that you are the only one who can put a stop to the man who’d brought a near end to civilization as Sackler knows it. Back in the realm from whence you have emerged, you have failed to stop him once, but this time, you vow, you will not falter in your mission.

The unmistakable metallic sound of a can being opened can be heard nearby. Sackler turns his head to look over at where you sit, your body curled over the pot that sits atop the lit tabletop burner. His face scrunches in distaste when he watches you dump the tin of beans unceremoniously into the empty pot in order to heat them up. It is the involuntary sound of displeasure that emanates from the back of his throat that captures your attention.

“What,” you ask as your head lifts to look in his direction.

He huffs out a breath and rolls his shoulders into a nonchalant shrug just as his attention shifts to the window of the apartment you find yourselves in currently. His head shakes once, twice, and then: “I don’t think I have it in me to eat another can of fuckin’ beans. At this point I think my blood’s made of it.”

The soft snort that emanates from where you stand pulls his attention back to you. He hadn’t heard you pick up the wooden spoon that you now hold, but he watches as you gently stir the warming beans, bringing them up to the desired temperature.

“It’s not like we have many options these days.”

Sackler notes how you refrain from looking in his direction, and instead direct your reply downward towards the soon to be meal. He grits his teeth together, jaw muscles ticking in visible agitation at the remark. It’s been one year, three hundred and sixty-five days, since the man in black’s arrival to Earth and only you, or so you’ve claimed, are the one that can stop him—only you can stop the sickness that he’s wrought on the planet and its people, and yet here you stand in his shitty apartment’s kitchen of all places, cooking some fucking beans.

It’s enough to drive him mad.

“We might not have options, but you sure as shit do,” he snaps, now having lost his patience. “That man, or whatever the fuck he is,” he says, pointing a finger in the direction of the window, “is out there. We know where he is, where he’s been for the last year and still you haven’t done shit about it!”

The wooden spoon once held in your hand now clatters against the side of the pot, the beans forgotten as Adam watches you twist off the flame and turn to face him with a sneer.

“I told you, it isn’t that simple. He’s dangerous , and he’s stronger than he’s ever been. And in case you haven’t noticed—”

“All the more reason to get it done, Kid! No use standing around here wasting time.”

“—I’m the last one of my kind left!”

Silence fills the space when your respective outbursts subside, and it isn’t until then that Sackler notices that you’ve taken steps to bring yourself closer to him. He wonders if you’ve noticed it too. Adam watches as your lips press together into a thin line, evidence of your displeasure with him and the situation the two of you find yourself in.

In a moment of seemingly perfectly choreographed movements, the two of you reach for one another, hands grasping at fabric, skin, anything and everything that you can reach. A groan of satisfaction tumbles from Sackler’s mouth the moment that he draws your body closer until you are firmly pressed against him, the sound greedily inhaled by you amidst a clashing of lips.

***

Hours later, when the light sheen of sweat covering your bodies has cooled, and the warmth of your skin is pressed against his, Adam turns his head and deposits a kiss to the crown of your own. In immediate response, you exhale a barely audible sigh.

There is a palpable energy that fills the space now; it is not the same explosive kind from earlier, the very one that led the two of you to the mattress you currently find yourselves on, no… This time it is different, uncomfortable. Sackler’s lips press together briefly, his jaw working in the familiar way you’ve come to notice in the short span of time that you’ve known him.

“I can practically hear the gears grinding in that head of yours, Kid,” he murmurs.

In reply you hum, though a moment of silence elapses before you respond. “We can’t,” you begin, the two words spoken with a quietness to rival your earlier sigh. Quickly, you lapse into more soundless thought.

Sackler’s arm tightens around your form, holding you closer to him; it is a wordless response that speaks volumes. Don’t , it says. Let us have this one moment of peace before the inevitable storm comes raging in and one of us finds ourselves swept away .

“Adam…” His name is a whisper, spoken so softly that if there were any other remaining souls in this building, not one would hear.

“Don’t,” he exclaims more forcefully than he’d intended. The words that follow are quieter, mournful, even. “Just don’t…” A shaky breath is inhaled and Sackler closes his eyes, an all too familiar ache beginning to make its home in the depths of his chest.

Beside him, bedsheets rustle as you lift yourself up out of the warmth and comfort of his embrace. Slowly, Adam’s eyelids part to look up only to find that you have propped yourself up by your elbow to peer down at him with a pained expression etched onto your features. A hand lifts and his eyes flutter closed once more when the sensation of your fingertips delicately tracing his cheek can be felt.

Such a tender touch only seems to feed the ache.

“We can’t be together.” The pain that he feels seems to be echoed in your own statement. It is a realization that drives the proverbial knife deeper and then twists. Your fingertips skim along his lips which now quiver with unshed sobs for a love that has died before it has even had a chance to bloom. “It’s too dangerous.”

A large hand wraps around your wrist, keeping you in place so that he may press kiss after kiss into your open palm in what feels like a desperate bid to prevent this moment from fading from existence. Adam shakes his head and slides your hand over to rest against his cheek, nuzzling into the touch before opening his eyes once more. This time when he looks up at you, he can see the tears that have gathered at your waterline, threatening to spill over onto your cheeks at any moment.

You exhale a trembling breath and when you close your eyes, the tears fall freely. Sackler lifts his hands, thumbs wicking away the moisture from your face as best he can. With a gentle hush, he guides you down to lay against him again, this time with your cheek pressed against his chest.

“You understand that, right,” you ask through the sobs that now begin to rack your body.

In response, Adam wraps an arm around your back, his other hand now cradling your head as you rest against him. “Yeah, Kid… I do,” he whispers in reply, his own tears now blurring his vision.

***

A rustling of wrappers can be heard, followed by the unmistakable sound of a zipper. When Adam cracks one eye open, it’s to find that the light of an early dawn has begun to creep its way through the sheer curtain draped across his window, spilling in to illuminate your form as you work to close his backpack. He groans and lifts a hand to rub his palm against one eye, working the grogginess from it whilst he begins to sit upright.

“Whasssgoin’on,” he slurs, voice still thick with sleep.

He’s met by the thump of the backpack as it lands against his chest, and coughing out a breath, he wraps his arms around the material in immediate reaction.

“Get up,” you say, now turning your attention to your own gear, ensuring that you have everything that you need. “Get dressed and make sure you take that with you. We’re heading out.”

“Out?” The sleep that had laced his voice has dissipated entirely, now replaced with a brief bout of confusion. “Out where?”

Sliding your gun into its holster, you pivot simultaneously, the soles of your boots scuffing the old worn hardwood floor. “We have a stop to make. I need more ammunition and then we’re headed into Manhattan.”

It takes him a moment, but when the weight of your words hit him with full force, it’s impossible for you to miss the look of recognition that passes across his face. He scrambles from the bed, momentarily discarding the backpack in order to grab his clothes from the pile he’d discarded on the floor just a day earlier. At long last, after everything he has endured over the course of the last year, after everything that you have endured, as well as the two of you together, the day has finally arrived. And yet…

There is a small seed of hesitation that has sewn itself into the depths of his belly, sprouting up into worry.

***

Brooklyn remains as quiet as it has been for this past year; a gentle breeze cuts through a brownstone-lined street, rustling Sackler’s hair and causing the near floor-length duster that you wear to billow in its wake. The soles of your boots scuff along the pavement, kicking up pebbles that have torn up from the once heavily-traveled road. Beside you, Sackler adjusts the strap of the backpack that dangles precariously from his shoulder.

“You know you aren’t going to find any ammunition in any of the stores around here.” The words leave him matter-of-factly, as if he knows this to be true.

Your head swivels to look over at him and your eyes squint slightly as if to ask for further elaboration on the subject at hand. In automatic response, his hands lift, palms facing outward as if in defense though the two of you carry on walking alongside one another.

“Gun laws,” he says. “They’re super strict here.”

You huff out a grunt in reply and mutter a barely audible ‘that’s fine’ in return to which Adam quickly follows with: “T-that’s fine? What do you mean that’s fine? Hey! Hey , where are you going?!”

Stunned into momentary silence, Adam watches as you veer off course and make a beeline for one of the passing brownstones that sits vacant. “I don’t need a store,” you call out from over your shoulder.

With a swift, solid kick of your boot to the center of the door, you manage to dislodge the lock and allow yourself entry. The interior of the home is dark in spite of the sun that hangs high overhead just outside—a byproduct of city living. Upon further investigation, the home looks tidy, orderly, as if whomever used to live here locked up and left long before the sickness that swept the nation one year ago was able to settle in and take hold of the building’s occupants.

“Up here,” Adam says, the sudden boom of his voice cutting through your thoughts.

He is already halfway up the wooden staircase that leads to the second floor by the time you look over, taking the steps two at a time to reach the landing. It isn’t long until you are close behind, following him into one of the spacious bedrooms. Sackler’s backpack falls to the floor with a light thump just as he all but dives to the floor, his lean body stretching out as he peers beneath the bed. A hand reaches under, retrieving a small black case along with two boxes.

“Check these.” He rises up from his spot on the floor and immediately pivots to make his way into the large walk-in closet.

The sound of hangers sliding along metal rods can be heard as he pushes row after row of clothes aside in order to hunt down what he suspects will be a second weapon. By the time that he re-emerges, it is to find that you have scattered the boxes of ammunition from beneath the bed on top of the duvet. Beside the discarded ammo sits the black box, now opened to reveal Glock.

“This isn’t what I need,” you reply before turning your head to look over at where he stands at the threshold of the closet. “But that is.”

Just as you nod your head to the boxes of ammunition belonging to the very same revolver that sits on your hip, you stride across the expanse of the bedroom to approach him. Sackler hands the boxes to you without hesitation, watching as you squirrel the individual bullets away in the bandolier that sits snugly around your waist.

When the last of the ammunition has been tucked away, you lift your gaze to find Sackler staring back at you with an expression that you can’t quite pin down. There is an air of wistfulness about it and something else you cannot put your finger on.

“Ready,” you ask, lacing the question with an enthusiasm that is so manufactured that it feels bitter and foreign in your mouth.

Sackler nods but does not respond verbally. Instead, he turns and makes his way out of the bedroom first with you following close behind. Back by the bed, still lying on the floor, remains the backpack that Sackler had brought with him on the first leg of your journey.

***

Even from the Brooklyn Bridge, it is impossible to miss how the tallest residential building in the whole of the city looms above all else. But here, now, standing just beneath it on Park Avenue, makes all other vantage points pale in comparison. The front wall of the building that once housed luxury accommodations is all glass, pure and pristine—not a single pane disturbed or broken, unlike the remainder of the buildings that have gone neglected since the planet’s downfall.

“This is the one.”

“Yeeeeah.” Adam’s head tips back, eyes squinting to peer up at the sheer size of the building. “I figured.” When he rights his stance, head turning now to look over at you, he rolls a shoulder into a shrug. “Nothing says ‘the villain’s in here’ like the only untouched building in all of New York, and my guess, the world.”

You hum out an unintelligible reply—a grunt of sorts, something that requires no retort from Sackler, but receives one nonetheless.

“Hey,” he calls out, a hand snapping out to grasp your upper arm just as you begin to take steps towards the building’s front door. Only when you turn to face him again does he ease his grasp and then release it entirely. “Whatever happens in there—”

“Adam…”

“—whatever happens in there…” Sackler pauses, his Adam’s apple bobbing when he swallows harshly, eyes searching your own. “That son of a bitch is dead, yeah?”

He watches as your head nods, albeit a bit more slowly than he’d like. When he says nothing, you nod again, this time with more conviction. “Yes.”

In turn, Sackler nods and utters a ‘ good ’ before following you through the front door. The lobby of the building is just as the outside stands: untouched and in good condition just as the day that it had been prior to the man in black’s arrival to the city. Despite the lack of people in the space—security or otherwise—it’s impossible to miss the hum of anticipation that shoots through the air like electricity. Every hair on the back of Adam’s neck seems to rise with the feeling, and his eyes dart around the room whilst he continues to follow your lead to the nearby staircase.

“Woah, hold on,” he whispers as the stairwell’s door clicks shut softly behind him, his hand once again reaching to grasp your arm to effectively stop your advance towards the stairs.

“What?!” The words that you hiss out in reply echo slightly against the concrete walls and floor alike.

A gentle tug pulls you closer, and though you don’t resist, it isn’t lost on Adam how your eyes narrow ever so slightly at the abrupt halt of your plans. “Something’s... off … It,” he starts, sighing and releasing his hold on you to run a hand through his hair in exasperation. “It feels wrong.”

When your brows crease in momentary confusion, he elaborates.

“You don’t think it’s weird that no one’s here? There’s no, I don’t fucking know, evil henchmen or some shit to stop us?”

A huff of air is expelled just as you turn your gaze upward as if to look to the floors above where you will undoubtedly find the man at long last. Adam watches as your lips press together momentarily before you look back to him and whisper once more. “Does it really matter? He’s here,” you insist, your own hand reaching to grasp his forearm. “You feel it. I know you do.”

When silence fills the space between you, Adam nods once in affirmation to your statement. He does feel him, it’s impossible not to. The crackle of electricity in the air has only grown more intense even only having moved a few hundred feet upon entry into the building.

“Come on,” you say, loosening yourself from his hold just as your hand slips from his arm simultaneously. “Let’s finish this.”

***

Thunder rumbles beyond the panes of glass that makeup the exterior walls by the time the two of you reach your destination and the final floor of the eighty-five story building. The door staircase’s door leads to a small hall that in turn leads to a solid black door complete with a tiny peep hole that the former occupants undoubtedly used to peer out at any visitors. Sackler surmises that now such a peep hole is useless and unused.

The feeling of unease that has settled into the depths of his stomach only seems to grow when you reach for the handle, turning it without resistance and finding that the door is unlocked. It’s a trap, he wants to call out, but that—he knows—would only serve to verbalize the obvious. You are just as aware as he, and yet…

The two of you push onward, stepping into the penthouse apartment that overlooks the entirety of Manhattan. Beyond the panes of glass that makeup the living area, Central Park stands empty, bathed in the purple light of the rapidly impending storm. To your left, movement captures both yours and Sackler’s attention and when your heads collectively turn to find the source, a sweeping sense of dread drapes over Adam like the heaviest of blankets.

“I see you’ve finally found me.” The soles of the boots the man in black wears, land heavily against the cool marble tile that covers the floor where he walks. “It only took you, oh,” he pauses briefly, pretending to check his watch, “a little over a year now. I thought your tracking skills were far superior than that, Gunslinger. Perhaps I give you too much credit.”

“You don’t give them enough,” Adam sneers, taking his place beside you.

The man’s gaze slides from you to Sackler and back again. There is a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth before his lips part, stretching wide across his face in a toothy grin. Laughter fills the space as his head is thrown back momentarily. Though the sound fades, the amused grin remains when the man’s attention is turned to you, effectively dismissing Sackler.

“Who is this? Is this the reason you’ve taken your sweet old time?” The man tuts in disapproval, his gaze flitting to where Adam stands, sizing him up with a single sweep down and then back up again. “You always did have a weak heart,” he mocks. “It’s a wonder you are the last one of your kind standing.”

The clouds that roll in now block the sun entirely, casting a dark shadow over the city that spills over into the living room and draping itself across the three of you. Outside, lightning strikes nearby as thunder rolls ominously overhead. The hand that rests at your side twitches in eager anticipation of the quick draw that will undoubtedly occur sooner rather than later.

“You’re wrong.”

The man’s gaze once again slides over to where Adam stands, hands balled into fists as if in preparation for the fight to come. The charged air seems to thicken to an uncomfortable degree and for a fleeting moment, Sackler wonders if this sullen energy is radiating from the man himself.

Another strike of lightning illuminates the space, followed rapidly by another that seems to pass through the nearby floor to ceiling length windowpane. With a wave of an outstretched hand, the man sends the bolt in your direction, seeking to put an end to this before it can even begin. Your hand lifts to retrieve the gun from your holster, but quick of a draw as you are, not even you are quick enough for the event that unfolds before your very eyes.

Whilst the bolt comes careening towards you, a large body steps in front at the last possible moment, absorbing the blow.

“No!” You cry out in disbelief, pulling the gun free and firing off three shots in rapid succession, two of which hit their intended target.

As the man in black clutches at his torso, stumbling back behind a nearby piece of furniture for cover, you collapse down onto your knees beside a wounded Sackler.

“No, no, no, no, no, Adam.” The gun in your hand clatters to the floor heavily whilst your hands now roam over his body frantically. You know that there is nothing you can do, the blow has been dealt and the damage has been done. No amount of wishing can save him now.

Sackler chokes, splutters, and wheezes as he struggles to catch what little breath he can. “Kid,” he manages to gasp through labored breaths.

An anguished sob sounds from the back of your throat upon hearing him. Tears begin to fill your vision, spilling over onto your cheeks as your head tips forward to rest your forehead against his shirt near the blackened edges where the lightning bolt made contact with his chest.

“Kid,” he rasps again.

A large hand settles at the back of your head when you lift it just enough to peer down at him. He’s gone impossibly pale, and the realization makes your heart shatter into the smallest pieces imaginable. He is, you know, on the verge of death.

“I—”

“No, Adam. Don’t,” you hush softly, bringing your own hand to his hair, brushing it back from his clammy forehead. “Just rest, you’re going to be okay.” The words taste bitter in your mouth, like ash after a fire has decimated everything in its wake.

There is a slight shake of his head, and the hand at the back of your own presses just enough pressure for you to follow his lead, allowing him to draw you closer. Weakly, he lifts his head up from the ground to meet you on your descent. The tears come effortlessly now when your lips meet, and the hands that once roamed his form now hold his face as you kiss him and kiss him and kiss him.

“Kid, I—” A series of coughs wrack his body as you help to lower his head back down to the ground. “I. Kid.” Sackler’s eyes roll as he inhales an arduous breath. “I lov—”

The breath leaves his body in a rush, chest stilling and body falling limp.

The golden rays of the setting sun part through the black clouds and cast themselves upon the scene as if to highlight the tragedy that’s just unfolded. But now is not the time for mourning; there will be a time and a place for this later, though every fiber of your being screams for you to stay with him now.

Rapidly you blink, seeking to dispel the tears from your eyes and rid yourself of your blurred vision. Slowly, you push yourself up and onto your feet, grabbing your gun as you go, your gaze still focused on the now lifeless body that lies in front of you. This mission, the one you’d been on solely for yourself and the realm from whence you have traveled from, is now a quest for the man you’d come to love so completely. For him you will do this. For him you will see to it that the man in black will be no more, that order will be restored to Adam’s world once more and that things will revert to the way they once were.

This will be his legacy.

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

Tagging my fellow Sackler lovers!

@livelongdolan @daydreamsofren @crimsoncounties @caillea @candycanes19 @gurl-ly @duty-isnt-always-honour @exit-goat @little-laamb @themuseic @kylosbitch @caelum-phyriina-vermillon @desiraypark @mariesackler @millenialcatlady @mazeltovcocktail555 @historyandfandoms50 @leatherboundbirate @fathersonandhouseofgucci @xxcatrenxx @alpha-lobito @cornmousequeen @tashastrange89 @10blurredsmoke10

If you'd like to be tagged on works going forward, give me a shout!

#Adam Sackler #Sackler #Adam Sackler x Reader #Sackler x Reader #Gunslinger!Reader #Adam Sackler x Gunslinger!Reader #Sackler x Gunslinger!Reader #Dark Tower AU #cw: violence #cw: gun violence #cw: angst #cw: unhappy ending #cw: pandemic #cw: major injury #cw: death #cw: character death #adcu fic exchange

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brandyllyn · 3 years

Text

In our own image... (01)

Chapter 1

(Poe Dameron x OFC)

Other chapters... My Masterlist

Word count: 2200. Read it on AO3.

Rating: Teen & Up (PG) language.

Poe Dameron, Commander in the Resistance Army, hands down the best pilot in the fleet, hero of D’Qar, and one sexy guy - although admittedly that one might be just in his own head - was having a shit day.

It started when he fell out of his hammock that morning. He fell out every morning, but this morning was especially bad because he had somehow missed putting his foot down correctly to catch his fall and whacked his head on his table on the way down. Despite having strung up his hammock in a private little stand of trees, canvas tarps providing a roof from the rain and some additional privacy, he still cursed loudly enough to wake up several people nearby. Which on its own wouldn’t have been that bad either except one of them was Snap which meant Poe was never going to hear the end of it.

It had been downhill from there. Breakfast was leftover rations from the night before. There were no flight maneuvers on his schedule today, just endless strategy meetings. No mission in sight to get him out of this jungle either.

And they were running low on caf - so low the pots were being brewed less than half strength, weak and watery. Barely worth drinking even though he savored what little jump he could get from the murky beverage.

By the time lunch came around Poe was ready to throw in the towel. The day was not going to get better and to top it off, BB-8 was mad at him. They’d been arguing for nearly ten minutes while Poe was trying to eat lunch. A few other people had come and tried to make conversation but Poe’s bickering with BB-8 had made most of them quickly move on to other tables.

"Come on buddy," Poe pleaded with his droid. "I’m sorry, I know you don’t like it. But I can’t fix it right now either." BB-8 beeped at him with exasperation, ending on a trilling note that Poe would have called insubordinate if it hadn’t been paired with a sad whistle. "I know, I know. The moment I can get somewhere that sells the tools I need we’ll fix it I promise."

"What’s up with Beebs?" Jessika Pava asked, sitting down at the table next to Poe and clutching a mug of tea. Poe eyed the beverage dubiously. Last he heard they were on their third or fourth use of tea leaves and her drink didn’t look much better than his caf had that morning. But if the Black Squadron pilot wanted to pretend she was holding more than the dregs of what used to be tea he wasn’t going to say anything about it.

"Someone pushed him down a cliff and now he’s got sand in his circuits," Poe replied, eyes carefully avoiding the man sitting across from him.

Finn heard him anyway. Obviously. He was sitting less than two feet away, he couldn’t help but hear Poe. "I’m not the one who got us crashed on the sand dunes."

"I’m not the one who-" Poe started but was cut off by a mournful whistle from BB-8. He sighed, "I know buddy, we’re both really sorry."

"Real sorry Beebs," Finn echoed, rocking the droid affectionately with his foot.

Pava snorted, hiding a smile behind her mug when Poe glared at her. "Why don’t you take him over to the droidsmith," Pava offered.

Poe turned to her in confusion, seeing BB-8 do the same at his feet. "The who?"

Pava tilted her head at him and then blinked, "Oh yeah, you’ve been gone a while. We’ve got a droidsmith. Set up over on the south side next to the Mu."

"When did a Mu shuttle arrive?" he asked.

Pava rolled her eyes, "With the droidsmith."

"Yeah Poe," Finn mocked, "with the droidsmith."

Poe glared at him. "What do you know about the droidsmith?"

"I know he’s over by the Mu shuttle," Finn retorted.

"She," Pava muttered under her breath and Finn gave her a glare before correcting himself.

"She’s over by the Mu shuttle, everyone knows that."

"Mmhmm," Poe grunted, looking down at BB-8 who was blinking up at him hopefully. "Right after lunch, I promise."

Without the constant interruption from BB-8 Poe managed to finish his meal in peace, Pava falling into step beside him after he pushed back from the table. She led him past the Command center and a string of X-Wings, then pointed out where the shuttle was settled next to a large canvas tarp strung between three trees. From where he was standing, it looked like it was covering nothing but crates.

He took a step forward and then frowned when he realized Pava wasn’t with him. "You’re not coming with me?" He asked

Pava shook her head, "It’s probably best if I don’t. She doesn’t like me much."

Poe glanced at the shuttle, then back at the pilot. "Why not?"

"Me? The Great Destroyer? Why do you think a droidsmith might not like me?" She asked sarcastically.

Oh yeah, Poe thought, that. It wasn’t that Pava tried to get her droids shot, exploded, imploded, or short-circuited. It just always seemed to happen to droids that were near her for more than a few minutes. BB-8 flatly refused to fly with her, even when Poe had directly ordered him to once.

BB-8 was ahead of them both, rolling across the ground and investigating the new ship. Poe looked back at Pava, "Do you at least know her name?"

Pava shrugged. "I’m told she doesn’t speak Basic. She’s got a little translator droid you can talk to though. Name’s K-0."

"Great," Poe muttered as he watched her walk away. When he turned back, it was just in time to see BB-8 disappear around a stack of crates. "Just great."

Judging from the size of the roof tarp, the droidsmith’s shop covered several hundred square feet. She had stacked crates around several sides to create the illusion of walls and there was covering on the ground to keep everything out of the inevitable mud after the rainstorms. Poe ducked under the tarp, his boots making a hollow thunking noise on the ground cover.

He waited a minute for his eyes to adjust to the shadows and then raised an eyebrow. In front of him was a table, set fairly low to the ground, with a ramp leading up to it and an R4 unit in two pieces on top of it. The droid whistled at him as he went by and he gave it a nod. From that table there was another ramp to a higher table, this one scattered with a variety of parts. It took a moment before Poe realized the benefits of the arrangement. Different droids would need to be at different heights for repairs. And the ramps made it easy for them to roll where they needed to be.

He walked past the second table and around a corner made of boxes and entered a larger, enclosed area. The ceiling was tall, at least fifteen feet, and he could see various parts hanging from the poles that held the tarp up. Light filtered through the opaque fabric but the interior was mostly lit by a variety of battery operated lanterns and lights strewn around. He idly noted a hammock in the corner, and a stack of crates leading up to it. Falling out of that one could cause serious injury. On a table near to it, at a normal height, Poe got his first look at the droidsmith.

He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting. He’d met a few droidsmith’s over the years. One had been a burly Snivvian, another an elderly human woman. Enough to know that there was no one kind of person who was drawn to the profession. It required smarts, quick fingers, and mechanical know-how - but once you had those the possibilities were endless.

This droidsmith was… there was no other way to describe her than stunning. Skin a dark golden color, a few shades darker than his. She had large irregular shaped spots framing her face, extending along her hairline behind her ears and down the sides of her neck, underneath the wide leather choker she wore. They continued on, disappearing into her clothes and he wondered briefly how much further they went. She was Chasinian, Pava hadn’t mentioned that. One side of her dark hair was cut shorter than the rest - the rest falling over her shoulder.

Poe felt an instant jolt of attraction. It wasn’t just that she had striking looks, but the entire picture she presented seemed to be tailor-made for him. She was sitting on the table, knees spread wide and feet touching, BB-8 nestled in the gap of her legs like a small child. As he watched, she pulled off the sturdy work gloves she was wearing to reveal long fingers. She immediately began running her hands over the droid, pressing on sensors and caressing the edge of his panels with soft, graceful touches. For just a moment, Poe was irrationally jealous of his friend. He shook the thought off quickly. He heard BB trilling happily, popping open ports to show her the array of gadgets and mechanisms Poe had installed over the years.

As she stroked the droid, Poe could see her muscles moving. The white tank she wore left her arms bare, and she had a streak of grease along the outside of her forearm. She looked like someone who could not only kick his ass in hand to hand combat - but like she’d steal his X-Wing while he was still trying to catch his breath.

Poe had a type. He’d admit it. And that type was "could kick his ass and steal his ship." It had gotten him into trouble too many times to count in the past, and yet here he was. Suddenly lusting over a perfect stranger based on the way she was touching his droid and the mental fantasy he had drawn up based on no more than a twitch of muscle and streak of grease.

Then again, there was also the fact that she didn’t report to him. Or he to her. That was… on a military base that was maybe the sexiest thing of all.

He shifted his feet, his boots making the flooring creak and she looked up at him. Her eyes were deep brown, almost black, and she cocked an eyebrow and then tilted a head down at the droid. He flushed at her perusal and quickly coughed, trying to cover his face with his hand.

"Yeah, he’s a little beat up, someone rolled him down a cliff." Her expression didn’t change and he quickly added, "Not me." He gave BB-8 a hard look, silently begging the droid to not rat him out to this woman. "Is, uh, is K-0 here? To talk to?"

The droidsmith gave him a confused look and made a clicking noise with her tongue.

Poe heard a rustle and a small single-wheeled droid, barely bigger than his two fists, rolled out from under a table. "I am K-0," it intoned, tilting a sensor array back to look up at him. "What need?"

Poe looked between the droid and the droidsmith before nodding. "Okay, well K-0. That’s BB-8," he pointed to the orange droid as though there might be some confusion and then grimaced, abruptly halting the motion and running his hand through his hair instead. "He’s uh, he’s had a rough time and he’s got sand in all his gears. I also think he’s got a sensor loose. I could fix it but I…" he glanced around the workshop. "I don’t have the tools. I was thinking I could borrow-"

As he was talking the little droid beeped and whistled in binary, aiming it at the woman holding BB-8. When Poe got to his last sentence he saw her shake her head vehemently, giving him an annoyed look. Or maybe a skeptical one. Or possibly some mix between the two. Whatever it was it wasn’t a look he had hoped for. Certainly not from her.

"Okay," he continued, listening to the little droid translate, "no tool borrowing. Would you be able to…? I mean, I was told you’re a droidsmith so I was hoping maybe…"

She was nodding, smiling at BB-8 and ignoring him entirely as she pried one of the panels off with her fingernails and set it gently on the table next to her. He heard her make a soft tsking noise and BB hummed contentedly back.

K-0 tilted to look at him. "Will fix. Do good."

"Thanks?" Poe looked between the three of them again. "I’ll be back in-"

"Two day," K-0 intoned solemnly.

Poe nodded and backed out of the workshop, feeling suddenly like he was intruding in a moment he wasn’t meant to see. She looked up at him as he went, those dark eyes meeting his before she leaned back over BB-8 in apparent fascination.

Poe stumbled back out into the light, putting one hand out to catch himself on a crate and turning his head toward the sun.

"Sithspit," he muttered.

He wasn’t an expert, but he was pretty sure that hadn’t gone particularly well.

Chpt 2

#poe dameron x ofc #star wars sequels #writing

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katzkinder · 3 years

Text

Fool’s Gold, Ch 1

Prologue

I should mention that the version up on ao3 has extra content not included in the tumblr updates. The version available on Tumblr is just the story featuring Greed pair, while the ao3 version has some extra bits and bobs. They don’t particularly impact the story, but they do add another layer, and if you like Gear and Youtarou, you might enjoy it! Thank you for being patient with my sporadic schedule ^^

[All That Glitters Is Not]

The first thing Licht noticed upon regaining consciousness was that his head felt like someone had tried to split it open like a melon. The second was that, wherever he was, it was cooler than the weather permitted, and the scratchy sheets beneath his cheek could sorely use a good wash. He wrinkled his nose, groaning as he sat up and clutched his head. The third…

“Ah, good. You’re awake. Was starting to get worried.”

--Was that he wasn’t alone.

Licht whirled, nearly falling off the small bed he had been placed on in his haste and only succeeding in making his aching head spin. The sound of metal clanging against it itself made him grimace, using the sound’s source to finally locate the… Dungeon’s, he supposed, other occupant.

A suit of armor?

“Hey now, no need to be hasty. You’ll only hurt yourself like that.” The deep voice he had heard was definitely coming from the armor, which sat, almost casually, even, upon a stool with a little wooden serving cart laden down with a pitcher, food, and dishes to serve it on. If he squinted, he could make out the shape of bread and what might have been a block of aged cheese in the darkness, penetrated only by the light of torches placed at regular intervals around the place.

“P… Piss off…” His throat hurt, voice coming out scratchier than he would have liked. “Who are you, and where am I?”

“First, drink this.” A copper cup was pushed at him through the bars, held securely in the jointed fingers of a gauntlet and presumably filled with water. Licht scoffed at it, not budging.

“Not until you answer me. Who. Are. You,” he repeated, carefully enunciating each word as if the man in front of him were some foreign entity just barely capable of understanding him. If suits of armor could look annoyed, this one certainly did, joints creaking as the whole thing sagged with its occupant.

“Do you want the damn water or not?”

“What I want is answers.”

A soft, harsh mutter that was almost certainly a swear, his captor turning to place the cup back in its place amongst the meal’s various other accoutrements. “Listen. If I promise to answer your questions, will you drink something? I don’t need that brat boss of mine giving me an earful over a stubborn kid…”

Licht bristled, swinging his legs over the side of the bed that was, now that he took a moment to look, little more than a cot pushed into the corner, and standing fast enough that the room spun. Stalking towards his unflinching captor, his lip curled back into a sneer, baleful glare trained on approximately where he thought the man’s eyes would be. Gripping the bars of his prison, he pushed his forehead up against the cool metal, duly noting that where he had expected rust he instead found smooth, well cared for material. That would make things more difficult once he was alone again, but it was nothing he couldn’t overcome, he thought.

“I’m not a kid.”

The helmet tilted, arms folding noisily across the chest plate. “You sure are acting like one.”

“I’m not,” Licht insisted. Adjusting his grip, he shoved his face more insistently at the bars, trying to get a look at the layout of the area beyond his cell. It was fairly large, all things considered, with clean, dry stone that looked like it was well fitted together. Directly across from him was a wall with a torch holder, unlit for the moment, though light sources reflected off the silver armor his captor wore from either side of him. To the left and right of that torch were more cells, equally as bare as his own save for a cot and, if he squinted hard enough, the shape of what might have been more bedding underneath.

No doubt moth eaten and covered in rat shit.

Still, the relatively clean space was… Surprising, and up close like this, he found he was indeed correct in assuming the shape he had seen to be cheese. Bread, cheese, some cured meats, and…

The words he had meant to speak died on the tip of his tongue, facial expression going slack in his befuddlement. “What’s that?”

“Hm?” The man turned at the waist, following his line of sight to a yellow skinned pear sitting innocuously amongst the other foodstuffs, the bottom of which appeared to be colored pink to red at uneven intervals. “... Have you never seen a pear before?”

Licht bit down a snappish reply, stomach giving a sudden rumble in protest to him doing anything that might deny him food he hadn’t until then realized he was sorely needing. “Give.”

“Excuse me?”

“Give me. The pear.” When all that met him was silence, he tore his gaze away, leveling it back again at the other man and ignoring the feel of eyes judging him. “What? You wanted me to eat and drink something, right? So hand it over.”

Slowly, as if he were still putting together the pieces of some sort of complex puzzle, the man moved, passing items through the bars to Licht’s awaiting hands. “You’re… A very strange man.”

“I’m an angel.” And with that, he bit into the fruit’s unblemished skin with a resounding, satisfying crunch. It was sweet, tart, just the slightest bit gritty, but not at all unpleasant as the juices ran down his chin, Licht closing his eyes to savor the taste. “Sho. Ansher my queshons.”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full…” was the muttered reply, and feeling eyes boring steadily into him, Licht cracked an eye open, not seeming the least bit sheepish for the halfhearted scolding. “I think it’s pretty obvious where you are, anyway.”

“Hah?”

Shifting to prop his chin in hand, he continued, waving his free round around with a lazy, lackadaisical motion. “Look around. It’s a dungeon-”

“But where, and why, and who the hell are you?”

“Guildenstern.”

Finally receiving an answer mollified him, somewhat, Licht finally picking up the cup to take a drink and, after giving it a cursory sniff, finding that he quite disliked the metallic taste the copper imbued everything with. Still, it was refreshingly cold against his parched throat, so he couldn’t complain too much, all things considered. “Guildenstern, huh… What’s with the armor?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Least comforting thing you could have said.”

A snort, Guildenstern rising to his feet with a grunt and the creaking of nearly every joint in the whole uncomfortable looking mess, in Licht’s opinion. Yet Guildenstern didn’t seem too bothered by what was undoubtedly a getup that only made his life harder. “Wasn’t supposed to be. Behave yourself. Boss’ll want to know that you’re awake.”

Licht rolled his eyes, stuffing a hunk of bread into his mouth next. “Good. Bring him here so I can kick his ass for making me late for dinner. My parents are going to start worrying if I don’t get home soon. Angels don’t make their parents worry.”

For a moment, Guil paused, and Licht got the distinct, infuriating feeling that he was being pitied by those unseen eyes. “... I’m sorry.”

“You’d better be.” Soon left alone with nothing but a quickly depleting meal and his own thoughts as the loud clanking steadily faded away, Licht eyed the door of his cell, slowly chewing in order to better savor the flavor of the fruit while he thought.

Well, he supposed, there was no use in overthinking it. After all, an angel’s power was absolute and he could overcome anything he set his mind to.

Satisfied with his conclusion, Licht stood, wiped the back of his mouth on his grass and dirt stained sleeve, approached the cell’s door… And kicked with all his might. One way or another, he was going to get out. Guildenstern hadn’t been wrong about it being obvious where he was. He knew without a doubt the where, he had an inkling of the why, but he didn’t particularly want to stick around and confirm his theory. Such a nice meal for a prisoner, when provided by a demon, could only mean one thing. He wasn’t about to be the fattened up main course for any monster, and that getting any info out of the man stationed to guard him had been so difficult only further cemented it in his mind.

“Tch.”

The lock held steady. Once more, then. Once more, once more, as many times as it took…

“Stupid piece of… Just-!” Clang! “Die-!” Clang! “Already-!”

“First you steal my flowers, now you try and break my stuff? After I so graciously provided you with food, too. Maaan…”

Licht growled, the new irritating voice prompting him to put even more power into the swing of his leg than he had been. Although the whole door rattled in its frame… It did not give way. He swore, stepping back as a looming shadow approached.

Glittering golden scales and wickedly curved horns, razor sharp fangs and eyes that burned like hellfire, all wrapped up in cloth as dark and decadent as the pitch of night…

“You sure are a firecracker who just doesn't know when to quit, aren't ya~? Guil says you think you’re an angel. Ha! That’s a riot! So tell me, lil angel…” The dragon leered at him, curling one clawed hand around the bars of his prison while Licht glared back, baring his teeth at the monster before him. “What kind of punishment is suitable for thieves~?”

“Go fuck yourself.”

A startled laugh, smoke curling out from behind unsettlingly human lips. “Ohh, I am gonna have fun~ With~ You~”

A demon, through and through.

#kat's katerwauling #servamp #lawlicht #pawprints #look at me remembering to put a read more #and also include a link to the first part #maybe one day i'll actually set up a real writing blog #or at least put this one in order

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hikarinon · 4 years

Text

Liquid Courage - Doctor AU!

Shirabu Kenjirou x Reader - Haikyuu!! fanfiction

chapter I ➳ A dose of irrationality ➳ // next

____________________

“ Did you know, dear? That despair is the devil’s favorite drink.

One taste of it and you’ll lose everything.”

You took the next shot into your palms, gulping it down with hazy eyes. Not giving a fuck on whats happening and what just happened.

You begged your eyes to stop tearing up. Every piece of it coming out just got pushed back in. No, stop

How wonderful right, your first night shift in the delivery room, your first case, the first ever newborn baby you’ve ever held,

gone

in your arms.

It was inevitable. The beautiful girl had an infection and died due to sepsis.

According to Ending Newborn Deaths, a new report by Save the Children, one million babies die within 24 hours of birth. And according to WHO, sepsis claims the lives of around one million newborns each year. So it wasn’t much of a world wide news event

It’s pretty common for a newborn to die due to infection.

But the fact that you were the very first person to hold out that beautiful baby girl to this wondrous world, and letting it die in your arms

Tore you to pieces.

“Give me one more, Linus.”

“Stop y/n, you’re gonna go nuts”

“Wasn’t that the whole point of dragging her out of the hospital though?”

You swallowed it whole, moving around in your midi silk slip dress, slightly dancing, head bobbing along with the music. You were still conscious on what you were doing, but as long as you know your dress was cute, who gives a damn. The memory from the delivery room still stuck as you closed your eyes with your palm, pushing back the tears once again.

“You obviously need a boyfriend.” your friend nearly shouted, making sure you heard what she said through the loud music.

You chuckled, still swaying around, “I can get one right now if I wanted too.”

Your friend smirked, holding onto your wrist “bet.” your feet wobbled as she brought you back to your table of friends. A grumpy expression visible on your face as she pulled you.

“Let’s play truth or dare.”

Your body refused to sit down and stay put. You pouted at the soft hold of your friends hand pulling you down. With the amount of bourbon your body consumed, all you wanted to do was dance.

You steadied yourself whilst leaning on the headboard of the velvet round sofa, right on its edge. Racing your hands through your hair, as your eyelids drooped down at your friends crankily.

“Fine y/n, cause you’re soooo energetic today, you’re first. Truth or dare”

“With this dress? Dare duh.” you couldn’t believe what your stupid mouth just chirped

But then what’s a night without a little bit of trouble right?

That’s what you thought correct. that is, till you saw the way your friends mischievously stared at each other. Knowing them, your feet went cold

“You see those hot guys over there,” she pointed out the group of guys sitting and hanging around at the bar “That tall beefy guy over there is Ushijima Wakatoshi, a famous volleyball athlete.” she handed another shot of bourbon in front of you, and with the most cynical smirk she continued

“I dare you to take him down on the dance floor.”

Your eyes went straight to the drink, darken as you have finally realized just what a stupid stupid decision you just made. Should’ve just gone with truth and tell them the color of your underwear. Your hands hesitantly took the drink with your palms, staring at it attentively, imagining the next awful thing that will happen

But then you heard with wide ears the next song, it was The Weeknd. Like how can you not?

You held the shot high like a warrior, “Challenge-” and drank it down

“accepted.”

Unknowingly to you, a pair of brown gray eyes were already fixed upon you.

▢▢▢

“I’m surprised they let you in, Goshiki.” Semi cooed. “I’m literally 23 now senpai, cut me some slack already.” he ranted back. As he took the drink on the table, he noticed how undeniably serious his other senpai looked.

“Shirabu senpai ” he nudged him “being a doctor doesn’t give you the right to ghost me y’know.”

Shirabu Kenjirou, a 24 year old intern, stationed in the same hospital as you are. Eyes unwittingly wondering all over your figure from a five meter distance. How could he not recognize his junior from this short of range?

especially with that kind of dress.

The way you brushed your hair back with your fingers whilst leaning on the sofa, naturally swaying your hips, made him loose focus of his whole current situation, just to be woken up by his kohai.

“Oh y-yeah, sorry.”

he turned around to face back the bar, taking another sip of his wine, Trying to maintain back his usual composure. Who would’ve thought he’d meet you here on a saturday night. the thought of you being possibly single was filling up to much space in his mind, he tried to put his attention back on Tendou who was talking about some shounen jump series.

“FUCK! And then he-” Tendou’s mouth suddenly gaped for a second, “GUYS, look look! Three o’clock” Shirabu glanced at his direction and nearly choked on his wine when he saw you strutting your way towards their group.

His heart pumped harder incessantly as you were nearing them. Though not expressed on his face, he was particularly nervous.

But in a mere second he cooled down his hopes.

He doesn’t actually have a low self esteem on his appearance, but with just a two second glance on his group, he knew he had some competitions.

But his whole world suddenly stopped the moment he felt two finger taps on his back.

Everything, the music, the dancing, the sound from the bar, the snickering from Tendou’s mouth, the woos from his group. He couldn’t hear a single thing except for the next few words that came out of your curved mouth

“You, me, dance floor.”

▢▢▢

Liquid courage bringing the both of you to the dance floor.

Your hands took both of his considerately, yet bravely. With a seductive grin he chuckled at yours.

You walked backwards towards the dance floor, hands still holding his, actually starting to get cold. “Do you know who I am?” he asked. You scoffed “-BUT OF COURSE I DO”

Once the both of your feet was standing on the middle of the floor, you let him go. And just for a second there, you thought you felt as though he wasn’t gonna let you. But then you degraded your thoughts rationally, despite how drunk you were.

You swiftly moved your body along with the music wildly, while as he was simply trying to contain his laughter whilst dancing the bare minimum.

You jumped around messing your hair, “WELL yOU’re obViouSLy Not aS dRUNk as I AM”

“I’m glad you’re able to see that.”

“Y’know for an athlete, you look kinda cute”

“I’m not an athlete I’m a-” He paused.

“Wait,

....... what?”

chapter II PREVIEW :

‘The way his raspy voice softly whispers sweet, yet salty remarks right into your ears, warming you with his breath, you couldn’t help but think,

Is this really liquid courage? Or are you just falling in love’

“Liquid Courage” Doctor AU!series

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lightsinthedistancee · 3 years

Text

How To Disappear, Part 2: Poe Dameron x Reader

Pairing: Poe Dameron x Reader

Word Count: 4.2k

Summary: “He likes to believe that you’d slipped from his grasp, lost in the flurry and obstacles of a Galactic-wide war, as quick and as natural as leaves scattered to the wind.”

“But he knows that’s not true.”

Poe deals with the aftermath of his and Reader’s relationship, as well as who he is.

Warnings: Profanity

A/N: This is the second part to my work ‘How To Disappear’ from Poe’s POV. It’s a second part, not a chapter, so there isn’t necessarily a complex narrative connection, so you don’t really need to read the first part to understand this. However, there are some connections, so you can read that first part here, if you want.

34 ABY, Four Years Earlier Than Present, Resistance Base, D’Qar

“Poe. Calm down.”

He can sense you standing a few feet away from him, your figure tense and tentative, a silhouette against the softly lit night outside.

There is too much surrounding him. Too many blaster shots, too many roaring ships, too many bangs. All encapsulated within his mind in the middle of a silent room.

The overstimulation of his senses nearly makes him want to whimper, makes him want to scream. But he suppresses it. He buries his head in his hands, and grips and squeezes and tugs in an effort to ward off the feeling.

“Poe.” Your voice sounds as if you’re at the end of a tunnel. “Poe, can I touch you?”

He’s not sure if he nods or not, but he feels your fingertips all of a sudden, making him flinch back.

“It’s just me,” you murmur. “Can you hear me?”

His eyes remain clamped shut as memories of blood and death and pain run through his mind.

“Poe, I want you to nod if you can hear me. Can you do that?”

Your voice is soft, gentle, like you’re talking to someone wounded. He fights something mechanical in his head in order to make his body respond to his brain, to make his chin bob up and down once.

“Good. Can you open your eyes for me?”

He doesn’t want to. Maybe it’s the darkness that’s allowing his flashback to be expressed with an acute vividness. Maybe it is the opposite: that when he opens his eyes, everything he is imagining will be there in front of him.

But he fights that too. And with a seemingly tremendous effort, his eyes snap open, exposing the warm brown to the room.

It is just a room. No carnage. No ruins. But he can still hear sounds. Perhaps if he sinks down into himself far enough, he can see a corpse in the corner, a discarded blaster on the ground.

“Tell me some things you see, love,” you murmur. “A few.”

His breath shakes as his eyes scan the room. You lean against him, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. “A brown chest of drawers.” He takes in a deep breath, slowly letting it out. “The door. My boots. My traveling bag.”

“Now something you can hear.”

“Wind.” An eerie howling. A roar of a ship that he tries to shake from his head. “Cicadas.” A constant chirp that reminds him of the outdoors, of lushness and life. “Water running through pipes.”

As he takes more deep breaths, reality seems to cement itself once more. Excess noise ceases, returning to its most basic form. Nature, structure, and life.

He finally tilts his head up, catching sight of himself in the full-length mirror across the room. He is hunched over, sweating, trembling. Pathetic. You beside him, looking down at him in concern.

And all of a sudden, without warning, one thing floods his mind, invades his thoughts: humiliation.

The thought of himself—a Commander who’d led forces into war—shrunken down makes shame wash over him.

Your hands feel too much like a pity as he imagines nonexistent condemning thoughts going through your head.

“Get off,” he hisses, jerking away in an instinctive response, and you’re forced to rest a hand on the bed in order to steady yourself.

Your eyes widen as he walks towards the door. “Poe, where are you—“

“I don’t know.” And he’s gone.

..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::..

Present, 37 ABY, Galactic City, Coruscant

Soft skin, soft hair, and a presence too soft to even remotely entice him.

That is all Poe knows of the unfamiliar girl who lies asleep next to him in the unfamiliar hotel room, her bare back exposed to the cool air.

His head throbs, an inevitable repercussion to his drunkenness the night before. Too many drinks and too many flirtations, he thinks, turning over to get a thorough look at his bedmate, a look not constantly interrupted by desperate kisses and touches, not hindered by darkness.

His first thought is that she vaguely looks like you. Same color of irises, same figure, same color of locks. But perhaps her skin is a little smoother, her hair a little softer, her lips a little fuller—differences so numerous that perhaps, to the objective viewer, she is almost an “upgrade.”

But she is not you.

Personality aside, you would not be lying next to him. You would not be on the other side of the bed instead of nestled in his arms. You would not still be there, letting him feel you in the most intimate way possible.

As he stares at the ceiling and ponders why exactly his mind has chosen to relive that memory of you in particular, he mulls over a single idea stained with guilt: he was the one who had broken you to pieces.

But does that really matter anymore?, he wonders.

He tilts his head to the side, Galactic City greeting him cheerfully through the window. Sunny and busy and alive. He knows you’re out there somewhere, somewhere among all the buildings.

The end of the war had brought a re-established New Republic to the Galaxy. The Senate and court had gone to Coruscant. The military had gone to Chandrila.

But Poe is far from Chandrila’s Hanna City—perhaps still close, for he is still in the Core, but nonetheless, he is millions of miles apart from his duty and home. This is not his element. This place is a land of lying politicians, a land of organization that pales in comparison to the militaristic uniformity he is accustomed to. All he wants to do is get out.

But today is supposed to be a happy day. Today is when the spoils of war are supposed to truly be reaped. Today is the trial of one General Armitage Hux.

Despite having traveled the distance already, a small part of Poe does not want to go. He knows that you’ll be there. His reluctance isn’t even due to the awkwardness that will arise—it’s from the impending pain that he knows will come.

Seeing your face. Hearing your voice. Being forced to have an actual conversation with you.

He knows that looking into your eyes will only be an agonizing reminder of the night that had made everything between the two of you go up in flames and fall back to the ground in ashes.

..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::..

35 ABY, Two Years Earlier Than Present, Resistance Base, Ajan Kloss

“What is your problem?” Your voice is raised, your form tense.

He watches from the window, where his eyes trace the horizon. For a second, he cannot even remember what he’d said. When he does, even then, he is unsure if his memory is correct. It was certainly something incendiary…something mean.

He is even unsure of how the two of you got here. Maybe you’d said something about him needing to see a therapist or something about how self-destructive he was. Everything—the minutes, the days, the words, the touches, the fights—it all blends into one now.

You’re talking on, but he isn’t listening. He can feel your presence emitting fury, but something within him stops himself from paying you any attention. Deep down, or perhaps maybe somewhere just below the surface, he knows that you deserve his attention, his love, his patience, for even when the explosive fights occur, and he drives you away in tears, you still return to him.

“Poe!”

The yell snaps him out of his haze, and you’re standing closer to him, arms cross. Eyes hard, but bottom lip trembling. He sees recognition cross your face as it hits you that he hadn’t heard a word of your speech.

You shake your head, a bitter laugh leaving your lips.

“Do you even give a shit anymore?” you ask. “About any of this?” You gesture to the two of you. “Or are you just going to wallow the rest of your goddamn life away in self-pity, hurting yourself because you won’t get help?”

“I don’t want help.” His voice comes out flat, emotionally over any feelings your fights with him elicit.

“Yeah? You don’t?” Your tone takes on one a of a venomous mockery. “You’re just going to keep hurting everyone around you like a spoiled child?”

At that, his head snaps up, feeling the urge to throw something, to hit something, something close to him, something—

He stops the thought, wisely opting for the verbal approach instead and suddenly turning around. The top of your head barely comes to his eyes. “Do. Not. Accuse me of hurting people around me.”

You stand your ground, daringly pulling the figurative strings between the two of you tighter and tighter. “You don’t see that you’re hurting me?”

“I think it’s you who starts the predicaments that hurt yourself.”

At his words, he watches as your eyes widen at the coldness, as your fist clenches so hard that your arms shake. If you’d been angry before, it is nothing compared to now. “I’ve been nothing but patient with you, Dameron.” Your voice is shrill and uncontrolled, several pitches higher than usual. “Nothing but there for you. And I think it’s borderline maniacal that you don’t realize that you treat me like shit!”

His jaw clenches, his knuckles turning white as he grips the windowsill. When he speaks, it’s a yell, his deep voice booming in the small rom. “Well if you don’t like, then fucking leave!”

You stare at him a moment, your form relaxing into something more reminiscent of defeat. “Alright.”

And then you’re gone, never to return to him.

..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::..

Present, 37 ABY, Galactic City, Coruscant

He groans as he carefully rolls out of the bed, getting dressed. The unfamiliar woman shifts at his action, groaning softly as she wakes.

“Hey,” she mumbles, watching him from the covers. His eyes catch on her, and Poe doesn’t even notice he has frozen until she gives him a weird look.

She looks too much like you. He’d noticed the similarities earlier, but now, he can’t stop seeing them. Maybe the similarities were the reason his drunken mind had chosen her in particular the night before, but now, he just wants her out of his sight.

“Hey,” he finally replies, a small, forced smile on his face. He very obviously glances down at his watch, muttering something about how he has to be somewhere—he doesn’t—but he needs out.

So he says a quick farewell, walking out the door before she can say another word.

As he rushes down through the lobby, a quick glance at his watch serves as a reminder for why he’d gotten so drunk the night before in the first place. It is an anniversary.

It was three years ago that the Resistance’s D’Qar base had been annihilated, that he’d single-handedly taken on a dreadnought, a small part of him hoping that he’d fail and go up in a ball of flames, that he’d put a blaster in his mouth, contemplating whether or not to pull the trigger.

He stops at a café on a whim, ordering some caf and sitting on the rooftop deck, looking out over the city. It’s a place that had filled him with so much wonder as kid. The sheer size of it compared to his Yavin IV colony had been almost too much for his young brain to comprehend. The million of ships had dazzled and overwhelmed even his wildest dreams. So as he sits there, he knows that he should be appreciating it more than he is.

But all the city does is remind him of you, and part of him wants to curse you out for ruining it for him. But he knows it’s not your fault. It is his. Most of it is.

It was also six years ago that he’d had his first major falling out with you. Although your relationship had hobbled on another year, that falling out was when it truly died. When he’d thrown that glass against the wall with a loud shattering noise, releasing his anger and fear in violence. You’d been scared. Terrified. Of him.

And the look on your face had broken him.

You could snap me like a fucking twig if you wanted to.

Those had been your words when you’d sobbed in his arms a day later over a discussion of that event. Perhaps the statement could’ve been an exaggeration, but in a situation with no weapons nor surprise to your advantage, maybe it could’ve been a truth.

He sighs, doing the one thing he does best: diverting his attention. He pulls a notebook out of his bag, opening it up to a complicated, increasingly messy diagram of the last remaining First Order stronghold in the Outer Room, littered with X’s, corrections, and annotations.

This stronghold had been the subject of the main strategy room back on Chandrila for months now. Seemingly impenetrable, complex beyond belief based on their sparse reconnaissance reports, both in structure and the terrain surrounding it. Dense foliage ruling out an air attack, ships posing too much of a risk risk of hitting the surrounding labor encampments. In short, it’s a headache.

He goes through two cups of caf as he thinks and strategizes, using up the time before the trial. And when that time comes, Poe takes a deep breath, his hand clenching into a fist as he stands.

..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::..

Present (Cont.), Galactic Court, Galactic City, Coruscant

Poe had decidedly arrived at the trial twenty minutes late, missing the reading of Hux’s extensive list of crimes that he simultaneously does and does not want to hear in full. His reason for being late had succeeded. He didn’t even have to make eye contact with you.

The trial had been a success. Life in prison for the General. Poe is on a mental high as he walks through the halls of the ornate court building, it’s structure unmarred by war, unlike many of the buildings surrounding it. The war had been won two years ago. Countless lesser generals and colonels had already been convicted before the overwhelmed judiciary had gotten to Hux. But Poe did not fully believe that victory had truly been won—until today, when Hux had officially been brought to his knees.

Poe finally arrives in an empty hallway, leaning against the wall, letting out a deep breath as a bright smile plays out across his face. All of the pain, all of the suffering, all of the danger—it had all led to this, where the last remaining First Order higher-up had been put behind bars for life.

But as Poe thinks, a small component of the soft bustle in the distance begins to approach him in the form of voices, ones he can’t help but listen to.

“This blouse fucking itches.”

“Hmm…all the more excuse for me to get it off you when we get back to the hotel.”

A cross between a gasp and a laugh. “Don’t speak so loud! There are people—“

When Poe hears the familiar voice engaged in a rather suggestive conversation, it is too late to move and make a run for it, for he recognizes the voice. His mind doesn’t have long to linger on your counterpart’s words when he comes face-to-face with you.

It is certainly a situation where one could mutter a quick apology and keep walking, but the past dredges up an instinct to halt, to fully take into account the person standing opposite from him.

The sight of you takes his mind off the whole conversation. You look identical to the woman that had left him long ago.

The both of you had frozen, staring at the other. “Hey,” Poe finally chokes out.

Your companion is the lawyer from the courtroom who’d represented the state, looking very confused at the hesitant, frozen reaction you and Poe had had upon the sight of one another.

“Hey,” you whisper, barely audible.

The lawyer blinks, glancing at you when you throw him a look. “I…umm…left something in the courtroom. I’ll be right back.”

And then it is only the two of you once again.

“How are you?” You offer him a small smile, pulling the coat tighter around you.

“I’m…I’m well,” Poe says, scrambling for words. “You…you look well…and happy.”

It is the first conversation the two of you have had since the screaming match that had ended it all nearly two years ago.

“I am,” you simply say. “Much more so than before.”

Although the ‘before’ is never specified, he knows what you’re talking about.

“Haven’t seen you around Coruscant lately,” you continue, shifting uncomfortably in place. Even though there were a trillion beings on the planet, the circle of those in government was small, especially those tasked with rebuilding the galaxy.

“I stuck with the military. Been out on Chandrila.” A small pause. “I see you made your way into politics.”

You nod. “I have.” Your gaze flicks to the ground for a moment before resettling on his face with a seemingly newfound focus. “It’s a shame you’re not in Galactic City for good, Dameron. You’ve always been a good leader. The real fight is here now.”

“I know,” he sighs. “But this place isn’t for me.”

The lawyer makes a reappearance at that very moment, almost as if on cue, placing a gentle hand on your arm, mumbling something inaudible to you.

“I should…I should go,” you say quietly, shifting slightly to the side.

“Right,” replies Poe. “Good to see you.”

You give him one last smile before you round the corner.

He lets out a seemingly held breath, slumping against the wall, his grip weak on the files in hand.

“Was that that asshole you used to date?” He hears the lawyer’s voice faintly in the distance, no doubt thinking that Poe is already long gone, not lingering where he’d been.

“Yeah,” you reply, a pause sounding where there may have been a quiet sigh. “He’s not an asshole. Probably shouldn’t have pinned it on him as much as I did when I told you. Life just dealt him a bad hand of cards.”

Poe’s eyes shut at your words.

..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::..

Dealt him a bad hand of cards.

He scrawls those words in the corner of his notebook in a disinterest of the previous task at hand. Letter to words to concept to supposedly the very essence of him.

He strings those ideas together in his head and simply stares.

..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::..

Present (Cont. 2 Weeks Later), New Republic Base, Hanna City, Chandrila

“Get her in here.”

“W-what?” Poe chokes on his water.

His immediate boss, a general and a former Resistance colonel, stares at him blankly, his head momentarily lifted from the diagram of the First Order stronghold they were still trying to crack. “I said get her in here.”

Poe is not sure how he’d gotten here. It’d started with a mention of your name, then a confirmation of who you were, then a casual remark from his boss on how good a strategist you’d been back when the three of you had worked together in the Resistance.

“But she doesn’t…she doesn’t work for the military anymore,” says Poe dumbly, blinking. He hadn’t even wanted to see you back at the courtroom, but being forced to spend hours with you, in a room, bent over a map and strategizing…

“She still works for the government, right?”

Poe nods.

“Well then we can still get her here if she agrees. I want her take on this stronghold bullshit,” the general says. “Get to it, Dameron. Send her a formal letter of request.”

“I’m not an errand boy,” Poe protests. He swears that he can see the general roll his eyes at the words.

“It’s not an errand,” the general responds. “It’s a militaristic necessity. I want her in here by the end of the week. Go.”

..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::..

Present (Cont.), Hanna City Gardens, Chandrila

Cherry blossoms. Red hibiscus. Calico flowers spilling over walls and trees, lush and verdant.

Those are among the things that capture his eyes as he strolls beside you through Hanna City’s gardens. In short, you’d accepted the request for you to come, and determined to ease the agonizing awkwardness, he’d asked you for a walk.

“We were one hell of a pair,” you say, coming off a laugh he’s pulled from you with some remark that he’d already forgotten.

He smiles. “We certainly were. Me in the pilot’s seat, you in the gunner’s…”

An air of comfort has settled in around the two of you, warm and inviting, lacking any of the coldness that had been present before.

“You place a lot of flattery on your piloting abilities.” The corners of your lips twitch.

“Is it flattery, though, if it’s true?”

You laugh, sighing, a bright smile on your face. “Classic Poe.”

He shrugs. “What can I say?”

You go still all of a sudden, your gaze turning to a small, bright yellow flower on the side of the path, speckled in orange and red. Your fingers caress it, tenderly tracing the petals.

“We did make one hell of a team,” you repeat, your voice quiet and nostalgic.

A silence passes where something else originates in the air, not quite awkwardness, but something far from the comfort that had previously been.

“Can I ask you something?” You don’t look up. He can only assume your eyes are still locked on the flower.

He shifts slightly on his feet. “Of course.”

“Did you ever love me?”

It is his turn to freeze, for his eyes nearly widen. He stares at your back in shock for a few seconds before his hands reach out, gently clasping your arm and turning you to him. Your eyes travel on for miles, the space within them boring into his consciousness.

“You know…,” he begins. “You were always so level-headed…so logical and sensical. But I think that question is the craziest thing you’ve ever asked me…”

He’s closer to you now, and you look up at him, your mouth in a small frown. “So you did?”

“More than anything,” he whispers, barely resisting the urge to wrap his arms around your waist and press his lips to yours. As you look back at him, he wants you to feel the same—he needs you to.

“Do you still?” you say quietly, a certain pain reflecting in your eyes.

Something in his heart constricts at your query. He takes a deep breath, pushing out a lie with an immense difficulty. “No.”

A small part of him—no, all of him—wants to find some protest leaving your lips, some semblance of tears in your eyes, some sign of reciprocation. But you do none of that. One simple word leaves your lips. “Good.”

Your words are like a slap to his face, stinging and angry.

You glance down at your watch, stepping back from the intimate position, preparing to depart for an event that you’d told him of earlier. But before you leave, you emit one more sentence, turning back to him, expression cold and suspiciously closed-off. “You’re a liar.”

..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::..

Poe sits in his quarters the following evening by lamplight, evaluating some of your ideas on the plans. But he is distracted. Rejection is the only thing on his mind. He wants to be mad at you, at how callous you’d been, but were you really?

His eyes flip the page and flick to the words scrawled in the corner, ones he’d written two weeks ago.

Dealt him a bad hand of cards.

He grimaces. It feels like that idea is all he’s been trying to shake since he can remember. It’d followed him around, whispering behind his back, around walls, from the mouths of family, friends, neighbors.

The death of his mother. What a poor little boy.

Death of his grandmother. Seems like life’s got it in for the him.

One of his dearest friends: dead at sixteen with a bottle of pills next to them. Probably going fuck up the rest of that Dameron boy’s life.

You staring back at his blatantly hurt expression in the Hanna City gardens, a thought he knows that is going through your head: something along the lines of pitying him.

When Poe had run away to Kijimi or the New Republic or the Resistance, or when he’d yelled at you, when he’d lashed out at you—a small part of him believes that he did it just to prove that life hadn’t gotten him. That he was still strong. That he persevered.

But as he sits there, in his desolate, dark, and lonely quarters, for the first time in his life, Poe admits that life had gotten him. A reel of recollections plays in his head.

Reckless stunts pulled in the hopes of dying like a martyr.

Impassioned speeches fueled not by pride and courage, but by anger and hate.

Cruel words that led to dark scenes of you curled up in bed, sobbing.

The image of you walking away from him, two weeks ago, someone else on your arm.

He likes to believe that you’d slipped from his grasp, lost in the flurry and obstacles of a Galactic-wide war, as quick and as natural as leaves scattered to the wind. That no matter what either of you could’ve done, the two of you were destined to separate.

But he knows that’s not true.

You had not slipped from his grasp. He’d pushed you away—and had kept pushing you away every time you’d tried to regain your footing with him.

He sighs, walking to the window and staring at the city along the horizon, sparkling in the night.

He thinks of how it could’ve been had you still been with him—had you not disappeared from his life. Perhaps an apartment on the highest floor of Galactic City the two of you could afford. No more screaming. No more ruthless fighting. None of it.

As his eyes survey the distance, he knows one thing at the moment. He knows that if he could somehow have you again, he would never let go.

..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::..

A/N (another one, I guess): I’m sorry this was so long; I tried to cut out a lot but I just couldn’t. I know I don’t have the patience for 4.3k words half the time, so I appreciate it so much if you read the whole thing. I really did want to include more about how Poe personally did deal with his PTSD after reader left and his reflections on why he is the way he is, but i didn’t want to add so many words of explicitly spelling it out; although, it is implied some throughout. And apparently this A/N is long too. Being succinct really isn’t my strong suit, obviously. Thanks for reading!

Tagging (including some people who commented on part 1): @paper-n-ashes @mylifeisactuallyamess @writefightandflightclub @synical-paradox @dark-academics-and-florals @spider-starry (let me know if you don’t want to be tagged anymore on stuff)

Masterlist

If you wished to be tagged on future works, just leave a comment/reply below or see the form on my Masterlist for specific preferences. I’m probably going to try writing my first Javier Peña fic next, so let me know if you want to be tagged for that!

#poe dameron #poe dameron x reader #star wars #poe dameron fanfiction #Star Wars fanfiction #tfa #tlj #tros

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be-ready-when-i-say-go · 4 years

Text

The Table is Prepared for You

Luke’s spent too much time alone and knows he shouldn’t let anyone get too close. However, Dinah’s the one time that Luke lets his guard down--and he knows he can’t do it again.

Vampire!Luke. Black!OC. Here it is, 14k words!

CW: Death/Near Death.

Enjoy my masterlist.

You can support me on kofi

Shout out to @notinthesameguey for this moodboard (below), well before any of this was finished.

(Dinah’s hair is curly like in the first board, in case there’s any confusion!)

Inspired by: Godspeed James Blake’s Cover and Kill My Time by 5 Seconds of Summer

_______________________________________

The snow is wet under his boots and he almost wishes he could feel just how cold it is cutting beneath the leather jacket. Instead, he feels nothing but the slight crisp wisp of wind against his nose. If his body still pumped warm, he’s sure the tip of his nose would be bright red. Quickly, Luke tucks the curls whipping in the wind behind his ear and keeps his gaze trained on the constantly lapping sea the people--folks crossing the streets, cars blaring by, people brushing past him as they carry on from their subway rides back to the surface.

“Hey!” Luke’s learned from spending time in this city, in all its evolution, just to keep walking. Whoever’s attention needs to be grabbed will either be grabbed or be missed. “Seriously, excuse me!”

Fingers brush over Luke’s jacket and though initially he wants to bristle at the touch, Luke reminds himself it’s dead of winter. No one’s going to be alarmed. Turning, Luke walks himself to the edge of the sidewalk, mostly out of the way. “Me?” he asks.

The young man in front of him is doubled down in the puffy winter coat--down to his knees-- and a gray beanie. Posed in the ungloved fingers is a camera. The boy lifts up the camera, as if that will explain everything. “I-I’m working on my portfolio. I was wondering if I could shoot you right quick. Right here, doesn’t have to be somewhere fancy.”

Luke shakes his head and before he can speak, the young man continues. “I swear, I’m a photography student. I’m so close to down, deadlines right before break. Please, man. You’d be perfect. The whole thing’s about ordinary people. I shoot a few pictures. A quick five minute interview and then, you go on your merry way. Ain’t looking for trouble.”

It’s the backpack, the earnest and pleading look that pulls down the younger man’s brows. His nose is pink, fingers and hands ducking quickly into his coat pockets. “I don’t think you’re looking for trouble. I just--I don’t think I photograph well,” Luke returns, squinting his eyes at the reflection of the sun off the fresh snow.

“Dude, take it from me, you’ve got looks. And all it would take is just the right angles, right about light exposure. Today’s a little hit or miss.”

The sky’s pretty cloudy but every so often there’s a fleck of a sunshine and Luke does his best to avoid it. The snow clouds will be leaving soon and that means Luke should be too. And it’s probably dumb to say that leaving New York is hard, the memories that are linked here. But it almost feels like home--if he could remember what home really feels like.

Luke bites down onto his lip, head still shaking. Maybe the shaking will loosen the memories and bring them back to the surface. Maybe the shake will deter the young man’s insistence. Luke doesn’t really know how he photographs, don’t remember the last time he’s seen himself, as whole, as fully a being. Besides, Luke shouldn’t be photographed. No one’s seen him in a couple hundred years and Luke needs it to say that way, needs to continue under the radar. Not that anyone that would have a vendetta against him wouldn’t be able to find him away. The world’s really only so big in the grand scheme of things--there are only so many continents and so many countries, and so many corners to hide in the world.

Looking over the streets, Luke almost laughs at how he picked one of the busiest and most densely populated places to hang out for a while. Maybe it’s because with so many people around there’s no way anyone would pick him out of a crowd. Until now, until some kid stopped him on the fucking street.

“Just for your class?” Luke asks, flicking his squinted gaze back to the man. The wind’s picked up again and he’s facing into it, harshly. It’s nearly drying his eyes out.

“Yeah, just for my class. Look,” he says, pulling out his phone. His fingers look an unhealthy color, like they’re tittering on too pink to be okay.

“How long you been out here?” It’s a soft question that nearly gets swept up into the gust of wind that passes.

“Couple of hours. Class starts around 1 and I need this last shoot as soon as possible.” He holds out the phone. Luke takes it, scrolling through the webpage. It’s a sleek design, each photoshoot highlighted by one picture. When Luke tapes onto it, it takes a second to load and then more pop up. There’s a quick paragraph, maybe two, and the rest of the photos.

“Where should I pose?” Luke asks, handing the phone back over. Luke will be gone soon anyway and they can’t really stand to be out in the cold for much longer anyway.

“Wait, seriously?”

With a nod, Luke tucks more hair back and is quick to place his fingers back into his pockets. “Yeah, just tell me where.”

The young man looks around for a second, the backpack hitting the pole of the street sign. Luke winches, hoping there’s no expensive equipment in the bag. “Over here,” he says with a nod over to the corner. He starts to push through the stream and Luke follows behind him. They pause under some stairs, most likely the fire escape for an apartment complex. “Look over your shoulder for me right quick.”

Luke keeps his body pointed to the man and then looks over his shoulder for a second. “Like this?”

“Perfect. How long have you lived in the city?”

Luke shrugs, turning his attention back to the man. He inhales with a hiss, trying to think. “Couple years? Maybe three. Feels so long and it’s really not.” Luke chuckles, ducking his head for a moment. “God, my memory’s shit.” Luke thinks he hears the shutter go off but he’s not sure.

“No, I feel you on that. I moved back for school and somehow time doesn’t feel quite the same here in the city. You in the city for modeling?”

Luke feels the shock raising his brows. “Me? Modeling?” A small laugh escapes him, mostly in sarcasm. “No, no, just have some family here. Moved from Delaware. Just seeing where life takes me, I guess.” Luke combs his fingers through his hair, pushing it all back. What he needs is a haircut, and to probably get a move on that whole finishing his trek up north. Life’s taken him plenty of places before and now it feels less like living and more like visiting. It’s going back to all those places from before and wondering how long could a life actually feel.

“So you just float? Taking you wherever the wind blows?”

It’s only at the question that Luke realizes he hasn’t dropped his hands from his hair. “Yeah, yeah,” he says, dropping his hands. “It’s just easier. In some ways. Like I don’t really have to think too much--just find a job that pays well enough, experience what there is to experience and then, when it’s all said and done, just move on.”

“Guess you’ve learned to pack light, huh?”

Luke grins, a bit of laughter escaping him. “You could say that.” It’s not even light. It’s like having nothing. There’s the essentials of course, some special pieces that have been accrued along the way, but nothing with real weight besides memories. And even those fade eventually. He remembers certain things, important things. Like his mother’s face, or the way his brother would tease him sometimes. But he can’t remember where he grew up, not completely, just hazy rewatchings when he closes his eyes for a moment's rest.

“What about you?” Luke asks, absentmindedly reaching up to the bottom of the stairs above his head. “You said you moved back here?”

“Yeah, I was born here. Family moved to Virginia and then I moved back. Missed it here.” There’s another shutter of the camera. “So you taking stuffy office jobs? Chasing a passion? You’re a traveler, nonetheless.”

“Odd jobs--mostly night shifts. This city never sleeps and it’s almost better to be awake when mostly everyone else is asleep. Feel less judged.” Right now he was working in the hospital. And though, it wasn’t always easy on him, he enjoyed it.

“I don’t think anyone’s judging you too harshly. Probably most likely out of envy.”

“Thanks,” Luke says with an awkward chuckle. “Guess I’m still awkward. Unsure of myself.” And it’s easy to be unsure when you’ve seen nearly 150 years on the earth, like what else can you do? What else is there to do besides just float?

“I’ve wondered if it’ll ever go away,” the young man says, pulling down the camera from his face. “Will we ever be sure of ourselves?”

Luke nods, pondering the thought. “The one thing I’m sure of is that every choice I’ve made, I made for a reason. Like even if it doesn’t make sense to anyone else, I had a reason. And I hope you-you feel that way eventually. Every choice made had a reason behind it.”

“That’s kind of comforting. Like, I’m not making choices on guess, I’ve got a reason for it.”

“Yeah.” There’s a small lull and Luke looks back to the sky. The clouds look like they’re about to part. “Are-are we good? Got what you need?”

The man nods. “Yeah, yeah. Thanks. What’s your name by the way?”

“Luke. Yours?”

“Andrew. Um--” There’s a moment's pause and Andrew reaches into his pockets again. He pulls out a piece of paper and finds a pen from the pocket of his bag. “I’ll write down the name of the site. The pictures will be up by the end of the week.”

Luke takes the paper with a nod. “I look forward to seeing them.” He pockets the note and says goodbye. He’s quick in his strides to correct course back to the subway entrance and bounces down the stairs. He winds down the tunnel and finds his yellow card in his wallet. The swipe is quick as the light turns green for him to pass through.

It’s only as his boots click against the concrete and they echo, that Luke looks at the murals, the way the eyes follow his journey. It’s not regret that settles into his gut. He doesn’t regret stopping to help Andrew. Luke hopes that Andrew is somewhere warm or on his way to somewhere warm in all honesty. But maybe what bugs Luke is that he has plans. He had plans to linger in New York for at least another six months before moving again. His last visit in Delaware had lasted nearly two years and in all truth, it was nice to settle in somewhere. But Luke knew if he got too settled in, he was going to run the risk of getting comfortable. There was a guy he had started talking to. They guy always come in late to the gym and they’d talk for a while as Luke wiped down the gym equipment. That was Luke’s sign to get out of dodge, to try and start over.

Sure, Luke had his degrees. He had done the whole career thing. The only thing about that is building a legacy--having a face plastered somewhere so he did his ten years or so and then slipped from the grid. Went back to school, took classes in a smattering of things that weren’t related but interested him. Sure there were better things to do than work nights at gyms, or do the late shift at a theater, or wipe down dorms at colleges, but it kept him anonymous.

Now Luke would mostly likely not be anonymous for much longer. Who knows what could happen once those pictures get posted. And Luke really couldn’t risk staying in town too much longer to find out either. So the eyes follow him, but he won’t be around for a long while. Luke hopes that they remember well. He’s sure the next time he comes back around those murals will look different, there will be more other faces to watch him click his boots to the train.

The eyes do eventually become real. Sitting in the hospital, listening to the constant keep of the heart monitors, Luke knows almost immediately people are watching him. “Going a different route than the scrubs, Hemmings.”

Luke looks up from his cup of coffee, brows pulling into each other. It’s one of the pediatric nurses, Lucy. “I’m sorry?” he laughs.

She holds out her phone. The night is chilly and both of them should be wearing jackets. But there’s no use anyway. Luke knows he’s got to get back to the second floor and help get some rooms ready. Lucy could be paged at any second. “When I was grabbing my nutritious honey bun, your face popped up on my timeline.”

Luke takes the device and sees his photos, hand buried his hair as he’s posed underneath the stairwells. It is a great photo if Luke’s going to be honest. The exposure is just right even if it was a little cloudy that day and a quick skim through the paraphy tells him Andrew got a lot more from Luke than just an awkward conversation with lines like, There’s an uncertainty, an air of hyper self awareness to him. But through it all, there’s a caring heart and the want to settle--maybe that’s what we all share, a yearning for something, no matter what it is. We are wanting people. I don’t know what Luke wants; I can’t even fathom a guess. But I do know that I want him to know that he’s compassion doesn’t go unnoticed and even though it didn’t seem like I would get this project finished, I appreciate his willingness to help a stranger.

“Andrew--he needed some help with his portfolio for photography school.”

“I keep telling you with a heart of gold and looks to kill you shouldn’t be changing bed sheets and dumping stool,” Lucy says, taking her phone back. The air’s cut by the crinkle of her plastic wrapping, her teeth sink into the icing and sweet dough.

“It’s not all bad,” he counters, sipping his cup once again. “Last week, the older woman on floor 5, that kept saying she was going to bake for everyone--you hear about her?” Lucy nods, a soft hum coming from her. “She sent me flowers. Said I had the neatest sheet tuck she had ever seen. It’s not all bad.” Luke omits the times he sat up with her, fetching her water when her kids had to leave or when she just wanted a chat later in the evenings, he stopped to chat with her.

“You getting sweet with the older woman, I see? Tell me, trying to get into a will?”

Barely managing to keep the sip of coffee in his mouth, Luke covers his mouth with a hand. His amusement wrinkles his nose and as the sip goes down, he lets his laughter erupt from him in the squeaks. “No, not at all.”

Lucy shrugs, her ponytail starting to fall just a little. “Look all I’m saying is you got in good with an older woman--she’d get you straight. No more sheet tucking for you.”

Luke takes her snack so she can readjust the hair tie. “When I start to really struggle, I’ll consider it,” the sentence falls with the tail end of some giggles. Silence settles back around them cut by the sips and crinkles and inevitably a pager, Lucy’s signal to twirl back into her Wonder Woman suit.

“One of these days, I’ll be able to finish a snack. Want the rest?”

“No thanks. Gotta keep my figure now,” Luke teases.

The half honeybun lands into the trash with an echoing thud and Lucy rushes back through the side doors but not before throwing over her shoulder, “You’re figure is fine. The older woman would kill to plumpen you up anyway.” Luke doesn’t doubt that. His own mother would also heap his plates with seconds, even if he didn’t ever ask for them.

The morning sky hasn’t fully cracked open yet when Luke finally gets to leave, his own jacket tucking away the seafoam green color of his scrubs. There’s usually not too much life happening as he’s leaving. The end of this shit doesn’t feel much different than the others. However, in the ten minute shuffle to the subway, Luke doesn’t miss the lingering glances. Even as his body jostles with the not completely steady rattle of the train, he can feel eyes on him.

He keeps his head down. If he doesn’t give in, the stares aren’t real. But one less stop from his neighborhood, he risks a glance up. A few heads turn away, but a couple people continue to gaze at him. He wonders if it’s the dirty blonde of his hair, or his pointed nose that seems to be holding their attention. The train lurches to a stop, doors hissing as they open. Only a handful of people step onto the train and their presence cuts the tension of recognition for a moment. Though Luke fears that that tension will haunt him.

The sun cuts through the skies just as Luke fetches his keys from his pocket and scurries inside his complex. Waiting for the tiny apartment’s elevator to open, Luke knows he has to get out of town and soon while he’s at it. His job can replace him. He can tell them anything, and be gone within the day. As the elevator takes him up, Luke’s already drafting the email to his landlord about his unfortunate rushed exit.

By the setting of the sun, Luke’s apartment is packed up into his two suitcases and duffle bag. He rolls his bags behind him as his boots click on the concrete. The murals watch him traveling down their corridors and Luke’s hoping they memorize the way he looks, because this is their last meeting. As the walls of concrete whizz by, Luke keeps his eyes trained to the ground. He’s not entirely sure where he’s going from here. Luke had planned to continue up and cross the border into Canada. But that plan relied on a little bit more time, smuggling his belongings across the lines well before he planned on jetting.

It’s okay though. In the night, he can still get across. As the train comes to its stop, Luke thinks he has to get off eventually. And this stop is as good as any. So he climbs to the surface. He’s not too far from the bus terminals and he knows the airports not too far either. But he can’t fly, or he shouldn’t fly. It’s only as he gazes over the neon lights lighting up the darkening sky, that the craving hits him.

Coffee, as well as tea, are one of the few things from his previous life that Luke still craves. It’s much more about the taste that soothes him. That and it’s easy to fake being warm with a piping hot cup of coffee or tea in his hands. Luke notices a small diner, just as two people exit from it. He’s heard about the place, hasn’t gone in just yet but maybe he ought to now and buy himself some time on his next move--he needs a paper trail, even if it goes cold.

Inside the diner is bright, a little cramped in the way of seating. “Booth or counter?” the hostess asks.

“Booth,” Luke returns and follows as she waves for him. The red accents do a number to date the place but it’s well kept for how long it seems to have been around. Sinking into the squeaky leather, Luke thanks the hostess for the menu.

“Anything I can start you with?”

“Coffee. Cream and sugar.”

She nods. “Water too?”

“Uh, yeah, thanks.” The menu reminds Luke that he wishes, deeply, that his appetite hadn’t left him. He can eat food and does, time to time, but on the whole, nothing is quite as satisfying anymore. It’s the plate of fries that Luke keeps eyes, even as the mug and glass are placed.

“Need more time with that menu?”

“Yes, please.” Then it’s just Luke once again, eying that plate of fries and knowing that even if he does get it, he won’t get more than a few down before his stomach clenches.

“Let me guess.” Luke knows that voice. Though, it’s been nearly sixty years since he’s heard it. “It wasn’t me, it was you.”

“Dinah,” Luke breathes out, unsure if his eyes are actually seeing what he thinks they are taking in.

She grins, hair just as curly and large as it was the last time he saw her. And the more Luke gazes at her, the more he notices, not much has changed about her. Her skin is still tanned. Her eyes still crinkle just a little in the smile. “It’s been, a long time,” Luke starts, unsure of how to phrase the question.

“Got space for one more?”

“Yeah, yeah, sure.” Luke waves to the seat opposite of him and she slips into the booth, the leather squeaking underneath her weight too. Luke’s looking for any sign of the time’s that past--a wrinkle, bags under the eyes, anything. But all he sees is Dinah, when she was 28. It’s the same Dinah that would get up during karaoke and belt out songs like she was the one recording it in a studio. It’s the same Dinah that he walked back to her place after an impromptu meeting, and though coffee at her place sounded innocuous, he knew then what that twinkle in her eye meant.

“Shocked to see you here. Coming or going?”

“Leaving, actually.”

“Funny how life works.”

Luke furrows his brow, head cocking to the side. “What do you mean?”

“Just got into town. Thought it would be nice to have a familiar face to show me around.” Her gaze, behind the dark brown eyes, is heavy. Her fingers play at the corner of the napkin box.

“Yeah, I’m sorry about that. Wait--did you know I was here?”

“The internet is quite literally the world wide web,” Dinah chuckles.

The photos. She must’ve seen them. And even if she had seen then, how did she get to New York so fast? Why would she even be looking for him? “That it is,” Luke agrees, carefully stirring the steaming drink in front of him. He can’t get over how she hasn’t aged at all. There’s nothing. She doesn’t even seem to be walking with a limp or have difficulty sitting down. As if she had somehow frozen herself in time.

There was no way though. Who would’ve turned her? It hadn’t been him. And Luke hadn’t heard anything about attacks on human in a long time. Was Dinah not even human when they met? Was she something else? Before Luke can think of his next question, the waitress comes back. “How’s that menu looking?”

“Great,” Dinah returns. “Just a plate of fries.” There’s not even a blink of shock at the order and soon, it’s just Luke and Dinah again.

“So, how--what have you been up to?”

Dinah shrugs. “Not much. Still singing, making ends meet. What about you?”

“Just making it really.”

“Still bouncing around, huh?”

Luke nods. “Yeah, you know me. Can’t stay in one place too long.”

“Yeah, yeah, I remember.” The sentence comes out heavy, the end of it tilting up just a little in anger, maybe it’s resentment.

Luke knew he shouldn’t have gone in for coffee. He knew what Dinah was looking for, what she was hoping to get. Luke liked to blame it on the fact that he hasn’t properly eaten in a while. He blamed that for his clouded judgement. The truth of the matter is that Luke wanted more out of it too. He wanted to sip on their mugs, at the dining room table. He wanted to move to the couch too. He wanted to give in. But he knew he couldn’t. The moment she got in too close, the moment he didn’t have that mug warming his hands--it would be all over for him.

“It wasn’t because of you,” Luke counters. “My leaving wasn’t because of something you did.”

Dinah exhales, but nods. The plate of fries is placed between them and they smile up at the hostess, watching her disappear towards the counter to wrap more silverware. Dinah picks up a fry and munches on it, eyes lifted up and away.

“You know,” she says after swallowing the bite. Her hands stretch out across the table. Instinctively, Luke pulls his hands back, attempting to duck them under the table. But she’s just as fast, if not faster and before Luke can get his hands safely out of her each, her fingers are pressed into his skin. “I always wondered what that would’ve felt like.”

She should be seeping warmth into him. She should be pulling her hand back and hissing at how cold his skin is, but instead, all Luke can feel is the weight of her fingers. How she’s pressing into his forearms and there’s actual pressure to it. “No,” Luke whispers, snapping his head up to look at her.

Dinah’s eyes are locked in on how her hands looked wrapped around the leather jacket. Luke curls his hands around her exposed wrists. “A lot’s happened since the last time we met, if I’m honest,” she says. It’s only as they lock gazes that Luke knows. Even if she doesn’t ever say the word--Luke knows the truth.

“Are you close by?” Luke asks.

“All I have right now is my car. But I was looking to book a room for the night.” Dinah finishes the sentences with another handful of fries. It’s not enough of a dent to be believable, so Luke goes in for a handful too and the second the salt hits his tongue, his throat wants to close up, wants to tell him that this is not the thing it wanted. But he knows he can get it down.

They split the cost of the ticket and then Luke follows her towards her car. He can’t shake the feel of how she was actually able to press into his skin and it felt like something. It didn’t hurt, but it was real. When he left her that night, sixty years ago, she was warm. Her blood pumped in her veins and Luke had to swallow down every urge to run his tongue over her neck, let his teeth graze her skin just to feel the quickened pulse.

Dinah’s trunk is full with her own bags. However, Luke is able to squeeze in the bigger suitcase into the trunk before he slips the last two into the backseat. Before Dinah can even turn the key over in the ignition, Luke’s grabbing her hands again. She doesn’t pull back. Doesn’t hiss. “Either I’m insane or I’ve finally croaked.”

Dinah chuckles, slipping her hands from his. “Last time I checked, it took a hell of a lot to kill a vampire.”

Luke stares at her profile, if he had a heart to race it would be right now. Who changed her? What had Dinah gotten herself into to wind up like him? Luke runs the tips of his fingers along her jaw and then down to her neck. And there’s nothing. Much like him. No steady thrum just below the surface of the skin, no blood pumping in their veins. He presses down, nails into her skin and he’s met with some resistance. “Holy shit.”

Luke’s only ever run into other vampires in hunts, or when new floaters happen to cross into the town he’s lingering about in. Most of the time, they only pass each other with a nod of recognition. It’s a simple act, let’s them both know there’s no trouble and keeps the number of enemies low. Luke’s never had many of those. Once or twice a vampire would come down after him about territory and he’s never really fought anyone about that. There was always a way to hang out and not cross any lines. Though, Luke hadn’t run across anyone else like him in at least 45 years. It had always been a lonely existence, but it was made exceptionally isolating when Luke felt like he was the only one on the fucking planet like this. Part of him is happy that Dinah found him. He’s relieved to know that he doesn’t walk about the living as the only living dead.

“What happened?”

“Now ain’t that the million dollar question.” The car finally rumbles to life and the radio plays softly, an old school jazz station. “First, though, where are we headed? You know New York better than I do.”

Luke nods, exhaling. If she doesn’t want to talk about it right now, then he won’t push it. He glances out of the window and rattles off directions to a hotel that isn’t too far from them. And not too far from that is a motel just in case the first option doesn’t work. Dinah’s silent the rest of the drive. It wouldn’t be so bad if the drive took the five minutes it was supposed to take in theory. However, the lights catch them often and they sit idle, in silence, knowing something brews beneath the surface but never acknowledging it fully.

Could have Dinah been looking for him long? Considering she hadn’t seemed to age past what she looked like sixty years ago, she definitely had to have been turned soon after Luke left. The questions all build on his tongue but he only directs her down the blocks, only lets keep straight, or make this right escape his mouth. When they pull up to the hotel, and see it bustling with folks, Luke thinks about Dinah. Had she built up a tolerance to being around humans yet? She’s still relatively young in the life span of a vampire and Luke wondered if this many people around would be setting her up for failure.

“We can go somewhere else,” Luke suggests. “I can check us in and you can just wait in the car until I get the keys.”

“I’m okay,” Dinah returns, brows pulled together. “Are you comfortable?”

“No, I was-I was just thinking about you that’s all.”

Dinah shrugs, grabbing a backpack from back behind the driver seat and Luke pulls out his own duffle bag. Dinah’s gait is a little fast, not too fast that it looks completely unnatural. But seeing her still learning, or relearning everything she once was so good at, makes Luke smile. The learning curve isn’t a smooth turn. There are a lot of mistakes. Not blinking enough, having to make sure you’re seen eating, or something, keeping as warm as you can. Luke’s learned some tricks, hand warmers in his pockets, holding onto thermos with hot tea. Being seen in the day just enough that no one suspects anything but not bouncing about in sunlight for too long.

It’s only in the elevator, as a few more people climb in and Luke and Dinah scoot closer together, hands brushing again that Luke thinks about what she said in the diner. I’ve always wondered what that would’ve felt like. How did she know Luke was like her? The elevator stops and a family gets off. Luke reaches forward and hits for the top floor. Dinah looks up to him, brows furrowing together.

He shouldn’t have given into her so easily back at the diner. He should’ve stayed their longer and asked her more questions. He should’ve investigated more about what she was doing in New York. He shouldn’t have thought about they way she felt, gently brushing up against his shoulder on their walk up to her place. He shouldn’t have thought about the way she looked at him. Memories were deadly. He found Dinah at a bar. He was playing with a band at the time. Nothing too big, just enough to pay his rent in LA. But back then, it was about the love of the thing and not how much money could be attained. She was performing at the open mic night. It was just her and her ukulele but she played it so well, her heavy voice echoing around the bar. She has vocals too big, too bright, too smooth to be captured into four walls. Luke went up to compliment her, just to let her know that he recognized her talent. He wasn’t often one to go up to people. But by then he had spent almost a hundred years on the planet and hiding away in forests was getting exhausting. Luke took his venturing out to the humans slow and steady before finding his comfort level.

And it doesn’t even help now that he’s remembering the way she called him just to talk and how they walked the beach late that night before she drove both of them back to her place. Her hair blew in the breeze off the salt water and she smelt like strawberries with a hint of something else, that at the time he hadn’t been able to place, but found it out to be a kind of hair grease. He can smell it now, as she stands next to him.

The level their room is on finally comes up but neither one of them steps off. Instead they let the doors close and carry up to the top. Once on the top floor, they take a step off and Dinah waits. If they wanted to get onto the roof they’d have to find a staircase and fast before someone just sees them standing about and not heading to a room. Luke peels off the left and she follows, pushing her back up higher on her shoulder. She is silent as she follows and thankfully, at the right turn at the end of the hallway they’re met the stairs. Up they go, and even the locked door, it does not remain locked. The night looks different up this high--they’re closer to the stars, or what would be stars but are more than likely just the lights reflecting off the city below.

“Who sent you? And what do they want?”

“No one sent me, Luke. What’s going on?”

“No one knows. I haven’t told a soul what I am. But you know. I didn’t leave you a note when I left. So how do you know? Are they using you as a lure to get to me?”

Dinah stares up to the sky, trying to keep the tears at bay. Her throat seizes for a moment. “You left. And I went looking, hanging out at the bars we used to go. I couldn’t find you. So I asked a couple folks around. And I fucking asked the wrong questions, I guess. Or maybe I was asking the wrong folks.”

Wrong questions? What wrong questions could she have been asking? Luke didn’t keep close to anyone. Or he tried not to at least. He wasn’t always good at it. Seeing as Dinah’s standing in front of him right now. Luke wants to take a step forward. He wants to give into her. Her gaze hasn’t dropped from the skies and he can see the way her throat constantly works, as if tears are produced in the throat, as if that will keep her from crying. “Who were you talking to? What are you talking about? You sure it’s not the council?”

Dinah shakes her head. “No one’s after you Luke. But me. I could’ve given you up. I could’ve let you be, but I couldn’t. Not after what happened.”

“That’s the thing, nothing happened Dinah. As much as I wanted to, as much as I thought about it, nothing happened that night.”

She shakes her head, lips pushed together into a tight line. “No, you left and I thought it was weird and I wanted to be angry with you. But most of all, I was confused. I wanted to know why had left. And damn, it wasn’t like you left that night and I ran into two weeks later. You completely disappeared. No one at the bar knew where you went. I talked to the guys that were in your band. Two of them had not a clue where you had gone and they were pissed, but they moved on. Mike talked to me later, told me I should just let the whole thing go. He kept saying I was eventually going to bark up the wrong tree at the right time.”

“Mike?” Luke questions. Mike was always a little out there, that was undeniable. He was deep into his history and deep into the supernatural. But not in any sort of way that made Luke super suspicious of him.

Dinah nods. “Yeah, he left before I really as him what he was going on about and when I called him the next day, I got no answer. Didn’t shock me. But then the rest of the band noticed Mike had just turned up missing. Mike and I--we started hanging out more. Even though I thought it was a little strange at first, he was definitely still sweet. That didn’t sit well with me. I waited for a little bit, then made a police report. And I don’t know. Maybe that’s what tipped the scales. Or maybe the scales were tipped from the start. I’m leaving the bar one night after a show, the rest of my group’s left already. But I hung back to watch the last few people play. And these two guys keep buying me drinks. I took the first one, just to be polite and they were kinda cute.

“One drinks turns into two. Two drinks turns into them approaching me. They ask me about my music; it all seems fine. We have good conversation. They leave the bar before me. They fucking left! That’s what will never fail to get me. They fucking left and halfway to my place. I get the feeling that I’m being followed. I don’t see anyone behind me. But I’ve always trusted my gut. So I start picking up the pace a little and I round the corner. Run into the same two guys before the bar. We chat for just a little bit longer. I keep fidgeting because I can’t see if anyone’s behind me. Everyone seems not suspicious. They offer to walk me home.”

“They were following you,” Luke deduces. “And they cut you off after they realized you were picking up on them to make it seem like a big whole coincidence.”

“Yeah. We walked and they asked me some questions about who I knew out in L.A. They were new in town and were trying to get their footing. So I was telling them about my band, and I mentioned Mike and your band. Never mentioned your name. Didn’t even want to utter it, or think about it. But just that small connection was the tiny piece. We got to my place and I was getting ready to tell them goodnight when one of them hauled me inside. He was really cold to the touch. I tried to fight back but, it wasn’t even like anything I did affected them. They kept asking me about you and if I knew. I didn’t know what they were on about. I was like, the guy up and left me and his friends, don’t know anymore than that.

“They kept saying I had to know something Mike knew a lot, gave it all up very quickly. The other one kept smelling my hair and neck and I could feel how sharp his teeth were. I told them I didn’t want to die. I would give them anything they wanted, I just didn’t want to die.” She can see the sinister gleam to their eyes, even now. They way they looked at each other, sharing the same thought. All Dinah knew is that she’d do whatever not to die.

“They were from counsel? The two guys?”

“Don’t really know for certain. I haven’t seen them since, though I went looking. They tortured me. Small bits along my arms and legs, saying that I would tell them everything I knew. And they warned me that others that caught wind of my explorations wouldn’t be so generous. But all I really remember is just how my body felt like it was going cold but also every nerve ending felt like it was being stabbed, over and over and over again. I think I blacked out once or twice from the pain. I remember small bits of them arguing and then I woke up later in a shallow grave.”

“They buried you?”

“Guess so. I’m not really sure what happened but I think I was carried when I heard them bickering. And when I came too, my arms were crossed over my chest. I could feel things crawling on me. First thought was I was in a sewer or something, but then things felt kinda loose. Stuff was in my nose and it smelled earthy. I panicked at first but it didn’t take me too much longer before I clawed my way out, realizing I had been buried.”

“So what did they want with you that had to do with me? Do you know who council is or what it is?”

Dinah nods. “I know who they are.”

It’s a fact, cold as it falls from her lips. Luke gazes at her, the way she blinks rapidly. His body is carrying his forward. One step, then another and soon, he’s closed the gap between them. He takes her hand, thumb stroking at her knuckles. “Hey, it’s alright.”

A harsh exhale leaves her, a scoff--it carries all the pain she’s yet to utter. Luke hears how heavy it is. Dinah finally brings her gaze to Luke’s face. The piercing blue eyes and button nose. It shocked her initially. When she saw his picture pop up on her social media. He hadn’t aged a day, it was as if someone had found a way into her memory of Luke and perfectly recreate it.

Dinah holds a steady gaze as she talks. “Council were the ones that found me. I stayed out in the woods. I didn’t know what had happened to me, but I knew it wasn’t good. And I wanted to cry, but it hurt too damn much. Being in the sun hurt. I was in pain, and I couldn’t tell what would ease it. In the day, I had to find ways to hide, tucked into trees, finding tiny caves or places to hide. Some hikers came by. I smelled them. And I knew, or at least I figured what it might be, what I might’ve turned into.

“Council found me. Apparently, there aren’t many of us hanging around the parts of LA. They were coming into town anyway to see how the rest of us were holding up, behaving. They caught the two that tortured and turned me. They were trackers of the council. Only sent out to sniff out the town. They found Mike, tracked him down. They found me. Apparently, they had actually killed Mike, but not me.”

Luke always knew those guys were getting older and possibly dead. He tried not to linger too much in the past. He didn’t read obituaries. He didn’t even halfway have social media. Luke liked to think that they would always be able to grow old though. That they would always have the one experience he did not, they could live a life. They could settle down. They could see children grow up and have grandchildren, even great grandchildren. Luke was stuck, permanently.

“Fuck, not Mike.” Mike--well, he was Mike. In all his eccenteries, he was still a good guy, he had been planning on asking this girl that he had been seeing to take a step up in their relationship. Or that’s what Luke last remembers. Luke pictured Mike married, a house full of dogs, maybe a couple kids. That idea suited Mike, who liked the calmer things in life. It still guts Luke though, shoulders sagging. He turns away, looking out over the city. God, Mike dead such a horrific death--terrified and unsure of what was happening to him or why he was the one targeted. And if Luke had just kept to himself, if Luke hadn’t been so fucking cursed to be lonely.

“Sorry to be the bearer of bad news,” Dinah says.

Luke shakes his head. “No, don’t be sorry. I’m-I’m the one’s that sorry.” There’s a silent pause. “Fuck,” he exhales again. “I-I didn’t mean for any of that to happen. Not you and not Mike either.” He can feel his own fingers starting to tremble now. He should’ve stuck around in town. He could’ve intercepted the trackers and told them that Dinah and Mike weren’t aware of anything, that they were just people living lives in all it’s boringness sometimes.

“God,” Luke croaks. “I am so fucking sorry. I should’ve stuck around. I could-I could’ve saved Mike and you.”

Dinah grabs onto his shoulders, though she’s always been a good head shorter than Luke, she does her best. It’s more shoulder blade and back than shoulder. She wants to tell him she doesn’t blame him. Well, at least not now. Before she did. Before she was angry. Before she dreamed of being able to confront Luke and rip him a new asshole. She wanted to know why he left and because he left, it left her like this--not dead but not alive either.

And sure, there’s still some anger. Sure, Dinah wants answers. Most of all, she just wants connection. She has spent the last sixty years, in and out of jobs, mostly holed up, always bouncing from town to town. She was terrified to get too close. But loneliness is heavy. It made her shoulders ache and if she could lay in bed and sleep days, months, years away, she would. Because it was better than walking through this life, if that’s the word to use, alone.

Luke escaped her house, exiting through her own front doors as she went to the restroom and vanished. Dinah hadn’t always planned on tracking Luke down. The council took her in for a couple of decades. She learned the rules and the laws of this new version of herself. But council wasn’t the greatest company. They were too busy giving into every desire, too busy attempting to rule people, and at the time she was merely a servant role. She listened in on meetings, waiting for one of them to ask for a refill of their glass or to fetch a live drinking fountain, as they liked to call humans. And Dinah knew she couldn’t stay there forever. They let her go with ease, surprisingly. Though she has to check in every once and a while. They told her that they were family, and family always checked in on each other.

It didn’t feel like family, but it was something and almost every decade or so, Dinah would think about going back. When she first got back out into the world, she had to figure out how to lay low, make some money to get by in the world, but not stick around for too long that suspicion would be raised. That’s when Luke came back to her, that’s when she realized all the things she wanted previously, the house and the husband, and the kids were something she’d never be able to achieve.

“I was angry for a long time,” Dinah says. “And I don’t know. Call it stubbornness and stupidity, call it having all the time in the fucking world, but I knew I’d find you. I knew I could finally get some answers.”

There’s nothing malicious in her touch. It’s a soft presence, even as she slides her down his back and then it’s gone. They’re standing side by side. “I’ll answer any questions you have.” It’s the least he can do, after everything that has happened. It won’t feel like enough. Even as Luke lets the promise cross his lips, it’s not enough for the amount of years she’s spent hurt and confused, and angry.

“We did pay for a room, so no sense in not using it, don’t you think?” Dinah offers. If she’s honest, she still doesn’t trust the night all too much. Some nights, ones that are too pretty and too serene, make her tense. She knows it’s fear—it’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. She still watches over her shoulder. The thing that she can only really be herself in is the same thing that strikes fear into her.

They climb back through the stairs and into the elevator in silence. It’s a little tense, Luke can feel it pressing onto him through the jacket. What questions does she have? Surely, waking up realizing that you’re not dead but not who you used to be is not an easy thing to discover. And surely, there’s part of terror that won’t be leaving her anytime soon. What counselor would be prepared for that either? Luke thought about seeing one. But it never seemed to be a fruitful thought.

The light on the door lights up green as Dinah holds the card to the reader and the gears click. All Luke notices though is the tight line her shoulders are in and the way she’s fast to click the lights on. The door closes with a heavy thud, gears clicking back into place. “What do you want to know?” Luke asks, letting his bag dropping on the left side of the bed.

Dinah takes a seat at the chair in front of the desk. “When you left that night, did you know? About the trackers, about council coming into town?”

Luke shakes his head. “Didn’t have a clue.”

Then it crosses her face, the piece of the puzzle that’s just never click for her. If Luke did know about the trackers and did leave to be avoided, it would make sense. If Luke was attempting to cover his own ass, and Dinah just happened to be in the crosshairs, it would suck, it wouldn’t make her happy, but it would finally make everything make sense. “So why the hell did you leave?”

Luke sighs, staring at the gray and green in the carpet of the floor. His brain’s telling him to say, had to. “I couldn’t stay in town.”

“But you just said that you didn’t know about the trackers!” Dinah pops up from the chair. Even though it’s a good six feet between them, she covers them before Luke can look up from the floor. Her finger pressed into his chest. “You just said that.”

Luke nods. “I-I know. I mean--” Is he about to tell her the truth? Won’t it sound silly now? Won’t it make him sound like a fucking coward?

“Luke,” she warns. The finger presses in deeper.

“You were human, or I assumed. I was always this,” Luke gestures to himself, as if trying to brush away something, but all he’s done is reveal himself. “We were getting too close. I was letting you get too close.”

“So, so you left.”

“Yes. To be fair, normally, my past doesn’t come back around. I’m the only one that ever remains. You know, though. You know when you invited me inside that it wasn’t a friendly chat. I knew it. I wanted to give in. I mean, fuck, you’re,” the words are failing him. Because all he can see in her eyes are just how dark they are, just how much they don’t want to let light in, but have always shone brightly. “I found you really attractive. Find? Found? Fuck, I don’t know anymore. But I couldn’t give in. You’d know something was different. You’d know I was different.”

“Because you run cold?”

“It’s not-not just that. That’s a give away for sure. But, we-- we don’t always feel a hundred percent human. And sure, I could’ve explained away that, and the fangs, and literally anything physical. But if I let myself give in that night, I’d have to let himself give in every night after that.”

Dinah furrows her brows. “Did-did you like me?” She won’t ask if he still does. That was so many decades ago. By now, Luke has surely run into someone new. He had to have moved on.

“Like feels much too simple. But yeah, I did like you, Dinah. I had spent a lot of time hiding before you met me. I was lonely and then I met the guys in the band. And then I met you and for those hours at night, when we played shows or hung out drinking, I almost remembered what it was like to be human. It was a lot easier to leave before anything happened.”

Her gut feels like a storm. She’s angry--that Luke left, that she got attacked, that Mike died. But she’s also heavy with sadness, all those feelings she thought she had buried are resurfacing. She liked Luke too. She thought maybe she had found someone that was finally going to see her for who she was, not what she looked like, not the color of her skin. And sure LA at the time wasn’t the worst place but it still had it’s issues. Her palms press into his chest and she pushes Luke. It’s hard, more so than what she intended. It sends up backward, with just enough time to stop himself from slamming into the wall, if not through it into the other room. “I thought-I thought for a long time something bad had happened to you. I went around asking about you! I worried myself beyond belief. No one could get a hold of you! You were a fucking ghost.”

Luke catches the lamp as it teeters on the edge of the stand. It’s light flickers before remaining steadily on. “I-I’m sorry.” But sorry really doesn’t fix it, he knows. Because if Luke hadn’t left in the night, then maybe, Dinah wouldn’t have asked around. And maybe the trackers wouldn’t have singled her or Mike out.

“You know, I almost wish you had known about the trackers. I wish I was just caught at the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“If I knew trackers were coming, I would’ve stuck around. I would’ve shown them that you and Mike weren’t a threat. But I didn’t. I didn’t have a clue. And I’m so sorry about what happened to you. And I wish I could’ve done something.” The rest of the thought stops on the tip of his tongue, but I can’t.

“I hate the night,” she confesses softly. The words sound like they barely want to leave her throat. “I hate it because it’s halfway the only time I can be me, I’m not under a thousand layers. And I hate it because that’s when you left. And I hate it because even though the council killed those two trackers, I still feel them watching me.”

“You didn’t deserve that. You don’t deserve to carry that anxiety either.” Luke finally pushes up off the wall, praying there’s no real damage. He doesn’t dare check now though.

Dinah’s just watching him, attempting to keep the shakes in her hands at a minimum. She can’t tell if she fully blames Luke or not. She can’t know for certain that if Luke hadn't left that she would’ve never been changed. She can’t know for certain that if Luke didn’t leave that the trackers could’ve been stopped, or that they wouldn’t come back. “If you had stayed, wouldn’t you have left eventually? Isn’t that what you’re doing now leaving?”

Luke knows he would’ve left eventually. Even if he didn’t stay around longer, even if he hadn’t run away that night, he would’ve eventually left. It’s all he’s good at--leaving. “I could’ve stayed there forever, no. Eventually, I would’ve left you. But I wouldn’t have left you like I did. I would’ve told you something easy to handle. A bear attack that was terrible. Maybe I tell you I’m leaving to go back home to my family for an emergency and I get on a train and for whatever reason, I don’t make it to the destination I told you I was going. And a letter comes in the mail a few weeks later, telling you what happened because your address is written down on a piece of paper in the pocket of the pants I’m wearing. And that lie would’ve hurt, whichever lie I choose, but it’s much better than just disappearing into thin air. I know that now. I didn’t know that then.

“And I was scared too. I keep moving because I don’t want to get too close. I don’t pursue careers anymore. I take jobs no one wants. I hide because it’s so much easier. Dinah, you terrified me because you reminded me just how human I fucking was at one point. How much I still am some days. I bounce around because I’ve been on this fucking earth for 150 years and it’s only been me. I don’t have a group, I don’t have anyone else. And I could’ve had you--I wanted to have you.”

The night Luke disappeared Dinah left to go to the bathroom and she was using it mostly as an excuse. She wanted to freshen up, rid her breath of some of the tequila she had in her drink. But mostly, she wanted just a moment to think what her next steps were going to be. Luke and her were hanging out pretty consistently, mostly at night, after gigs. She drove around town, across county lines to watch him and his band perform. He traveled for her shows too. That night, they hadn’t made official plans to meet up, but they knew each other well enough to know where to find the other.

It was the walk back, as she stared up at the cut of his jaw and the watched the way he smiled that she felt bold enough to invite him into her place. And coffee sounded better than come inside, hang out with me until I decide if I’ll have the guts to ask if this can go up the ladder, if they could take this a bit more seriously. And sure, they flirted. And sure, Dinah knew she couldn’t have that kind of conversation after sex, but she wanted to know the harm in letting herself go. For all the free spirit she is, Dinah didn’t like jumping into bed with someone that she wasn’t attempting to get serious with. Things were going well, better than she had ever considered to go. And sure there were stares and murmurs about them hanging out. And sure, Dinah worried about her safety at that time too, less so because Luke is white and surely, he wouldn’t turn up in a river.

But when she finally came back from the bathroom, Luke was gone. All that was left behind was a note, on a napkin that said Sorry. And Luke was gone. Dinah hadn’t even heard the door closing behind him on his departure. How could he just leave if he wanted her so bad though?

“Was it just what we are? Did you leave just because you weren’t like me then?”

“It’s not like council gives you a slap on the wrist for getting involved with a human. If they found out, I knew what consequences were at play. I didn’t want and I don’t want this for you. I left because they’d kill me, change you, or kill the both of us. I left because there was no way I could give you a normal life, and that’s what I wanted for you. I saw the looks people gave you hanging around me. I saw what was happening.”

Dinah’s never been the one that got away to Luke. She’s always been the one that Luke let go. She’s the one that if Luke could go back, and tell himself not to leave like he did, he would. If Luke could go back, he’d burn that note, that sorry ass apology. Tucked away, hidden beneath all the fear, is a tiny piece of hope that Luke did run into her again. That she had lived the life he wanted for her, and that she had grandkids and then maybe, they could meet in secret again. That she hadn’t forgotten about him. Truth be told, Luke always had a table prepared for her, a tiny piece of his heart that always remembered the way she laughed and the way purple lights and red lights on stage dazzled against her skin.

“That wasn’t your call. That was mine,” Dinah returns. There’s still a gap between them, from when she shoved him. It feels too wide, too far to close.

“I-I can’t say I was trying to protect without sounding like a fucking idiot, after what happened. But honest to whatever fucking being exists out there, I left because I was scared. I left because I didn’t want you to get hurt. I left because I thought it was the best thing to do. And I know I hurt you regardless. And I know shitty things happened despite my best efforts. But please believe me, Dinah, I didn’t think this would happen. I couldn’t have thought it up in my wildest dreams.”

The lights in the ceiling of the room are bright against the white. Dinah doens’t even blink at the harshness. Luke watches the way she swallows, head shaking side to side. He takes a step, just one and she snaps her attention to him at the movement. His keeps his hands raised. “Di, I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t.” It’s one word. It’s hardly audible. No one’s called her that since Luke left. She makes sure no ones calls her that. He called her that all the time when she called, or after she sang him a new song she was working on. His eyes would always be so bright and he’d smile at her like she was the sun, like she was somehow unbelievable and not real, but somehow still in front of her. “You don’t get to call me that anymore,” she whispers, taking a step back.

Luke inches a little closer. “You gotta believe me. When I say I’m sorry.”

“I don’t have to believe anything. I don’t have to do anything.” But the truth is, she does want to believe him. She does want him to call her ‘Di’ again like he used too. She wants to know that even though it’s been sixty years and even though she’s still angry a little bit, she hadn’t forgotten how easy it was around him.

Luke steps forward again and Dinah doesn’t back away. Though, he does note how close she is to the closet. “Do you remember when we stayed up late, jamming to a new song you were working on? I don’t even know how you managed to do it. But we stayed up almost until sunrise--laughing at everything, even if it wasn’t funny. And I pressed your clothes while you got two hours of sleep. I made you pancakes and you got pissed because I didn’t add chocolate chips to them. And you always put chocolate chips into your pancakes. And you told me to take it to the grave that you thought my pancakes were better than your mother’s. I told you that had to be a lie because I was shit cook, but I didn’t want you going to work on an empty stomach.”

“Of course I remember. And when I got back home, you left a note with the recipe and I don’t know what you did, but I wasn’t able to replicate them.”

“And I had the pancakes that your mom made, you made them for me that next night. And I will say, I have never had better pancakes.”

“Why? Why you bringing that up?”

“Because that night was the first time I gave into you. That was the first night in decades for me that I wasn’t worried. I wasn’t thinking about making sure I didn’t get too close. That was the first night where I thought about what a normal life might look like for me. I watched you sleep and I thought about if that could be normal for us. And it was the first time I was scared shitless in a long time. I was scared when my family died and I couldn’t even be there. I was angry too. And after their funerals, I figured I wouldn’t find that kind of bond again--I would make myself not get too close. And then we stayed up almost until sunrise and I pressed your clothes because you wouldn’t stand for going into work with a wrinkle in that blouse.”

“I’ll have you know it won’t easy getting an office job at that time. I had been a cook or running food for plenty of years prior to that. And I wasn’t going to mess up a good opportunity like that job showing up in a wrinkled blouse.”

Luke laughs, softly, reaching out for her hands. Dinah hadn’t even noticed him creeping in closer to her. “I’m sure it wasn’t easy. What can I do? What can I do now to show you I really mean it? That I’m so sorry for what happened. I’d do whatever it was to make it up to you.”

“I-I don’t think there’s anything you can do. Not right now at least. I need time, Luke. I just--I don’t know what to do right now.”

“We got plenty of that,” Luke counters, brushing his fingers down her jaw. She doesn’t duck out of the touch. She still doesn’t quite feel real under his touch, in front of him. Luke’s sure he’s conjured her up. That he’s going to come to and be sitting in the cafeteria of the hospital and have daydreamed the whole thing up. “There’s plenty of time.”

Dinah can see it, the lean in and she shakes her head. That storm hasn’t gone away in her gut. She still hasn’t figured out if she wants to give into Luke or not. She does want to forgive him. She wants to move on now that she has her answers. “That’s a lot of years, a lot of hurt left.”

Luke nods, dropping his hand from her cheek and takes a small step back. “I understand.” He clears his throat, tucking some of his hair behind his ear. A few curls still fall down in front of his face. “I-I don’t need the bed,” he offers, stepping out of the way.

It’s an out. And Dinah doesn’t take it. “I don’t need the bed either.”

“I-I haven’t gotten used to that, clearly.”

Dinah watches the way Luke works his teeth over his bottom lip. His gaze turned down to the floor. She takes his head, threading her fingers through his. “Thanks. For understanding. For answering, honestly. I believe you, about everything. I just need to sort out my own feelings. Because those feelings haven’t gone away, from all our nights together. I just need to figure out what to do with them.”

Luke doesn’t miss the dark brown on her nails, the way it contrast against her skin but isn’t that much darker than the color of her tanned skin. He looks at the chipping red on his nails, the gel that’s grown out. He almost forgot the manicure. It was self administered, but kind of unevenly applied. “We can just talk then, about whatever, about nothing. I’ve missed a lot.”

“It’s not all that glamorous. Much of it is probably like you know, lonely.”

“Surely you’ve had some adventures though. You worked for council--that must’ve been something in and of itself.”

“They’re old and boring. The better story is me at Mardi Gras for the first time.”

“I’d love to hear it,” Luke smiles. He remembers the first time he stumbled across Mardi Gras, how the music almost never ceased and ate more human food than he ever had in a long time. But it all smelt so good and everyone kept handing him drinks and plates ane he couldn’t say no.

“I’m--I just want to shower first.”

“Okay.” It’s soft and Luke’s slow to remove his hand. He’s forgotten what it feels like to hold someone else’s hand, without fear. She grabs her bag and the bathroom door clicks closed softly behind her. Luke stands there for a moment, watching the handle for the slightest movement, listening to see if the shower starts up. Once the pitter of water hitting the basin starts to echo, he surveys the room.

The wall’s thankfully not damaged in any significant way. The lamp’s in good shape too. Those it’s clear on the rug where Luke skid back just a little. He runs a hand over it, to get rid of the harsh line and finally opens up his own bag. He peels himself out of the leather jacket, draping it over the back of the desk chair. It’s easy to pull out a plain white t-shirt and some shorts for him to change into.

The air unit rumbles and the water from the shower echoes, long after Luke’s changed out of the jeans. He keeps the volume low on the TV and almost goes to turn the overhead lights off, but opts to keep them on remembering the way Dinah talked about the night and how tense she seemed to be walking into a dark room. The mattress gives easily under Luke’s weight. He pushes the pillows all the way up against the headboard and reclines into it. There’s nothing to do right now but wait.

Part of Luke does worry that all Dinah wanted out of him were answers. That she’d manage to slip out some kind of way and she’ll always just be a fragment of Luke’s life, a piece that he would always hunger after but never be able to satiate. However, the bathroom door cracks open and a tiny bit of steam escapes out in the air not occupied by Dinah. It’s just a tank top and leggings but Luke’s quick to turn his attention back to TV. It’s definitely not the gown she used to sleep in all those years ago. But even then, that felt scandalous too. And maybe it’s not even the clothes themselves, it’s just Dinah and the attraction that Luke never lost.

Dinah settles next to Luke on the bed, watching first just the TV screen. “So Mardi Gras was the first time I realized that because I didn’t have hardly any blood in me, getting drunk takes a lot more than it used to.”

Luke tries to hold back his laughter, one hand covering his mouth. “Do not tell me that you were just slamming back drinks and suddenly realized folks were looking at you crazy for not being drunk.”

“No, of course not. I was absolutely told that in order to feel the same affects from alcohol before I required a lot more than before. No, no one told me. Though, my stomach at the time was use a pretty blood heavy diet, so eating and drinking human food made me queasy. So when I vomited shortly after, folks stopped staring so much afterwards.” Luke lets the giggles escape him, shoulders shaking as he holds onto the remote. “I did however, keep that in mind when I went to Carnival.”

Luke quirks an eyebrow. “Are we talking like, a carnival cruise ship?”

Dinah shakes her head, no, laughing. “No, definitely not the cruise ship. Trinidad Carnival. I heard from some other girls about it. They invited me to go with them. I looked good that trip.”

“Was this during the day?”

Dinah waves a hand. “Details, details.” Though they can withstand some sun, they can’t handle a lot of it. And in Trinidad, Luke can only assume there’s a lot of sun. Now, if Dinah knew about the fact that they can handle more sun if they’ve previously had some blood. It’s not a significant increase on the amount of time they can be out in the sun, but it is a decent bump up. “I kept to the night mostly, but I did hunt a little so I could go out during the day.”

Luke nods. It could be from her time with council or it could be just trail and error on her learning. He doesn't push on the details though. “Speaking of hunting, what’s your prefered diet?”

“It’s not polite to ask a woman about her weight you know.” It almost sounds serious until Luke sees the smile lifting her cheeks.

“Pardon me then.”

Dinah shakes her head, a small tuft of laughter trailing off. “I go mostly for animals. But I have had human blood. It’s a treat? Which is not something I thought I’d ever say in my lifetime.”

“It’s wild times for sure.”

“You?”

“Considering I’ve been living in plain sight for the last hundred plus years, I don’t give into human blood much. Was kind of hard when working in a hospital.”

“You worked in a hospital?”

“I changed sheets and cleaned up waste. It wasn’t glamorous.”

Dinah thinks back to when she ran into Luke. At that time, he was working in the local grocery store. Rumor had it before he disappeared he was lined up to take over as manager. Dinah wonders if that was considered as getting too close. “Is Luke your-”

“It is,” Luke answers. “It is my real name. I change the last name now most often. I’ve used aliases for my full name before too.”

“The tricks we all have to learn in order to survive,” Dinah comments.

Luke hums in agreement. “I stopped using first name aliaser a while ago. Luke’s a pretty common name. No one really cares.”

“When you say a while ago, I hope you don’t mind after me.”

Luke shrugs, giving neither a here nor there answer. Though, she’ll know the truth. It didn’t feel like lying before. It felt like survival. It felt like the smart thing to do, to bury who he was and become whomever he needed to be at the time. But after Dinah that all changed. A lot changed after her, but he doesn’t offer that up. He swallows that thought back down and flicks his gaze back to the TV in front of them.

“What’s up next for you?” Dinah knows she shouldn’t ask. She shouldn’t have so much hope in her voice.

“Take a bus somewhere, anywhere really. I’ve learned to travel light and just go wherever feels right.”

“So where feels right to you?”

“North,” Luke answers, turning his head to look at her. She’s picking at her nails, head hanging low on her neck. “What about you?”

At first it’s just a shrug. “I’m kind of tired of moving around. And I feel silly saying that to you. You’ve been dealing with this shit for a lot longer.”

“The only thing that kept you going before was probably the hope of running into me. So it makes sense. Now you’ve gotta recalibrate. Figure out what you want next.”

“I want to settle down. I know I won’t ever have the normal life or the kids, or grandkids that I wanted. But I’ve bounced from a few covens that were nice enough to let me stay and I guess I’ve always been a sucker for the found family idea.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that, settling down. Just requires some money and the right place.”

Dinah nods at Luke’s comment. She was a little screwed on the money part. She didn’t have much before her change and in the time she had left the council, a lot of what she made went towards her car and the ventures to find Luke. Now, she had to figure out where she could settle down and what work she could get to help her save up. The conversation turns into a small lull, both of them watching the show on the TV.

Luke didn’t want to lose Dinah a second time. But there was no way he could just ask to join her. Not after she told him that she had to sort of her own feelings. It’s easy to see though. It’s easy to feel how things feel like they’re almost picking back up from when they last met. But it’s not an edge to it, a bit of tension. So Luke lets the question linger on the back of his tongue but doesn’t voice it. The conversation takes a turn to a story about how Dinah’s saved quite a few cats from trees and Luke shares a few stories about his time at the hospital, the older woman that hit on him.

Before they even realize, the sun’s peeking in from the curtains of the room. And even sooner than that, the sun starts to caress the horizons again. Luke doesn’t know where he’s going to wind up, what he’s going to be doing tomorrow let alone what will happen in a couple of weeks. He scribbles down his email though onto the hotel stationary. He makes sure to tuck into the palm of her hand at the entrance of the bus station. “Do you remember the address of the bar we met at?” Luke asks.

Dinah nods. “Yeah I do. It’s not a bar anymore. It’s part of some shopping center now or it was the last time I checked.”

Luke nods, it was a shopping center when he last went by it too. “Meet me there. When you get those feelings sorted out.”

Dinah almost tells him that he should join her. He should stop running and finally settle down. Though, that could be her projecting more than it is what he actually wants. Dinah glances at the paper at the email address scribbled across it. “I can do that.”

“Reach out. Anytime. If that changes, I’ll let you know well in advance.”

“Who’s leaving who?” Dinah asks. It feels stupid to ask right now. If she really didn’t want Luke to go, she had every chance last night and during the day.

“Maybe this isn’t leaving.” Luke needs it to be leaving. He wants to invite himself along. He wants to join along because it’s Dinah. Because he’s got a second shot with her. But he’s not sure if settling down is smart, right now. If it’s what he needs to do. “Maybe it’s just ‘see you around’ like an until next time. Now you don’t have to track me down. “

*********

Luke’s sitting at the bar, a towel thrown over his shoulder. The night’s yet to begin really. It’s early and a Friday night. There’s no doubt in his mind thought that in another couple of hours the entire place will be packed with a flood of people. A new patron wanders in and slides up to the bar. Luke greets them with a smile, taking in the dark curls on their head but he knows it’s not Dinah. He keeps hoping. He keeps praying, but so far in the month and a half he’s been here, she’s yet to show up.

They’ve talked extensively over the last couple of months. Luke went north for a little bit, but ultimately his gut told him to head south and go west. So he did. He landed back just north of where he lived last time out in LA. He had a gut feeling, something that itched the back of his brain and told him that Dinah would just randomly show up in LA. She wouldn’t wait to make a date and time to meet. Luke wanted to beat her to the punch.

“Cider please,” the woman asks, listing off the house brand. Luke checks the ID before reaching for a clean glass and pulls the level for the tap.

“Opening or closing?” he asks.

“Just the one,” they return, handing over the card. It’s a few more seconds before the receipt prints off for them to sign and they disappear to the floor, off to a booth. Half an hour later, more people filter in and head towards their booth.

Luke hangs back, making sure all his bottles are full and ready for the night, that there are no messes on the spill mats though soon he knows there will be the inevitable spill from him. His phone vibrates in his pocket and he steals a moment to look at it. A notification for a new email. On instinct, he’s quick to open it and a brand new email sits in his inbox. The subject sends him into a frenzy.

Meet me downtown. At the dive bar.

Just as Luke goes to reply, not bothering with the body of the email, a voice calls out to him from the bar. “What should a girl drink around here?”

When Luke lifts his gaze from his phone, he laughs. Dinah’s dressed in her old school signature red jumpsuit, those it’s definitely been revamped since the last time he’s seen it. Her hair’s braid back into a mohawk. But it’s still Dinah. “What are you looking for? Something sweet? Something to knock you off your ass?”

“Little bit of both.”

Luke starts to make her a drink, remembering from all their adventures what she’s always been partial to a little tequila. “How’d you find me? This isn’t our meeting spot.”

Dinah shakes her head. “You told me where you got a job. Or did you forget?”

The orange drink settles in front of her and Luke tilts his head to the side. “I don’t remember telling you.”

There’s a snort that cuts through the chatter and music of the bar. “Well, you did. Which is why I’m here.”

A group walks up to the bar and Luke excuses himself for just a second to help them. It’s a minute between setting up shots and drinks, but Luke watches Dinah from the corner of her eye. She stays perched at the bar counter, sipping at the tequila sunrise. Luke winks at her, pulling the last bit of sprite into the drink and sets it onto the counter. The group opens a tab and starts on their way back towards the dancefloor.

Luke’s sure he probably did tell her where he’s working. He’s sure that he wanted to be explicitly clear that he was waiting on her. Maybe it was just his own brain playing tricks on him. Even though he was around forever, didn’t mean he wasn’t exempt from the occasional brain fart. “So, if you’re here,” Luke starts, wiping his hands on the towel, “I hope that means feelings have been sorted.”

“Yes,” Dinah laughs. “Yes they have been. But I don’t want to impede on your job.”

“Told you it was only a matter of time. My shift ends at 2. If you don’t want to hang around, I get it. Just meet me back here and we can go and talk and I’ll make you chocolate chip pancakes.”

“Or I could sit here all night, staring at you, and then we leave for your place for chocolate chip pancakes.”

“Both of those work,” Luke laughs. Briefly, he runs a hand over hers. She’s real and she’s here. From wherever she’s been, Dinah’s sitting across the bar from Luke right now. “We’ve got a lot to catch up on. If you ever found that place to settle down at.”

Dinah squeezes his hand, unsure of what she can say, of what words convey how relieved she’s here, sitting across from him. “We do have a lot to catch up on. But thank God we’ve got plenty of time, right?”

She’s not insinuating what he thinks she is. Luke’s sure he’s standing there with his mouth agape, big enough for any number of insects or birds to make a nice home. Dinah’s laughter cuts above the throaty croak of the bass. “You’re not saying what I think you’re saying,” Luke whispers, leaning across the wooden counter to her.

“Maybe I am,” she grins, hands cupping his chin and the slight scruff decorating it now.

It’s quick. Fast enough that Luke swears he can hardly register it, but slow enough that it definitely makes me crave more. Her lips seal over his in a kiss. One he wishes he could’ve had earlier. But nevertheless, the feeling of her lips against his is something that he won’t ever be able to get over; it’ll be implanted into his memory for the rest of his existence.

“One more,” Luke whispers against her lips, feeling her drawing away. “Wasn’t long enough.”

Dinah laughs, but kisses Luke again. A little longer, a little firmer, a little deeper than the first, But she wheels it in, “You’re on the clock, you know?”

“I can very quickly be off it too.”

“Luke!” she reprimands, pushing lightly at his shoulder. “I am going to take this drink, which, here,” she slides cash across the counter, “definitely need to pay for and I’m going far far away from the bar so I’m not a distraction.”

“No, stay. Want you close. And you do not need to pay.” Luke straights up, sliding the bill back towards her.

“A tip. For you and your amazing customer service,” Dinah urges. And whether Luke likes it or not, he obliges before getting back to work. Dinah knew about two weeks after he dropped Luke off at the New York bus station that she was going to find him again. And when she did find him again, she wouldn’t have questions and she wouldn’t have so much hostility. First, she needed to work through all that. The calls helped; they opted not to email too much but the conversations along the way helped alleviate the residual confusion. Contact was often and thorough and when she needed space, Luke didn’t cross it.

She looked for a place to settle down at and she concluded on a place up in Canada. It was nice, mostly tucked away, but still close to a city that she could still get necessities. She hadn’t told Luke about it yet. He hadn’t made any clear indications that he was looking to settle down but it shocked her when he mentioned moving to LA and finding local work. She was under the impression that they would meet again, in LA, when both of them were ready. However, maybe this was an indication that Luke was ready already.

The night goes by fast. Or maybe it just feels fast because this is Dinah’s day. After last round, Dinah lets Luke know that she’ll be waiting outside, in the front lot. The Uber’s and taxis pull away, after picking up their respective groups and leave Dinah in the almost dark. But there’s so much light around from other signs and bars and restaurants, that it’s almost impossible to be in the dark for too long.

“My car’s over here,” Luke states, well in advance, to warn Dinah. She turns to find his throwing his thumb over his shoulder. “Where did you park?”

Dinah points her keys in his direct and her car beeps to life. “Few spaces from you.”

“Should’ve known. We can take your car. Mine will be fine overnight.”

“You sure?”

Luke nods, reaching out for her hand. “I’m sure. You’ll just have to give a ride to work--that’s all.”

“Something tells me I think I’d be okay with that.”

“Good, I’m glad,” he laughs, brushing his thumb over her skin. “So, you gotta let me in on what’s been happening with you?”

“You know me. Singing to make ends meet,” Dinah teases. Luke bumps her arm and she knows he wants the truth. She knows that he wants to know about the settling down and the feelings. And she can give all that to him. She can give him all the truth.

Tagging @5-secondsofcolor for morning reads

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wolfcha1k · 3 years

Text

As soon as I started practicing kisses I suddenly can't help adding them now lmao something fluffy and firey for you heathens. Still sfw content tho ofc. Based on the new fanart I did recently so some of it doesn't match the art in hindsight :"D I think now its just gonna be a new tradition to write something to go along with my pieces.

They were taking one of their occasional adventures away from the Betterman Farm, where they would hunker down in the wilderness for several days at a time. For a while, Guy and Eep would forget there was an entire world that they shared with other people; their family. It was just the two of them, hunting and foraging and seeing the beauty the land itself provided.

She knew her home was the Farm now but her heart would never deny she was always meant for the untamed wild where the sun stretched on forever. She wasn't sure why Guy had lead her towards the desert as an area for camp, it was hot and unspeakably dry during the day, sweltering even. Her entire life had been the dusty desert and the canyon with that awful cave as the only escape from the heat.

As dusk fell, Guy had only grinned at her. They'd set up camp not long after the daytime sun joined the many nighttime suns in the sky. The sight of how many slept above her still was awe striking. Guy skinned a boar they'd hunted together, something Eep wanted to teach Dawn about someday. She knew as much as Guy enjoyed his safer, more pampered life with the Bettermans, he was still that adventurous nomad born and raised. He lived for the thrill his skills provided him and how all his ideas saved him from many obstacles.

Eep watched the fire flicker and sway, it was still surprising how alive looked. She leaned her hands out to toast her palms, the desert chilled now the sun set. She didn’t understand that either, how such a mercilessly hot place can become so cold.

The embers glowed in her green eyes when she felt Guy touch her wrist. Eep turned to him, seeing the fire reflecting in his dark gaze. He was beautiful, one of the most wonderful things she ever saw even after everything he'd shown her.

"I got the boar skinned, just need help putting a skewer through it," Guy said, gesturing towards the beast. They had parked themselves by an oasis, giving Guy a way to wash off the blood from his hands.

Eep had offered to do it, blood never phased her but Guy insisted she just rest. In the meantime she had bathed in the spring, the sand and sweat on her uncomfortable before settling down by the fire to wait on her mate. She hadn't wanted to admit it but she felt rather tired after the long trek. Guy had his reasons for picking this place but he could be so strange and peculiar about it in a way she never understood.

Perhaps that was why she loved him so much. There was nobody else in the world like him, even if she could only count the amount of people she knew on both hands.

Eep stood up from her crouching position. "Sure, I'm starving," she exclaimed, eying the pig carcass greedily. "Are you absolutely certain we can't just - "

"No, you are not sinking your teeth into that thing without cooking it first," Guy scolded her, it was more akin to when Ugga was telling off her children for causing mischief. "You'll get sick. I need to bring you back to Grug in one piece or I'll be in pieces."

"Fineeeee," Eep compromised with a dramatic sigh, leaning her neck back before walking over to help her mate spear the pig.

Eep with Guy’s help, well, mostly Eep but she liked making him feel useful, carried the spitted animal towards the campfire and held it over it. Guy had crafted some little makeshift contraption with wood and rope he'd packed, so they could use a pulley system to rotate the roasting boar

The two took alternating shifts.

"It's funny," Eep couldn’t help but muse suddenly, taking in the view. The fire made the golden sandstone burn a brilliant red color, reminding her of amber.

"What's funny?" Guy asked from his post by the pig, rotating it with a careful eye so it cooked evenly.

"Well…" Eep leaned her elbow on her bent knee, her chin on her hand. "We met in a desert and you asked me to marry you in one too."

Guy tried hiding his smile by turning back to cooking but Eep saw it, perceptive as always. He pretended to ignore her narrow eyed look. "Funny how fate works," he quipped and heard Eep snort in a very unadulterated fashion.

"You planned this," Eep accused him and Guy finally was forced to face the music because the boar didn't need this much turning on the spit.

"Me? Plan things? You must be mistaken," Guy quipped, his tone betraying him. His grin was wide. "Okay, you got me. Happy anniversary, or have you forgotten?"

"As if I can forget the night I nearly dashed your brains out with a rock," she said with more fondness than any normal person should, jumping to her feet.

Guy held her hands, leaning forward to nuzzle his nose against hers. "Me either, you're a hard one to forget."

"Well, I did call you back."

"You did," he agreed before pouting. "Not my smoothest pick up line though."

"So you didn't tell every girl that line? 'If you survive, call me?'" Eep quoted, exposing her teeth in a teasing smirk.

"Nope, you were the first and only," Guy assured her, winking. "It worked."

"It did," she agreed back, shaking her head with a giggle. "So…" Eep began coyly, averting her eyes towards the landscape colored black in silhouette.

"So…?" Guy urged her, knowing that Eep didn't need the coaxing but somehow it had just become their thing.

"What if I did come with you that night," Eep asked him, turning back to bat her eyelashes at him. "I think this is the perfect spot to humor the thought." She gazed around the desert, the ground hard with stone, much like the one she had followed Guy's fire that night.

"Well for one, your dad would have killed me because I didn't know he was part of the equation yet," Guy replied, both joking and serious as he said it. "This little journey would have definitely been way more interesting though if I had stolen you away from him."

"Stolen me," she echoed with a laugh though her ears burned from a mixture of the fire and thought. There had been an obvious attraction and two teenagers journeying alone, well, it didn't take a Betterman to figure it out. "You make this sound scandalous, Guy."

"It's not now though so that means when you took my hand, I'd do this." He lifted her palm to his lips, gently kissing a scar that led down to the pulse point of her wrist.

"No, you wouldn't have," Eep teased him. "You were too scared of me to try it."

"I wouldn’t," he agreed. "But this is a fantasy so anything can happen."

"Okay," she amused him, letting Guy continue his little story.

Guy seemed to realize a dark implication in this what if and since it was a fantasy, he could change that. "The world isn't ending, I'm still a nomad but you're just a stir crazy teenage girl instead."

"I am a stir crazy teenage girl," Eep corrected him, leaning up on her toes to brush his cheek with her nose. "And I'll remind you everyday, babe."

"You make telling this story harder than it needs to be," Guy lamented in mock offense, drawing her closer to eye her down. Eep just grinned innocently. "Stop putting plot holes."

Eep just giggled, feeling him turn her hand over to kiss her knuckles and each finger delicately. It was like having a butterfly touch her skin.

"Fine, then what?"

"We'd run away together," he continued, looking up at her with loving eyes. "Somehow outsmart your dad because Sandy would totally have sniffed us out in the morning."

Eep smirked, fighting off a broad smile in her amusement. "Would you have fought him?"

"I mean…" Sure, it was a fantasy but he was also just stronger, bigger and scarier than Guy was. Besides, hindsight wasn't twenty twenty and this caveman was now a second father to him. As annoying and abrasive as Grug had been in all the time Guy knew him, he also had a begrudging respect and admiration for him too. "Maybe we'd just bring him along anyway, save us the trouble."

"Is the log ride magic now?" Eep asked him with a wicked grin. "Does it fly us to Tomorrow? I'm sure it could if dad kicked it hard enough for us."

Guy scoffed, "This is my fantasy so there is no log."

"Aw, you're no fun," she sniggered, lifting his hand to press his palm into her nose fondly. "The log brought us together."

"Yeah but in this story you already came with me," Guy reminded her with a gentle tug, taking her hand back to stroke his thumbs fondly over her knuckles.

Eep tried hard not to laugh again, blushing as well under the soft look he gave her. He smiled at her and she melted like ice. It was intimate and vulnerable, more so than anything they'd done in all the time proceeding to this moment.

"Alright," she murmured, stroking his chest after laying her palm flat against his heart. She fiddled with the seashells dangling around his neck, idly stroking his throat and felt him swallow. "Then what?"

"I'd show you the world and since there's no The End… we wouldn't rush through it. You know, actually do some sight seeing. Fall slowly in love with each beautiful thing I show you but never seems to compare to you." Eep couldn’t help the giddy giggle as he called her beautiful, beaming bright like a sun ray at his compliment. Guy's eyes almost glazed over as he gave the silly romantic escapade story more thought, he chuckled. "Your dad would ruin all our little moments though, so it's kinda hard."

"So even in this little I went with you story, dad still keeps us apart?" Eep pouted.

"Every story needs conflict," Guy teased her. "Dad was going to catch up eventually, family in tow. We were taking the scenic route, it was bound to happen, Eep."

Eep rolled her eyes at him, tugging Guy down so they could sit with their backs to the fire. She leaned her weight against his side, feeling Guy rest his arm behind her back. "I hope things start getting more romantic for us, Guy."

Guy pressed a kiss to her temple, grinning. "It does. After hauling our crazy family cross country, we find the sun hidden on a mountain."

Eep remembered Guy's mountain, two tall twin peaks that extended high above the sky, swathed in clouds and extending out to a meadow after climbing the outcrop. They were supposed to ride it to Tomorrow, joining it among the many sleeping suns above. "How are we going to ride it to Tomorrow if I'm your Tomorrow?"

"I'm retconning stuff, stop spoiling the story," Guy scolded her, just resting his head on hers, taking in her smokey wild scent. "I realize this sooner, because the sun isn't really attainable. We go after it but it just gets farther and farther away." He extended his hand out in a reaching gesture. This meant Guy was really getting into the story.

"Are you sad for awhile?" Eep inquired, absently hugging his bicep now that Guy no longer held her hands.

"For a bit," he admitted. "I mean, my parents said to follow the sun but you really can't but…" Guy paused and gazed fondly at his wife tucked into his side, body warm, familiar and supple.

"But…?"

"I found you, light led me to you. I realize this and tell you I love you after this little journey." Guy nuzzled her cheek with a blissful little sigh. "Also then we find the Bettermans and live happily ever after in their treehouse with the punch monkeys."

Eep poked him in the chest, not really the reaction he was expecting after that happy ending. "You can't just skip an entire chapter like that and tack 'the end!'"

Guy took her hand in both of his, cupping it tender in-between his palms. "It works when your dad tells stories," he joked.

"Well, that was before you started telling better stories," Eep exclaimed with a childish huff that was so her it made Guy muffle a laugh into her shoulder.

"Did you tell Grug that?"

"You know how dad is," she replied a bit more sheepishly this time. "Least everybody doesn't die at the end anymore."

"They don't," he agreed, gazing at her fondly once again. "He's getting better though, I like happy endings."

"I like happy endings. I like you," Eep added, cuddling herself cozy as a cat under his arm and against his chest. She listened to his heartbeat, soothed by the gentle thump.

Guy stroked her back, gentle as he rested his chin above her head. "Only like?" He murmured.

"Maybe if you don't rush your endings then I'll say something else," she told him, Guy feeling her lips as she spoke against his heart.

Guy hugged her, adjusting his position so he could tug his wife onto his lap. She immediately curled up there, warm and safe as he draped his arms around her like a cocoon. "What if there is no ending yet? I like leaving our story open ended, Eep."

He suddenly found himself on his back and he gave a soft oof in surprise. Eep leaned over him, hands braced above his head as she looked down at him. The firelight made her already bright red hair even more so, blazing like the sun with the dark shadows making her eyes and face seem more intense.

"Then… I guess I can accept that," she relented after several moments, a smile crossing her face. She pressed her forehead against his, nose touching his.

Guy's eyes fluttered closed, knowing the intimate implications of the gesture amongst her people. He felt her breath fan his face before something soft touched his lips.

Immediately he wrapped his arms around her, letting his palms gently stroke the strong muscles of her back as they flexed beneath them. He'd never tired of her, beautiful and feral as she was. There was a soft gasp against his lips and he gave a quiet little growl, pressing up to mold his body with hers.

He found his words despite wanting to just keep kissing her. The moment was too right to neglect however. It took a few long moments of trading kiss after kiss that Guy had an idea to put his lips to good use in a way he wouldn't need to stop. Trailing a few heated kisses down the soft slope of her neck, he mumbled, "Eep?"

She hummed, "Mhm?" It was hardly the most direct of words but he took it.

"You lit a fire in me when we met," Guy confessed though he knew it was obvious at this point. It was no secret despite the circumstances of their relationship's beginning, he'd been infatuated and found her cute. Scary habits despite that, of course. "And you were in my every thought since then, I really was hoping you'd call me, Eep."

"I really wanted to go with you," she said, pushing him away to graze a palm down his bicep, tracing a stripe fondly before finding his hand to lace their fingers together. Her touch singed him more than the embers behind him did from where he lay. "I just…"

"You came with me eventually though," he reminded her though found he needed to remind himself to focus when she lifted his hand to her lips to kiss his longer fingers. He closed his eyes, sighing. "You gave me something even better than any Tomorrow I thought I'd find out there."

"Even if you were a stupid boy?" She teased him through the haze, bracing her weight against his again. She still sometimes made fun of him for that but in the moment he hardly cared, caging her in his arms.

"Yes," he grunted, Guy would agree to anything she said right now so long as she kept touching him like this.

Their lips met again but she suddenly paused, her roaming hands no longer roaming. He huffed against her lips, confused and a bit frustrated that she stopped.

"Guy?" Eep murmured against his lips breathily.

"Mhm?" It wasn't an intelligible response but having Eep so close to him like this always rendered him a useless fool.

"Do you smell something burning?" Eep drew away, ignoring Guy's protesting whine as their lips no longer brushed.

"Just my love for you," he told her, sitting up with what he hoped was a winning smile.

Eep flared her nostrils at the smell and eyes widening looked past Guy towards their camp fire, having completely forgotten about the cooking boar during their recent activities.

"Guy, the boar is on fire," she exclaimed.

Guy in an instant scrambled to his feet to try salvaging their dinner. "Oh crap!" He ran for a waterskin and a blanket but to Eep it was probably a fruitless endeavor.

She was never much of a picky eater anyway. Sometimes some burning did a meal good, she thought, touching her lips with a grin.

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plasticfilth · 4 years

Text

personal — tyler seguin.

chapter i, chapter ii, chapter iii, chapter iv, chapter v.

last night left you feeling slightly anxious to be back in tyler's house, despite him not being present. he had left for early morning training while you finished your assigned tasks. walking the dogs, tidying the house of its aftermath, organizing meetings. the usual. you had spent isolated time convincing yourself it was nothing more than the alcohol in his veins talking. he was a mystery to you, like a complex puzzle that’s missing a few pieces. whatever it was exactly going on in that pretty head of his, asking his assistant to change his shirt for him was beyond you. the thought that was more worrying was you blindly acting to his demand.

tyler arrived home that evening having not updated you much about where he was. he exchanged a quick hello, spoke about his meeting and went off to change clothes before situating himself on the lounge, where he had no intention of leaving. you sighed, preparing to gather your things and head off when suddenly his hoarse voice cut through the silence.

“y/n,” he spoke, making your eyes gaze over to him. his arm swung over the back of the lounge, neck turned so he could look at you. “would you come here for a moment? we need to talk,”

those words, as far as you know, are never a good start to a conversation. it felt like you were about to embark on the verge of a breakup despite merely being an assistant. you dismiss your actions of packing up, wandering over to the large beige-colored sectional sofa. he scoots over slightly, fluffing a white pillow behind his back before leaning his elbows on his knees, shifting his body so he’s facing you.

“yes?” the tiredness in your voice is evident. he lets out a closed mouth sigh.

“about last night,” he begins, voice so deep you could envision an ocean. his words always have you drawn in, grabbing your full undivided attention.

“i just wanted to say that the guests were acknowledging how great everything was. you did a good job,” your chest could finally relax. his words not being what you expected, a part of you was assuming it wasn’t his initial thought, but you weren’t complaining.

“well thank you,” you half-smile, posture lifting to be more relaxed.

“your shirt is clean, by the way.” you throw in, making a chuckle part his lips. it was nice seeing him less bossy for a second. suddenly a rhythmic tone rang through the house; the doorbell. simultaneously, tyler slipped his phone out from his pocket, someone ringing him making an evidently stressed look appear on his face.

“could you get that?” he scrunches his face up, almost feeling bad for asking. a look you have to admit you’ve never seen from him.

“it’s part of the job,” you respond, letting him know it wasn’t an inconvenience to you, but more or less speaking to yourself. you skipped toward the front entrance, sliding the chain off the door before peeking through.

you caught a glimpse of bright blonde hair, pulling the door open further. she seemed familiar, but you couldn’t quite tell under the orange sunset glow casting light shadows over her face.

“hi. are you here for tyler?” you share a welcoming smile, despite feeling your shoulders tense.

your boss, dismissing the entire purpose of you arriving at the door first, sprints to your side. he leaves a thud of echoes across the floor and nearly knocking you over in the process. his large figure manages to wedge himself in front of you, making your eyes go wide and arms fold over your chest. he greets her with a hug, and in a matter of seconds, you become invisible.

“ah,” you let out a sound of realization. she has a disgusted look on her face as he walks into the house past you.

“i didn’t know you had a maid, ty.” she giggles at her own words.

“personal assistant.” you correct. tyler is quick to step in, noticing the tone of your voice.

“okay, ah, why don’t you go wait in my bedroom, i’ll be there in a second, yeah?” he brushes his hand gently across the stranger’s arm. it almost made you seethe at the thought that his bedroom, a room so personal to him and off-limits was open for business to anyone willing to sleep in it.

"if my job is done here, i’ll show myself out.” you nod at your own words, turning on your heels toward the kitchen once again. tyler jogs to stand in front of you preventing you.

“no no no, she’s early and i don’t have anything prepared for dinner,” he whisper rants to you, cautious of the peroxide blond overhearing him.

“that sounds like a problem that could have been avoided if you let me get groceries on friday.” you state with a fake smile, knowing his priority was how you looked at the party rather than necessity.

“don’t.” he warns. you cross your arms over your chest once again.

“uber eats, takeaway. the possibilities are endless!” your voice is overall exaggerated as you gaze at him and begin to walk away again.

“oh i’m sorry, was that you or the louis vuitton i bought you speaking?” he questioned, making you pause with your back turned to him, leaving him unaware of the face you’re pulling, which was one of distaste.

“exactly. now can you please go out and get something? anything. then you're free to go.” you relax your shoulders at his words to slowly face him, trying to get back into a positive mindset. “okay,” you let out.

“you can take the jeep-” his words are nonchalant, listing off only one of the numerous cars there are to choose from. he makes a light jog over to the key rack, flicking up the pair and tossing them to you.

“-don’t wreck it.” his words make you roll your eyes.

you decided to stop by the closest restaurant that wouldn’t be too overwhelmed at this peak time of night, ordering for take-away of course. it felt so strange yet nice to drive his car. it suited him, but it didn’t take away from the fact it made you feel like everyone was staring at you in it. climbing back into his custom wrapped vehicle, you sigh, placing the food in the passenger seat before heading back to his house.

upon arrival, trying to carry the brown paper bag and drinks, and keys and your phone, you were relieved to finally lay everything down.

“dinner is served,” you state to no one, the kitchen, living room, hallway; they all appear empty. you furrow your eyebrows to yourself, wandering through the house, knowing it’s way past your time to be hanging around. this is what you call the after dark period, the period of time where you’re not at tyler’s house but curious as to what on earth he does alone. except your questions were answered with the fact he wasn’t.

you hesitantly walk toward his closed bedroom door, a strip of light from the gap illuminating the floorboards where your feet stand. the dreaded sound of giggles and the creak of a mattress makes you grimace and physically recoil your shoulder into your own body. that was your queue to leave.

you leave a note telling him you’ve left, and for how long to heat the food up knowing he’d be incapable of figuring that out himself. surely earning an eye-roll from him when he reads it.

merely another thought you need to clear from your mind until the next morning, which came around much quicker than anticipated.

you let yourself into his house, having the key at your convenience. monday, hoping for a fresh start to the week, a pile of paperwork under your arm reminds you everything you need to update him on. “tyler, i’m here!” you call out, wiping stray hair from your eyes and kicking the door closed gently with the heel of your boot.

you pause in your tracks, body becoming stiff at the sight your eyes land on in the kitchen. “oh, morning,” she smiles to you with her pearly white teeth flashing. a cup of coffee is being held with both of hands, fresh manicure contrasting the white mug. she’s in nothing but one of his shirts, a stars shirt you remember washing just the other day.

“hm,” you purse your lips together. “where’s tyler?” you slowly make your way toward the counter, dropping all of your items heavily making her jump, which amused you. she informs you he’s in the shower, her words make you tune in to the sound of the water running, and you nod slowly while your train of thought flies.

as kind, as you believe you are, there are some pleasures in life you just can’t get by being nice.

“so will you be staying until his girlfriend arrives?” you dig your elbows into the marble countertop, your chin resting in the palm of your hands as you lie through your teeth. her jaw drops, face scrunching and mug lowering into the sink.

“his what?” hand on her hip, she doesn’t seem impressed.

“oh-” you fake a confused look, breathing in through your teeth and stepping back.

“-i guess he didn’t tell you,” your shoulder jumps once as you mindlessly file through paperwork, licking the tip of your finger to make the shuffling easier. all you see is her angry and rushed actions from the corner of your eyes, her shaking her head and huffing.

the front door slams shut almost at the exact moment tyler exits the bathroom. nothing but a white towel hangs from his waist, making your breath hitch momentarily.

the smell of lime body wash fills the room, small water droplets running down his tattooed chest as he saunters to the kitchen sink, noticing the coffee mug.

“uh, where is she?” tyler glances around the kitchen, hands by his side as if to emphasize his question. it slightly hurt that he’d rather those words being his first greeting instead of good morning.

“didn’t see her. maybe she just left.” you shrug, not being motivated at all to carry on being sincere to him. except he was a difficult sight to ignore. his large hands wrap around the edge of the countertop, veins running like stems of plants along the back of his hands. he leans forward slightly, being across from you. the only separation being the marble island and sink.

“girls i’m with don’t just up and leave,” he speaks gently, yet firmly. his eyes are slightly squinted as they dart up and down your body. you breathe out a sharp breath before looking up at him, mimicking his actions of leaning in but knowing very well the movement is pressing your breasts together.

“maybe you’re not as special as you think you are,” your scrunch your nose for a second, words making his jaw tense slightly.

“maybe i’ll fire you for that attitude.” he snaps back quickly. you chuckle in his face, licking the top of your teeth with a confident smile.

“it’s what got me hired in the first place.”

he licks the inside of his cheek, nodding in defeat. “that’s cute,” he comments bluntly, pushing himself away from the island to stroll to the fridge, pulling it open to grab orange juice.

“i know,” you shrug. that makes him instantly turn back and face you again.

“watch it. you’re not that special,” he squints, purposely pressing on. it creates a back and forth between the two of you. he thrives on seeing you react to him.

“then replace me.” you shoot back with a daring tone.

“is that what you want?” he chuckles bitterly, somehow getting closer to you. it was not unusual to be this close in proximity to him at this point.

“tell me what you want, y/n” he repeats softly, eyes darting from your eyes to your lips. you push away from the counter abruptly. the stool beneath you shakes along the floor loudly.

“go put some clothes on so we can discuss your meetings for the week.” you avoid looking at him.

“i think i’ll stay like this for a while,” he folds his arms over his chest, turning to he’s leaning his hip against a new countertop, crossing one leg slightly over the other. it’s always like he wants to intimidate you more than his natural demeanor already does.

“ah right, because your one-night stand took your only shirt?” you tease, raising an eyebrow to compliment your sarcastic tone.

“i thought you said you didn’t see her?” he has a half-smile on his face, head tilting to analyze your response. you refuse to acknowledge his words as you watch him untwist the bottle lid.

“we have a lot to get through. three new meetings and a request to sponsor a suit designer. what would you like to start with?”

“i think we should start by taking this to my office,” he offers in what you assume is his deepest voice possible, slightly husky but casual before preparing to put the juice away. you pause, eyes wide as you try to unpack his words.

“t-ta, i’m sorry, could you repeat that?” you stutter, not knowing if you heard his tone correctly.

he lets out a huff of a laugh. “my office, you know, where all my other paperwork is?” he gives you a “duh” look, speaking to you like a child. fair and able to be swept under the rug this one time because you often have to treat him the same way.

“right,” you nod sharply, wanting nothing more than to bang your head against the nearest wall. he was starting to get to you, that was for sure. nothing was settled in your mind about where you stood with him, what he thought about you or if alcohol really changes or encourages his actions to the extent of toying with you more than he does when he’s sober. it was draining.

“i’ll see you in the office, then.” you tug your skirt down, feeling it crawl up your thighs with every step you take as you walk away from him, quick little steps that you feel being watched. the office has unintentionally become your most dreaded room in the house. the thoughts of him shirtless and glossy with drink down his chest, the thought of him leaning against the desk in his dress shirts and smug attitude. the memory of him inches away, accidentally brushing your thigh with his knuckles. the thought of him throwing you onto the desk and tearing your clothes off - which hasn’t happened - but comes to mind nonetheless.

“y/n,” he suddenly calls out, snapping you out of your trance. you turn to him, paying attention. “you forgot the paperwork.” pointing to everything you left behind in a desperate plea to not keep staring at his half-naked body, which for a professional relationship, you’ve seen too many times.

“right again.” you snap your fingers to him.

“always am.”

#personal series #who:#tyler seguin #tags:#tyler seguin imagine #tyler seguin fanfiction #tyler seguin fic #tyler seguin story #hockey imagine #hockey fanfiction #hockey fic #nhl fanfiction #nhl fic #dallas stars

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wonderlandmind4 · 4 years

Text

Delicate Stages of Life: 24

A Piece of Me

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OFC; Platonic Steve Rogers x OFC

Summary: Life in Wakanda is filled with love, laughs, some tears, all emotions, lazy days, goats, hot springs, a soul connection, and something dark that looms over Bucky’s and Ana’s domestic bliss…

Warnings: Language. Angst. Loss, Grief. Labor pains. Non-graphic child birth.

Words: 11,820

A/N: Again, sorry for taking so long to update. This was a monster for me to write and it’s just been hard to write lately, BUT, this chapter jump starts the last phase of the Drabbles... (Do not read unless you’ve read Delicate Stages first) beautiful moodboard by @afewmarvelousthoughts and thank you for all your help and tears and yelling at me. I’m sorry! <3 **I have never given birth, just going off experiences of mothers I know**

Holidays: 29 weeks Dec 13th:

One morning Ana wakes up to a solid kick from inside her stomach, rapidly blinking at the odd light streaming through her window. After she carefully sits up, soothing her hands over her round belly, she blinks again, startled.

Snow. It had snowed sometime during the night and with the sight comes the realization; it’s the middle of December. Time had ticked by in muted colors to Ana that when she finally came back to herself, five months had passed. Five months since the air filled with ashes. Five months since she last touched Bucky. Five months since the absence of his soul.

Now it’s nearly Christmas. Ana can’t even remember her birthday or Thanksgiving passing. Though by the tears escaping her eyes and the ache in her chest, it’s not going to be a good day. She continues to stare out the window, the snow-covered ground and trees in the distance offer a bittersweet illusion of a perfect world. Quiet. Tranquil.

A memory invades Ana’s mind from last year. Her and Bucky snuggled together in front of a fire at Tony’s cabin, talking about a future family. She shakes the memory from her head and finally gets out of bed, ignoring the very real feeling of Bucky’s arms around her. Ignores the phantom scent of his breath and the spiced apple toddy he drank that evening.

Waddling her way to the kitchen with her hand supporting an ache in her lower back, she spots a blessed pot of coffee freshly brewed. Ana hasn’t had such a desperate urge for the taste of coffee in so long, that she nearly drops the mug she pulls from the cabinet in haste. Once she’s poured herself a generous amount, she inhales deeply. The nutty aroma sending her mind straight back to the first day she met Bucky, and all the sessions that followed.

She revels in memory, when she was proud of herself for pulling a smirk out of the infamous Bucky Barnes after she told him she didn’t poison the coffee. How they starting to bond over silly conversation of coffee, how he used to tease her but ask how to make it properly. How Bucky would sometimes show up before her, waiting for her to arrive with coffee in hand. Ana is so lost in her mind, she doesn’t register the shift of air behind her.

“That’s caffeinated, and I know you are not about to drink it while seven months pregnant.”

Snapping back to reality, Ana shoots a glare over her shoulder at Steve. “Being seven months pregnant is the perfect reason to drink it.”

The sigh Steve emits makes her step back out of his reaching range, just in case. “Ana,” He draws out in mock disappointment.

“No! I need it need it, Steve,” She practically whines, clutching the hot mug to her chest. “Especially today. With the snow and these fucking memories, and Carol isn’t here to help regulate me, and my rings don’t fit right now. I just need caffeine, just this once.”

His eyes narrow. “Just this once?” He repeats incredulously. “Didn’t Rhodes catch you sneaking his coffee a week ago?”

“I can neither confirm nor deny that,” Ana shrugs, lifting the mug to her lips.

Sounds of scuffling come from the front hallway then, Ana distracted enough for Steve to finally and carefully, snatch the mug away from her hands. She makes a noise of protest, before she sees the dark green branches of a pine tree. Natasha and Rhodes carry in a small tree, with Rocket following behind them, an axe propped over his shoulder.

“What the hell is that?” Ana demands quietly, her chest tightening.

“It’s a tree,” Nat snipes dryly. “What the hell does it look like?”

They set the tree down in the living room, adjusting the stand that’s already anchored to the trunk. An onslaught of rage and heartache overcome Ana for reasons she can’t quite comprehend. Abruptly it takes everything she has not to grab the axe from Rocket, chop the tree into little pieces and throw them into the fireplace.

Holidays are meant to be joyful. Holidays are meant to celebrate with families and loved ones. Holidays are meant to bring brightness. They’re meant for the rest of the world to fade away into warmth, sparkles, the smells of baked goods.

Not this time. Ana sees nothing joyous about that tree, just the inevitable death of its needles. She doesn’t feel the warmth of the season, just the continuous frigid void in her chest. Outside, the falling snow morphs into ashes.

“Get it out of here.” Ana nearly growls, her fists clenching; the lights flicker. She can no longer look at it without wanting to scream.

“Uh, why?” Rhodes demands, crossing his arms. “It’s nearly Christmas.”

“I don’t care, just get it out! I don’t want it in here! It doesn’t belong here!”

Rhodes serves Ana a look so stern, she abruptly feels like a scolded child.

“Yeah, you’re gonna have to dial that back,” He commands, gesturing to her. “This is misplaced anger, and you’re taking it out the wrong way. This might not be something you want, but don’t forget, you aren’t the only one suffering through depression. And maybe if you recognized that, you’d realize a damn Christmas tree just might make everyone else forget the shit that’s happened for once.”

His words are a punch to her heart. Immediately all her anger melts from her bones as she looks at the floor. Rhodey is one hundred percent correct, embarrassingly Ana is reminded of how much she truly missed when she shut her emotions off. She hasn’t been fair or considerate of anyone for months. Just because she can’t handle a fucking tree, doesn’t mean she can force anyone else to do the same.

Her throat burns with that wake-up call; the flicker stop flickering. Ana slowly gathers herself, breathes deeply while stroking her hands over her stomach to soothe herself. The baby moves and rolls in response. Finally, she nods.

“You’re absolutely right,” She concedes, meeting his eyes once more. “I’m sorry I snapped. I just…I’m just not in the mood to celebrate any holiday, but I shouldn’t expect anyone else to. I apologize.”

Rhodes stares her down a few moments before his expression breaks. “Accepted.”

The tense silence that follows is heavy and awkward, until Steve pushes the coffee mug back into Ana’s hand. “Just the one cup.”

She silently takes the mug, barely feeling the warmth of the coffee on her fingers. “I’m just going to go lay down now.”

As she makes her exit, Rhodey stops her. “Do you…need anything?” He offers kindly.

She gives him a grateful smile over her shoulder. “No, thank you.”

Steve has been distracting himself from checking up on Ana by pulling the dust covered box of decorations from storage and going through it. Oddly, a glass ornament is wrapped in newspaper, and with a delicate swipe of his fingers over the ink, he’s brought back to another lifetime eight decades ago.

Christmases during The Great Depression weren’t grand; far from it. Memories of Steve stuffing his shoes with old newspapers to keep his feet warm- and possibly give himself a few extra inches in height- fill his head. His mother carefully wrapping handmade ornaments in those same newspapers.

A slightly dirty Bucky just back from working odd jobs here and there, holding up a turkey he received as payment. He had dragged both Steve and his mother over to the Barnes household for a rare Christmas Eve dinner.

Giggles of four little girls huddled together as they watched Steve nail their brother in the face with a slush of a snowball. A quiet night of serving his mother tea as she laid sick in bed. Yet she still gifted him fresh parchment bound together to go with the charcoal pencils Bucky got him earlier.

The memories turn melancholy as Steve remembers that first Christmas without his mother. How Bucky selflessly spent the night away from his own family, taking care of a feverish Steve, even though all he wanted to do was stay huddled in bed and cry himself to sleep from grief. Instead, Bucky pulled out a bottle of whiskey from his tattered coat and dumped some into Steve’s tea.

“Nicked it from that banker's house on the other side of town,” Bucky had shrugged, looked proud of himself before he took a swig from the bottle.

“Buck,” Steve had reprimanded weakly. Until he remembered that banker is the one who cheated on his wife and bragged about it. He had taken too big of a gulp, nearly choked and spluttered.

Bucky waited, patted his back until his airways cleared. “Did that no good, two-timer notice you?”

“Hell no,” Bucky laughed. “Guys like him deserve to have his illegal booze stolen, he’s got enough money to smuggle more. Did you take your medicine?”

Steve held up his mug. Bucky rolled his eyes, then gently pushed him over to snuggle in next to him. Not once did he ever leave Steve’s side. Instead he chatted his ear off with stories of Rebecca attempting to make her own dolls, and that one brunette, brown-eyed dame he tried to save from a sleazy man before she decked the guy square in the jaw.

“I’m sweet on her now. Whatty’a think, Stevie? Think I’ve got a chance with a dame like that?”

(Steve huffs a laugh when he remembers that bit. Bucky always did have a type; it’s no wonder he fell for Ana so quickly.)

"Nah,” Steve said through a cough. “A girl like that wouldn’t give you the time of day.”

“Punk.” Bucky rubbed his knuckles atop his head.

“Jerk.” He weakly shoved him in retaliation.

Silence fell between them; sleep quickly took over Steve’s tired and sick body. He had slid further down the bed, pulling the thin blanket up to his chin.

“Thank you, Buck. For being here.”

Bucky took a minute to respond. “Didn’t want you to be alone during the holidays. With you til the end of the line, pal.”

The light pitters of something wet hitting the newspaper brings Steve back to the present. A few dark drops absorb into the paper before he realizes he’s crying. He hastily wipes the tear off his face, clears his throat and wills away the pain in his heart. Steve gets it. He understands why Ana reacted the way she did.

Shaking his head to clear his past, he rewraps the ornament and returns to his task. Once he’s done, Steve just sits in the closet by himself for a while; allows him himself to wallow. He’s absentmindedly scratching his growing beard, wondering if he should give it a shave when FRIDAY alerts him.

“Captain Rogers, the weather is a brisk 25 degrees outside, with steady snowfall.”

Frowning up at the ceiling as if the AI can see him, he replies, confused. “Thank you? Is there a reason you’re giving me a weather report?”

He swears FRIDAY sigh. “Mrs. Barnes has been sitting out for-“

“Got it, thanks.” Steve cuts her off, yanking the door open. He knows exactly where Ana is.

As he quickly makes his way through the compound, Steve apologizes to that younger Bucky during the all those winters. He recalls his exasperated best friend every time Steve hid out on rooftops and fire escapes after getting into fights. Every time, Bucky had been there with Steve’s coat, or just taken his own coat off to wrap around Steve’s scrawny little shoulders instead.

“Christ, Stevie, your lungs ain’t gonna work anymore the longer you stay out here, punk.”

When Steve climbs through her window, and finally opens the door to the roof, the irony isn’t lost on him. Ana is sitting on the furthest chair, staring out into the frosted woods, snow catching in her long hair. Only a thin blanket over her lap protects her from the cold and the biting wind from the height of the deck. Her hands are protectively cradling the bump of her stomach.

“Ana, what are you doing out here?” Steve questions, briskly walking to her. He places the jacket he found in her room over her shoulders; one of Bucky’s jackets. “You’ll freeze your toes off.”

“You’ll freeze your damn toes off, and I will not explain to your Ma why her son got frostbite.”

He wraps an arm around her, pulling her into his side to share his body heat with her. The old memories of Bucky practically yanking his asthmatic self into a slightly warmer building fade away.

“This is where we kissed the first time,” Ana reminisces, a quiet reserve to her voice. She points adjacent to them. “Right there, when I said those triggers words, he kissed me.”

Steve remembers when Bucky couldn’t stop pacing in his room after that night, panic stricken because he didn’t know how to process his feelings for her. He couldn’t understand how she put so much trust into him. Steve squeezes her shoulder, hoping to offer her some comfort.

“This is where Bucky told me he loved me for the first time. Up here, with pizza.”

His chest feels hollow realizing how many memories this rooftop holds for her. “C’mon honey, it’s not good for you to be out here, let’s go back inside. Warm you up.”

“Nothing is ever going to be the same,” Ana laments as if she didn’t hear him. “Holidays, birthdays, celebrations. Life.”

“Yeah.” Steve exhales wearily.

“I knew this. I knew all of this, but…for months I acted like I was the only one holding onto this grief so heavily. I’ve lost everyone, Steve. I’ve lost my whole family and I never thought I could feel more pain and grief than that. But I was wrong, this is so different. Because I could feel him leave me. I could feel Bucky’s soul rip from mine.”

“It’s incredible, Stevie. I can feel her all the time, like her life energy is this infinite sunlight around me.”

He sees that day clearly when Bucky had said those words to him. He remembers the look of pure awe and adoration on his friend’s face that day. Steve squeezes her closer, offering his comfort in the cold bitter air. Something wet falls onto his shirt, soaks in quicker than the snowflakes. He lifts his hand, gently wiping the tears off her cheeks before the cold can freeze them there.

“Hey now, Steve, c’mon. No tears, they’ll freeze on your face, pal.”

Steve swallows back yet another whispered memory, when he was frustrated the neighborhood bully just kicked his ass no matter how many times Steve got back up.

“Your pain isn’t invalid, Ana,” He tells her delicately, lifting the sleeve of the jacket to dry her face. “That is something none of us will ever begin to comprehend, that connection you both shared.”

“Maybe not,” Ana sniffs, “but that shouldn’t erase anyone else’s pain in my mind and that’s exactly what I was doing.”

“Watching you turn off your emotions was- fuck, it was haunting. It was scary because we couldn’t tell if doing that was just hurting you instead. I hated that you did that, but I also understand why you did. I think we just-“ Steve pauses to gather his words properly.

Ana speaks up before he does. “I’ll never be able to express how sorry I am for shutting everyone out, for acting like- well...like a cold hearted-“

“Don’t finish that sentence,” Steve chastises firmly. “I think we just wanted to have any ounce of your old self back. We were all concerned.”

“I’m still trying to find that myself,” Ana sighs, voice cracking; she sounds exhausted. She tilts her head to the side, leaning on his shoulder. “I got mad about the tree because the memories of last Christmas are perfect. It was our first one together, did you know that? Our first time celebrating the holiday season. I don’t want to celebrate anything.”

“So, keep the eggnog away from you then?” Steve quips lamely. Ana winces and gags.

“Fuck no,” She picks her head back up. “I don’t think the baby’s palate will tolerate that.”

“And I don’t think the baby can tolerate the cold much longer,” He counters. “Let’s get you inside.”

Steve drops his arm in favor of carefully helping up from the chair. Ana winces again, her hands covering her stomach. Pain flashes over her face for a moment, and panic shoots through Steve’s chest.

“Are you okay? What was that?” He asks worriedly, hand hovering along her back.

“It's fine,” She pants, waving him off with her hand. “Just some pressure is all. Little Bean’s running out of room I think.” Relief shags Steve’s shoulders. Until- “The baby is moving a lot. Do you want to feel-?”

“I’m good. That’s not, uh, it’s kind of intimate. Time to go inside.” Steve ignores her bewildered look and focuses on guiding Ana down the stairs safely. He keeps Bucky’s jacket wrapped tight around her.

The memory of last Christmas spent snuggling close with Bucky in front of a fire and talking about their future mocks Ana. It was one of those perfect moments in a lifetime, and she didn’t want to tarnish the memory with this Christmas being...widowed. Alone and 7 months pregnant.

Since Rhodey’s harsh truth, Ana has kept any bitter despair to herself. However, she did allow herself one moment of a Christmas song. It made her smile briefly, before a memory of both Bucky and Tony singing at the top of their lungs as they decorated the tree cut it short.

Ana does not want to decorate the tree. She stays in her room, until Rocket barges in, trailing a bunch of silver tinsel in his wake.

He demands to know, “Who was the asshole to make such a messy infuriating thing to put on a damn stupid tree!?”

Nebula stood at the doorway, a murderous expression on her face as she fights with several pieces of tinsel, static making it cling to her. Ana can’t help the surprised laugh that bubbles out of her at the both of them.

Vaguely, in the back of her mind as Rocket drags her out of her room demanding to untangle the tinsel, Ana thinks the two might have planned it all. She’s exhausted by the time she unknots the stuff, focusing more on the silver plastic and quietly refusing to put anything on the tree.

By the time she’s done, she waddles back to her room, Natasha close behind. All she does is hand Ana a hot mug of cider and snuggles in close. Nat talks to and gently pets her hands over her stomach and promises the baby to teach them her “death by thighs” move one day. Ana drifts off to sleep, head tucked under Natasha’s neck.

When Christmas does come around, it’s with stinging emptiness, of several people missing and the weight of the whole world grieving. At breakfast, as she’s slowly eating, Ana finds herself with a small pile of gifts next to her on the table. Her glare prompts a response from Steve who had given her one more.

“You stayed locked in your room for your birthday last month,” He shrugs, rubbing the back of his neck. “You aren’t having a baby shower. Just accept them. Please?”

Most gifts end up being for the baby anyway, including a crib, so Ana lets it slide and quietly thanks them.

She ends up fighting back tears the longer she stays out in the living room, desperately wanting to escape. She’s exhausted, down to her bones, and the aching in her chest throbbing Bucky’s name hurts more and more. She closes her eyes and breathes, flexing her fingers and smoothing her hands over her stomach. The baby kicks and moves before it settles a few moments later.

Someone sits next to her, and she doesn’t have to open her eyes to tell that the stupidly large and warm bicep pressing against her own arm is Steve. He doesn’t say anything, just simply takes hold of her right hand, and squeezes.

He doesn’t let go, and despite the prickling of tears behind her eyelids and the trembling of her lips, Ana leans her head against his shoulder. The sense of comfort seeps into her own energy, and soon after she falls asleep.

30 Weeks Pregnant:

Just on the verge of her eighth month, Ana hears Natasha’s irritated sigh, as she munches on a slice of mango pizza.

"Ana, I swear if you don’t stop nesting in the office, I will throw away all the mangoes and you’ll be stuck with mushrooms for your pizza topping from now on.”

As Natasha Romanoff threats go, it’s rather mild. She shrugs as Nat holds up two files as proof.

“It was messy!” Ana defends, her feet propped up on the coffee table.

“Lucky you’re pregnant,” She grumbles.

“Enhanced hearing, remember?”

Natasha glares at her. “It took me an hour to find my notes. Why don’t you organize Steve’s shit? Or Rocket’s? I haven’t seen you in Nebula’s room, go nest in there.”

“Nebula would cut my hand off, pregnant or not.”

“It’s true.” Nebula speaks up with her husky low menacing voice, pizza slice in hand. Ana raises her eyebrows at her. She pauses. “Maybe.”

Ana beams. Natasha huffs, coming over to join them. She bends over to gently pat Ana’s belly. Which has grown even more in the past weeks, but dropped as well, the baby’s head sitting lower.

“Your mama better name you Natasha after I put up with her little tendencies huh little one?” Nat coos.

“That’ll go over well if Bean is a boy,” Ana jokes, also patting over where she thinks its little foot is. There’s a responding nudge, a rather firm one. Ana frowns. “Sassy.” Natasha chuckles, then steals Ana’s slice. “Hey!”

“Now someone’s hand will be chopped off,” Nebula inputs at the scene. Ana nods with a pout.

“What are you going to do? Waddle after me with your swollen ankles?” Nat teases.

“You’re being mean to me,” She whines, but can’t keep the smile off her face.

Neither can Nat. “Then keep your nesting habits away from my files, Barnes.”

Ana steals the slice back. “I also reorganized your knives.”

That earns another glare. “So, so lucky you’re pregnant.”

It’s rare, these little moments of teasing and humor. Five months have passed since The Snap, and Ana’s grief and pain are still as crushing as ever. Her dreams remain constant. Dealing with feeling her emotions again has become a little easier, but there are days where she feels shattered by them, and cries into her pillow, or the nearest pair of arms.

Lately, it’s been Natasha. But these moments are what helps get Ana and everyone else through the day. Hour by hour, day by day, week by week. She has also been keeping herself in check and trying to be attentive to everyone’s feelings around her.

“Has Steve woman upped yet and felt the baby kick?” Nat wonders. The red roots of her hair are growing back faster now.

“No…He’s still a little creeped out,” Ana yawns. “It’s kinda funny.”

Humming, Natasha suddenly stands up. “Time for your checkup, let’s go.” Groaning, Ana shoves the last bits of her pizza into her mouth. “Come on. It’s one of the last ones before your due date.”

Ana shimmies from her rather comfortable spot on the couch to the edge, taking a deep breath and readying her swollen ankles to stand. Both Natasha and Nebula carefully grab an arm and help Ana up, keeping her steady until she can stand on her own. An odd sort of pressure throb through her stomach, and she frowns, suddenly thankful she does have a checkup today.

Three days later has Ana gasping awake from her dream. This time she swears she feels ashes slip through her fingers. Brings her right back to that horrid day in Wakanda, when she couldn’t reach Bucky in time. The same constricting feeling settles in her chest, and the room begins to feel hot; a golden orange glow briefly emits from her clenched hands.

Before her powers can lash out, Ana moves the best she can, hurriedly grabbing one of the beads. It only takes a few moments to get a video up, but the second she hears his voice, her heart begins to settle. The glow fades, and the rattling in the room that had started ceases.

Bucky’s timbre soothes her, replaying his lullaby twice more. On the third time, Ana pauses the recording, the projected image frozen on Bucky’s sweet face. The gentle fondness in his blue eyes, the slightly crooked smile, his long hair pulled into a bun, his beard just a touch unruly.

She remembers this day precisely; one of the last days Bucky sang to her stomach, to their child. No matter how many times Ana reminded him that the baby couldn’t hear him yet, he never cared.

It never stopped Bucky from randomly moving from one spot -be it the couch, bed, another room, the hut- to wherever Ana was and kept singing. It never stopped him from dropping to his knees as she made another strange snack she was craving in the kitchen and nuzzling his face against her barely there bump. Never kept him from staying up as she fell asleep to his words whispering lovingly against her skin. Feeling his warm breath, his sweet lips, his soft beard, his gentle caress of his fingers over her stomach. Feeling his heart, his love, his soul.

“I can hear it. The heartbeat.” Bucky would tell her, voice thick with emotion.

She hasn’t felt Bucky for months.

Ana reaches out like she does in her dreams, fingers curving over his holographic jaw. She keeps her touch delicate, as to not distort the image. In this moment, only for a moment, she pretends she can feel him. Pretends that her husband is truly looking back at her.

“I’m sorry, Snowflake,” Ana murmurs, tears burning in her throat. “I haven’t been the same without you. I turned off my emotions. You wouldn’t have liked that at all, would you? I don’t even like myself right now.”

Ana swipes the tears off her chin with her left hand. “But I swear I’ll try to be better. I swear I will take care of our baby for both of us, and he, she- our child will grow up knowing exactly who you are and how much you loved them. I just…I miss you. God, I miss you so fucking much I can’t breathe most of the time, and it hurts.”

Inhaling a shuddering breath, tears overcome her, sobs hitching in her chest. Ana brushes her shaking fingers over his cheek, the image rippling from her touch.

“I love you.”

When she turns off the bead and the image vanishes, she weeps into her hands. Ana wipes her cheeks, attempting to calm herself. Taking deep breaths, she places the bead back into it’s safe place in the drawer. A rather sharp kick from within makes her wince, then chuckle.

“Sorry, baby. I know I’ve been crying a lot lately.” Ana says to her stomach, rubbing soothing circles over her belly. “That can’t feel too good for you either.”

Once Ana’s crying slows, she cleans her face with tissues, blows her nose, and throws the tissues away in the bin beside her bed. Just then her ears pick up a sound outside her room. Carefully standing up, she walks to the door, pulling it open.

“Steve,” Ana greets with a sigh. She shouldn’t be shocked at this point.

Steve smiles sheepishly. “You alright?”

“Yeah. How much did you hear?”

He leans against the door frame crossing his arms, his shoulders hunched. “Just the ending. Sorry, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. Just came by to see if you want to-“

Another kick and more movement briefly make Ana miss what he’s saying. Blowing a slow breath out she presses her hands over the spot; things are starting to get more uncomfortable.

“Sorry, could you repeat?”

He flashes her an understanding look. “Asked if you wanted to go for a walk with us. Nat and I.”

“That sounds like a good idea.” Ana agrees, fighting a wince from the kicking. “Dr. Hammond suggests it now that I seem to be healthy enough. Said the walking could help calm the baby.”

He laughs under his breath. “I can kinda see why,” He says, eyes on her stomach.

“Yeah, this little bean has been more active lately,” She pauses “Steve, um, would you like to feel the baby kick?”

Steve’s eyes snap up to her. “Oh, um, isn’t that a bit personal? I mean-“ He stumbles, rubbing the back of his neck. “I wouldn’t want to impose.”

Ana rolls her eyes fondly. This is her husband’s best friend, he shouldn’t feel weird about it. She grabs his hand, placing the flat of his palm just to the right of her stomach. A few long seconds pass, Ana carefully watching Steve’s expression.

His brows are furrowed, his mouth curving down, as if he’s sad the baby isn’t moving for him. Then, the same rolling pushing movement comes once more and Steve’s blue eyes light up.

His mouth falls open slightly, a toothy smile across his lips. “Ana,” He gasps, meeting her eyes. “That’s…amazing.”

Ana can’t help but laugh, her heartache forgotten for the time being. “See, nothing to be nervous about. Kinda cool, huh?”

“Yeah, yeah. This, this is your baby. You and Buck’s…” His excitement fades into sorrow. Steve lifts his other hand to the opposite side, lightly scrunching his fingers as if he’s waving in a way.

“How about that walk now?” Ana cuts the melancholy short. She’s starting to feel the energy around them changing. Steve’s energy; the same kind he has been keeping from her. “Is it nice out?”

Pulling his hands off her stomach, Steve clears his throat and nods. “Bit warmer today, 56 right now.”

“Let me get dressed and I’ll meet you in the kitchen.”

“No rush.” Steve takes a step before he halts. “Are sure you’re okay, Ana?”

She gives him her most convincing smile, which is a good attempt on her part. “Yeah. Just, missing him a lot today. That’s everyday though,” She chuckles humorlessly. “I swear I’m good, Steve.”

Steve’s scrutiny lasted longer than Ana would have liked. Then he nods. “Take your time.”

The only entertaining thing about New Year’s passing was Ana sitting out on the patio, watching Rocket and Rhodey rig together a contraption to set off fireworks. Natasha sat next to her, Ana’s legs on her lap as she massaged her swollen ankles and feet under a warm cable knit blanket, sitting next to a heater. Nebula and Steve are locked in a card game, when the first firework goes off. Steve flinches then frowns. His eyes meet Ana’s for briefly, before he goes back to discarding.

As explosions go off in the sky, Bucky tightens his arms around Ana’s waist, his face hidden in her neck as he presses a kiss to her pulse. “I don’t think I’m fond of fireworks.”

Ana brushes her fingers through his soft hair, gently scratching his scalp. Slowly she uses her ability to calm his energy, soothe him deeper than a touch. “Makes sense. You are a war vet.”

“Used to hear them go off in Romania sometimes,” Bucky had confessed. “Always thought it was a sign Hydra found me. That they had bombs set around the building I lived in. It was something I could never shake.”

Another one goes off in the distance; Bucky inhales her scent, his hands clutching her skin. Ana catches Tony walking by. “Tony, I thought no one was allowed to set off fireworks up here.”

He catches on quickly, pointing his glass of whiskey towards Bucky. Ana nods, then with an annoyed flare, he says, “Those damn kids. Goodie! I felt like chewing someone’s ear off tonight. I’ll call them!”

Bucky snorts, then sighs in content as Ana continues to relax his nerves with her powers. “They’re pretty, but...too loud.”

“I got you, Snowflake,” Ana promised, pulling up the blanket to cover them both and hide them away.

“I know you do, Annie Doll,” He breathes sleepy. “You’re the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen though.”

Ana chuckles, kissing the tip of her husband’s head as he drifts off to sleep. She can’t think of a better way to bring in the new year than Bucky feeling safe enough in her embrace to fall asleep, even with the ghosts that still haunt his past.

POP!

Another firework glittering in the winter sky rips Ana out of her memories. She catches the small wince of broad shoulders.

“Hey guys,” Ana calls out to Rocket and Rhodey. “I don’t think the baby is fond of fireworks right now. Do you mind if you stop please?”

Rhodey acknowledges her meaningful look, beginning to replace the ones he took out. Rocket shrugs, turns off the machine they built with a wide grin.

“I just wanted to see if I could build it. I did, now I’m bored.” He states, then meets Ana’s eyes.

“How’s about we beat these losers at a game of poker?”

“Deal.”

Ana only lasts two rounds of poker, before Steve is helping her settle into bed. He insisted on following her and carrying her hot tea for her. She adjusts her body pillow and gets comfortable, tapping her hand over the lower part of her stomach where the baby settled with her.

“Thank you,” Steve says, pulling the comforter up for her. “For the fireworks. I know you did it for me.”

“Bucky and I,” Ana begins, pausing only to push past the lump in her throat. “We stayed at Tony’s cabin during the holidays. I don’t think he heard fireworks go off in a while, and out in the woods you aren’t allowed to bring them or set them off. Some neighbors did, and he was nervous about them. I calmed him as much as I could.”

“He never told me that,” Steve says, frowning. The look he gives Ana though, makes her feel bashful. His features soften, and he almost looks...happy. “He was always so in love with you, Ana, before he even knew it. Bucky wasn’t one to ever open up to anyone, even when we were kids. Watching him with you…I’m glad he found you.”

Ana sniffs, rubbing her eyes to stop the tears welling up from falling. The empty ache in her chest is a permanent feeling.

“Sorry, too much Bucky talk. You were having a better night, I shouldn’t ruin it.” Grabbing her hand, he gives it a firm squeeze.

“It’s alright. I just...didn’t want you to feel that same way.” She squeezes back.

“Get some sleep, Ana.”

As she relaxes, her body ready for said sleep, she says, “You too, Steve.”

It’s one of her better days; Ana sleeps through midnight, but the haunting call of her name still echoes through her mind. Her soul still screaming for its other half.

The week following the new year is slow, as if 2019 wants to remind them of half the universe gone. However, Ana’s panic slowly begins to build as she realizes there’s just over a month of the baby arriving.

She’s sitting in the room they decided to turn into a nursery -the room right next to hers- slowly stroking her hands over and over her round stomach. Looking around the room gives her mixed feelings.

A part of her seems to be happy, almost excited to be a mother. The other parts outweigh the joy, however. The bare walls, void of any decorations, makes her heart break. The dark wood of the crib and the changing table makes her seethe. The little animal mobile above the crib breaks her. The mobile hangs an orange fox, a gray owl, a brown bear, and a white wolf.

Pushing herself off the rocking chair, Ana grabs the wolf and tears it off. The whole mobile comes down, crashing into the crib, but the wolf is clutched in her palm. She stares at it, anger boiling in her blood for reasons she can’t explain.

The harder she squeezes, the brighter her hand becomes. Flickering lights throw the room into shadows, over and over. Smoke is beginning to emit from the little wolf, her chest tightening as the edges singe.

“I leave for, what, three weeks, and here you are literally starting fires in your hands.”

Ana snaps her head up. Carol Danvers is standing in front of her, amusement dancing in her eyes instead of any reprimandation. Carefully she places both of her hands over Ana’s fist, and all her raging energy subsides. She hadn’t been aware of anyone coming into the room, so focused on the white wolf.

Quickly pulling her hand out of Carol’s, Ana slowly uncurls her fingers. Sitting in the middle of her palm are the remains of the wolf, completely incinerated. Panicking, she drops it, the tiny ashes caught between her fingers.

“Oh my god,” Ana whispers, horrified at herself.

“Hey, Barnes, I’m sure it's fine,” Carol tells her gently. “They can get you another one.”

“You-you don’t understand,” Ana shakes her head frantically. Ash. Ashes on her hand, her fingers, ingrained in her skin. “I-I have to wash my hand. I have to wash my hand!”

“Come on.”

Carol guides her out of the room, a steady hand on her back, and into the bathroom. Ana proceeds to scrub her right hand at least four times, and once again until her skin feels raw. She feels out of breath afterward, reaching for Carol once more.

“Can you take some deep breaths for me?” Carol coaches, helping her sit on the edge of the tub.

Ana huffs. “I’m trying. I-I can’t. No! Don’t touch me! What if…what if I hurt you? Like I hurt Steve?”

“Look at me, Ana. You are fine, you’re okay right now. You just got worked up and that’s okay.” Carol keeps firm eye contact. She attempts to hold her hands again, this time Ana allows her. “I won’t let anything happen to you. You aren’t going to hurt me or anyone else.”

Finally, Ana gets a deep breath in. She regulates her breathing with help from Carol, until she feels like her senses and energy are no longer overstimulated. Once she’s calm, they leave the bathroom and head outside to the bac deck at Ana’s request. The chill of the air clears her head more as she sinks into a chair.

“It was a white wolf,” Ana tells Carol. Her silence is a cue to elaborate. “My husband...Bucky. He was given that moniker while he was recovering in Wakanda. He told me they sort of adopted, well, accepted him into their family, their culture. King T’Challa told me it also meant strong warrior.”

“That why you tore it off?” She guesses.

Ana shrugs, thinking it over. “I think I was already feeling too many emotions. I saw it, it reminded me of him and how- how everything in that room, we didn’t pick together. Hell, I barely picked anything in that room. I really appreciate Pepper and Nat setting it up, but we couldn’t do it together.”

Danvers remains quiet again, but Ana is grateful for it. She’s pretty good at reading how Ana is feeling, and her silent support is more appreciated than she knows. Ana’s energy always seems to stay dormant every time Carol is close. It’s something interesting to look into later.

“Where have you been?” Ana asks after some time.

During this time Steve found them after FRIDAY alerted him and gave her a thick blanket to keep warm. He stayed long enough to turn on the heaters, then left the women alone, but quietly thanked Carol in a nod Ana caught.

Carol sighs, slumping in her chair and propping her heels on the table. “Other planets. Some are worse from the repercussion of what that purple scrotum sack did. Been getting a lot of hits on my radar. I came back to bring you more elixir in case you needed it. And to check in on my favorite avenger.”

“M’not an avenger but Nat’s in the shooting range. Nebula is...I don’t know what she’s doing but I’m afraid to ask sometimes.”

She snorts. “So, should I not get you a stuffed wolf when the baby is born?”

Ana flicks her off, but Carol’s resounding laugh brings a smile to her face.

When Pepper calls two days later, Ana can’t help but feel something odd about their conversation. As they chat about pregnancy, (”It’s like every ten minutes, Pep, I have to pee every ten minutes!”) Ana asking for any advice her cousin may for her upcoming labor, something continues to feel off. Especially when Pepper drops Tony’s name three times. The mention of him causes her to remember something about FRIDAY.

“Oh!” Ana perks up. “Has FRIDAY informed you of anything about me? Or to-”

A little voice pops up in the background, begging for a snack. “One second, sweetie,” Pepper says to her daughter, then back to Ana. “She just tells me your vitals sometimes.”

“That’s it? She doesn’t ask you for permission to use a security protocol?”

“I- Morgan, be patient please, I’m making it now. Sorry, Ana.”

“It’s fine. I was just wondering why T- um...FRIDAY would feel the need to program an added feature.”

“What are you trying to ask?”

“I just...why would someone need to add an electric defense mechanism-”

“You know what?” Pepper cuts her off, exasperated. “I’m tired of being a go between. I have a toddler to raise who is currently trying to cut her own grapes, and I can’t deal with this right now. I love you, but if you want to know why, you need to ask him yourself.”

“Pep, what are you-”

“This riff between you two has gone on long enough. Talk to each other. I already have one child, I don’t need to raise two more. Speaking of which, you need to tell him. Here!”

“Wait, no!” Ana’s shout disturbs Rhodey from reading his book.

He casts a curious glance her way. She frantically shakes her head, though Pepper can’t see her. Rhodey has now put down his book, mouthing an over dramatic what? Before she can let him know what is about to happen, it happens. There’s a shuffling on the other side of the line, followed by a confused yelp.

Quickly pressing the phone to her chest, she looks over at Rhodey in panic. He leans back in his chair, crossing his arms; a sign of him agreeing with Pepper after he caught on. Taking a few calming breaths, Ana puts the phone back to her ear.

“-think the line went dead,” Is what she hears on the other side. Tony’s voice.

Heartbeat kicking up several notches, Ana braces herself. “I’m- I’m here.”

“Oh.” There’s a brief pause. “Hello.”

He sounds like he’s meeting a CEO of a company he dislikes. As if he would rather be anywhere else than speak with her.

“Hey, uh, hi. H-how are your day?” Ana cringes, wishing the ground would cave from under her. How are your day? Why is she so nervous to just speak with him!

“Good, great. If that was a question.” Tony answers, his voice is carefully calculated. “How are your day?” He repeats.

If she wasn’t feeling so guilty, so anxious, she may have laughed. Instead, she decides to get right to it. The sooner she tells him, the sooner she can end this painful phone call. “I have something to tell you.”

“Pepper mentioned.”

Right. Fuck, if she didn’t answer her phone, this wouldn’t be happening. Maybe Ana would have been fine with never telling Tony, and he would just have found out some other way. She just knows, deep down, how hurt he might possibly be.

She has never kept anything from Tony for as long as she knew him. With the way they left each other five months ago, well, telling him something he hadn’t known for this long could just drive the wedge between them even deeper.

Ana opens her mouth but all that comes out are tiny sounds of words dying on her tongue. She closes her mouth, eyes shifting to Rhodey, who nods encouragingly. Ana gathers herself once more, swallows her hurt and any pride she may have.

“Tony,” She finally says.

“Yep?” His response is quick; a tone Ana knows all too well. It’s the tone he uses to mask his own hurt.

“I-I should have told you sooner, but-” Inhale. Exhale. It shouldn’t be that hard to tell him this. Tony had been with her through some of the hardest events in her life. Suddenly not telling him feels like she insulted him personally.

“I’m pregnant.”

The silence that stretches lasts so long, Ana has to check if the line went dead; it didn’t. “Tony?”

“How far? Five months?” Tony finally speaks up. He sounds distant.

“Eight.” The word comes out as a whisper. “I’m eight months along. 34 weeks.”

“Had an inkling. Do you want a congratulations?”

Ana feels like she was just slapped in the face. Tony doesn’t sound angry, just neutral, but even so, the words sting more than she ever thought they would. Her eyes prickle, her vision gets blurry. She clears her throat, turning her back on Rhodey so he doesn’t see her reaction.

“No, no, it’s fine. Just wanted you to know.”

“Girl, boy?” He asks.

“I don’t know yet.”

“Going old school, I see.”

“I just...I figured it was time to tell you,” Ana’s voice trembles. Her heart is aching, like she just ripped a band-aid from a gaping wound she forgot about. “I’ll let you-”

“Is it healthy?” Tony abruptly cuts her off. “Are…are you healthy?”

The question catches her off guard. “I- yeah. Um, there’s been some emotional stress and bed rest incidents, but otherwise, we’re healthy.”

“Good, good. That’s good. It’s late, you should go, rest.”

“Oh, okay.” Ana says weakly, feeling drained and disappointed. “Yeah. Um, have a good night.” She pulls the phone from her ear to hang up, then hears Tony call her name.

“Ana.”

She quickly holds the phone back up. “Yeah?”

“Will you let me- let us know? When it’s time?”

Ana can’t be too sure, but she thinks she picks up a hint of hopefulness in his voice. “Yeah, I will. I’ll tell you.”

Another beat of silence passes. “G’night, kid.”

The nickname feels bittersweet, but maybe it’s a step in rekindling what she ruined of their relationship. “Goodnight, Stark.”

After she hangs up, a firm yet comforting hand squeezes her shoulder. “You good?” Rhodes checks.

Nodding, Ana shoots him something close to a smile. “Yeah. Yeah, I just...I think I miss him. I do miss him.”

“You should have told him that. I know he misses you too.”

“Maybe...next time.”

Just those few minutes of that conversation has left Ana exhausted. She decides to take a nap, hoping that maybe sleeping will ease the ache on her chest.

Annie

Pain abruptly pulls Ana out of her sleep, ripping away from that dream world. She stares at the ceiling in confusion, wondering what exactly hurt enough to wake her up. Minutes pass, her eyes closing as she’s on the verge of falling asleep yet again, when the second wave hits.

“Oh fuck!” Ana yelps, her hands flying to her stomach. “F-F-FRIDAY, am I having a contraction?”

“I cannot be 100% accurate,” FRIDAY responds quickly. “I have alerted Agent Romanoff. There is a possibility of Braxton Hicks Contractions. I suggest changing positions and counting the minutes between each one.”

Annie

A mixture of a sob and laugh escaped Ana’s lips, because of course she would hear his voice now as she hisses curses through her teeth. Oddly, the voice seems to calm her internal panic, through her pain. As she begins to sit up and shift, Natasha throws open the door.

She’s talking but Ana can’t focus on her words just yet, too busy trying to lay on her side and fight through the contracting pressure. Thankfully, Nat helps her move and settle into a new position. Too long goes by, but finally the pain stops.

“Breathe, remember those exercises,” Natasha is telling her, rubbing her back. Ana adjusts her pillows, feeling utterly exhausted. “Do you know how long that was?”

“Two minutes and 24 seconds,” FRIDAY informs them. “Twenty minutes apart from the first one.”

“FRIDAY get Dr. Hammond on the phone please.”

“Already contacted.”

Ana just shuts her eyes, listening to the slight commotion around her. The baby moves, an elbow or foot clearly unhappy about the lack of space inside her uterus. She rubs her hand around her stomach, ignoring her fear of not being ready quite yet; it’s too early to give birth. Ana begins to wonder how Bucky would have handled this.

Instead of feeling sad, a small smile spreads across her lips. Imagining someone like Bucky who was usually pretty calm and level-headed in most situations, his longtime soldier status the reason for that, would probably be panicking. Considering how he always acted any time Ana was in pain or discomfort.

“You look like a crazy person smiling like that.”

“Hasn’t anyone told you not to call a pregnant woman crazy?” Ana mumbles, cracking her eyes open to see Rocket smirking at her. “Are you so starved for entertainment you wanted to see what potential childbirth is like?”

Rocket shrugs, smirking. “Once I convinced some jerk the only way to smuggle his gun off Contraxia was to shove it up his ass. This isn’t as fun.”

A chuckle escapes her mouth, and suddenly the pressure she’s been feeling in her lower abdominal eases away. Ana heaves out a deep, long breath. Rocket’s smirk morphs into concern as he reaches out to gently pat the back of her hand.

“Can I confess something?” She whispers to him. He steps closer, tilting his head down. “I’m not ready yet.”

Rocket leans closer. “If you want to know my opinion. I think you got this.”

Then he winks as if they’re conspiring. Ana reaches out to gently stroke his ear. Rocket looks shocked at the affectionate gesture, then he relaxes, smiling like he’s proud to make her feel better.

Natasha interrupts their moment. “Ana, Dr. Hammond is on the phone. She’s on the way but wants to talk to you if you can.”

Taking the phone with her doctor relaxes Ana further. Though when she explains the severity of the pain, Dr. Hammond suggests she have a bag ready in case she does have to go to the hospital. The doctor also requests that the AI to monitor her closely and send FRIDAYs system readings be sent to her On-Call phone, just in case.

Through the night, two more odd contractions occur. Although being irregular and far apart though not any less painful, one more call to the doctor has Ana cursing Braxton Hicks contractions. Natasha stays with her the whole time, and Steve lingers by the closed door for far too long.

Sighing, Ana demands sleepily. “Rogers, just come in already, my god.”

Sheepishly, Steve enters the room, and hunkers down at the end of her bed. Ana drifts off into the same world where Bucky is always waiting for her, always barely able to touch her. When she wakes up from the clouds of ash, she slowly turns over. The sight she’s met with makes the tears in her eyes dry up.

Apparently, during the night, everyone made their way into her room. Nebula, Rocket, Carol and Rhodes all sleeping around the bed or propped up against the wall or chair. Smiling, Ana falls back to sleep.

35 Weeks: January 22nd

Over the last three days, Ana has become lethargic. She’s just so tired all the time, despite sleeping for a few solid hours. Maybe the constant trips into that dream world with the little girl and Bucky leave drain her energy more than she ever thought it would. Maybe waking up, never able to save Bucky is taking its toll, and her heart, her soul just aches. She is just so tired.

Though being eight months pregnant and having false contractions probably has something to do with how exhausted she’s been. Ana has yet to tell anyone about her dreams, or how they leave her feeling just as empty as the day it happened. Informing anyone would just lead to more worry, have them doting on her more than they already do.

Steve constantly eyes her, a twitch in his corded muscles as if he is ready to jump into action for her. He thinks he is being covert; he isn’t. Ana can still read and pick up on feelings and energies. Natasha is more inconspicuous about it, rather she just lingers in any room Ana shows up in. Nebula has taken to just drop next to her, pulling out the deck of playing cards, her dark eyes keen if Ana just shifts wrong.

Rocket chats her ear off with stories of him and the Guardians. Most adventures leave Ana clutching her big round stomach in laughter. It’s the most she has laughed in months, and she swears the little raccoon does this because she admitted she was scared to him.

Rhodes has been pulled away for more government and military business, although he calls to check in everyday. Carol keeps offering the last bottle of elixir but when Ana refuses, she just gives her a cup of tea instead. With sneaking suspicion, Ana thinks the tea is laced with the elixir anyway.

As the winter sun begins to set, its light casts an orange glow through the windows, makes the whole area look warm. To Ana, it bares too much a resemblance to her dreams. She turns to head to bed early, leaving the haunting sight of the sunset to paint the interior with its mockery. Ana grabs the mug of tea Danvers left seeping for her, turning her back on the light.

With the twist of her hips, a sharp stabbing pain shoots through her stomach. Ana shouts, dropping the mug, shattering on the floor as she doubles over in pain. This clenched pressure is more severe than the other night, Ana can’t even straighten up. She clutches the counter for balance, panting and gritting her teeth.

Annie.

“Ana!?” Someone calls in fear.

Trying to regulate her breathing, the pain slowly eases up. Ana cautiously straightens up, but the second she does, another pain zings through her lower stomach. Her fingers grip the counter so hard, the granite cracks, gives, then crumbles under her vice grip.

Strong arms wrap around her, balancing her the best they can. Ana is vaguely aware she’s being moved, but through the blinding pain, there’s an internal fear of something hurting her baby. The pain, the agony, the hurt; something isn’t right.

“Ba- the -ba-by,” Ana stammers, chest heaving, hands now clutching her stomach. Beneath her palms, she feels the baby writhe. “Fuck! It- it’s hurting.”

“What? What’s hurting the baby?” Someone demands urgently. “Call 911! Or get the jet ready! Anything! Ana. Ana, honey, look at me, can you hear me?”

All she hears is a panicked tone, firm callous hands squeezing her elbows. The baby shifts, curling and twisting in her stomach. Ana wants to reach in and protect her child, their child, from whatever is causing this white-hot agony.

She won’t release her arms from around her stomach, she can’t respond to anyone’s worried calls. She just shuts her eyes, tears stinging before they escape. She’s panting, trying to breathe but the darkness around the searing pain is almost too seductive to resist.

Suddenly, the pain stops. Ana can finally breathe in and out, in and out. Once she can inhale without any more contractions, she can finally speak.

“Something is wrong,” She breathes out, fear clenching around her heart. “It doesn’t feel right.”

“Just continue to breathe like you are,” Natasha urges, her voice shaky. “If you’re able to make it to the quinn jet we can fly you to the hospital.”

Bracing herself on whoever is holding her, Ana grabs at their shoulders slowly standing up. Concerned blue eyes gaze down at her, roaming over her face for any other signs of pain. Steve lifts his hand to her forehead, pressing his knuckles against her skin.

“Shit, you’re burning up. Let’s go, I’ll carry you if you can’t walk.” Steve offers, about ready to do just that.

“No,” She heaves, wincing as a lesser contraction wrecks her. She waits until it eases up. “But-but- these are too close together.” Ana gasps then, looking down at her legs, her pants soaked. “My water just broke.” She whispers, terrified. “Steve, it’s too early.”

The way those blue eyes shift from his own fear to determination soothes her terror just a little. Steve and Natasha volunteer to go with her, though Carol insists she help bring Ana up to the launch pad. As they leave, a concerned Rocket waves, wishing her good luck.

“Have fun,” Nebula pipes up after Ana is nearly out of ear shot.

“Have fun?” Rocket deadpans.

Nebula just shrugs, her hands balled into tight fists.

Arriving at the nearest hospital only takes fifteen minutes by jet. By some mercy, Ana doesn’t have another contraction or pain during the flight. Once they get her a wheelchair though, another occurs. People are talking around her as she fights and breaths through the pressured pain entering the hospital.

“Who’s your obstetrician?”

“Uh,” Ana pants, pushing her sweaty hair out of her face. “Dr. Hammond.”

Thankfully, she doesn’t have to continue talking after that, as Dr. Hammond rushes through the doors of the floor they’re on. Grateful for Natasha taking over for filling out the remaining information needed.

“Is anyone coming in with you, Ana?” Dr. Hammond inquires, after speaking with some nurses. She looks between Steve and Natasha.

The question catches her off guard. “No! No. I-” Ana chokes up, nearly breaking down with grief because Bucky isn’t here. She feels his absence, his death more than ever. “I can do it on my own.”

Those words seem to strike a chord with Steve. He abruptly moves in front of her, bending to her eye level. Fierce protectiveness shining in those blue eyes. Steve grips her hands hard enough for her to know.

“Ana,” He begins lowly, firmly. "You don't have-"

“I’m scared," She admits. Her bottom lip trembles as hot tears finally spill from her eyes. "I’m so scared. It’s too early. What if-“

Hushing her gently, Steve carefully pushes back her damp hair. “I know, I know you’re scared right now. You can do this. I know you can. You are not alone. I’m with you, Natasha’s with you. We’re right here for you. You don’t have to do this alone if you don’t want to.”

Ana squeezes his hands as another mild contraction rolls through her. She hunches over, listening to Steve instruct her to breathe deeply. When it subsides, she looks up at him through tears.

“How can you be so sure?” She asks breathlessly.

He blinks, taking a second to realize what she means. Then his face softens. “Because you’re you. Because you’re the most determined, stubborn, and strong woman I know. You can do this. Then you get to meet your child after, and that is going to be amazing.”

Ana nods, trying her best to believe him. “Yeah, yeah you're right. I-I wish Pepper were here though.”

“We called her, she’s one her way.” Natasha pipes in, handing back the clipboard to the nurse.

"Nat,” Ana shudders out another deep breath as the baby wiggles around. Suddenly Steve’s words strike her deeper. “Will you stay with me?”

“I won’t leave your side.” Natasha promises fiercely.

Dr. Hammond jumps in then, informing Ana of a drug they’re going to give her to slow the labor, then run some tests. She instructs Natasha of a nurse coming out to bring her sanitary and protective gear for the delivery room when it’s time.

They wheel her towards another set of double doors, and that’s as far as Steve can follow for now. Before they go through, he bends over, placing a kiss on top of Ana’s head.

“You’re strong. You can do this. Everything is going to be fine. I promise.” Steve reminds her fervently.

Annie

A newfound strength enters her body. Ana can’t be certain if it was Steve giving her one last encouragement through her powers, or the voice in her ears.

Administering the drug does help slow Ana’s labor down, and thankfully she’s able to get the epidural put in. Steve is allowed to visit once she’s checked into her room and bed. Pepper gets delayed by a mild snowstorm but promises to be there as soon as she can.

Usually giving a drug to delay preterm labor to a soon to be mother works better, if the mother didn’t have a form of super soldier serum in her DNA. The drug wears off just nine hours later, as Ana found out as she awoke with more intense pains. Before she knows it, it’s time.

“Ready?” Dr. Hammond questions as she settles between Ana’s legs.

Frantically Ana shakes her head, scrambling to find Natasha’s hand. Nat grabs her hand with both of hers, leaning close to her head. It’s still too soon. What if something goes wrong? What if her powers act out? Oh god, what if baby doesn’t survive?

Natasha’s soothing voice in her ear encourages Ana as she pats the back of her hand. Listening to her words as the doctor and nurses prepare behind her propped-up feet, begins to calm Ana just a little. She swears she feels Nat’s steady, relaxed energy seep into her.

Instructions to push when necessary are relayed to Ana, but as she screams and shouts through gritted teeth and crushes Natasha’s hand, she has to. When the pushing starts, the lights in the room glow brighter. They begin to flicker, the room fading in and out of darkness. A golden hue shines around Natasha’s hands clasps over Ana’s. Her friend calling her name is slowly fading away, as she begins to fall under water.

Annie

She hears the muffled concerned voice of the doctor; something is wrong with the baby. Ana fights to stay awake. Fights to give her baby a chance because if Ana fades away now, will she take her child with her?

No. She refused to let that happen. Pushing with all her might, she channels what she has of her own energy through her blood, her body, to her child.

Annie

The voice beckons to her again. Over and over; a haunting echo of a lullaby. Ana stops fighting, allows the darkness of a faded loving caress to pull her in. She hears cries fill the room just as her world goes black.

Stillness. Quiet. Serenity.

The absence of sound slowly pulls Ana up from the ground. As she stands there, her mind void of any thought, she stares ahead at the endless horizon. An invisible grip tugs from inside her chest, her feet moving of their own accord. She moves through the glassy sea, ripples spreading out with each step.

Blinking to awareness, Ana is face to face with a dark wooden door.

A small touch wraps around her left hand. Looking down, she sees that same little girl; her beautiful green skin, the markings on her cheeks, her red-brown hair. It’s her big eyes that gaze up at Ana that always reach into her heart. Ana closes her fingers around her little hand.

“Where am I?” Ana inquires, her voice quiet echo.

The child smiles. There’s something sad about it. “I think you know.”

Casting a glance around at the horizon of every way, she nods. “What is your name?”

The girl pauses, but only for a moment. “Gamora.” It’s then she releases her hand and steps back. “You aren’t here for me though. That’s okay. I can wait.”

Perplexed, Ana asks, “What do you mean?”

Without answering, Gamora holds her arm out to the door in front of them. Ana shifts her eyes to the door, and what awaits on the other side. When she looks to the little girl once more for guidance, Gamora is gone. She doesn’t ponder where she could have vanished to. Ana places her hands on the door, and pushes.

Warmth blooms from her chest, as if her soul ignites within. Her heart fills with hope, with love, and with terror. Ana has been met with this same sight before. Has felt these same feelings race through her veins every time she sleeps.

Bucky stands before her. Same ocean blue eyes, same soft expression, same little smile on his lips. He takes a step forward, lifting his right hand. Ana bites her lip, dreading for when they make contact, he will crumble into ash like always.

“Hi Annie,” Bucky speaks. His voice seeping into her bones.

Despite the inevitable pounding through her chest, Ana brings her own hand up. Slowly, she reaches for him, the warmth of his hand erases any fear. Bucky intertwines their fingers together, his smile widening. Ana moves closer, squeezing his knuckles. When Bucky remains solid and firm in front of her, tears fill her eyes.

“Bucky.” His name leaves her lips on a sob.

Her husband gently cups her cheek with his left hand, the cold of his metal palm sending goosebumps all over her skin. Ana presses her lips to his hand, holding onto to this moment for as long as she can. Bucky pulls his hand from hers, only to wrap his arm around her waist, tugging her to his chest. Ana grips him tight around his back, resting her ear directly over his heart that she can hear pounding in his chest.

“Are you real?” She murmurs, tears falling down her cheeks.

His soft chuckle rumbles through his chest. He leans back, delicately cups her cheek to pick her head up. Bucky connects their foreheads, eyes gazing affectionately into hers. His vibranium thumb sweeps along her cheekbone, wiping away her tears.

“I’ve always been real in your dreams, darling.”

Ana lifts her hand from his back to brush her fingers through his soft hair. “Is that what this is then? Just a dream?”

"Not exactly.” He laments with a sigh. Ana leans back, and the happiness in those beautiful eyes of his fade away. “I fear you may be here permanently if you don’t leave soon.”

“But I- I just got you back,” Ana frowns, shifting her hand from his thick hair to his cheek. The soft scruff of his beard tickles her palm. Bucky turns his head, kissing her palm. Her heat sinks then. “This isn’t real.”

Sadly, Bucky shakes his head. “This isn’t your world. But that doesn’t mean I can’t be selfish and just hold you a bit longer.”

Ana fully throws her arms around him in a vice grip, foolishly thinking if she can hold him tight enough, he can stay buried in her soul forever. His returning hug is just as hard, the pain from his grip just confusing her more. They move at the same time, finding each other’s mouth and placing a firm, desperate kiss to their lips.

“I need you to go back now, love,” Bucky gently urges, after he breaks their kiss.

“I don’t want to,” Ana cries, now clutching at his chest. “I need you.”

Bucky’s eyes suddenly fill with tears, falling over the edge and down his cheeks. For the first time Ana has ever entered this dream world, Bucky has never cried. She delicately wipes the wetness from his beautiful face. His smile breaks her heart.

“Someone else needs you now, Ana.” He tells her. Bucky kisses her forehead. “It’s time to go.”

Her chest tightens then, as if her soul is losing him all over again. Nodding as tears continue to fall, Ana wraps him up in her arms one last time, holding onto his warmth. She presses her right hand firmly over his chest, memorizing the rhythm of his heartbeat.

“I love you, Bucky. James, I-I love you so much,” Ana sobs.

Bucky runs his fingers through her hair, bringing the strands up to his mouth, before letting the hair fall back into place. “You’re my heart and soul, Ana. I love you.” He gently kisses her lips. When he pulls back once more, his blue eyes shine with pride. “She’s beautiful, by the way. Take care of her, Annie.”

“She?” Ana frowns, confused.

He places his hands on her chest. “Wake up.”

Then, Bucky fades into dust.

Ana gasps.

"We got a pulse!” Someone shouts.

Ana blinks up at too bright lights, dazed, confused, abruptly cold. The commotion around her fades into the background as she slowly becomes aware of her surroundings. Her fingers scratch against stiff cotton, her damp skin making them feel too sensitive against her hands.

A dull pressure releases from her lower half, from her stomach perhaps? Her back? Her hips? Nope, it’s definitely soreness between her legs. She’s cold and sweaty, can now feel her hair sticking to her face. Her chest is heaving, her arms lifting as to reach for something.

“I don’t understand, her vitals stabilized quickly. They’re all normal, doctor.”

The minute the words break through the muffled barrier of whatever ocean she was under, is the minute she hears the crying. In a rush of sensory overload, everything crashes back to her.

Her baby. Ana just gave birth.

“Mrs. Barnes? Ana, can you hear me?” Dr. Hammond’s voice is speaking to her right.

Nodding frantically, Ana answers her hoarsely. “Y-yes. I’m fine. I-where’s my baby?”

Still a little unfocused, she misses when the nurses double check her vitals, and then, the wails of an infant come closer. Someone questions if it’s a good idea, doubts the steady condition she seems to be in. Whoever it was is shot down though, as blonde and red hair come into Ana’s vision.

“Thank, god,” Natasha breathes, her shoulder sagging. “You scared us.” She shakes her head, then smiles. “Would you like to meet your daughter now?”

Carefully, Natasha hands over a little bundle of a blanket, laying Ana’s baby on her chest. Hands works to gently tug down her gown and unwrap the blanket. It’s that first skin to skin contact, that first feel of her baby girl’s beating heart against her mother’s, that breaks Ana.

Ana cries, sobs, as she delicately holds her daughter against her chest. For the first time in a long time, her soul pulses with warmth.

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

Drabbles: Twenty-Three Drabbles: Twenty-Five

(Note: Ana’s labor/birth is loosely based off of my sister-in-laws experience.)

Tags: @thecreatiivecorner @buckyland @stressedasalways @watchoutforfrostbite @justreadingfics @keldachick @eurynome827 @elatedmarvel @shesalatesh @paintedgreywriting @buckaroo-blue @afewmarvelousthoughts @crushedbyhyperbole @shesalatesh @jaxthebookworm

#bucky barnes x ofc #Bucky Barnes x Ana #bucky barnes x ana rios #steve rogers x platonic!ofc #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x original female character #delicate stages drabbles #delicate stages of life #bucky barnes angst #steve rogers angst #baby barnes

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side-effect-of-the-meds · 4 years

Note

Oh my, I need to know what is going to happen with Niko and Kev after Kev panicked

Winter spends the night picking the pieces and gluing Niko back together again. They wipe the tears from his face and convince him to stay right where he is until they come back. They’re only gone ten minutes but it feels like ten years so Niko buries himself in a nest of Winter’s sheets. When they make it back upstairs with a shit ton of food, their chest aches bc look at him! He looks like a literal child hiding from his father. That’s when they send the text message to Kevin. It’s not that they mind Niko staying over, they’re just so upset bc he’s in so much pain. Platonic cuddles ensue bc neither of them have confessed yet.

Kevin is crying as he curls up in Aaron’s arms. Amalia is still very angry at her father but he’s crying now so she sits with him too. None of them really know what to do. Niko doesn’t know about his biological parents yet and neither of them are keen on telling him just yet. Instead, Aaron holds Kevin until his tears run dry and tucks him into bed. Amalia decides she’s going to spend the night in her dads’ room so she gets tucked in beside him.

As soon as Aaron leaves the room, Kevin calls Niko. It goes straight to voicemail. Kevin curls up around his daughter and tries not to cry again.

Aaron calls too and, right before it can go to voicemail, Niko picks up.

“Niko.” His name came out in a breath Aaron hadn’t known he’d been holding.

“Dad.” The crack in Niko’s voice shatters Aaron’s heart. He’s never heard Niko sound so hurt.

“I just wanted to check on you. Make sure you get some sleep, alright?” Aaron couldn’t see him but he knew Niko was nodding. Sometimes, when things hurt too much, Niko had the tendency to shut down. His brain stopped functioning and he forgot how to speak. Selective mutism was something that often accompanied anxiety but, with his new medication, Niko’s episodes were getting fewer and farther between. Aaron worried his bottom lip between his teeth. How far back is this going to set him? It didn’t matter. They’d figure it out. They always did. “Can I talk to Winter?”

“Sir?” Winter’s voice was softer than freshly fallen snow.

“How’s he doing?”

“He hasn’t spoken since he got here. Ko, had to write down what happened.” Aaron cursed. “I’ll bring him home tomorrow morning. How’s your husband?” Winter’s voice went tight. Unlike Aaron, whose anger raged like a fire, there was something frigid about Winter’s anger that sent chills down his spine.

“Kevin feels terrible.”

“He should.” And the line went dead. Winters in Washington were harsh and unforgiving. Winter Aziz was no different. Aaron slipped his phone into his pocket and scrubbed a hand over his face. Tomorrow morning was going to be Hell. Cracking the bedroom door open, he slid in and got changed in the closet. He tossed his phone onto the nightstand before climbing into bed. Kevin’s arm wrapped instinctively around him and Amalia scooched closer in her sleep. It wasn’t long before sleep dragged Aaron’s eyes shut, leaving all his problems for the morning.

Sleep didn’t come quite so easily to Niko. Trapped in the confines of his mind, he struggled to explain to Winter why everything hurt so much. It didn’t seem to matter though. Winter knew everything there was to know about him. They knew that the sting of Kevin’s slap was nothing compared to the complete and utter betrayal of Niko’s trust. In the background, an old bollywood movie was playing but neither Niko paid it no attention. Instead, he found himself quite content to stare at Winter. Reaching a careful hand out, he buried it into the messy mop of curls atop their head. They turned to look at him then.

“Pretty,” he managed to struggle out. A flush of color crept up Winter’s necks and their cheeks went pink. Every time Niko began to think Winter was as beautiful as they could get, they went and proved him wrong. Niko let his hand fall out of their hair and trail down their cheek.

“Niko,” Winter said, a note of warning in their voice. He let his hand fall away entirely. He watched in silence as they stood and drifted around the room, getting ready for bed. They’d already dragged him out of bed to brush his teeth and sat him down on a stool in the tub to give him a very quick bath. That had been a rather interesting ordeal.

Winter had commanded Niko to strip down to his boxers and sit down on the stool. As always, Niko did what he was told. He’d watched as Winter rolled up their sleeves and stripped down to their own boxers before stepping in behind him. With gentle hands, they’d washed his hair and scrubbed his body. A little soap had fallen onto Winter’s nose, something that had only become apparent to Niko as they’d shifted to stand in front of him. Immediately, he found himself filled with the urge to kiss it off. Without thinking, he’d caught their face in his hand and drew them close. It was only at the last second that he realized what he was doing and managed to change his motion from a kiss to blowing the bubbles off their face. Winter’s laughter had filled the bathroom as they swiped the last of the soap off their face. They’d helped Niko out before handing him a towel and some clothes and sending him on his way.

Laying in bed, Niko wondered if there’d ever be a time when he wouldn’t want to kiss Winter. He highly doubted that. Maybe one day he’d grow the balls to actually do it. The lights clicked off but the moonlight streaming through the open window illuminated Winter’s form. Some days, Niko truly believed that they had been crafted from the mantle of one of the moon’s craters and given life by the light of its rays. There was something so otherworldly and ethereal about Winter that he could think of no other explanation. He’d told them as much once and they’d laughed.

“No moon could shine without the light of their sun,” Winter had replied.

“Who’s your sun?” Niko had asked. Winter hadn’t said anything, opting instead to brush one of Niko’s stray curls from his face. Oh. Niko’s face burned brighter than any star at the implication.

There were times when Niko let himself believe that maybe, just maybe, Winter might like him. It was a stupid thought to have and Niko knew it couldn’t be true but... it was just such a nice thought. A future with Winter was nothing more than a daydream, a reverie with which Niko had spent so many endless hours envisioning that it might have been enough to constitute a lifetime on its own.

Niko rolled over onto his side to give Winter space on the bed. If he dared to lay facing them, there’d be no chance of him getting any sleep at all. On more than one occasion, Niko had wasted the whole night studying the soft curves of Winter’s face. The bed shifted slightly beneath Winter’s slight weight. An arm came, wrapping around his torso and drawing him in. Niko’s heart nearly stopped when Winter laced their hand through his and pressed it to his chest.

“Goodnight, Nikoshi,” they mumbled into the back of his neck. It took every ounce of his will to control the full-body shudder the heat of their breath elicited. There really would be no sleep tonight for him, would there?

Amalia woke first. Normally she’d be content to lay there between her dads but today was Saturday and on Saturdays, she watched Fish Hooks with Niko. She scrambled out of bed, careful not to hit either of her dads on her way out. She padded across the hall to his room. The door was wide open and Niko was nowhere to be found. Her chest tightened as she tiptoes downstairs. The living room and kitchen were empty too.

The door alarm chimed and Amalia rushed to the foyer in time to see Winter step in with Niko not far behind. Amalia raced up to her brother and flung her arms around him.

“Let’s go. Let’s go. Let’s go,” she chanted.

“Where?” Niko asked.

“We’re going to miss Fish Hooks,” Amalia whined as she tugged him towards the living room. A look passed between Niko and Winter. “You’re Imzadi can come too,” Amalia said. Niko made a strangled noise as he looked at her in horror.

“What’s an Imzadi?” Winter asked, shutting the front door.

“Friend,” Niko replied quickly. Amalia grinned up at her brother, content to watch him squirm. She took his hand and led him to the living room, Winter trailing behind. The three of them sat down on the couches and watched tv until they heard the familiar shuffling of their father on the steps. Niko went rigid and the memories of the day before flooded her mind.

Kevin stopped short at the sight of Niko on the couch. Having Niko home was like having a thousand-pound weight taken off his chest but the glare Niko gave him now seemed to weigh even more.

“Can we... talk?” Kevin asked quietly. He watched as Winter tightened their grip on Niko’s arm but he shook it off as he stood. Kevin followed silently after Niko as they headed for the kitchen. “I’m sorry,” was the first thing out of his mouth. Niko looked unimpressed. “I’m going to show you something and you can not tell Amalia. She’ll find out in her own time.” With those words, Kevin tugged his shirt off to reveal the mess of scars that ran along his torso. He heard Niko curse under his breath.

“How-”

“Who,” Kevin corrected. “When I was very young, my mother died and I was sent to live with a friend of hers. Tetsuji Moriyama was not kind to me but his nephew was. Riko was like a brother to me and the only family I’d ever known. There’s a lot of things about the Moriyamas that I need to tell you but now is not the time. Neil and Jean are coming to visit this summer. I’ll tell you everything then, but now, what you need to know is that my brother hurt me. It started with small things: hitting me when he got mad, shoving me when I got in the way, and then it escalated to-” the words caught in Kevin’s throat and he swallowed hard. He shut his eyes then. “To this,” he said, gesturing the scars that crisscrossed his torso and raced down his forearm. He couldn’t bear to look at them.“Riko tried to ruin me and, for a second, I thought that you’d ruin Amalia too.”

No answer came. Not a verbal one at least. Instead, Kevin felt Niko’s arms wrap around him, crushing him close. Hot tears seared Kevin’s skin. He held Niko tight.

“I’m not him,” Niko choked out.

“No,” Kevin agreed. “You’re most definitely not.”

#just a pipe dream #all for the game #the foxhole court #aftg #tfc #all for the gay #the foxes #aaron micheal minyard #aaron minyard #kevin day #kevaaron #nikoshi doe #winter aziz #amalia day #reveal to me your deepest desires

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thethoughtsfromthreeam · 4 years

Text

California

Pairing: Agent Whiskey/Jack Daniels x OC

Warnings: PTSD

A/N: We’re coming out of the angst mood and this will be the last wholly flashback chapter. We return to present day in Part 8. Doesn’t mean there won’t be flashbacks, but the action is now moving forward!

And I can’t believe the number of people who have followed this blog in the last week or so (has it only been that long?) and the people who are liking the posts. Y’all know how to make a girl feel good. :)

Reminder: I haven’t seen Kingsman: The Golden Circle, so I’m just using the Wikia, IMDB.com, some gifs, and my own weird ass brain to make up this whole ass story.

Tag List: @zeldasayer , @romanticgumchewer, @tarrevizslas , @coolmaybelateruniverse , @the-feckless-wonder, @lavenderl3mons , @pascalisthepunkest , @mandoandyodito , @randomness501 [please message me to be added or subtracted]

[PART 1] [PART 2] [PART 3] [PART 4] [PART 5] [PART 6]

Part 7

Road to Recovery

It was the sharp yelp and half sob that startled nurse Cider at her desk. Looking up she realized the sound came from her only occupied bay. She got up and walked into the room to find Sirah laying awkwardly in the bed, tears trickling down her face.

“You tried to move again, didn’t you?” the nurse asked. She didn’t need an answer, she already knew it. She was just being polite. Sirah gave a slight nod. She’d been fully conscious for only forty-eight hours, but every moment of it was a cycle of pain and then calmness as the drugs kicked in. She was in the pain portion of the cycle.

“It’s so hard to breathe, Cider. I just can’t seem to breathe.”

“I know, honey. Let me get you more comfortable and see if that helps a bit.” Cider stepped out and waved over another nurse. They came into the room and each grabbed Sirah under her arms to pull her gently up. But something about the way they held her made their patient go rigid with fear.

“NO!” She cried out. “NO, don’t take me!”

For a moment, she wasn’t in the med bay, instead her mind was suddenly back in California and trapped in the fear she felt while captured. She started shaking violently and both nurses dropped their hands. Cider reached out and touched Sirah’s forehead gently, calling to her.

“Sirah, honey, it’s okay. It’s okay. It’s just me and Tea. We’re here to help you, it’s okay.” Cider rubbed her palm on the woman’s forehead while grasping her hand with the other. After a moment, Sirah’s eyes looked over at the nurse and seemed to refocus.

“Good, honey. Good.” She kept her voice calm and even. “Tea and I are going to help you move, remember? We’re going to put our hands back under your arms and under your legs. And you’re going to be more comfortable. Yeah?”

Sirah nodded and this time, while keeping her eyes focused on Cider, she let the nurses move her. Soon she was shifted higher and suddenly she felt as if she could breathe again. The nurses tucked her back in, took a few vitals, and patted her hand before they left. While they worked, in the shadows outside the room stood Champ. As the nurses passed him, he paused before entering the room. Looking at the ceiling, he took a deep breath and willed the tears from his eyes before walking in.

Normally, the man was larger than life, standing taller than most of his agents physically and bigger than everyone else through his personality. But when Sirah laid eyes on him, she noted he looked smaller, older even. He sat down next to her bed and took her hand, cradling it to his cheek. She let the tears stream down her own as his warmth seeped into her hand and then into her heart. She was home again.

---***---

She had been in a coma for several weeks as the med team worked to fix what they could, but once she woke up, the reality of what happened to her began to set in for the team. The trauma of her experience wasn’t something she had been trained to handle and she spiraled deeply into this scary new world as the days passed. Soon the personality that inspired Tequila’s Shirley Temple nickname was gone and in its place was a woman full of fear.

One day after Ginger had visited for some time, Sirah cried pitifully when her friend left. She curled into herself the best she could, thinking her friend was never coming back. The abandonment compounded everything.

Champ and Dr. Licuados consulted daily with the in-house therapy center about the situation. A therapist was assigned to her, code named Orange, but in the early days there wasn’t much either doctor could do to ease the pain and fear. The three watch as Sirah nearly become a ghost of herself.

Her friends were sick to their stomachs at the change and tried to do whatever they could within their power to help her through it. After the event with Ginger, the four of them agreed to take turns being with her. Just being in the same room was often enough for Sirah most days, so they’d bring work or field reports or even just books to pass the time.

Ginger took the mornings, Tequila took the afternoon shift, and Champ stayed by her side in the early evenings. But Jack was the one to stay with her at night. Seeing his sleeping form on the couch next to her brought her immense comfort and often, she would reach out and touch his hand with hers. Every time, even dead asleep, he grasped hers in return and never let go.

---***---

A month after she woke from the coma, the doctors agreed to move her to a private therapy bay to continue her recovery. Her cuts had scarred over, her burns were stable, and the breaks and fractures were just about healed. She was able to begin the next phase of her healing and the days took on more structure.

Physical therapy in the morning with Tequila there as her own personal cheerleader and sometimes Ginger when he was out on assignment. Regular therapy with Dr. Orange in the afternoons, and in the evenings, Jack came “home” to stay with her. Champ made it a special order to have lunch with her daily and sometimes his wife would join them.

Her recovery probably wouldn’t had gone as well as it had were it not for her friends. The love and support they provided guided her through the dark moments. One night, after she had been cleared to take a shower, Sirah stood beneath the water, relishing the feeling of being clean. Without thinking, she turned her face upwards into the spray and immediately her brain was flooded with the memory of her water boarding.

She pulled back, gasping and cried out before she fell against the shower wall in terror. Immediately, Jack rushed into the bathroom, calling her name. He pulled back the shower curtain and found her sitting on the floor, crying and shaking with the memory. He turned off the water and dropped to his knees. He wrapped her in his arms and held her against him. Nothing he could say could reach through to her, so instead he rocked her body as she cried. It cut him to the core and broke his heart into a million pieces. Soon she quieted down, and her arms snaked around his waist.

“Moonshine, let’s get you cleaned up.” She nodded and was patient while he soaped up a rag and gently cleaned her. He rinsed and dried her off before helping her dress. When he got her settled in bed, he texted Tequila to come take his place. When he arrived, Jack outlined what had happened and said he needed to step out. Tequila clapped a hand on his shoulder before sitting down on the couch. If Jack needed a minute, then dammit, he was getting one.

Jack ran down to the training room and turned on the lights. He rolled his neck and cracked his knuckles as he walked over to the punching bag. He took a deep breath and threw out his right arm. The contact stung but it didn’t stop him. He took the rest of his anger and grief out on the bag. He eventually collapsed against it, exhausted, but calmer.

---***---

“Orange. . . can I talk about that night?” Sirah sounded hesitant, but the therapist gave her a reassuring smile. Half a year had passed since California and Sirah now found herself curled on the end of her couch, wrapped in a blanket. The therapist sat at the other end, leg drawn up and facing her.

“Needles.” Sirah looked out the window. “I could smell the needles of the redwoods as I laid there. . .” Their talk continued and several times, Sirah broke down. She cried for Malbec and Sherry, the agents who were her friends. She cried for herself. She just cried all the tears she couldn’t while captured. And then she talked some more.

After nearly three hours, she felt exhausted, but lighter. Facing California was hard, but each day seemed to get easier. Dr. Orange told her to sleep a bit and left the apartment. But for the first time in weeks she didn’t dream of pain or of fire or even of a dead woman’s eyes. Instead she dreamed of New York City.

“Jack, are we sure this is correct?” Sirah looked at the notes sent from HQ regarding the case. They sat in his New York office reviewing files and she scribbled notes in the margins.

“I’m sure moonshine, I don’t think Tequila would send us incorrect notes.” Jack flipped through the file in front of him before turning back to the computer. He updated a few things and went back to the file. Sirah picked up the notes she made and gathered a few more items.

“I’ll be right back. . . .” her voice faltered as she looked out the window. He turned to see what captured her attention. Blocks away from where they were at, fireworks lit up the sky. She walked over to the window in a sort of trance, mesmerized by the beauty of the scene – the brightly colored fireworks against the dark sky and the surrounding glow of the city. Jack walked up behind her to watch, too.

Without thinking about it, he laid his hands on her shoulders and his chin on her head. She sighed and leaned back into him, eyes still on the display. He dragged his hands down her arms and wrapped her close against him. She melted into him and they stood in comfortable repose until the display ended. The sky darkened again, and the sounds of the city were no longer muffled.

She turned in his arms and pressed her face against his chest. Her arms came up around his waist and she clung to him. He shifted and kissed the top of her head. She smiled into his chest and sighed again, this one even more contented than before. She eventually moved out of his arms, dragging her hand across his chest as she walked around him. He caught the smile on her face, and one grew on his own.

“I’ll be in the library for a bit. I want to check up on some things. Can you wait a few hours until I have more information?” She looked at him.

“Moonshine, I’ll always wait for you.” She beamed at him and slightly nodded her head before taking her items and walking out the door.

He’d wait a lifetime for her if he needed to.

---***---

She woke up from the dream with a contented smile on her face, an event that hadn’t happened since before California. As she became more alert, she realized she was alone. Everyone worked to keep a similar schedule as before even after she moved back into her home and when she looked at the clock, she noticed it was close to dinner time. She asked Champ to come to dinner and as if her mind conjured him, he walked through the door, knocking as he entered.

She smiled as he sat down and laid out the dinner his wife made. He also handed her a lumpy package that had her name scrawled across it. She opened it and while he went to get plates, she pulled out a beautifully thick navy sweater. It was oversized and the sleeves were longer than normal.

Once she was cleared to wear regular clothing, Sirah had taken to completely covering herself. She was self-conscious about the scars all over her body and while the logical part of her brain said no one would care, she still did it anyway. Champ’s wife was a quiet woman, but she was observant and smart as hell. Champ wouldn’t have married her if she wasn’t. The sweater was something that would give Sirah the cover she wanted with much comfort.

“Champ, can we talk for a moment?” She sounded serious as he returned and sat down next to her.

“Of course, honey. What do you need?” The voice was kind and she found herself feeling ever grateful she had such love around her. It’s why she knew she’d get passed this.

“Don’t call me Sirah anymore.”

#agent whiskey #jack daniels #pedro pascal #agent whiskey x oc #agent whiskey x reader #pedro pascal x reader

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thenarator · 4 years

Text

Speak of the Devil

a little thing i wrote for my motw game group. idk i was bored and i thought if y’all are also bored you might like it.

It was getting close to Christmas, and Daniel was getting close to desperate.

These were perhaps not perfectly honest assessments of the state of affairs. Christmas was still a few weeks off, though judging by the state of the town’s decorations it might as well have been tomorrow. The Excellence Holiday Planning Committee had done their work well, and there were lights or wreaths or tinsel on every street light, road sign and traffic signal. There was a general sense of cheer in the air, so Christmas seemed to be just around the corner.

Daniel, for his part, had passed desperate some time ago. He existed in a general state of extreme anxiety, and Father Constantine had been his rock since coming to town. As long as Constantine was alright, Daniel felt a little bit more like he could be alright. Currently, Constantine was not alright, and it set Daniel so on edge it felt like at any moment he could jump out of his own skin.

Constantine had been distant since the battle against Father Birch’s coven. He’d cloistered himself in the back rooms of the church, mostly emerging to do his duty as a priest, but had spent most of the rest of his time in silent contemplation. Daniel didn’t blame him for that, discovering that one was technically the Antichrist had to be taxing on one’s relationship with God, but on the rare occasions when he saw Constantine the man seemed deeply listless. He barely ate, by Daniel’s estimation, and rarely slept through the night. He stared off into space as though not really seeing what was in front of him.

He had also -- Daniel noted with a deep, gnawing sense of guilt for even thinking of it -- not offered his blood to Daniel since that fight. Daniel knew he had no right to ask for or expect such a thing, but its absence was almost as unbearable as the thought of inquiring after it.

In short, Daniel was growing more uncomfortable by the day, and he didn’t know what to do about it.

It was at this point, a few weeks from Christmas and after an unbearable, interminable length of time since things had been normal, that Constantine stopped eating. It was after a visit from Lucifer -- and wasn’t it strange to be considering visits from Lucifer so casually -- which had left burning hoofprints on the church floor, the devil in good spirits, and Constantine pale and drawn and deeply morose. It was Friday, two days before a sermon needed to be given, so when Constantine locked himself in his office and refused to come out it had seemed at the time as though there was a natural endpoint to his isolation. Then Saturday came and went, and when it came time for the Sunday service Constantine still refused to make an appearance.

“Please,” Daniel pleaded quietly at the office door, “please come out and get ready. People will be here soon!”

“Go away,” came Constantine’s gruff voice, tired but insistent.

“What am I supposed to tell them?” Daniel begged, nearly whispering through the door as though he were afraid of being overheard. He did not know who he thought might overhear. Perhaps God, or the devil, or both.

“Tell them their sins could not possibly damn them any more than listening to me defile the name of God,” Constantine replied, and Daniel didn’t know what to say to that.

Daniel did his best to cover. He had locked the church doors before anyone arrived, unsure whether it was a good idea to have people inside when Constantine’s state was unknown, and now he poked his head out a window and explained that they were having problems with the heat. Some penitents turned right around to go home, but a few of the old ladies stood stalwartly outside and many of the town followed their example. No matter how Daniel insisted that it wasn’t fit for man or beast inside the church, they still were unmoved, until he hit upon the idea of telling them that the heat was too high, rather than too low, and had made the church an ideal nesting ground for an entirely fictitious species of notoriously aggressive wasps. That thankfully sent the remainder of the congregation grumbling for their cars, and allowed Daniel to draw himself back inside to consider what to do next.

After nearly an hour’s contemplation had produce no solution, Daniel’s thoughts were interrupted by his phone ringing.

“Hello?” he asked cautiously. The number had flashed up as Unknown on his caller ID, so he hoped it wasn’t one of the church ladies Constantine had for some reason given his number to.

“A little birdie told me services got cancelled today,” said Lizzie-Jean’s voice, sounding unconvincingly bored and disaffected. “I was totally going to come. I got all dressed up and everything.”

“Yes,” Daniel admitted, curling in on himself from where he’d been sitting against the wall a few yards from Constantine’s door. “Father Constantine is, uh, in silent contemplation of-”

“It’s me Daniel,” Lizzie-Jean cut him off flatly. “You don’t have to lie.”

Daniel let out an undignified little whine. “He’s locked himself in his office, and he won’t come out!”

“What hornet’s crawled up his shorts?” Lizzie-Jean asked, with her usual brazen lack of respect. “Get a visit from daddy dearest from down below?”

“Yes,” Daniel admitted quietly. He knew his voice must sound very small.

“You seem upset,” Lizzie-Jean realized, a note of seriousness creeping into her tone. “What’s standard procedure for this? Is it not working?”

“There is no standard procedure!” Daniel protested wildly. “He’s not usually . . . I’m not the one who . . .”

I’m not the one who fixes things, Daniel thought. Constantine is the one who makes everything alright again.

There was a pause on the other end of the phone, then Lizzie-Jean said, “Hang tight, I’m coming to you,” and hung up.

Daniel wasn’t sure what ‘hang tight’ was supposed to mean in this scenario, but if Lizzie-Jean was coming to the church then it seemed prudent to unlock the door. The girl had a habit of barreling through any obstacles placed in her way. This proved to be the correct decision when Daniel noticed out of one of the high windows that Lizzie-Jean was cresting the hill not far from the church on her bike, and then a few minutes later the heavy double doors flew open and banged against the front wall.

“Oh Father Constantine!” Lizzie-Jean shouted, marching into the church with long, confident strides as the doors creaked closed behind her. Her voice echoed off the high ceiling, giving the impression that her small body somehow filled the whole room.

“He’s still in his office,” Daniel said uselessly, locking the doors behind Lizzie-Jean and falling into step behind her.

Lizzie-Jean reached the part of the floor where the old stone entryway met the less-old dark green carpet of the rest of the church and paused, looking down at the dark hoofprints down the center aisle.

“How long has he been in there?” she asked, transferring her weight to one foot and giving a little hop until she was standing one-legged on the first hoofprint, her worn leather boot completely covering it.

“Since Friday,” Daniel replied, watching nervously as Lizzie-Jean continued to play hopscotch with Lucifer’s hoofprints, muttering indistinctly to herself.

Curiously, when she took her foot off a burnt patch of floor it suddenly looked exactly like the floor around it, and it took Daniel several of her steps to realize that the burn marks were being overgrown by moss, the exact same color as the carpet. He stepped experimentally onto a patch of moss to find that he barely noticed the slight rise in the floor where it bloomed, and it released a fresh, clean scent when he lifted his foot. It was quite impressive, actually.

Eventually Lizzie-Jean reached the last of the hoofprints and resumed her dauntless stride into the back rooms of the church.

“What are you going to do?” Daniel asked as she approached the office door.

“I’m going to get him out,” Lizzie-Jean said simply, then raised a fist to pound loudly on the door.

Daniel winced at the noise, but there was no immediate answer.

“DAD!” she screamed through the heavy wood. “YOUR WIFE AND CHILD REQUIRE ATTENTION! COME OUT OF THE GARAGE AND SPEND SOME TIME WITH THE FAMILY!”

Before Daniel could parse out what in Heaven’s name she meant by that, Constantine’s voice growled, “Go away!” through the door.

“I will smoke you out, you old devil, don’t think I won’t,” Lizzie-Jean threatened good naturedly.

“Poor choice of words, child,” Constantine said, but there was something of his old bite to it now. “And if you set fire to this church I will end you.”

“You think you can kill me?” Lizzie-Jean asked, amused.

“No,” Constantine admitted, “but I can tell your Aunt.”

“Firstly don’t think i can’t make smoke without fire,” Lizzie-Jean argued, “and secondly don’t think all smoke is literal.” She smiled, showing teeth, though only Daniel could see the threat display and be suitably intimidated by it. “Through God and my magic all things are possible.”

“God doesn’t live here,” Constantine said grimly.

“Well I do,” Lizzie-Jean said, apparently choosing to interpret ‘here’ as Excellence, Michigan. “Its cold and boring and dangerous at night, so come teach me how to fight with a sword.”

“You can already fight with a sword,” Constantine countered sourly.

“Not as well as you,” Lizzie-Jean said, and Daniel might have wondered how her pride let her admit to such a thing, if he didn’t know her need to be contrary far outstripped it.

“I am not fit for-” Constantine began.

“Speak!” Lizzie-Jean shouted over him, and suddenly she was holding an antique sword. “Don’t make me pry this door open Connie.”

There was a pause where Constantine said nothing, and Lizzie-Jean stood with sword poised to dig into the space between door and doorframe. Then there came a rustling of movement, the sound of footsteps, and a loud scrapping as though a piece of furniture were being shifted away from the door. Then the door opened to reveal Constantine, looking grumpy and disordered and a bit like a bird with its feathers ruffled, but at the very least alive, upright and glaring at Lizzie-Jean with a very un-apathetic vitriol.

He also, Daniel was horrified to note, had stubble. Constantine was usually not one to neglect shaving, but he didn’t grow much facial hair even if given the chance. The three days growth on his face had, however, taken on a most unfortunate shape.

“You’ve got a satan goatee!” Lizzie-Jean howled, her sword point falling to the floor as she nearly doubled over in laughter.

“Silence brat,” Constanine grumbled, which did nothing to stem the tide of Lizzie-Jean’s joyful giggling.

“It doesn’t look that bad,” Daniel said consoling, and quavered when Constantine turned his glaring eyes on him.

Daniel hunched his shoulders, curling up small under Constantine’s piercing gaze, and Constantine’s face softened. “Thank you, Daniel,” he said, quiet enough that Lizzie-Jean likely couldn’t hear over her own mirth.

“Ok, ok,” Lizzie-Jean said, leaning on her sword as she wiped tears from her eyes, “go get cleaned up. You look ridiculous, and I’m not taking sword fighting lessons from Mephistopheles.”

Half an hour later Constantine was showered, shaven and dressed warm enough for the cold December day. Daniel had stayed close at hand while he groomed himself, not wanting to be alone with Lizzie-Jean any longer than he could help it, and he helped Constantine into his winter coat before the two of them traipsed outside. Behind the church was the old cemetery, the headstones aged and crumbling, many of them crooked as they stuck up from the ground. Lizzie Jean had somehow managed to use her red chalk to make a circle on the dry grass, the outside of which was lined with symbols in her strange, arcane language.

“Summoning something?” Constantine asked, leaning heavily upon his cane as he stood just outside the circle.

“Just creating a space,” Lizzie-Jean said nonchalantly, smacking her hands together to get chalk dust off them.

She stepped into the circle, seeming to step through some invisible barrier that resisted her movements, like she were walking through molasses, or something behind her was pulling her back. It seemed to take a lot out of her, as when she was finally standing inside the bounds of the chalk her breathing what somewhat labored, and there was a light sheen of sweat upon her brow. As Daniel looked at her he couldn’t shake the impression that she was reduced somehow, like some of her boundless energy had deserted her.

Nevertheless, she smiled brightly at Constantine and Daniel. “Magically sealed off,” she said cheerfully. “No magic can get in, so no one has an unfair advantage.”

“You certainly do use your magic to compensate for your lack of experience most of the time,” Constantine said, and stepped into the circle. He did not seem to have any trouble crossing the boundary, but once he was inside Daniel thought he too looked somewhat reduced, like he had lost something as well.

Daniel tried not to think of what that something might be.

Lizzie-Jean walked toward the middle of the circle and pulled Speak from where she had driven it into the hard packed earth. “Have at you then!” she crowed, swinging it playfully. Daniel was surprise to note that, however she used her magic to assist in combat, it certainly wasn’t helping her lift the heavy sword. She must have shoulders like pythons under that coat.

“Your stance is atrocious,” Constantine began, walking around behind Lizzie-Jean and kicking her legs further apart.

Lizzie-Jean accepted the correction without complaint, and let Constantine adjust her grip without even commenting on the brief moment when his side was pressed against hers. Then Constantine took up position opposite her and drew his sword, tossing aside the rest of his cane for the moment. Then Lizzie-Jean ran at him, screaming in mock fury, and he easily parried her swings and had his sword at her throat in a matter of seconds.

“Not so wide,” he said simply, and they began again.

After a few rounds of this had gone by without requiring anything from outside the circle Daniel perched himself awkwardly on a headstone to watch. Within the half hour, as though drawn by their congregation, Theodore showed up in full pillow-stuffed tuxedo and skull mask splendor. He was thankfully alone, without any of the vampires that lived in his house, and he didn’t seem the slightest bit surprised to find the three of them out back. He stood on the sidelines, shouting bits of advice to Lizzie-Jean that Daniel doubted the wisdom of but didn’t know enough about sword fighting to contradict. After a while Richard turned up, wandering around the church with a bug sprayer in hand, having come ready to combat the fictitious wasps. Once he had been briefed on the situation he went back to his car and returned with a golf club, declaring himself ready to take Constantine’s place if the priest needed a breather.

They stayed like that for most of the day, Richard and Constantine trading off when one of them got too tired to continue, Lizzie-Jean’s youthful exuberance never flagging no matter how many times she was knocked to the ground. When Richard took over Constantine took to calling advice to both of them, and in this way Richard somehow became even deadlier with a golf club. Theodore seemed to have nothing better to do, and was apparently perfectly content to spectate as long as they practiced. Despite the cold ground beneath and the freezing stone at his back, Daniel too found himself growing oddly comfortable with watching.

By the time Lizzie-Jean finally grew tired the sun was beginning to set, bathing the cemetery in golden light. Constantine dragged his foot over the chalk circle as he left it, and Lizzie-Jean gasped as for a moment she seemed to be buffeted about by a high wind, nearly lifted off her feet by the forces vying for position in and around her. She glared at Constantine once she had righted herself, and he laughed sharply at her expense.

“Bastard,” Lizzie-Jean growled.

For a moment Constantine stiffened, his features hardening like ice, and Daniel wondered if a single word could undo all the day’s work. Then Constantine smirked in a manner the untrained eye might have thought cruel, and chuckled menacingly at Lizzie-Jean.

“No more so than you, brat,” he said viciously.

Lizzie-Jean stuck her tongue out at him in apology.

Daniel followed Lizzie-Jean out front to where she had left her bike, and stood shuffling from foot to foot as she picked it up from where she’d abandoned it to lie on its side on the grass outside the church. She swung her leg over it, standing balanced on her toes with her center of gravity poised over the seat, then looked back at him.

“What?” she asked, sounding perfectly unconcerned.

“Um,” said Daniel, wondering what to say, before he realized there was only one thing to say. “Uh, thank you. For that. For today.”

Lizzie-Jean rolled her eyes and sat down on her bike. “Whatever,” she said dismissively, and began pedaling leisurely back toward home.

#motw #monster of the week #the spell-slinger #writing #character writings #lizzie-jean

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danddymaro · 5 years

Text

Drunken | Steve Rogers x Reader

Idea: A drunken night leads to something more between two friends.

Edited / Fixed

Flashbacks are in italics : Example

Thoughts are italics in quotes : ‘Example’

Word Count: 5620

Drunken

| pt. 1 |

Her heavy, black-smudged eyelids slowly slide up, letting hazy (e/c) colored eyes free to roam the space around to try and find some familiarity.

However, in her current sluggishness, she didn’t bother to do so, the woman being hardly awake, blankly staring at the pillow her face was stuffed into.

A bitter taste danced over her dry tongue making the meager bit of saliva she produced to also become lingered with the tarty flavor, and her face showed an immediate distaste at the disgusting, sharp tang.

The sweet taste of red wine she barely recalls indulging in the night before was now a distant memory as it left nothing flavorful behind to its likeness. Instead, a pungent flavor situated itself in her mouth making her want to rush for a bottle of extra minty mouthwash to burn the repellent taste off.

Her head pounded, scolding her for being such an idiot and letting herself indulge in too much of the alcoholic drink the night prior.

Hell, it wasn’t something she was accustomed to doing anyway.

‘- You Idiot!’ It barked with each pulse.

She then smacked her lips together as an evil little glint of sunlight attacked her glossy (light/ dark) eyes. As a response to the shining ray, she moaned in displeasure, turning over to the other side with a heavy huff. She didn’t want to bother and get up, so instead, she flipped over, snuggling more onto her pillow, ready to fall back into slumber.

And she was ready to fall back into the sweet relief of lazy sleep when she felt a hand snake over her naked waist, pulling her closer to something alarmingly warm.

At the sudden touch, her spine straightened up as an icy shot of electricity weaved through the entirety of her backbone. Instantly, her sticky, slightly reddened eyes popped open, finding herself face to face with a smooth, fair chest.

Her breath came out huffy as she trailed her (e/c) colored, wondering eyes up by just a few centimeters, seeing as the man was farther upon the bed’s length than she had been.

During then, both her hands moved to touch the man’s chest, her intentions set to push him away, at least until she realized who he was.

“...my god, “ She worded silently, her mouth moving to make the words, but the sound being held back, instead, her voice knotting at the back of her throat, allowing only a barely audible squeak to escape.

Her hands both shook as she pulled them closer to herself, tightly smoothing them over her naked chest, too afraid to touch him.

He released a low moan, far gone off into sleep as he pulled her closer, his hand sliding up to come to her upper back while his chin dipped down closer to his chest as he lightly curled his body.

Her face burned red from the intimate contact, just knowing she was wearing nothing beneath the sheets, fully convinced that he was most likely in the same bare state.

He then began to breathe from his partially open mouth, blowing out an unpleasant stench, viscously smothering the hot, stinky smell over her, nearly suffocating her with it and scaring away the show of bashfulness she had worn.

She could smell the very strong alcoholic scent coming from his parted lips, heavy and nauseating as it attacked her, and she was almost certain she’d get intoxicated by it if she kept inhaling the sickening air any longer.

Scrunching her nose she gagged, the acidic contents of her empty stomach sloshing, riling themselves to shoot up, but like a champ, she held it in.

‘ I have to get out of here,’ She thought anxiously, carefully maneuvering herself by wiggling just a bit to make him pull his arm away.

She was sure that with the slight shimmy he’d just move his hand away, giving her an open window for a clean escape. However, rather than the response she expected, the warm palm trailed down, going far past her beltline, consequently, making her breath hitch.

Landing right on her bottom, it found it’s desired place, and if that wasn’t bad enough, it gave her buttcheek a soft squeeze, making her eyes widen to the size of mini golf balls.

Holding back her unsettled squeal with every bit of mustered strength she had inside her, she then reached for his perverse hand, placing her own shaky one on top of it.

- She wanted to just tear it off, but she knew she couldn't just do so.

‘This really can’t be happening,’ she thought to herself, moving agonizingly slow to peel his hand off from her, but in turn, he held onto her more, a little chuckle coming from him, his chest vibrating gently with the amusement.

‘Since when are you so damn grabby Steve!’ she thought with spite.

What was much worse, he seemed to be having a very perverse little dream, making her glare at him, a heavy pout settled over her face,

‘I hate you so much right now!’ she thought with a release of an aggravated breath coming from her two nostrils.

“...That feels good, “ he muttered, his voice still thick with sleep, and she’d be a liar to say it wasn't just about the sexiest thing she’d ever heard, the sound filling her body with soft, little tingles.

His voice in the morning time, though mingled with the nasty smell was still enough to make her swoon.

‘ No, I lied,’ She thought as she reflected back to her former thought, ‘ I don’t hate you... God, I love you...’ She corrected herself as her body melted, wanting to go ahead and touch him, enjoy every bit of the beautiful man before her.

It was a desire, yet, she fisted her hands before her, the two shaking as she controlled herself.

With a worried crease to her (light/dark) brows, she once again went to touch his gripping hand, going back to her earlier plan before she got caught up in the temptation.

With every single movement she made, even down to her steady breaths, she prayed he wouldn't wake up. Biting her lip harder with the closer she came to her successful flee, she then finally managed to carefully slip from his hold.

‘ It’s all over if he wakes up.’ she thought anxiously, sighing in relief once she slipped out from both the tangled sheet and Steve’s hold altogether.

‘Now, ‘ she began, her train of thought crashing as she tried to retrieve her belongings.

Their clothes were scattered over the floor of his bedroom, littering it as though a small storm had blown them over into every direction of the four corner area. At the realization, her hands flew to her forehead, pulling back her hair tightly as she took in a large breath of frustration.

Meanwhile, her eyes occupied themselves with dashing over every piece of her clothing that had been scattered around,

“I can’t leave anything,” she said lowly, all in a harsh whisper, soon making way to sweep up her clothes.

She hastily attempted to clasp on her bra, a low growl leaving her as she struggled to clip it on right, by then just settling for just having one of the tiny hooks clasped,

‘Good enough!’ She thought to herself.

Next, she slipped on the knee-length dress she had worn the night before, not even bothering to put on her panties. Instead, she balled them in her left hand, hiding them within a formed fist, before collecting her heels with her right hand, both her index and middle finger hooking onto the little straps on them in order to carry them off.

He groaned again, beginning to move, his outer leg curling while the one laying on the mattress went straight. He cuddled into the pillow beneath his head, his inexpressive face showing a happy little smile as he got more comfortable.

And as he shifted, the thin sheet that covered him was being left behind, letting her eyes fall on more of his naked skin, freezing her.

Her head hung back as she inwardly cursed, biting her bottom lip,

“Fuck...He’s so...” stopping herself, she shook her head, pulling away from that little filthy part of her mind, scampering out from the room instead, knowing she’d been there for too long already.

Pulling down the door handle slowly, she pulled the door open enough for her to slip out.

Bringing it to a close, she managed to let the door give a small, barely audible squeak, and nothing more, the loudest thing being the soft click of the bolt going right into place.

Once she was out, her forehead was pressed against the door, the female giving her stomach a moment to travel back up to where it belonged rather than the place it had sank to while she made her escape.

“Now to my room...” she murmured, a shaky smile crawling over her face as she swallowed up a large breath.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

She sped walked through the halls, her naked feet barely making noise as she traveled.

she took a last look back to make sure she was in the clear, and had assumed she was safe, until she rounded the corner, coming to a sudden halt as she found one of her teammates standing right in her path.

Carrying a warm mug of steaming coffee in his hand, he took a slow sip, casually raising his eyebrow at her, “Had a little...adventure?” Tony said with a mock tone, noticing her disheveled appearance.

Everything about her screamed mess, and more so with the little angry marks visible over her collar and neck, the little love bites falling further down in between her chest.

He almost choked on the black drink, coughing to clear his throat as he took notice of them, “ someone got lucky,” he observed, making her heart stop.

“I...I just came home!” she stammered, all while shuddering.

“I fell.. and got lost...and-”

“-It's none of my business, “ he said winking, wearing a small, teasing smile, “ So we’ll keep this between us,” he said amused, lifting his cup slightly in a small ‘ cheers’ motion, certain it was her first walk of shame.

So, he was sure that being caught was punishment enough for the woman.

Nodding quickly with appreciation, she made a straight line to her room, falling down to her rear end after she slammed the door close. The back of her head banged against the door, a large glob of air coming out from her throat and as she did so, her hold on her things falling.

She used her two hands to instead cover over her mouth, a scream being suppressed as everything that happened since she woke up played over in her head in a fast forward wind.

“I need a shower,” she breathed, moving her hands to massage over the sides of her pulsing head.

She then made her way towards her bathroom, pulling off her clothes along the way, leaving them to fall where she took them off, planning to give them the attention they needed much later.

Turning the knob of the shower into a warm, steamy setting, she stood motionless the entire time, using the running water to clear her mind.

He stood with her in his arms, his hands placed right on her ass, holding her and pressing her to the wall whilst he bit down on the flesh of her neck, making her legs tighten around his waist as he clamped down just a little bit too hard.

Huffing out his name, she weaved her fingers through his blonde hair, pulling with playful tugs as she reached the edges of his soft strands.

Once peeling themselves from the support of the wall, he then moved over to the bed instead.

Her hands dipped down, taking hold of his shoulders as he stumbled forward onto the bed, nearly dropping her onto the mattress.

Luckily, he held on, falling with her.

Giggling, she let her grip die out, the woman soon laying flat onto the mattress as he pulled down the sweetheart neckline of her dress, dragging down the material to show more of her cleavage.

Her hand went to touch the small sensitive spot on her neck he had been least kind to, feeling it be obviously bruised, knowing it’d be something she’d have to hide for a while.

Her wet hand then slapped over the shower knob, shutting off the water completely with a shake to her head.

She ran another hand over her face, dragging down the wetness from it, sighing into the palm as it passed over the bottom portion of her face.

After wrapping a towel around her body, she then walked back into her room with slow, dragging steps, soon falling back onto her bed with another sigh.

Her hands petted over the surface without even looking, hoping to find her phone, barely remembering that the night before, she had gone back into her bedroom just to throw it inside seeing as everyone she had really known or talked to was at the party anyways.

Soon feeling it in her palm, she held it up, wincing as the brightness was set on it’s highest glow,

“2 o‘clock flat,” She said aloud, letting the cell fall back onto the mattress with a small ‘plop’.

That meant she’d slept far past the morning already.

“Ok...ok...If he says anything, I have no choice, “ she compromised, knowing there was no other choice but to talk about it if it came to it. “...But what if he doesn't even remember?” she wondered, thinking back to a very small piece of the night she remembered with ease, because, after all, it had been before she even took a sip of liquor.

Thor held a small, decorated flask in his hand, “This is for you my friend,” he said while handing it over to Steve who looked down at it with surprise.

“More of that aged liquor of yours?” Steve asked with a chuckle.

“Indeed, “ Thor replied.

Shaking his head, Steve smiled, “ Sorry to say this won’t work on me either,” he told the demigod, already having tried the drink before, having only gotten a very small, teasing buzz that lasted for only a good five minutes.

Waging his finger, Thor grinned wide, “ Not this one, “ he mused. “This one’s just for you my friend,” he said merrily.

“ A good drink is always needed for celebration,” he said firmly. “And you certainly are in need of a good one.” He told the first avenger, reaching for a whiskey glass, filling it with some whiskey and half an ounce of the Asgardian drink.

“Not much is needed, “ he said grinning, handing it over to the short-haired blonde, all the while watching with expectancy.

“ Go ahead and give it a go,” he said with anticipation, excitedly eyeing the other man.

With a shrug, Steve took a sip, immediately blowing out a huff of air as it traveled down his throat. Looking down at the remainder, he wore a face of surprise.

“Good right?” Thor said proudly.

Taking another sip, this time prepared for the burn, Steve began to laugh, “ It’s been a while since I've actually felt that!” he said impressed.

Patting his back with a hearty laugh, Thor fixed himself his own drink, not bothering to add any of the special drink to his glass.

He was ready to drink before he noticed (e/c) eyes staring in his direction.

Looking over to (f/n) as she took a small sip of her coke, Thor pouted, walking over to her.

“Lady (f/n), why the disapproval?” he asked, having noted her little, troubled look.

“That stuff’s not going to hurt him right?” she said with worry, lightly pressing her lips together.

“Nonsense,” Thor said waving his hand, “It’s specially made for him." He explained, " I thought he needed a little something to be able to enjoy the night with us.”

“You think getting ass drunk is enjoyable?” she asked him, shaking her head amused.

“To a degree,” he responded back, making her smile snicker.

“Then we, my friend, have two completely different views of fun,“ she said back.

“Don’t be a party pooper,” Tony cut in, walking up to Thor and (f/n), speaking to the woman. “ We all know that If anyone needs to loosen up it’s him,” he said speaking about Steve, motioning his hand out to where the said man was.

“Let him have fun, even if it's just for tonight.” He advised, “ I mean, doesn’t playing mom ever get boring,” he said rolling his eyes.

“Mom?” she said frowning, “Don’t tell me you think I’m the mom friend?” she said with worry, having heard him call her that once too many times, to the point it had practically become her nickname.

She didn’t think she was boring, but practical if anything.

Besides, he had some nerve... she was years younger than him.

If anyone should have been ashamed it was him for partying at his age.

At her question, Thor turned away from her, avoiding the subject by taking another drink while Tony chuckled beneath his breath,

“You’d be the grandma friend, “ he claimed, making her glare at him.

“No offense (f/n), really," he then added, “But you just really never let loose and have fun. You know you don’t have to worry about every, single, little thing,” he explained.

“Like tonight, You don’t have to sit in this dingy corner, go ahead talk get to know other people. You can’t just cling on to us, and especially Steve forever,” he advised her, knowing her routine of staying within the group.

“Have a drink if you will. You have a lot to choose from, “ he said opening his hand out to the bar area that was right aside from them. “I've got some really sweet red wine, or champagne if you want, Pepper really prefers the smoother drinks. She’s a tasteful drinker,” he told her. “I assume you’d like the same?”

“Really ?” (f/n) asked, and nodding he answered. “She does, she likes having her little glasses during these social events,” he clarified. “You don’t have to get drunk, just have a little to loosen up.” He added.

“But that’s if you want,” he told her, giving her the last choice.

With a little hum of contemplation, (f/n) swirled the remainder of her soda in its can before she set it down,

“Alright,” she said smiling, “serve me up a nice little glass of wine,” she said enthusiastically. “ Just a bit though... just to try out,” she told him, pinching her fingers close together.

“Just a sip,” she clarified.

But one sip turned into two, then to a whole bottle. And then, a bottle turned into shots, sets of shots as she drank the liquor up like it was freshwater.

“- First and last hangover,” she grumbled, swearing off liquor altogether.

Her stomach began to grumble, whining at the emptiness within it, and with a groan, she picked herself off of her mattress, leaving the towel behind.

“Well, I can’t stay in here forever, “ she voiced out, making her way to her closet, choosing a fleece tracksuit jacket, the best choice as it had a higher rising neck capable of covering the small evidence of her steamy encounter.

Throwing it onto the bed, she then picked out the first pair of pants she found, flinging it in the same fashion she had the last piece of clothing.

After slipping on a pair of comfortable undergarments, she then covered herself with the clothing she picked out at first.

Finally checking herself over her long mirror, she raked her fingers over her semi-dry hair, carefully untangling the few knots she encountered with very small, gentle tugs. finding a nice pair of slip-on footwear, she shrugged, deciding she looked fine enough for leisurewear.

Before she left the room, she walked past her dresser mirror, pointing finger guns at herself, a click to the tongue being executed as she reassured herself,

“You go it,” she said to herself, soon slipping out of her room.

If she just acted normal, things would be fine.

Best case scenario, he wouldn’t remember a thing, leaving their friendship on a good basis, and that would just leave her to forget everything.

And everything went fine, perfectly smoothly until she came face to face with him, her hands initially flying towards his chest to stop a collision, but as she made the move, her mind instantly shot back to that morning where she had done the same.

Steaming, with a blazing fire burning over her face she froze, wheezing.

”You ok?” he asked softly, his hand touching her cheek to raise her gaze up at him, but stubbornly, she averted her eyes, remembering every single detail of his chiseled body, and that include the little covered bits of him that shouldn't be eyed by just anyone.

‘ If only he knew...’ She inwardly spoke.

Would he even be able to look at her again?

She knew it was hard enough for her to stand in the same room with him as things were now, so she had difficulty believing everything would be the same.

Her mouth near watered at remembering just how he felt at her fingertips, the memories beginning to flood in as she felt the back of his fingers touch her cheek.

She recalled running her own digits down the dips of his abdomen, where it was all defined by muscle.

She then felt a small tingle run down and settle over her when she remembered where he had run his tongue, the memory making her visibly shudder.

”-(F/n)” He said with small worry, opening his mouth to speak more before she stopped him, “I have things to do !” She shrieked, brushing past him and practically flying out of the door he walked through, leaving him with the words still caught in his throat.

She hated being secretive, but much more, she hated lying to him.

He didn’t deserve it, but, she reasoned that if he didn't remember, why should she try and ruin their friendship?

She was already feeling tormented by the aftermath herself, and she didn't want to imagine what he’d do, much more how he'd act at her telling him what happened.

Furthermore, there was another issue, and that was her feelings towards him.

She had liked him, and unfortunately, skipped the important proclamation, instead, skipping to the sex. And to her, it was wrong.

She had assumed things couldn't get worse. She had been optimistic that eventually everything would blow over and she’d grow to be fine, but that changed as the days progressed, and three weeks into her little secret, she found herself hunched over her toilet.

Her throat was raw and sore as she hacked up after getting a whiff of a familiar scent, one she had adored before: eggs...more specifically, omelets.

She usually lived for the flavor-filled breakfast omelets Tony made. They were only on occasion, and she’d always race to be the first to take grabs, but now she found herself hurling into the john, emptying her empty stomach, soon growing afraid that the organ would somehow be vacuumed out as well as she had nothing more to throw into the toilet.

By then it was nothing but acid and liquid, the smell only causing her to hack up more, the bitter taste in her mouth doing nothing but disgusting her furthermore.

“No...” she breathed, washing her mouth on the sink with warm water, cupping a good amount of it into her two hands, whirling it within her bitter-tasting mouth.

Spitting out the filthy water, she shook her head, “I’m going crazy, “ she said in disbelief as her mind wandered into a wild possibility,

“I couldn't really be... be...” She said shivering, unable to even finish the plausible idea.

“Nah,” she said with a dismissive wave, an uneased chuckle rising out of her.

Her eyes glued themselves onto her own reflection, staring into the tired (e/c) drops, her worried creased brows reflecting her panic back to her through the clear mirror.

A little naggy voice far within her answered for her, voicing its suspicious, all in spit of her initial denial,

‘Pregnant...’ the consciousness finished. ‘You’re pregnant,’ it said in a know it all manner. Pushing herself off the countersink, (f/n) dropped her head back, glaring at the ceiling, her two hands clasping tightly together, hoping that wasn't the case.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

| 2 month later |

Tony stared at her with scrutinizing eyes, the look making her feel both anxious and shaken.

‘He... He can’t possibly know… can he?’ she thought with a hard swallow.

While moving a hand to her barley-producing tummy, she sucked in her left cheek and gave it a quick chew, silently cursing at her misfortune.

‘He knows… He knows, I just know it !’ she thought to herself, feeling her heart run in full gear, and she knew it would give out soon if she kept up with the agonizing torture of not knowing.

‘Damn it...’ she thought while tightening her hands into fists.

“Y-Yeah ?” She breathed, barely pronouncing the single word to the suspicious man, feeling her heart try and climb its way out of her throat in a mess of bile.

“Wh-What's up Stark?” She said through clenched teeth, falsifying a smile while drumming her fingers over the counter, rapidly moving them with impatience.

Her insides sloshed with unease and she waited for him to elaborate on just what he was so thoughtful of, much more, just what had him staring at her so hard.

‘ He's a freaking genius, Of course, he would have figured it out!’ she thought in dismay.

They were both standing through a stilled silence, both soundless and uneventful until his voice cut through the uncomfortable quiet,

“They...They look huge...” he said slowly, muttering the words as though he hadn’t truly meant to let her know. And in truth, it wasn't something he meant to say, but he was just so transfixed, it happened to slip.

It took her a second, just a small moment of confusion before she followed the direction in which his eyes had ventured to, finally understanding just what had him so focused, and then it all made sense,

“TONY YOU PIG!” She cried out, her hands flying to her chest, the woman withering, curling into herself in the process to try and hide all of herself from him.

'I should have known!’ she thought furiously, glaring at him with a dark shade of red.

‘He's a moron! That perverted jack ass!’ she thought huffing with aggravation.

“I swear I didn't mean to!” he exclaimed, watching her stalk out of the kitchen in a stiffened, militaristic walk, practically marching away from him.

He chased after her, apologizing over and over until she caved in out of annoyance, though, still speed walking away from him.

During the following weeks that came, she thought it was bad enough that her chest had grown, something she hadn’t figured she’d ever complained about when it had, at one point, been all she had wanted as a teenager.

But then she noticed the tightness of her clothes, much more, the obvious growth of her body all around. Within another passing month, she had begun to gradually gain weight, and she wasn't the only one that had noticed.

It had been an obvious observance by everyone else around her, but only one man had the nerve to speak out,

“(F/n), I noticed you've been eating a lot,” Stark commented, making her stop entirely. “I think we all have,” he added with a mutter, scorned she’d gotten the last extra helping.

The fork that had been inching towards her open mouth stood motionless as she had heard him speak, his words striking her like a below-the-belt sucker punch.

She felt everyone’s eyes land on her, and instantly, her cheeks bloomed ripe red, the same color as a cosmic crisp apple. Hastily, she placed the silver utensil down back onto the plate with a rather loud clunk, cringing as the sound seemed to draw more attention.

Using her tongue to dig out the last remains of her previous bite, she savored it with shamed discretion.

Her appetite hadn’t died out or been paused, not even with the shame she felt, and it caused her to feel more like a large, ugly glutton.

She would stop eating if she could. She’d really would have, if only she hadn’t become an endless pit for back-to-back snacks and cravings.

Placing her hands neatly on her lap, she tried to ignore the feeling of everyone's attention still stuck on her, but failed with misery,

‘ I look like a whale.’ she thought to herself, feeling her eyes sting with glistening tears. ‘ A big, fucking whale! ’ She added as she sucked in her cheeks for a second, knowing she looked even puffier around the face too.

Unfortunately, there was no way to hide, no way to obscure the extra pounds she’d gathered.

“I-I know,” she murmured, feeling embarrassed, jumbling up the fabric of her skirt, the same skirt that had a little elastic band around the waist.

Her jeans wouldn't button anymore, at least not without making her breathless, and especially not without sucking in a large glob of air.

Furthermore, not without tearing open.

Once again aware that she could barely fit into anything that wasn't a pair of sweatpants or stretch material only made things worse.

She then forced a chuckle out through her dry throat, trying to act like she wasn't breaking down from inside.

Steve glared at the brunette, all while reaching a hand to the silent woman at his side.

At the touch, she startled, performing a small jump before turning her head over to him with wide, glossy eyes, something he didn't really catch because his attention was all over the other man sitting across from them.

The upper extremity slid off from her small hand, inching towards the fork she had placed down, taking hold of it instead,

“(f/n), you eat whatever you want, don't listen to him,” he said giving her a tender little gaze, gracing her with a soft smile.

“I have been eating too much...” she said in a small voice. “I think I should lay off the food,” she added with another dry chuckle.

“(F/n) “ he said, shaking his head with a small sigh.

Lifting the fork up to her face, he fed her the would-be forgotten piece of food, all without shame.

She felt a little burst of warmth at the pit of her tummy, the feeling soon spreading all over her body and she wondered if her itsy-bitsy, little olive-sized unborn child felt the same joy she felt.

She imagined the little growing baby practically dancing with joy in her swelling belly,

‘ Can you feel it little baby?’ she thought with adoration, almost bursting with tears.‘ Can you feel his kindness… his care? Can you feel mommy’s, own love?

- My own joy?’ She thought with a short sniffle.

He didn’t know, she was certain he didn't, and even so, he was a sweetheart, seeming to be much more attentive to her now more than ever.

“Apologize!” She heard Steve say, and as she came back to earth, she saw the blonde male stand up from his seat, both his hands placed on the table’s surface, glaring over at Stark.

“Apologize?” Tony said with confusion, swallowing down his bite. “Why should I apologize?” he asked, wiping a napkin over his mouth,

“She’s a big girl,” Stark said sighing, “(f/n) are you re-” He started, soon stopping as he actually took notice of her downhearted expression.

“Oh shit,” he said under his breath.

He felt a smack behind his head as the redheaded woman sitting beside him struck him, “ What are you waiting for?” she snapped.

She had thought of Tony as an idiot before, but never an insensitive one.

‘Don't tell me he hasn’t caught on,’ She thought to herself with a shake to her head.

Was it really not obvious to everyone else?

(f/n) hadn’t had an assignment for the longest, at least none that needed her to do anything dangerous, and no one found it suspicious?

‘Unbelievable,’ She told herself.

Standing up, Tony walked over to (f/n), stopping right at her side. “Hey, (f/n),” he said gingerly. “You know I didn’t mean anything by it right?” he asked her, not getting a yes from her.

“What's wrong with you?” he asked her, knowing she wasn't usually so sensitive.

If anything she usually came back at him with a witty response. She could be ruthless, and that was just how they played.

That’s how their own friendship worked.

His confused face slowly morphed, his eyes slowly widening, eyebrows rising to a good degree as he put the facts together :

’She’s been moody...’

’Overly sensitive...’

’Her breasts...Her weight gain... ‘

’That night...’ he thought to himself, thinking back to that night he watched her shamefully walk back to her room.

’...and of course,’ he added, focusing his eyes on Steve and his overbearing attitude towards her as of late.

There wasn't a place she was without him stalking around, and god forbid Stark played around with her because it was barely allowed.

The man was overprotective and as serious as a shark attack, taking everything literally.

‘I’m such an idiot,’ Stark concluded, mentally kicking himself,

’She’s pregnant,’ he deduced.

Part 2 // End :

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