Exactly what it says. Iâm looking for isekai reader fics (again) but for TMNT (the Micheal Bay version). I love reader inserts where the reader is from our world and one way or another ends up in a fantasy world. This time obviously the reader would find themselves either in Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (2014) or Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: Out of the Shadows (2016). Are the Micheal Bay movies the greatest⌠no. But do I like them regardless? Yes.
Look I know this is a long shot. I tried looking on various sites myself but I canât find anything. Thereâs not much fanfic regarding the Bay version anyways but I figured it wouldnât hurt to ask and see if anyone somehow has exactly what Iâm looking for.
And hey, if you donât have an Isekai fic, thatâs fine, leave me your best and favorite TMNT (Bayverse)/Reader fic that youâve read! I wanna see what out there~.
Please no OCâs. Iâm specifically looking for reader inserts. Thank you for your time~.
(I also posted this on Reddit. Sorry, Iâm desperate.)
Exactly what it says. Iâm looking for isekai reader fics (again) but for TMNT (the Micheal Bay version). I love reader inserts where the reader is from our world and one way or another ends up in a fantasy world. This time obviously the reader would find themselves either in Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (2014) or Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: Out of the Shadows (2016). Are the Micheal Bay movies the greatest⌠no. But do I like them regardless? Yes.
Look I know this is a long shot. I tried looking on various sites myself but I canât find anything. Thereâs not much fanfic regarding the Bay version anyways but I figured it wouldnât hurt to ask and see if anyone somehow has exactly what Iâm looking for.
And hey, if you donât have an Isekai fic, thatâs fine, leave me your best and favorite TMNT (Bayverse)/Reader fic that youâve read! I wanna see what out there~.
Please no OCâs. Iâm specifically looking for reader inserts. Thank you for your time~.
(I also posted this on Reddit. Sorry, Iâm desperate.)
Summary : Legolas would have done anything to protect youâeven if it meant standing against his own people, his king, his father. Given a chance, you were now able to have a change of clothes, after all, the one you were wearing had seen better days. Though, you seemed to forget you were no longer in your own world. Which meant casually beginning to undress in front of the elven prince of Mirkwood had apparently been a far greater scandal than you anticipated.
A/n : I'm backk! It's been a month since my last update... was so busy with work and other projectss, sorry my lovess... T^T Sooo, here is a 14k-ish fic, yes its longgg haha. Theres lore drops, cute teasing between f!reader and Legolas too! hehe ^^ (Part of the f!reader is not from middle-earth series | Can be read as a one-shot as well!)
Sunlight filtered through the towering canopy above, scattering gold across the winding halls of the woodland realm.
The forest seemed almost alive around youâlush ivy curling around ancient stone, soft streams weaving beneath elegant bridges, the air rich with the scent of moss, earth, and blooming flowers hidden deep within the greenery. It was beautiful in a way that felt unreal, almost dreamlike.
And yet, despite the beauty surrounding you, your situation was far from ideal. Your dwarf companions had long since been taken away under heavy guard, much to their loud displeasure. KĂli, especially, had not stopped complaining the entire journey.
"Elves are insufferable," he had muttered earlier under his breath while being marched away, earning himself a sharp glare from one of the guards. "Too tall, too perfect, too much hair."
You nearly laughed at the memory now. Unlike the dwarves, however, you seemed to have somehow landed yourself in the captain's favorâor at the very least, enough goodwill to avoid chains and rough handling.
The elves regarded you with far less hostility, also probably because you were half elven, though their curious stares followed your every step as if trying to unravel some mystery they could not place between you and their captain.
Hours had passed since your arrival, and the anticipation in your chest only grew heavier. Soon, you would stand before the King of Mirkwood himself.
You had heard enough stories from the dwarves during the journey to form some image in your mindâcold, prideful, impossible to reason with. According to the dwarves, the elvenking was everything insufferable about royalty wrapped into one immortal being.
It sure did made you wonder. What kind of person was capable of inspiring such irritation and bitterness from them?
Your eyes wandered endlessly through the woodland realm, unable to settle on one thing for too long. Everywhere you looked, there was something beautiful enough to steal your attentionâglimmering lanterns hanging from twisting branches, silver streams weaving beneath carved stone pathways, towering pillars wrapped in ivy so green it almost glowed beneath the sunlight filtering through the canopy above.
The entire place felt alive, breathing softly around you like an ancient creature slumbering beneath the forest.
And the elves. Honestly, it was becoming increasingly difficult not to stare.
Everywhere you looked, there was another absurdly beautiful face gliding past like they had all collectively stepped out of some ancient painting.
Long silver hair, sharp features, elegant armor fitted far too well for your sanity, and posture so perfect it made you painfully aware of the way you were slouching half the time. Even the guards standing still somehow looked majestic. It was deeply unfair.
Your gaze caught on one specifically then. A male elf moving gracefully along one of the upper walkways carved into the glowing halls of Mirkwood. Tall, well ridiculously tallâwith silver hair braided neatly down his back, dark green and gold fabrics draped elegantly over broad shoulders as he walked with effortless poise.
Your eyes followed him absentmindedly as he passed overhead, your head tilting slightly without even realizing it.
The elf then turned faintly then while speaking to another guard nearby, and your gaze instinctively drifted lower. Your brows slowly lifted higher the longer you stared, genuine disbelief spreading openly across your face.
"âŚOoo." The sound escaped before you could stop it. Your eyes narrowed slightly in pure analysis as the elf continued walking completely unaware of the scandalous evaluation currently taking place beneath him.
"And they got nice ass too, what the hellâŚ" you muttered under your breath, deeply offended by the consistency.
Your expression remained entirely serious. Almost scholarly, even. Like you were conducting some sort of research.
A light tap landed softly against your shoulder then, the sudden contact nearly made you jump out of your skin. Your entire body jerked slightly as you spun around far too quickly, eyes widening on instinct, only to immediately come face to face with Legolas standing beside you.
Golden lanternlight filtered gently through the carved woodland halls behind him, catching against strands of his hair until they almost seemed to glow.
Up close, he looked unfairly composed compared to the complete disaster currently unfolding inside your head. One of his brows was faintly drawn, concern softening the otherwise elegant sharpness of his features as he tilted his head slightly toward you, studying your face with quiet attentiveness.
"Are you well?" he asked gently, his eyes moving carefully across your expression, lingering just slightly as though trying to determine whether something had startled or upset you. "You seemed troubled in a way."
And that was unfortunately the exact moment your brain decided to betray you further. Because now, instead of the elf from earlier, you were suddenly painfully aware of him.
The way he stood close enough for you to catch the faint scent of cedarwood lingering around him. The way his armor fit neatly across his frame, and the way his eyes remained entirely focused on you with such calm sincerity that it almost made your chest tighten unexpectedly.
Your posture immediately straightened so abruptly it looked unnatural. "Yeah!" you answered far too quickly, the word cracking slightly halfway through before your hand flew upward into the most aggressively confident thumbs-up imaginable. "Completely fine. Never better."
Legolas blinked slowly in return, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary, suspicion faintly flickering beneath his expression.
Even without words, you could practically feel him trying to piece together whatever strange behavior you had just displayed. His eyes narrowed ever so slightly before drifting toward the upper walkways where your attention had been moments earlier, following the exact direction of your previous staring crimes.
Your soul nearly left your body right there and then. The last thing you wanted was to be locked up for staring at someone' ass. Right before he could ask another questionâand potentially uncover the deeply embarrassing truth behind your sudden panic, you immediately turned on your heel and hurried ahead to catch up with the others ahead.
"Anyway!" you blurted out far too loudly, walking faster than necessary. "Beautiful kingdom. Very normal amount of trees."
Behind you now, Legolas remained standing there for only a second longer, confusion still faintly written across his features as he watched your retreating figure with narrowed eyes.
You could almost feel his suspicion growing. Yet eventually, he said nothing, merely following after you in quiet silence, though the faint crease between his brows never fully disappeared.
The deeper you traveled into the halls of Mirkwood, the quieter everything became. The soft sounds of water and distant voices faded beneath the weight of something heavier. Even the air itself seemed different here, cooler somehow, carrying the subtle scent of earth, moss, and old wood polished by centuries of care.
One by one, the dwarves were repositioned beneath the sharp watch of elven guards stationed throughout the hall. Chains rattled softly with every irritated movement from your companions, metal scraping faintly against stone as the guards guided them forward.
Bombur muttered complaints under his breath loud enough for half the hall to hear while Bofur attempted to calm him with little success. Dwalin, meanwhile, looked one inconvenience away from committing several crimes simultaneously, his broad shoulders tense beneath the grip of two guards escorting him forward.
KĂli, somehow, still found enough energy to smirk openly toward Tauriel despite the circumstances. "You know," he said casually while walking beside her, "for prisoners, we're getting a remarkably personal escort."
Tauriel didn't even look at him when she spoke. "Speak less."
"That sounded almost affectionate."
One nearby guard visibly sighed, even Fili looked tired of him the moment those words left him.
You, however, gradually found yourself guided elsewhere alongside Thorin. At first, you barely noticed the shift. One guard moved slightly to your side. Another adjusted course gently, steering you away from the others without outright separating you.
Your brows furrowed faintly as you slowed a little, glancing around in confusion while the others continued further down the hall. "UhâŚ" you looked back over your shoulder briefly. "I think I'm going the wrong way?"
No one answered immediately, the elven guards merely continued guiding you forward with calm silence, though none of them appeared hostile. If anything, they looked strangely cautious around youâas though uncertain what exactly they were supposed to do.
And by the time you fully realized what was happening, you stood at the center of the grand hall itself.
Thorin stood to your left, rigid as stone, broad shoulders drawn tight beneath layers of worn fur and leather as though sheer stubbornness alone held him upright.
Every line of his posture radiated restrained fury. His jaw remained clenched so tightly it almost looked painful, dark beard shifting faintly each time he exhaled through his nose in slow, controlled breaths that clearly weren't calming him in the slightest.
Even the chains around his wrists rattled softly whenever his fingers flexed at his sides, the sound sharp against the otherwise silent hall.
His blue eyes burned ahead with barely concealed contempt, fixed entirely upon the throne before him with the kind of hatred that felt...personal.
You honestly couldn't tell whether he was angry, offended, or merely seconds away from starting a full-scale war directly inside the throne room. Possibly all three.
Meanwhile, to your right stood Legolas, calm and poised as ever beneath the glow of the hall. Yet despite his composed exterior, you could feel his attention subtly lingering on you, as though making sure you were still there beside him.
While there was Tauriel, who stood slightly behind Thorin, silent and observant, her sharp eyes moving carefully between everyone in the room.
The throne room of Mirkwood stretched endlessly ahead, enormous roots twisting around ancient stone walls like living veins. Water shimmered beneath narrow bridges carved elegantly into the earth, reflecting silver light across the chamber.
High above, sunlight spilled through openings in the cavern ceiling, cascading downward in glowing streams that illuminated the throne at the far end of the hall.
It was beautiful. Terrifyingly beautiful.
Against the blinding silver-gold light pouring down from above, you found yourself squinting slightly, your brows knitting together as you tried to force your eyes to adjust.
The glow behind the throne was almost unbearable at first, washing everything in a hazy brilliance that made it difficult to focus on anything properly.
But slowly, the figure seated upon the throne came into view.
There he was, The King of Mirkwood. The infamous elven ruler the dwarves had spent days complaining about throughout the journey. The cruel king. The arrogant king. The king who apparently 'looked down his nose at everyone beneath him,' according to Thorin.
âŚYet none of them had properly prepared you for this.
Your eyes widened slightly despite yourself, gaze dragging slowly over the elegant lines of his face, the sharpness of his features, the effortless grace in the way he sat upon the throne as though he had been carved there by the forest itself.
Even his expressionâcold, unreadable, untouched by emotion, somehow only made him look more ethereal in its own way.
"DamnâŚ" you breathed quietly beneath your breath, completely unable to stop yourself. Your eyes remained fixed upon the figure seated upon the throne, brows slowly drawing together further in genuine disbelief as the full image of the Elvenking finally settled properly into view.
A faint look of awe crossed your face despite yourself as you stared upward, momentarily forgetting entirely where you were supposed to be standing or the fact that this was technically an incredibly tense political situation. "Of course he's beautiful." you muttered quietly.
Beside you, Legolas' attention shifted almost immediately. He stared at you for a brief moment, clearly caught off guard by your reaction, as though whatever response he had expected upon seeing the Elvenking⌠it had certainly not been that.
His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, sharp yet quiet, trying to decipher the look of absolute disbelief written all over your face. "Is something amiss?" he asked softly at last.
The question came low enough for only you to hear as he leaned slightly closer toward you, graceful and effortless in a way that should honestly be illegal. One subtle movementâthat was all it took, and suddenly his presence surrounded you completely.
His voice was smooth, calm, carrying that familiar elven gentleness that always seemed to catch you off guard no matter how many times he spoke.
But this time, he leaned too close. You felt the warmth of his breath near the shell of your ear, felt the slight brush of movement as he dipped his head toward you, and suddenly every single thought inside your head vanished completely.
Your entire body stiffened instantly, eyes widening as your pulse skipped violently against your chest the moment his voice brushed so close against your ear.
Panic shot through you for absolutely no reasonable reason whatsoever, heat rushing straight into your face so quickly it almost made your face entirely red.
Every coherent thought scattered immediately, leaving your mind completely blank except for the horrifying awareness of how close he suddenly was. And before your brain could even begin functioning properly againâyour body reacted first.
You jumped abruptly, scooting several frantic steps sideways like a startled animal escaping danger, only to move far too quickly without looking where you were going.
A second later, you'd collided directly into something solid beside you. "-Ow!" The sound escaped before you could stop it, your face scrunching immediately from the impact as pain shot lightly through your shoulder.
Meanwhile, Thorin barely moved an inch from the impact. If anything, the dwarf only shifted slightly beneath the collision, broad frame remaining planted firmly in place like a wall of stone while you recoiled backward from him in horror.
Honestly, you were fairly certain you took more damage than he did.
Your eyes widened the second realization struck. Slowly, very slowlyâyou lifted your head to look at the person you had just rammed into.
Thorin stared back down at you in complete silence, one thick brow already raised while his jaw tightened faintly beneath his beard.
The expression on his face somehow managed to hold irritation, exhaustion, confusion, and concern simultaneously, like he genuinely could not comprehend how someone could survive this long while behaving the way you did.
You recoiled instantly, eyes widening in horror as you turned toward him. "Sorry- sorry!" you whispered frantically, your hands lifting defensively in front of you as if trying to physically shield yourself from his disappointment. "I didn't mean to- I just- he-"
You stopped immediately, because the second you actually tried to think of an explanation, you realized there was absolutely no way to describe why you had launched yourself sideways after Legolas simply leaned closer to whisper near your ear without sounding completely insane.
Your mouth snapped shut again almost instantly, no explanation was better than that explanation.
Heat still burned across your face as you awkwardly lowered your head slightly, lips pressing into a thin line while you slowly shuffled back into your original spot beside them, movements stiff with embarrassment.
You suddenly found the polished stone floor incredibly interesting to look at. Anywhere was better than meeting someone's eyes right now.
Unfortunately, the universe clearly hated you, as the moment you turned ever so slightly, you'd caught Legolas still watching you.
His expression remained composed, well mostly, but there was the faintest flicker of bewilderment lingering in his eyes now, as though he genuinely could not understand what had just happened.
"âŚI merely asked if you were well," he said after a brief pause, voice low and calm beneath the silence of the hall.
Yet underneath that usual smooth composure lingered the slightest trace of confusion, as though he were sincerely trying to figure out how his question had somehow resulted in you throwing yourself bodily into Thorin Oakenshield.
Your face somehow grew even hotter.
"I am well," you muttered quickly, far too fast to sound convincing while continuing to avoid eye contact with absolutely everyone in that enclosed space. "Too well, actually."
The second the words left your mouth, regret hit instantly. In fact, that did not help, quite literally at all.
Thorin let out a low, exhausted exhale beside you, the sound heavy with long-suffering resignation as he pinched the bridge of his nose for a brief moment, eyes squeezing shut as though he were physically trying to will patience into existence
The lines of his face deepened with irritation, his jaw tightening again before he dropped his hand with a muted grunt, looking every bit like a man who had begun questioning not just his choices, but the very concept of destiny itself.
Ahead of you, the great throne loomed larger with every passing second. The soft, ever-present sound of flowing water echoed through the chamber from unseen channels beneath the floor, weaving together with the distant rustle of leaves far above in the living canopy of the palace.
And unfortunately for you, you had a terrible feeling he had heard you. Very slowly, carefully, you leaned toward your right, lowering your voice into a cautious whisper as though the entire room might punish you for speaking too loudly. "That's the king right?"
Your eyes remained fixed ahead, completely unable to pull away from the figure seated upon the throne. Even from this distance, Thranduil's presence seemed to consume the entire hall without effort.
He sat with effortless authority, posture relaxed yet impossibly regal, one arm resting lazily against the carved throne as though the entire realm itself bowed naturally beneath him.
Silver light cascaded behind him in long streams, framing him almost ethereally, and for a fleeting moment, he looked less like a king and more like some ancient being pulled straight from myth.
Beside you, Legolas followed your gaze briefly before looking back at you. The faintest flicker of amusement touched his features as his gaze briefly swept over your openly astonished expression.
It vanished almost immediately, hidden once more beneath his usual composure, though not before you caught it. "That," he answered quietly, inclining his head ever so slightly toward the throne, "is the Elvenking."
The way he said it carried no exaggeration, just quiet certainty. Yet somehow, hearing the title spoken aloud sent a strange chill through you anyway.
You swallowed slowly, eyes drifting back toward Thranduil just as he finally moved.
The motion itself was subtleâmerely the shift of his hand against the throne, the slow rise of his figure from his seat, yet the entire room seemed to still around it.
Every elf standing guard straightened almost imperceptibly. Even the sound of rushing water beneath the bridges seemed quieter somehow beneath the weight of his presence.
Your chest tightened slightly without reason, as Thranduil descended the steps of his throne with measured grace, robes trailing behind him like flowing moonlight. His expression remained unreadable, pale eyes sharp as they settled upon Thorin beside you.
"Some may imagine that a noble quest is at hand," he began smoothly, his voice echoing throughout the chamber like silk dragged over steel. "A quest to reclaim a homeland and slay a dragon."
You glanced sideways the instant those words left his lips. Thorin had gone completely rigid beside you, every muscle in his body locking into place beneath layers of controlled fury barely held in check.
His hands curled at his sides, knuckles tightening until they blanched, and his jaw clenched so hard it looked as though it might crack under the pressure.
Still, he did not speakâonly stared forward with burning restraint, blue eyes fixed upon the Elvenking with a stare sharp enough to wound.
"I, myself," he continued, the faintest edge of amusement threading through his tone, "suspect a more prosaic motive⌠attempted burglary, or something of that ilk." His gaze never left Thorin as he spoke, pale eyes narrowing slightly as though he were reading something beneath the dwarf's silence, something unspoken but deeply familiar.
Every word was measured, deliberate, and cutting in its restraint, as if he had no need to raise his voice to make it land.
The Elvenking moved slowly now through the throne room, circling almost lazily, though there was something unnerving about the way he carried himself, as though entirely aware that every eye followed him, every breath shifted around him.
"You have found a way in." He said, each step he took echoed softly through the throne room. "You seek that which would bestow upon you the right to rule." His voice lowered slightly then, almost deliberate. "The King's Jewel. The Arkenstone."
At the mention of it, something dark flickered across Thorin's face. His shoulders stiffened further, fingers curling tightly at his sides. Beside him, you could almost feel the anger radiating from him in waves.
"It is precious to you and your people beyond measure," Thranduil said calmly. "I understand that."
His pacing then slowed, seemed to be taking in a moment before he continued. "There are gems within the mountain that I too desire," His voice softened faintly, his gaze distant for only a brief moment. "White gems of pure starlight."
For the first time since entering the throne room, something shifted in his expressionânot emotion exactly, but memory. Something old. Something bitter.
The atmosphere changed alongside with it, even Legolas beside you seemed quieter now, his posture subtly straighter as silence settled heavily through the hall.
Thranduil then looked back toward Thorin, his attention fully back at him once more. "I offer you my help."
The declaration was simple, almost gentle in tone, yet it carried weight enough to silence even the faintest rustle in the hall.
It did not sound like generosity, it sounded like control wrapped in courtesy. The words lingered in the space between them, suspended in the air, as though waiting to see who would dare challenge their meaning.
Thorin's eyes narrowed slightly at it. He did not move, though suspicion was written plainly across his features now. "I'm listening," he answered carefully, voice low and guarded.
A faint smile touched the Elvenking's lips thenânot warm, not kind, but full with quiet amusement. It was the kind of smile that belonged to someone who already understood the outcome of the conversation, and was merely deciding how much truth to reveal at once.
"I will let you go⌠if you but return what is mine."
As he spoke, Thranduil resumed pacing leisurely across the throne room, the sound of his robes brushing softly against stone the only thing breaking the silence. Yet halfway through his movementâ
He paused.
It was small, almost nothing. But in a room like this, where every breath felt accounted for, even the slightest hesitation felt like a fracture in reality.
His pale eyes shifted first, breaking away from Thorin mid-thought as though something had quietly redirected his attention without warning. And then they landed directly on you.
Your entire body stiffened beneath his sudden attention, shoulders locking instinctively as though your instincts had decided to react before your mind could even begin to understand why.
The moment Thranduil's gaze fully settled upon you, everything changed.
You saw it immediately. The cold, distant indifference that had coated his expression just moments ago faltered so suddenly it was almost jarring, like something carefully controlled had slipped for the briefest fraction of a second.
His steps stopped completely, the faint, cutting amusement that had lingered in his eyes vanishing without warning, leaving something far more exposed in its place.
And then came something you never would have expected to see on the face of the Elvenking.
Shock. Pure, devastating shock.
His pale eyes widened, searching your face with alarming intensity, as though trying to make sense of something impossible standing before him.
The color seemed to drain from his expression bit by bit, his posture stiffening in a way that made the entire throne room fall eerily silent.
A faint crease formed between your brows beneath the intensity of his gaze then, unease slowly coiling in your chest the longer he continued staring. Because whatever was reflected in the Elvenking's eyes nowâit went far beyond mere surprise.
There was sorrow there, deep and unmistakable, tangled together with something dangerously close to panic and a disbelief so nakedly exposed it almost hurt to witness.
It looked less like recognition and more like someone confronting a wound they had once buried, only for it to suddenly stand breathing before them again.
Your chest tightened uneasily at the sudden shift. The room itself even seemed to still around him in response. Even the guards along the walls stood more rigid, uncertain whether to move or remain frozen in place.
Thorin noticed it too, his brows furrowed slowly as his sharp gaze shifted between you and the Elvenking with growing suspicion, the earlier fury in his posture momentarily replaced by wary calculation.
He did not speak, but the way his stance subtly adjusted made it clear he no longer viewed this as a simple exchange of threats and bargaining.
Legolas, who stood beside you had gone noticeably still, confusion flashing clearly across his features for the first time since entering the hall, whilst Tauriel's eyes narrowed slightly, her attention sharpening immediately.
But the Elvenking just seemed to look like he had seen a ghost.
His lips parted faintly, though whatever words had risen there seemed to die before they could escape. His eyes roamed across your face with unsettling intensity, searching every feature with near-desperate focus, as though comparing you against a memory he had carried for far too long.
There was nothing regal in the look anymore, nothing distant or untouchable. Only someone trying, and failing to convince himself that what stood before him could not possibly be real.
Like he was looking at the past itself, and there it was, staring right back at him.
Then, barely above a whisper, "âŚLumena?" The name slipped from his lips so faintly you almost believed you had imagined it, carried into the silence like something forbidden dragged unwillingly from the depths of memory.
Yet despite how softly it was spoken, the effect was immediate. The air itself seemed to tighten around the word, tension rippling outward so suddenly it felt as though the entire hall had drawn breath at once.
Your own brows pulled together completely, the name repeating itself in your head in loops.
Lumena?
Ahead of you, the Elvenking looked as though he regretted speaking at all. The instant the name left his lips, something shuttered violently behind his eyes, his expression tightening with sudden awareness, as though he had revealed far more than intended.
Despite himself, he could not seem to look away from you.
NoâNot you.
His gaze had shifted lower now, fixed intently upon the pendant resting against your chest. And the moment he truly saw it, whatever fragile composure he had left seemed to fracture completely.
Before you could even begin to make sense of the name lingering in the air, Thranduil moved. One heartbeat he stood near the foot of the throne, distant beneath silver-green light and shadowed branches overheadâthen suddenly he was before you, crossing the hall with such unnatural swiftness it hardly looked like movement at all.
The sharp sweep of his robes cut across the stone floor as he closed the distance in an instant, the suddenness of it forcing you to stumble backward in alarm.
Your breath caught hard in your throat, eyes widening as instinct immediately screamed at you to move, though your body barely had time to react.
"Wha-?" The sound barely escaped you before his hand moved.
Long pale fingers caught suddenly against the pendant hidden beneath your collar, gripping the chain with startling force before dragging it free into the open.
The motion snapped the pendant forward sharply, the chain biting briefly against your skin as you were pulled off balance with it.
A startled gasp left you immediately, your entire body lurching toward him from the force as your hands flew upward on instinct, grabbing tightly around his wrist without even thinking.
The pendant swayed faintly between the two of you now, glinting beneath the pale light filtering through the halls. And the moment he had saw it clearly, something inside him broke.
The throne room erupted into motion around you.
Several guards shifted forward instantly, startled by the abruptness of the Elvenking's actions, hands instinctively moving toward their weapons despite their hesitation, while Thorin took a sharp step ahead with visible alarm flashing across his face.
Beside you, Legolas stiffened completely. "My Elven-lord-" The word came sharper than before, edged with alarm as he took a quick step forward, clearly unsettled by the sight unfolding before him.
Yet Thranduil did not acknowledge him. In truth, he seemed entirely unaware of anyone else remaining in the room.
His entire focus had narrowed onto the pendant now trembling between his fingers. His breathing had changedâbarely, but enough to notice, as though the sight of it had struck something deep enough to shake even him.
His eyes moved across every detail of the necklace with near-desperate intensity, disbelief warring openly across features that moments ago had been carved entirely from control.
His breathing faltered visibly, eyes widened further in horror and recognition crashing across his face with devastating force. Even his hand tightened unconsciously around the pendant, fingers curling against the silver chain like he could not convince himself the object before him truly existed.
"Where did you get this?" He gritted his teeth, the words weren't spoken calmly a single bit. It was rough, demanding, almost desperate beneath the anger, loud enough that the sound rebounded sharply against stone and carved pillars alike.
His voice rose sharply, raw and demanding in a way that made everyone in the hall freeze instantly. The sheer force behind it startled you badly enough that your heart nearly stopped.
You had never imagined the Elvenking capable of sounding so⌠shaken.
Panic surged through you immediately, fast and overwhelming beneath the weight of his stare. "I-!" The sound caught uselessly in your throat as your fingers instinctively tightened around his wrist, your mind scrambling desperately to answer while confusion and fear tangled together inside your chest.
"It's-it's my mother's!" you blurted out hurriedly, the words stumbling over each other in your panic. "I've had it ever since I was little-!"
The moment the truth left your lipsâ
Everything changed.
The tension in his grip loosened ever so slightly around the pendant as your words settled between you, and for one fractured moment, the grief hidden beneath his composure became impossible to conceal.
His stare turned distant, unfocused, as though your answer had dragged him somewhere far beyond the throne room entirely.
A thousand emotions flickered through his expression too quickly to fully graspâshock, sorrow, regret, yearning, it'd all come crashing together beneath the fragile remains of restraint.
His jaw tightened sharply afterward, like he was trying to force himself back into control, but it was already too late.
His eyes searched yours againâdesperately this time, as though trying to piece together every impossible detail standing before him.
"Your⌠mother?" he repeated quietly. Now they sounded almost fragile, like something spoken more to himself than to you. The Elvenking standing before you no longer resembled the composed ruler who had towered above everyone moments ago.
The distance in him had vanished, leaving behind someone visibly shaken by memories he had not been prepared to face again, caught between memory and grief, struggling to separate one from the other.
His eyes lowered once more toward the pendant still caught loosely within his grasp. For a brief moment, his thumb brushed across its surface with unmistakable familiarity, the movement slow and almost absent-minded, like tracing over something precious long believed lost.
When his gaze lifted back toward your face again, something inside his expression gave way completely.
Because you looked so much like her.
Not enough to mistake you for the woman he had once knownânot truly. Time had changed too much for that illusion to survive.
Yet there were fragments. Small, unbearable pieces of her reflected back at him through you. The shape of your eyes. The way your expression shifted when confused. Even the stubbornness flickering beneath your fear reminded him too much of someone he had once known too well.
And it was enough.
For one terrible instant, it was written plainly across his faceâthat centuries-old grief had surged back into him all at once, tearing through wounds time had never truly healed.
His breathing steadied gradually, though the faint unsteadiness beneath it remained impossible to hide completely. Even now, his fingers lingered against the necklace as though letting go of it meant accepting something he was not ready to face.
The anger that had exploded from him moments earlier faded almost instantly, replaced instead by something quieter, something infinitely more dangerous.
Pain.
"HahâŚ" He laughed breathless. It escaped him quietly, but it sounded wrong coming from someone like him. Not amused nor cruel, it sounded like grief given sound after centuries of silence.
His eyes lowered briefly, lashes casting faint shadows across features no longer guarded carefully enough to hide the sorrow carved into them.
There was exhaustion there too, ancient and heavy, like he had spent centuries outrunning memories only for them to suddenly stand breathing before him once again.
Then slowly, almost hesitantly, he looked back at you.
"âŚSo you did return," he murmured at last, voice scarcely louder than the whisper of leaves beyond the halls. The words drifted from him quietly, unfocused, as though spoken to someone far away rather than the person standing before him now. "Even after all this timeâŚ"
A faint bitterness touched his expression thenânot anger, but the ache of someone who had once hoped for something impossible.
His gaze lingered on your face with unsettling intensity, searching through you and beyond you all at once, as though caught between present and memory.
"You said you would find your way back to me," he continued softly, almost breathless beneath the weight of remembrance. "And now⌠even in death, you still refuse to leave me be."
Your brows immediately drew together in confusion. What?
Your fingers instinctively curled tighter around the pendant now resting once more against your chest, grounding yourself against the growing unease twisting inside you. Returned? What was he talking about?
You opened your mouth slightly, wanting to ask, but before a single word could leave you, Thorin's voice shattered violently through the throne room.
"Oi!" The sheer force behind it made several elves tensed on reflex, armor shifting sharply as hands moved instinctively toward sword hilts and spear shafts.
Thorin stepped forward abruptly, boots striking hard against the stone floor as he planted himself partly between you and Thranduil.
The fury radiating from him now was impossible to ignore. His jaw was clenched so tightly the muscles visibly twitched beneath his beard, blue eyes blazing with restrained hatred as he glared up at the Elvenking.
To him, none of this mattered beyond one thingâ
you looked frightened, and that alone was enough.
"Don't hurt her!" Thorin barked harshly, the insult ringing sharply through the hall with unmistakable venom. Somewhere behind you, you heard one of the guards shift immediately, hands tightening around their weapon.
But Thorin did not back down. If anything, he stepped closer still, planting himself more firmly before you as though daring anyone to try removing him.
His expression had darkened completely now, years of bitterness and distrust toward the Elvenking surfacing plainly across his face.
"Unhand her." Thorin snapped sharply, protective irritation flashing across his face.
Meanwhile, you stared at Thorin in complete horror. Did he seriously just say that to the King of Mirkwood? In his territory?
Thorin however, either didn't notice your panicâor simply did not care at all. His attention remained locked entirely on Thranduil as he continued forward another step, voice rough and edged with warning. "Back to business," he growled. "A favor for a favor."
For a fleeting second, Thorin glanced sideways toward you. The rage in his expression softened only barely, concern flickering across his features before it vanished beneath stone once more.
Then he turned back toward Thranduil, lifting his chin slightly despite the guards already bristling around the room.
It was your first time seeing him look at you that way, but you brushed it off, currently your main focus had to be on the Elvenking before you. If not, who knows? You'll be thrown into prison like the rest.
For several long seconds, Thranduil said nothing. Then slowly, almost like he was forcing himself awake from some distant memory, his eyes blinked once.
The movement looked strangely delayed, his composure pieced together too carefully now to appear natural. At last, his fingers loosened completely from the necklace.
The pendant slipped from his hand and fell softly back against your chest. Even then, his gaze followed it downward, lingering upon the silver as though part of him still could not bring himself to release it fully.
The moment his hold disappeared, you instinctively stumbled backward half a step, your hand immediately flying toward the pendant protectively.
Fingers curled tightly around it against your chest as though shielding it from him now, your pulse hammering so violently beneath your ribs it almost hurt.
The throne room remained deathly silent. No one moved, no one understood what had just happened.
Except perhaps Legolas. Because beside you, his expression had gone strangely pale as realization slowly began dawning across his features too.
"You have my word then," Thranduil said firmly, his tone slightly steadier now . "One king to another."
Thorin then laughed after hearing those words. A sharp, disbelieving exhale escaped him as he slowly straightened, the fragile crack in his composure showing through.
"AhâŚ" he murmured softly, eyes filled with mockery narrowing faintly upon Thranduil. "Right. A king's word." He spat, bitterness laced beneath his voice, as his expression twisted immediately.
"I would not trust Thranduil, the great king, to honor his word should the ending of days itself be upon us!"
The fury he had been suppressing finally surged free now, raw and burning. His voice thundered throughout the chamber, echoing violently against stone and water alike.
You flinched slightly at the sudden raise in his tone, this was no longer negotiation, but rather this was years of hatred finally clawing its way to the surface.
Thorin stepped forward again, pointing directly toward Thranduil with enough force that several guards immediately tensed. "You lack all honor!" he roared. "I have seen how you treat your friends!"
"We came to you once!" Thorin continued, voice cracking beneath the force of his rage. "Starving! Homeless! Seeking your aid!"
Every word dripped with old pain, "But you turned your back!" His voice echoed violently through the throne room now. "You turned away from the suffering of my people and the inferno that destroyed us!"
"Die a death of flames." Thorin then spewed in dwarvish.
The moment the words left him, everything was bound to be changed. Thranduil moved so quickly the motion barely registered. One second he stood stillâthe next he was directly before Thorin once more, eyes blazing furious.
The entire hall seemed to recoil beneath the force of his anger. "Do not speak to me of dragon fire." His voice dropped low, deadly. He leaned forward until he and Thorin stood nearly nose to nose, pale eyes burning with restrained wrath.
"I know its wrath." He spoke, as something twisted suddenly across his features.
And before your eyes, it seemed like a illusion shattered. You gasped softly at it. Burns spread violently across one side of Thranduil's face, blackened scars crawling beneath his skin like remnants of living flame.
The perfection of the Elvenking vanished instantly beneath the ruin hidden underneath, jagged and horrifying.
Thorin looked caught off guard as well.
"I know its ruin," Thranduil continued quietly, his voice no longer sounded merely angry now. Instead, it sounded haunted.
For one terrible moment, you swore you saw it reflected in his eyesâthe memory of fire, destruction and loss, before he slowly straightened once more.
The burns vanished instantly beneath the glamour returning across his features, leaving only the cold, flawless face of the Elvenking once again. "I have faced the great serpents of the North," he said calmly.
The room remained deathly silent, taking in every word Thranduil had to say. "I warned your grandfather of what his greed would summon." His gaze hardened upon Thorin. "But he would not listen."
"You are just like him." he said, clearly mocking the son of it.
Thorin's jaw tightened violently, but before he could answer, Thranduil turned away sharply, lifting one elegant hand toward the guards.
The command needed no words. Immediately, the elven guards surged forward. Chains rattled loudly as they seized Thorin by the arms. The dwarf struggled instantly, fury flashing across his face as he attempted to wrench himself free. "Unhand me!"
The guards dragged him backward regardless, boots scraping harshly against stone.
Thranduil could care less, he'd already begun ascending the steps toward his throne once more, every trace of earlier vulnerability buried once again beneath layers of regal indifference.
He sat slowly, as though none of it had affected him at all, lowering his cold gaze toward Thorin. "Stay here, if you will," he said smoothly. "And rot."
The faintest tilt of amusement touched his lips once more. "A hundred years is a mere blink in the life of an elf."
His eyes darkened slightly. "I am patient."
The throne room fell silent again. Yet even as Thorin was dragged away shouting curses beneath his breathâYou noticed something. Thranduil's gaze drifted back toward you once more, and the grief in his eyes had not fully disappeared.
You.
More specificallyâthe pendant trembling faintly against your chest as your uneven breathing caused it to shift. The same necklace he had once seen resting against another person entirely. Against her.
Something dark flickered across his expression then, so quick you nearly missed it. Pain. Fear. Guilt. Perhaps all three tangled together so tightly even he could no longer separate them.
Then he spoke, "Throw her in as well." The command sliced through the throne room in an instant, cold and absolute despite the faint strain hidden beneath it.
For a second, you genuinely thought you had misheard him. Your brows pulled together slowly, confusion washing across your face before disbelief followed right after it.
A small breath escaped your lips, shaky and stunned, as though your mind refused to fully comprehend what had just happened. You genuinely thought you'd misheard him.
"âŚWhat?" The word barely came out properly, but the guards had already begun moving.
Armor shifted sharply as several elves stepped forward at once, boots striking against stone in practiced unison. The sound alone made your stomach tighten painfully.
You instinctively took a slow step backward, then another, eyes darting quickly between each approaching guard as panic slowly began creeping its way into your chest.
No one hesitated now, not after the king had spoken.
Your pulse pounded violently in your ears with every step they took closer. The throne room suddenly felt enormous and suffocating all at once, the glowing halls seeming to close around you despite their size. There was nowhere to go.
Even if you ran, you already knew how useless it would be. These were elves. You would barely make it past the pillars before they caught you.
And worst of all, Thranduil looked away, though not out of indifference. No⌠somehow that would have hurt less. He looked away like he could not bear to watch it happen, and that hurt far more than the order itself.
A faint huff escaped you then, almost laugh-like in its disbelief as you continued backing away slowly. Your fingers tightened instinctively around the pendant resting against your chest, knuckles paling beneath the pressure.
"Wait-" Your voice wavered despite your attempt to steady it. "I didn't even do anything-"
But the guards did not stop. One elf stepped forward first, arm extending toward you with clear intent to seize you before the situation worsened further.
Right as his hands reached, someone had moved in front of you, fast enough that you nearly gasped aloud in shock.
Legolas.
One moment he stood at your side, silent beneath the chaos unraveling around himâand the next he had stepped directly in front of you without hesitation, forcing the guards to halt immediately.
There he stood directly before you now, tall and rigid, placing himself between you and every drawn weapon in the room without a second of hesitation.
One arm extended instinctively across your front protectively, not quite touching you yet shielding you all the same, as though his body had reacted long before thought ever could.
The movement had been immediate, natural, effortless in the most dangerous way possible, like protecting you had never once been something he needed to think about.
And in his other hand, a dagger gleamed beneath the dim light of the throne hall.
You had not even seen the moment he drew it. One heartbeat his hands had been empty, the next silver flashed sharply before you as the blade settled with quiet precision at his side.
Legolas held it low, not carelessly brandished nor wildly threatening, yet the meaning behind it remained unmistakable. If anyone moved toward you again, he would not hesitate.
His grip remained steady despite the storm visibly brewing behind his eyes now. The Legolas standing before you now looked dangerousâtense in a way that made the entire hall freeze around him.
"Do not touch her." His voice came low and sharp, cutting cleanly through the suffocating silence.
It was not a plea. Not even a warning. It was a command.
Every guard stopped instantly. Not because they feared the dagger in his hand. Elves of Mirkwood did not frighten easily, least of all by steel. Noâwhat unsettled them was the sight before them.
Their prince stood armed against his own kin, against his father's order.
The prince of Mirkwood stood armed before them now, openly shielding someone his father had just ordered imprisoned.
The realization spread visibly through the chamber in ripples of tension. Several guards exchanged brief uncertain glances, clearly caught between duty to their king and loyalty toward the heir standing before them now.
One shifted his footing uneasily, while another lowered his spear ever so slightly without realizing it. None of them seemed entirely certain how to proceed anymore.
Because this was no ordinary act of defiance.
A flicker of disbelief spread visibly through the throne room. Tauriel straightened instantly where she stood nearby, eyes widening slightly though not entirely in surprise, as though some part of her had always known this moment would come eventually ever since witnessing your interaction not too long ago.
Meanwhile, you could only stare silently at Legolas' back from behind, your thoughts momentarily falling into complete disarray.
You seemed to notice everything suddenlyâthe tension pulled tightly through his shoulders, the subtle rise and fall of heavier breathing he was trying desperately to control, the way his stance never once wavered despite the dozens of eyes now fixed upon him.
The realization settled strangely in your chest, because Legolas knew exactly what he was doing.
This was not some reckless impulse born from emotion alone. He understood the consequences standing before his father armed like this.
He understood every watching guard now waited for a single wrong movement to turn the throne room into chaos. And yet even knowing all thatâhe still refused to step aside.
Your fingers tightened unconsciously around the pendant resting against your chest.
One of the guards finally attempted another careful step forward anyway, perhaps hoping the prince's restraint would outweigh his resolve. The movement was slow, cautious, barely more than a shift against the stone floor.
Legolas reacted instantly, as the dagger lifted slightly in warning, while his gaze snapped toward the approaching elf with enough icy intensity to halt him mid-step. "I said," Legolas repeated slowly, each word edged with restrained anger, "do not touch her."
Silence crashed over the room once more before that same old cold voice pierced through it.
"Legolas." Thranduil's voice echoed sharply throughout the hall, the warning beneath that single word was unmistakable. Yet Legolas did not move, he did not even bother to lower his blade, nor did he step aside.
Slowly, Thranduil descended another step from the throne platform, his pale gaze fixed entirely upon his son now. The grief and confusion from earlier had vanished beneath something colder, something far more dangerous.
"You forget yourself," Thranduil said quietly, though the calmness in his voice somehow made it worse.
Legolas' jaw tightened visibly. For a brief moment, you saw conflict flicker across his expressionâold loyalty clashing violently against something stronger now.
Still, he never lowered the dagger. "No," he answered firmly at last, his voice steady despite the tension pulling through him. "I remember precisely who I am."
A sharp tension swept across the throne room instantly at his choice of response. Several guards exchanged uneasy glances while Tauriel's attention sharpened further, clearly preparing herself should the situation collapse entirely.
Thranduil stopped only a few steps away, expression unreadable once more. "Stand aside." The command came calm.
And for the first time since you had met Legolas, there was something openly defiant burning within his eyes.
"She has harmed no one," Legolas said, "She's the daughter of Lumena. And if word were to spread that she was cast into the cells unjustlyâŚ" His eyes sharpened faintly. "There are many within this realm who would not remain silent"
His grip around the dagger tightened faintly then before continuing. "She is not our enemy."
Thranduil's expression darkened the moment those words reached his ears. "And yet," he replied smoothly, each word measured with dangerous precision, "you would raise a blade against your own king for her?" The question hung heavily between them.
Legolas hesitated, only for the briefest second. But in a throne room this silent, even the smallest uncertainty became impossible to miss.
You saw it flicker through him immediately, the conflict tearing beneath his composure as duty warred violently against something stronger now. Loyalty to his father, loyalty to his kingdom. And then⌠you.
His eyes shifted toward you at last, just one glance.
Yet somehow it felt heavier than everything spoken between them so far. His gaze caught the sight of your trembling hands curled tightly around the necklace against your chest, the fear you were trying desperately not to show.
And whatever answer he found there seemed to settle something inside him completely. When he looked back at Thranduil again, the hesitation was all gone. "If I must."
The entire throne room seemed to inhale sharply all at once.
Even you froze behind him, eyes widening in complete disbelief as your breath caught somewhere painfully in your chest. Because Legolas had just openly defied the Elvenking before the entirety of his court.
And judging by the slow, unreadable look now settling across Thranduil's faceâThis was no longer merely about prisoners. This had become deeply, dangerously personal.
Your eyes remained fixed on Legolas' back, your thoughts struggling to catch up with everything unfolding before you.
The way the guards had immediately halted the moment he stepped between you and them, the tension now crackling through the entire throne room because of a single movement from him aloneâit was enough to tell you that Legolas held far more authority here than you had first assumed.
At first, you thought perhaps it was because he was captain of the guard, someone respected enough that others naturally followed his lead.
But that thought shattered almost instantly the moment one of the guards finally spoke, his voice strained with visible uncertainty as his eyes flickered nervously between Legolas and the Elvenking.
"My lordâŚ"The elf hesitated, clearly choosing his words with care now, his grip tightening faintly around his spear.
"It is your king's command." His brows furrowed deeper, desperation slipping into his tone as though he genuinely wished not to stand against either side. "Even if he is your father⌠neither you nor I may openly defy him."
The words struck you so suddenly your mind blanked for half a heartbeat.
"âŚWhat?" Your head snapped up toward Legolas so quickly it almost hurt, eyes widening in complete disbelief as the realization came crashing down all at once.
"The Elvenking is your father?" you blurted, your voice echoing far louder than intended through the silent halls.
Several heads turned toward you instantly, though you barely noticed beneath the sheer disbelief crashing through your thoughts.
Your eyes widened further the longer you stared at Legolas' back, bafflement written plainly across your face. "You're a prince?!"
Of all the impossible things this day had thrown at you, imprisonment, emotionally unstable elf kingsâsomehow that had caught you most off guard.
Your brows pulled together harder in bewilderment, gaze flickering rapidly between Legolas and Thranduil as your mind desperately attempted to rearrange every interaction you had ever had with him into this entirely new context.
Suddenly everything made far too much sense.
The guards listening to him immediately. The way the elves moved around him with instinctive respect.
The hair.
"Oh, you've got to be kidding me," you muttered beneath your breath in complete disbelief before looking back at him again. "You're literally a prince, and you never told me!"
For the briefest second, something softened across Legolas' otherwise tense expression. It was smallâso fleeting most would have missed it entirely, but you caught it nonetheless.
The slightest twitch near the corner of his mouth, subtle enough to vanish almost immediately, as though the absurdity of your outrage had momentarily slipped past his restraint and nearly pulled a smile from him despite himself.
Yet his posture never relaxed, his dagger still angled protectively before him as his sharp gaze remained fixed on the guards ahead, every muscle in his body coiled tight with restraint.
"You never asked," he answered simply.
You stared at him in genuine disbelief. "That is not something people usually have to ask!" you whisper-hissed back immediately, scandalized despite the danger around you. "Who walks around assuming they need to ask if someone's secretly royalty?!"
"Mm." For the briefest moment, Legolas' attention shifted toward you again, only slightly, though it was enough for you to catch the subtle change in his expression beneath all the tension surrounding him.
His gaze swept over you quickly, checking you over almost instinctively as though reassuring himself you were still unharmed amidst the chaos unfolding around you.
Then, quieter this timeâlow enough that the words brushed only against your ears, he spoke again. "Stay behind me alright?"
The calmness in his voice should not have affected you as much as it did, yet somehow it did.
Your breath caught faintly at the words, despite the guards surrounding you, despite the king standing only a few steps away watching everything unfold with unreadable eyes, Legolas still sounded far more concerned about you than himself.
And across the hall, Thranduil noticed it too. The Elvenking's pale gaze lingered upon his son carefully now, upon the protective angle of his body, the dagger still raised toward his own people, the quiet way he positioned himself between you and every possible threat without hesitation.
Something shifted across Thranduil's expression then, subtle enough that most would not notice.
"Legolas," Thranduil spoke at last, his voice quieter now. The disappointment woven through the single word settled coldly across the hall. "You place yourself in dangerous waters."
The warning lingered between them, not spoken as a king to a disobedient prince.
But almost⌠as a father watching his son walk toward the very same ruin he once could not escape himself.
"If protecting her places me there," he answered steadily, his grip tightening faintly around the dagger, "then so be it."
Silence followed immediately after, it was heavy and suffocating. And standing behind him, staring at the unwavering figure shielding you without hesitation, you realized something terrifying all at once.
He meant it. This was not reckless bravado nor some desperate attempt to frighten the guards into retreat. Legolas was not bluffing.
If this throne room turned against you nowâif his father commanded these elves forward despite everything, he truly would stand against them for your sake.
"You act as though you know her well." Thranduil spoke back then. His pale eyes remained fixed upon Legolas with growing intensity, the faint sneer curling along his lips doing little to hide the tension tightening beneath his composure.
This conversation was no longer unfolding the way he'd wished.
Legolas however, had not lower his dagger despite such warnings. If anything, his posture only straightened further, shoulders squaring instinctively as he stood firmly between you and the guards.
"I do know her," he answered without hesitation.
His gaze then finally lifted fully toward his father, something almost challenging flickering through his eyes now. "She is the girl I told you about. The one I have been meeting when I was a child.â
Legolas tilted his head just slightly then, though the movement held no humor. "It seems," he continued quietly, "I was not lying after all."
As he finished, genuine disbelief crossed Thranduil's face. Just stunned disbelief, as though he could scarcely comprehend the words spoken before him.
"HahâŚ" A hollow sound escaped him, somewhere between disbelief and bitter amusement as he descended another slow step.
"And now you choose to utter nonsense before your king?" His voice hardened instantly afterward, centuries of authority crashing back into place. "I said stand aside, Legolas." He commanded, the words echoing harshly through the halls.
Legolas did not move though. He'd just planted himself more firmly before you, the dagger remaining steady within his grasp as his expression hardened with quiet resolve. No fear crossed his face now. No hesitation. Only stubborn certainty.
And the sight struck Thranduil harder than he could've ever expected. He was no longer looking at his son.
For the briefest, most painful moment, he saw himself instead. Younger. Reckless. Standing before another throne long ago with that same defiant fire burning in his eyes for someone he should never have loved so deeply.
For her. Lumena.
The memories came uninvited, vicious in their clarity. Soft laughter echoing through moonlit halls, gentle hands reaching for his, silver tears, blood and loss.
It had taken centuries to bury those memories deep enough to survive them. Centuries spent forcing himself not to remember her voice, her smile, the way she had once looked at him as though he alone existed beneath the stars.
He had wanted it all gone. Every trace of her erased from his mind because remembering had become torture.
Yet now you stood before him wearing her eyes, her necklace, her kindness. And his son looked at you the exact same way he once looked at her.
The realization twisted painfully through his chest. Something in Thranduil softened then despite himself, faint enough most would never notice it.
His expression faltered for only half a second, grief slipping through the cracks before his jaw twitched sharply once more, forcing the emotion back down where it belonged.
"âŚVery well." The words came quieter than before, though the sternness remained. Yet beneath it, there was the faintest tremble hidden within his voice now, almost swallowed entirely by pride.
Your eyes widened at the sudden shift in his expression, confusion written plainly across your face as you stared at him.
Around the hall, even the guards looked uncertain now, glancing uneasily toward one another as though unsure whether they had heard correctly.
Thranduil's gaze shifted toward you slowly then. For a moment, he simply looked at you, really looked at you. His eyes traced the bruises scattered across your hands, the exhaustion lingering beneath your expression, the thin weird clothing still clinging damply against your skin from the cold outside.
Something unreadable flickered across his face again before he spoke at last.
"You," he began carefully, though his tone remained controlled, "will remain under Legolas' supervision." His eyes flickered briefly toward his son afterward.
"Should anything occurâŚ" he paused, before continuing, "It shall fall upon you."
Legolas inclined his head slightly without argument, though relief visibly loosened some of the tension held within his posture. The dagger lowered at last, though he still did not fully step away from you yet.
Thranduil's eyes then seemed to find itself drifting back toward you once more. He paused, his gaze lingered noticeably longer than necessary before he cleared his throat quietly, almost as though irritated with himself.
"AndâŚ" His voice faltered briefly before smoothing itself out again. "See that she is given proper garments to change into."
The room seemed to blink collectively in confusion. Thranduil immediately looked away afterward, pretending sudden interest elsewhere as though he had not just spoken.
"It is cold beyond these halls during this season," he added stiffly, the explanation sounding almost forced.
You could only stand there staring at Thranduil in complete confusion as he turned sharply, silver robes sweeping behind him while he ascended the throne steps once more.
Nothing about this situation made sense anymore. Not the way he looked at you. Not the grief hidden behind his anger. And certainly not the strange softness that kept slipping through despite how desperately he tried to bury it.
The room they had brought you to was far quieter than the throne hall below. Soft lanternlight flickered gently against carved stone walls woven with twisting vines and roots, while silver curtains shifted faintly whenever the breeze slipped through the open archway nearby.
Compared to the chaos from earlier, the silence almost felt nice.
You sat near the edge of the large wooden bed awkwardly, your legs crossed beneath you as you absentmindedly tugged at the sleeves of your old hoodie.
Honestly, the thing had seen better days several disasters ago. It was stained with dirt, dried blood, ash, and whatever else this adventure had decided to throw at you. At this point, even you were beginning to question how you were still surviving inside it.
"âŚI smell terrible," you muttered quietly to yourself, lifting the collar slightly before immediately recoiling with a disgusted grimace. "Oh my god."
You had barely drawn breath to continue your complaints when a soft knock sounded against the wooden doorway, light and careful against the quietness of the room. Before you could even answer, the door slowly slid open, pulling your attention away immediately.
Legolas stepped inside soon after, though noticeably slower than before, as though he was still uncertain how to approach you after everything that had happened.
The light spilling into the room caught against his pale hair beautifully, softening the sharpness he'd carried within the throne halls.
Folded neatly within his arms rested a set of dark green and silver clothes, layered fabrics embroidered delicately along the sleeves in patterns you vaguely recognized from the female guards wandering the palace earlier.
The material looked so soft, and warm. Significantly cleaner than whatever remained of the clothes currently hanging off your body.
His gaze lifted the moment he stepped fully inside the room, immediately finding yours. And just like before, something in his expression softened almost at once.
"I brought these for you," he said quietly while approaching, his voice gentler now that the chaos from earlier had finally faded. He held the clothes out carefully toward you, fingers lingering slightly against the folded fabric as though unsure whether you would accept them immediately.
"They should fit⌠adequately enough." His eyes dipped briefly toward your current state thenâthe worn fabric, the dirt smeared faintly along your sleeves, the damp edges still clinging from the cold outside, before lifting back toward your face again.
A faint pause followed. Then the smallest trace of amusement tugged subtly at the corner of his mouth, softening his features in a way that almost distracted you entirely.
"Though," he added lightly, gaze flickering once more toward your rather questionable attire, "I fear nothing within Mirkwood was designed with your⌠unusual attire in mind.."
Your gaze immediately dropped toward yourself afterward, lips pressing into a small line as you looked down at the state of your current clothes.
Dirt stained the sleeves, the fabric slightly damp at the edges from the cold outside, and honestly? You were beginning to understand why every elf in this palace kept staring at your hoodie like it was some strange woodland creature.
"âŚThat was mildly offensive," you muttered beneath your breath, though the lack of actual irritation in your voice made the complaint entirely useless.
The faintest flicker of amusement touched Legolas' features at that, subtle enough it almost disappeared before you fully caught it.
Though, It wasn't long before your attention snapped right back toward the folded clothes resting within his hands. The moment your fingers touched the fabric, your eyes widened almost instantly.
"Wait-" You took the clothes from him quickly, genuine surprise lighting across your features as your hands brushed carefully over the smooth embroidery woven into the sleeves.
The material was softer than you expected, cool beneath your fingertips yet rich and beautifully crafted in a way that made your own clothing suddenly feel even more tragic by comparison.
"These are actually beautiful." you breathed, the awe in your voice came entirely unfiltered as you lifted part of the fabric slightly to inspect it better beneath the lanternlight.
Silver stitching glimmered softly across the dark green layers like moonlight caught within woven leaves, elegant without seeming excessive.
Your brows lifted higher the longer you stared. "You all dress like this every single day?" you asked incredulously before looking back up at him, eyes bright with disbelief. "No wonder every person here looks like they walked straight out of some fantasy film."
Legolas frowned faintly in confusion upon your words. "âŚA fantasy film?" he repeated carefully, the unfamiliar words sounding oddly formal within his accent.
The question made you pause immediately. Your mouth opened halfway on instinct, fully prepared to explainâbefore the realization hit you all at once that trying to explain modern cinema to an elven prince from Middle-earth would probably create far more problems than solutions.
"âŚYou know what," you said quickly instead, waving one hand dismissively through the air, "never mind."
Even with your reassurance, Legolas continued watching you with clear suspicion now, though thankfully he did not press further.
You grinned faintly afterward, standing up from the bed without another thought, still clutching the clothes carefully against yourself.
"Seriously though," you said while glancing down at your current hoodie with visible judgment, "thank you. I've been wearing this thing for so many days I'm very certain it's evolved into its own living organism by now."
Legolas' brows lifted faintly at your strange wording, confusion flickering briefly across his features as though he was genuinely trying to understand how clothing could possibly become 'biologically dangerous.'
But before he could question it furtherâYou had already grabbed the hem of your shirt and pulled it straight over your head without a second thought.
Legolas froze instantly, well completely.
His eyes widened then, before he turned away with such alarming speed it would have been impressive under literally any other circumstance.
blonde hair shifted sharply across his shoulders with the sudden movement as he redirected his attention very intensely toward the farthest wall in the room like it had suddenly become the most fascinating thing in Middle-earth.
"My apologies-!" he blurted instantly, his voice noticeably tighter than before. One hand lifted halfway instinctively, almost like he did not know what to do with himself anymore.
"I did not realize you intended to-" He stopped abruptly, jaw tightening as the faintest flush began creeping across the tips of his ears. "Why," he asked carefully after a strained pause, still refusing to look anywhere near you, "are you removing your garments while I am still present?"
You blinked at him mid-motion. Your old hoodie now hung loosely from one hand while you stood there in the singlet underneath, looking significantly less scandalous than whatever horrifying conclusion Legolas had apparently jumped to in his head.
"âŚHuh?"
Your confusion only seemed to make him tense further somehow.
Legolas remained rigidly turned toward the opposite wall, posture impossibly straight now as though sheer discipline alone was keeping him from spontaneously combusting out of embarrassment.
"You could have warned me," he muttered quietly, sounding deeply distressed by the entire situation.
You stared at him for another second before slowly looking down at yourself, then back at him again.
Legolas still refused to turn back toward you, shoulders stiff as a board, posture rigid with obvious discomfort. "That is not appropriate." His voice lowered slightly, sounding both flustered and horrified all at once. "Particularly not before an unmarried person."
You paused, staring at the back of his head for a long moment as if you were genuinely trying to figure out where exactly the misunderstanding had begun. Then, almost cautiously, you looked back down at yourself again.
"âŚBut Iâm wearing a singlet underneath," you said, like that should have logically resolved everything.
Silence was all that was given back instead. From where you couldn't see, Legolas blinked once, slowly.
Then, as if against his better judgment, he turned just slightly over his shoulder.
And the moment his eyes registered that you were, in fact, somewhat covered, the faint flush that had been threatening his composure deepened instantly, creeping further up his ears in a way he clearly wished was not happening. He snapped his gaze forward again just as quickly.
You frowned now, genuinely even more confused. "What? It's basically the same as a sleeveless shirt."
"It is not the same thing," he answered immediately, far too quickly, as though the argument itself was something he needed to win for survival purposes.
His head turned away again with visible stubbornness, though the tension in his voice had softened into something slightly flustered. "No respectable maiden simply begins changing garments while a man remains in the room."
That made you pause for a second, before realization came kicking in. It was the medieval times you were currently residing in.
Your expression shifted instantly, lips parting before a quiet laugh slipped out without permission, the realization settling in so suddenly it almost embarrassed you on its own. You lifted a hand briefly to your face, half-covering it as you shook your head.
"âŚOh my god," you muttered under your breath, still smiling despite yourself. "Right. Different era."
Legolas, still very much turned away from you, tilted his head slightly at the unfamiliar phrase. "âŚEra?" he repeated carefully, clearly not satisfied with how many unknown words you were introducing into his life today.
"Nothing," you said quickly, letting out another small laugh as you lowered your hand again. "Forget it. I'm sorry. Where I'm from, this isn't really⌠an issue."
That finally earned a faint shift in his expression. Not quite a turn, but enough that you could see the furrow forming in his brows. "Your world sounds," he began after a pause, choosing his words with visible caution, "deeply concerning."
And that did it for you, as you laughed harder. The sound filled the room warmly, lighter than before, softer tooâand Legolas found himself relaxing slightly the longer he heard it.
Because after everything that had happened today, after the fear and tension and tears⌠hearing you laugh again felt strangely relieving, a little less suffocating.
"âŚYou can turn around now," you said at last, amusement still lingering in your tone as you pulled the new attire properly into place over your shoulders.
Legolas hesitated for a moment. You could practically feel the pause stretch in the air before he slowly turned back toward you, as if cautiously testing whether it was truly safe to look.
And then he did, almost promptly forgetting how to breathe for a fraction of a second as well.
The Mirkwood attire fit you far better than anything he had expectedâdark green layers falling neatly against your frame, traced with fine silver detailing that caught softly in the lanternlight with every small movement you made.
The fabric looked almost like it belonged to you already, blending oddly well with your presence despite how out of place you still technically were.
Your hair was slightly tousled from changing, your expression still carrying traces of exhaustion around the eyes, yet there was something about the way you stood there nowâclothed in elven garments, light shifting across the fabricâthat made you look unsettlingly at home in these halls.
Legolas stared a moment too long. It wasn't dramatic in any outward senseâno sudden movement, no change in stance, no visible reaction that would betray him easily
And yet the stillness that followed felt different. Not empty, but suspended, as though time itself had slowed just enough to make the silence noticeable.
A quiet pause stretched between you both where his usual composure seemed to falter in the smallest, most subtle wayâlike a thought had surfaced too quickly for him to properly contain it, leaving him briefly caught between instinct and awareness.
His gaze remained fixed, unblinking, as if he had forgotten to redirect it elsewhere.
You noticed immediately, one brow lifting as your head tilted slightly to the side. "âŚWhat? Do I look bad?" you asked, narrowing your eyes with sudden suspicion as you studied his face more closely, as though trying to catch him in the act of something unspeakable.
Legolas blinked, straightening so quickly it almost looked like a reflex rather than a choice. His posture reset itself into perfect composure, shoulders squared, chin lifted slightly, as if he could physically force the moment to reset. "No⌠it is nothing."
"âŚYou hesitated," you replied at once, eyes narrowing further as you stepped half a pace closer, clearly unconvinced.
"I did not," he answered immediately, too quickly, his gaze flicking away for a fraction of a second before returning forward as though anchoring himself.
"You literally did," you pressed, leaning in just slightly now, arms loosely crossed as your expression sharpened in challenge.
"I was merely ensuring the garments fit correctly,"
A slow, mischievous grin spread across your face at that, the kind that spelled immediate trouble. You rocked back on your heels slightly, eyes glinting with amusement. "Ohhh," you drawled, dragging the word out as if you had just uncovered something scandalous. "So you were looking."
Legolas nearly choked on air. His eyes widened a fraction before he quickly recovered, lifting a hand slightly as if to dismiss the accusation entirely. "I most certainly was not-, but you did... well.. ask me to look-"
"You totally were," you cut in smoothly, stepping forward again with growing confidence, grin widening. "Because if you weren't, that means I look bad, doesn't it?"
"I was not," he insisted again, voice a touch sharper now, though still noticeably flustered. "And no- that is not what I meant-"
You stared at him flatly for a second, letting the silence stretch just long enough for the moment to settle, before tilting your head ever so slightly. "âŚLegolas," you said slowly, pointing at him with quiet satisfaction. "Your ears are red."
He immediately turned away again.
Legolas had turned away so quickly after your teasing that you nearly laughed again right then and there. There was something oddly adorable about seeing the usually composed prince of Mirkwood suddenly lose every fragment of dignity over a simple comment.
Meanwhile, he stood near the carved archway pretending to admire the architecture with far too much intensity for it to be believable.
You sat cross-legged upon the edge of the bed, sleeves slightly too long over your hands as you adjusted it properly. "You know," you said casually, watching him with obvious amusement, "for someone so calm during sword fights and giant spider attacks⌠you panic very easily."
You tilted your head slightly, watching the way his shoulders subtly tightened at your words. "Reminds me of the days back then."
Legolas let out a quiet breath through his nose, the closest thing to a sigh he seemed willing to allow himself, his gaze still firmly fixed on the carved archway as though refusing to give your teasing the satisfaction of his attention.
Yet even from where you sat, you caught itâthe faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth, "I do not panic."
"Mhm." You leaned back slightly on your hands, tilting your head with an amused, almost knowing look as your eyes narrowed in playful skepticism.
"I merely prefer proper manners," he added after a brief pause, his posture straightening again as if the correction itself required physical reinforcement.
"That sounds suspiciously like panic." You grinned immediately, pointing at him lightly as if presenting evidence in a case he was clearly losing.
His shoulders shifted subtly at that, a small adjustment like he was physically resisting the urge to turn back around and defend himself properly.
His jaw tightened for a second before he spoke again, voice still controlled but edged with quiet frustration. "Where you come from lacks concerning amounts of decorum."
You snorted softly at that, the sound breaking out before you could stop it as you shook your head slightly, clearly entertained. "You have no idea," you replied, lips curling into an easy grin as you watched him from where you sat, still clearly far too pleased with yourself.
At that, Legolas finally turned his head back toward you, and immediately stopped mid-motion.
His gaze landed on you properly this time, but instead of snapping away like before, it lingered. Just a second too long, then another, as though something had quietly caught his attention without him fully deciding to acknowledge it.
You noticed instantly. "âŚWhy are you staring at me like that again?" you asked, narrowing your eyes slightly as you tilted your head, suspicious all over again.
The question seemed to pull him out of whatever thought he had drifted into. He blinked once, straightening as his composure tried to return.
Before you could continue, something in his expression shifted faintly. The teasing air seemed to fade from him as his attention sharpened instead, eyes narrowing just slightly as he focused past your words and onto something near your face.
"âŚHold still," he said suddenly, voice quieter now.
You blinked in confusion, your expression slipping from playful to uncertain in an instant. "What?" you asked, sitting up a little straighter on the bed, hands pausing where they were resting against the fabric of your attire.
But before you could react properly, Legolas had already stepped closer. Far too close.
You barely even registered the movement. One moment he was still near the archway, half-lit by the lantern glow, and the next he was directly in front of you, his presence filling your space without warning.
Close enough now that the details you usually only caught from afar became impossible to ignoreâthe faint shift of colour within his eyes, the quiet steadiness of his breathing that never quite matched how fast your own had just become.
Up close, everything about him felt unfairly beautiful, from the pale glow of his skin beneath the silver-green light, the faint scent of cedar and rain lingering around him, to the quiet warmth hidden beneath his usually composed demeanor.
And then his hand lifted toward your face.
The motion was slow, deliberate, careful rather than sudden, but in your current state it might as well have been in slow motion. Your brain simply⌠stalled.
All coherent thought evaporated at once, leaving nothing but static as you tried to process what was happening and failed immediately.
Your expression froze mid-reaction, eyes widening slightly as your lips parted just a fraction.
Wait. What?
Your gaze flickered rapidly between his face and his approaching hand, panic and confusion tangling together so quickly you couldn't separate them into anything useful.
The rational part of your mind tried to speak, tried to insist there was a perfectly normal explanation for this, but it arrived far too late to matter.
No. Surely not.
That couldn't be what it looked like. Not with how close he was, not with the way he was looking at you right nowâfocused, unreadable, entirely too calm for whatever situation your imagination had already decided this was becoming.
Your breath hitched slightly, shoulders tensing as your body reacted before your thoughts could catch up, uncertainty written all over your face in the smallest details.
Without thinking, you instinctively leaned back slightly against the edge of the bed, your eyes squeezing shut in sheer panic.
Silence followed. Nothing happened. Slowly, you peeked one eye open.
Legolas was still standing right in front of you, hand paused mid-air as if he had simply stopped halfway through whatever he was doing.
His expression had shifted into open confusion now, brows drawing together slightly as he studied your face like you had just done something deeply unpredictable. "âŚWhat are you doing?" he asked carefully.
Heat surged into your face so fast it felt immediate and violent. Your eyes snapped fully open now, and you leaned forward slightly in sheer indignation and embarrassment.
"What are you doing?!" you whispered back at him immediately, voice hushed but frantic, horrified.
For a brief moment, Legolas just looked at you in silence, before understanding slowly flickered across his face. And to your utter devastation, amusement followed right after it. Very faint, very subtle, but definitely there.
"There was a strand of hair upon your face," he explained calmly, lowering his hand at last as if this was the most reasonable explanation in the world, his tone steady in a way that only made it worse. "I was helping you with removing it."
You stared at him, completely frozen in place, as the meaning finally settled properly in your mind. The tension in your shoulders dropped all at once, replaced instantly by a wave of embarrassment so intense it nearly made you physically recoil.
"Oh." The sound came out small, flat, and tragically late. Your gaze flickered away immediately as you lifted a hand to your face, half covering it as if that could somehow undo what had already happened. You wanted the floor to open up and take you with it. Preferably immediately.
A brief pause hung between you both, before Legolas' lips curved ever so slightly, so faintly it might have been mistaken for nothing at all if you weren't already hyper-aware of his every expression.
His head tilted a fraction as he studied you with quiet curiosity. "You believed I intended something else?" he asked, voice calm but with the smallest thread of amusement now woven through it.
His brows lifted just slightly as he waited for your answer, posture still relaxed in contrast to your complete internal collapse.
"No," you answered far too quickly, shaking your head once as your eyes darted away again, refusing to meet his gaze.
"âŚYou closed your eyes," he continued after a beat.
"Well," you muttered, gesturing vaguely as if that explained everything, your ears visibly warm as you shifted your weight awkwardly on the bed, "with how you were acting, I panicked."
"That does not answer my question," he said immediately, entirely too composed for someone currently dismantling your dignity piece by piece.
You made a strangled sound of frustration before immediately covering your face with both hands, fingers pressing against your flushed cheeks, "Please stop speaking," you groaned into your palms, shoulders curling inward as you attempted, and failedâto disappear into yourself entirely.
A soft laugh escaped him then, quiet and warm and entirely too fond for your already struggling heart to handle properly.
Before you could recover, his hand lifted againâthis time slower, gentler, giving you enough warning not to completely short-circuit again.
His fingers approached your face with careful restraint, brushing against your cheek so lightly it felt more like a suggestion than a touch. The contact was feather-soft, precise, as he gently swept the stray strand of hair away from your skin.
Your breath hitched at the sensation despite yourself, as his thumb grazed lightly along your skin before tucking the strand carefully behind your ear.
"There," he murmured softly, voice lower now, almost absent-minded in its gentleness.
The touch lingered only for a moment, yet somehow it felt unbearably intimate.
Your entire face burned immediately afterward, and judging by the faint shift in Legolas' expression, he noticed. His gaze softened visibly as he looked at you, something warm flickering behind his eyes before a quiet smile finally appeared fully across his face.
It was quiet, genuine, and dangerously fond in a way that made the air between you feel even harder to breathe in.
"You are very expressive," he said quietly, his voice calm and even, though the faint curve at the corner of his mouth betrayed that he was not entirely neutral about the observation.
His gaze lingered on you with quiet attentiveness, as if confirming his own statement in real time.
You frowned instantly despite still feeling the lingering heat in your face, brows knitting together as you looked up at him in disbelief. "âŚWhat is that supposed to mean?" you asked, tilting your head slightly, lips parting in offended confusion.
"It means," he replied after a brief pause, tone still composed but now carrying a trace of amusement he made no effort to hide anymore, "your thoughts are remarkably easy to read." His eyes flickered briefly over your expression as he spoke, as though demonstrating his point without needing further explanation.
Your jaw dropped a fraction, eyes widening in pure indignation as you leaned back slightly. "Excuse you?" you shot back immediately, personally insulted by the accusation.
Legolas tilted his head just a little then, hair shifting softly over his shoulder with the movement. The faint smile returned properly now, subtle but unmistakably entertained, as though he had found something unexpectedly enjoyable in the exchange.
"You wear every emotion plainly upon your face," he added simply, watching you with unbothered ease.
"Oh, and you donât?" you countered at once, leaning forward slightly now, eyes narrowing as you tried to regain some ground in the conversation, your earlier embarrassment temporarily forgotten in favour of outrage.
"I do not," he answered without hesitation, posture straightening a touch as if the claim itself was a matter of fact rather than opinion.
You squinted at him immediately, suspicion written all over your face as you leaned in just a little more, studying him like you were attempting to catch him in a lie. "...Mhm. Sure."
His composure almost cracked again. Almost.
A faint shift passed through his expression, the smallest tightening at the corner of his mouth, the briefest hesitation in his eyes, like something inside him had nearly slipped before he quickly reined it back in.
For a brief moment afterward, neither of you moved away. The silence settled differently nowâno longer awkward or tense in the same way as before, but heavier in a quieter, more uncertain manner.
Lanternlight trembled gently across the carved wooden walls, casting soft shifting shadows that made the entire room feel more enclosed, more intimate than it had any right to be.
Somewhere far beyond the windows, the sounds of Mirkwood continued on, distant and muffled, as though the world outside had decided not to interrupt whatever this was.
Legolas remained close, closer than necessary. Close enough that the warmth from where he had touched you still lingered faintly against your skin, faint but noticeable in the lingering space between you.
His posture was still upright, controlled, but not quite as effortless as before. There was a subtle stiffness now though, as if he had become suddenly aware of exactly how little distance remained.
His gaze, which had been steady moments ago, flickered againâquick, unintentional. It dropped downward for the briefest second before snapping away almost immediately afterward, as though he had caught himself too late.
It was a new emotion for him, or was it? Maybe he knew, understood what it had meant and felt, after all, this wasn't the first time it had happened.
Authorâs Note:
Hello lovely people! Iâm pretty sure I included everyone in the tag list, but if youâd like to be added, just let me know!
I had a pretty clear idea of where I wanted this chapter to go, and Iâm really excited to share it with you all. I hope you guys enjoy it! đ
Word count: 3200 words!
You woke up in a small, dimly lit room, your head achingâsharp and persistent. Your eyes fluttered open as you tried to focus, vision blurring in and out while you took in your surroundings.
Instinctively, you went to lift your hands to your headâ
But you couldnât.
Your breath caught.
Your wrists strained, only to be met with resistance. Bound. Tight enough to sting with every slight movement.
The realization hit all at once.
You were tied to a chair.
Alone.
The anxiety crept in fast, settling deep in your chest as your heart began to pound harder with each passing second.
âThe⌠hell?â you managed, your voice rough and unsteady.
You blinked again, forcing yourself to stay awakeâmemories slowly piecing themselves back together.
The building.
The vents.
The fall.
The Foot.
Your stomach dropped.
You didnât remember being dragged here⌠or being tied up.
You must have blacked out.
You forced yourself to look around the room, scanning for anythingâan escape, a weakness, anything that might tell you how long youâd been here.
There wasnât much.
Just a heavy metal door directly in front of you.
Your eyes narrowed slightly, focusing on it. Deep scratch marks were carved into the surfaceâjagged, uneven, desperate.
Your stomach twisted.
You werenât the first person to be put in here.
The thought settled uncomfortably in your chest before something else hit you.
Casey.
Your breath caught slightly at the idea. He could be coming for you. He would, right? Thatâs what he didâhe showed up, reckless and loud, ready to jump into a fight without thinking twice.
But then you thought about it harder.
Really thought about it.
Would Casey risk exposing himself⌠just to get you out?
Reality settled inâharsh and unforgiving.
What were the Foot Clan going to do to you?
Panic surged through you, and you started struggling harder, thrashing against the restraints with everything you had. The chair scraped loudly against the floor, your wrists burning as you tried to pull freeâ
Then the heavy metal door swung open.
You froze.
Your breath caught in your throat as you went completely still.
Two tall Foot Clan soldiers stood in the doorway, dressed in dark, heavy uniforms. They stepped inside, leaving the door slightly ajar behind them. Neither of them spoke. Neither of them moved.
They just⌠stared.
You could see their eyes through the masksâcold, unblinking, completely empty.
It sent a chill down your spine.
âYou two idiots just gonna stand there and stare, or what?â you snapped, your voice sharper than you felt.
The words barely left your mouth before movement followed.
As if on cue, a woman stepped into the room.
Her black hair was pulled into a high ponytail, streaked with faded red at the front, framing a face that was far too calm for a place like this.
She barked something at the two men, her tone sharpâcommandingâas if they were nothing more than servants waiting for orders. The language wasnât one you fully understood, but you recognized just enough to know it wasnât anything good.
At her words, one soldier immediately left the room while the other stepped forward, dragging a chair across the floor before placing it directly in front of you.
Too close.
Your breath caught.
You were scaredâno, terrified.
The second soldier straightened before turning and leaving as well, the heavy door slamming shut behind him.
And just like thatâ
It was only the two of you.
She lowered herself into the chair with slow, deliberate control, back straight, chin slightly raisedâlike she owned the room, like she had all the time in the world.
Like you didnât matter at all.
Silence followed.
It stretched.
Seconds turned into something longerâsomething heavier. The kind of silence that pressed in on your ears, making every small sound feel louder. Your breathing. The faint creak of the chair beneath you. The quiet hum of something unseen in the walls.
Too long.
Your throat felt dry.
You swallowed, the sound almost too loud in the stillness as you shifted in your seat, forcing yourself to sit up straighter. You tried to mirror her postureâtried to look composed, controlled.
Tried not to look like someone tied to a chair with no way out.
âMissâŚâ you started, your voice rougher than you intended. You cleared your throat, attempting again, forcing a steadiness you didnât feel. âI apologize for the inconvenience.â
Her expression didnât change.
âI was justâworking on the ventilation systems,â you continued, grasping for somethingâanything that sounded believable.
âSimple repairs. Maintenance, really. I mustâve taken a wrong turn or something.â
Even as you spoke, you could hear it.
The weakness in your own voice.
The way the excuse didnât quite land.
ââŚHope you understand.â
The words trailed off slightly, your confidence slipping at the end despite your best effort to hold it together.
Nothing.
No reaction.
She didnât blink.
Didnât shift.
Didnât even breathe differently.
Her eyes stayed locked on youâsharp, unwavering, like she was picking you apart piece by piece without saying a word.
âIs there maybe a way you can let me go? This is just a simple misunderstanââ
Her voice cut through yours before you could finish, sharp and deliberate, yet unnervingly calm.
âTell me about the turtles.â
The words landed like a hammer.
Your chest tightened. Your breath caught. It felt like your heart had stopped, like the air itself had frozen in the room. Every sound outsideâthe distant hum of the ventilation, the creak of the chair beneath you, even your own shallow breathingâvanished.
Her eyes didnât waver. Didnât blink. They bored into you with a precision that made your skin crawl. It wasnât anger you saw. Not yet. It was cold, calculated curiosity. Like she already knew you couldnât escape, and she wanted to see exactly how much you were willing to give.
You could feel your mind spinning. Each second stretched longer than it had any right to. What could you say? What could you not say?
And in the silence that followed, your chest tightened even further, realizing just how much was riding on the words you hadnât yet spoken.
âIâm⌠sorry. I donât know what youâre talking about,â you said, forcing a laugh that sounded hollow even to your own ears.
Her gaze didnât shift. Didnât even flinch.
âHow long have you been in contact with the turtles?â
The words hit you like ice water.
For a heartbeat, the room felt impossibly small, the walls pressing in, the chair holding you like a trap. You wanted to scream, to lie, to make up some excuseâbut you knew the truth was dangerous, and she already suspected more than you could imagine.
You swallowed hard, trying to steady your racing thoughts, trying to find a way out without giving anything away.
She leaned forward, elbows resting on her knees, her black eyes never leaving yours. The red streaks in her hair caught the dim light of the room, a sharp slash of color against her dark uniform.
âYou think Iâm asking for fun,â she said quietly, almost casually, but the words were like knives. âI know youâre lying. I can see it in your eyes.â
Your heart hammered, thudding so loud it felt like it would give away your position. You shifted in the chair, but the restraints bit into your wrists. Panic threatened to rise.
âLook, I donâtââ you started, but she cut you off with a sharp gesture.
âSilence.â
She leaned even closer, so close you could feel the heat radiating from her. You could smell the faint scent of metal and smoke clinging to her uniform. Her eyes were impossibly cold, but in them there was a calculation, a hunger for answers.
She tilted her head, studying you like a predator watching its prey.
âYou will talk,â she said, voice low and deliberate. âAnd I will make sure you regret every second you stay quiet.â
The weight of her words pressed down on you. The chair felt smaller, the room darker. Every instinct screamed at you to find a way out, but you were trappedâhelpless.
And somehow, the more she pressed, the more you realized she wasnât just after information. She wanted to see fear, to test how far she could push you before you broke.
âI swear on my life, I donât know what youâre talking about,â you squeaked out, your voice trembling despite your best effort to sound firm.
She leaned closer, so close you could feel the faint heat of her presence, her dark eyes locking onto yours like steel.
âLeonardo,â she said, the name cutting through the air, making your breath hitch.
âRaphael, Donatello, and Michelangelo,â she continued, each name pronounced deliberately, like a countdown, like a warning.
Your heart lurched. Your pulse thundered in your ears. You tried to form words, tried to protest, but it felt like the room had shrunk around you, the chair pressing harder against your back, your wrists screaming from the restraints.
âIâI donât know anything about that,â you stammered, swallowing hard. âIâm not lying!â
Her gaze didnât waver. It didnât soften. If anything, it sharpened. âYou will tell me eventually,â she said, voice low, calm, and dangerous. âAnd when you do⌠I will know everything.â
The silence that followed was suffocating. Every tick of the clock, every small creak in the floorboards felt louder. You realized, with a sinking feeling, that she already knew far more than you had expectedâand you werenât sure if youâd ever be able to outsmart her.
âCome on, lady. You really think I know anything about⌠mutant turtles?â you said, forcing a laugh, hoping the humor would break the tension.
She didnât budge. Not even a twitch.
âThatâs the most hilarious thing Iâve heard all week,â you tried again, smiling nervously, leaning into the joke, desperate to convince her.
She leaned back in her chair slowly, eyes scanning you from head to toe, sharp and calculating. Every movement was deliberate, measured.
âI didnât say anything about them being⌠mutants,â she said, her voice calm, almost cold.
Your chest tightened. Your stomach dropped.
Shit.
â
It was starting to wear on you.
Hoursâspent in this godforsaken chair, hands bound, mind fraying. She hadnât touched you physically, but the mental drain was relentless. Every question repeated, every stare unblinking. Her calm, controlled demeanor made the hours feel endless.
âPlease⌠I donât know anything,â you said, your voice breaking, desperation seeping through every word.
She let out a small sigh, tilting her head as if she were growing bored of you.
âAre you an important asset to them?â she asked casually, almost mockingly.
You lifted your head, heavy and aching.
âSorry?â you croaked.
âAre you an important asset to them?â she repeated, stepping closer, her voice colder this time.
Then she circled you slowly, each step measured, deliberate.
âAre you even worthy enough to be saved?â she murmured, a faint, almost cruel laugh slipping past her lips.
Despite everythingâdespite the exhaustion, the pain, the fearâyou smiled.
You werenât stupid.
You knew theyâd come for you. Maybe not right away, maybe not the way you wantedâbut they wouldnât leave you here. They wouldnât let you rot.
âListen, lady,â you said, voice rough but steady, lifting your chin just slightly. âI ainât got a clue what youâre on about.â
Her expression didnât changeâbut her movement did.
In a flash, she stepped behind your chair, spinning it sharply so you were forced to face her again. The sudden motion made your head spin. Before you could react, a glint of metal caught your eye.
A butterfly knife flicked open in her hand.
She flipped it effortlessly between her fingers, the blade catching the dim light as it danced far too close to your face.
Your breath hitched.
She leaned inâclose enough that you could feel the shift in the air, the quiet threat in her presence.
âWell⌠letâs see abouââ
Beep. Beep. Beep.
The alarm cut through the room, loud and jarring, echoing through the halls beyond the metal door.
She froze.
Her head turned slightly toward the sound, listening. Calculating.
And despite everythingâ
You laughed.
A small, breathless, almost disbelieving laugh.
âGuess I am worth saving, huh?â
â
-A few hours prior to this-
Leonardo stood over Donatello, watching as his brother worked quickly at the computer, fingers flying across the keys. The glow of the screen reflected off Donnieâs glasses as he pulled up security feeds, flipping through camera angles and floor plans, searching for any possible way to get you out safely.
You had been captured.
Leo had warned you this could happen. He knew it could happen. And yetâyou still went.
His jaw tightened.
He had no doubt Casey and April could handle themselves in a situation like that. They were experienced. Careful.
But you?
To Leo, you were still just a human. Fragile. Unpredictable.
The thought of you tied up somewhere in that buildingâhurt, scaredâmade something in his chest burn.
The moment you were taken, Leonardo made the call to retreat.
It had been the right decision.
Tactically.
But it didnât feel right.
Not when it meant leaving you behind.
Donnie continued scanning, pulling up blueprints, mapping exits, tracking patrol routes. Every now and then, he adjusted something, muttering quietly under his breath as he worked through possibilities.
Leo exhaled slowly, his gaze dropping to the floorâhis sandals unmoving against the worn wood beneath him.
The lair felt different now.
How did he let this happen?
He shouldâve stopped you.
He knew better.
He shouldâve been firmer. Shouldâve shut it down the second you suggested going in. But instead, he let it happenâand now you were paying the price for it.
His fists clenched at his sides.
Donnie noticed.
Of course he did.
Without looking away from the screen, he reached over, placing a gentle hand on Leoâs shoulder. The contact pulled Leo from his thoughts just enough to glance up at him.
âWeâll get her, Leo,â Donnie said quietly.
âThis is her fault. If she had just listened to me the first time, she wouldnât be in this situation.â
Leoâs voice came out sharper than he intended, the frustration barely contained as he snapped at his brother.
Donatello didnât react right away. He wasnât stupidâheâd heard both sides of this argument a hundred different ways already, and none of them really mattered right now.
Because this wasnât about blame.
It was about you.
And Leo was worriedâfar more than he would ever openly admit.
He always kept himself composed. Always the leader. Always in control.
But Donnie could see itâthe tightness in his posture, the way his hands flexed at his sides, the way his eyes kept drifting back to the screen like he was afraid of what he might see next.
Behind them, Casey and April sat on the couch, quieter than usual.
MikeyâŚ
Mikey was taking it the hardest.
Out of all of them, he was the one you were closest with. The one who could always make you laugh, no matter what kind of day you were having.
Now, he sat slumped forward, elbows on his knees, head buried in his hands.
Silent.
Which, for Mikey, said everything.
His mind raced, running through every possible scenarioânone of them good. Every second that passed made it worse.
If it had been up to him, he wouldâve gone after you the second you were taken. Wouldâve jumped in without a second thought.
But it wasnât his call.
And nowâŚ
All he could do was sit there.
And wait.
âWeâll get her, Mikey. Sheâs going to be okay,â April said softly, trying to offer some kind of comfort.
Mikey didnât respond.
He just gave a small nod, barely lifting his head, like even that took effort.
âYeah⌠sheâs tough,â Casey added, leaning back slightly. âSheâll be okay.â
Something in his voiceâtoo casual, too certainâset Raph off.
Theyâd never exactly seen eye to eye.
But this?
Casey had been with you.
He couldâve done something. Anything.
Raphâs fist slammed into the worn-out punching bag beside himâharder than before. The chain above it rattled loudly from the impact.
âYa know,â Raph started, voice low but edged with anger, âshe wouldnât be stuck in there if you did something.â
Caseyâs head snapped toward him.
âYeah?â he shot back, pushing himself up from the couch. âLike what, Raph? There were too many of them. I wouldâve been taken too.â
April shot him an annoyed look, tension tightening her shoulders. This was the last thing they needed right now.
Raph stepped closer, his presence immediately more threatening.
âAinât she your girlfriend or something?â he barked. ââCause if I was you⌠I wouldnât have let that happen.â
The air in the room went tight.
Heavy.
Like something was about to snap.
Girlfriend?
The word hit Leonardo harder than it should have.
He knew you and Casey were closeâheâd seen it, heard it, watched it play out right in front of him. But together?
Something in his chest tightened at the thought.
Sharp. Uncomfortable.
Unwanted.
He didnât understand it.
To him, you were reckless. Impulsive. Undisciplined. You didnât follow orders, didnât think things through the way you should. You put yourselfâand now all of themâat risk.
So why did it bother him so much?
Why did the idea of you being with Casey sit so wrong in his chest?
âEnough.â
Leoâs voice cut through the room, sharp and commanding, snapping everyoneâs attention toward him instantly.
âThe last thing I need is you idiots arguingâespecially about her,â he added, his tone tight, controlled⌠but not as steady as he wanted it to be.
Raphael turned toward him slowly.
Anger didnât even begin to cover it.
âListen, fearless,â Raph said, pointing at him, his voice low but loaded.
âWe ainât exactly blind to what you think about (Y/N).â
The room went still.
Tense.
Waiting.
Leo didnât respond right away.
Didnât move.
But something in his posture shiftedâjust slightly.
Raph saw it. Of course he did.
âOh yeah,â Raph continued, stepping closer, not letting it go. âYou can play leader all you want, but donât act like this is just about the mission.â
âRaphââ Donnie tried, but he didnât get far.
âNo,â Raph cut him off, eyes locked on Leo. âHeâs been riding her all day, snapping at her like sheâs some liabilityââ
âShe is a liability,â Leo shot back instantly, the words coming out sharper than he intended.
The second they left his mouth, the room went quiet.
Because even he knewâ
That wasnât the full truth.
Raph let out a short, humorless laugh. âYeah? Then whyâs she the only one youâre losing your mind over right now?â
Leoâs jaw tightened.
âIâm notââ
âDonât,â Raph stepped closer, voice dropping, more serious now. âDonât even try that.â
Silence stretched.
Heavy.
Uncomfortable.
Because everyone in the room could see it.
Even Mikey, who finally lifted his head slightly, eyes flicking between them.
Raph tilted his head slightly, watching Leo carefully.
âYou think I donât see it?â he said. âThe way you look at her? The way you shut her down the second she does something you donât like?â
Leoâs fists clenched.
âThatâs called leadership.â
âNo,â Raph said, shaking his head. âThatâs called you caring more than you wanna admit.â
That hit.
Hard.
Leo didnât have a response for that one.
Didnât want to.
Because if he said anythingâ
He might actually have to admit it.
And he couldnât.
Not now.
Not when you were still in there.
Still in danger.
Stillâ
His thoughts cut off, frustration boiling over as he turned away from Raph, dragging a hand over his face.
âThis isnât about me,â he muttered, voice tight. âSheâs in there right now and weâre wasting time.â
For onceâ
No one argued.
Because beneath all the tension
That part was true.
Silence settled over the room againâbut this time, it wasnât hesitation.
It was something sharper.
Heavier.
The kind that comes right before action.
Leo stood still for a moment, jaw tight, eyes distant like he was already ten steps aheadâalready inside that building, already figuring out how to get you out.
How to fix this.
Donnieâs tablet continued to glow between them, your tracker blinking steadily on the screen.
Still there.
Still waiting.
Mikey slowly lifted his head, eyes red, but focused now.
April crossed her arms, shifting her weight, her worry turning into something more determined.
Even Casey stood a little straighter, tension rolling off him as he stared toward the building in the distance.
Raph looked between all of them, jaw set.
Enough talking.
Enough waiting.
âThen what we doin sitting our asses here?â Raph said.
Dear lord, my rook piercing hurts so bad⌠like I jumped off a building and slammed my ear into the ground full force. It is so swollen Iâm crying #sendhelpdearlorditshurting
Author's note: Iâm completely locked into this story right now! Just a heads-upâthere may be some plot holes that I noticed while rereading earlier parts. Also, if youâve sent me a request and itâs taking me a little to get to it, please know that Iâm in nursing school and super busy, so sometimes I can only write once a day. Thanks for your patience!
Also if you want to be tagged in updates lmk!
Word count: 3796 words
The kitchen felt quieter after he left, though not in any comforting way. Splinterâs presence had lingered, leaving behind a tension that sat heavy in the airâthicker than anything either of you had said aloud.
Leonardo stood across from me, posture stiff, arms crossed tightly over his chest. you knew how much Splinterâs opinion meant to him. He always tried to be the bestâthe best leader, the best son. Always proving something. Always carrying more than he let on.
you looked down at my coffee, watching the slow swirl of cream fade into the dark, neither of you speaking. The silence stretched, thin and fragile, like it might snap if either of you said the wrong thing.
you didnât even know what the right thing was.
Or if you had the courage to say it.
âThis is⌠silly,â you muttered, more to myself than to him.
He huffed quietly, the sound low, distractedâlike his mind was still caught on the few words Splinter had left behind.
He turned to face you, his figure looming even from across the kitchen.
But something had shifted.
The tension was still thereâtight in his shoulders, sharp in the way his arms were crossedâbut it wasnât the same as before. There was something quieter underneath it now. Something heavier. Like Splinterâs words hadnât just passed through him⌠theyâd settled.
Sat.
Weighed.
His gaze flickered toward you for the briefest second before slipping away again, jaw tightening as if even that small moment of eye contact was too much.
He opened his mouth.
âListenâŚâ
The word came out lower than before. Not sharp. Not biting.
Careful.
And that alone made my chest tighten.
you stilled where you stood, fingers curling slightly around the warmth of your mug. you didnât move. Didnât breathe.
This wasnât a lecture.
you knew that.
There was no edge to his voice, no command behind itâjust hesitation. And Leo didnât hesitate.
Not like this.
Whatever had been building between usâthe tension, the arguments, the looks, the things left unsaidâit felt like it had finally reached a point where it couldnât just sit there anymore.
Like something had to give.
And it all depended on what he said next.
He took a step toward me.
Then another.
Slow. Measured.
Like he was thinking through every movement before he made it.
The distance between us closed quickly, and suddenly the kitchen felt smallerâtoo small. The hum of the fridge, the faint drip of the sink, even my own breathingâit all felt louder.
Closer.
His eyes still werenât on you.
They hovered somewhere just past your shoulder, unfocused, like he was trying to find the right words in the air instead of looking at you directly.
That⌠scared you more than if he had just snapped again.
He stopped right in front of you.
Close enough now that you had to tilt your head slightly to look up at him.
Close enough that if you moved, even a little, youâd brush right into him.
Not trapped.
But not free to walk away either.
And he knew it.
His hand flexed once at his side, fingers curling slightly before relaxing again. you watched itâwatched the way he seemed to be holding himself back from something.
From saying too much.
Or maybe from saying exactly what he needed to.
âI just wanââ
âGuys!! Youâre not going to believe this!â
Aprilâs voice cut through the lair like a crack of thunder.
Sharp.
Sudden.
Jarring enough that it shattered the moment completely.
Leoâs head snapped slightly toward the sound, his body going still againâbut this time not in the same way as before.
The softness was gone.
Replaced instantly by control.
By distance.
You felt it immediately.
The shift.
Like whatever he was about to sayâwhatever had been sitting right there, on the edgeâhad been shoved back down just as quickly as it surfaced.
Gone.
Or at least⌠buried again.
You looked at each other one last time.
Whatever he was about to sayâwhatever almost happenedâit lingered there, unfinished, hanging between us like something fragile that had been dropped but not quite shattered.
Then it was gone.
You turned at the same time, the moment slipping away as you made your way toward the living room.
The noise of the lair grew louder with each stepâvoices, the TV, the usual chaosâbut it felt distant, like your mind hadnât quite caught up yet.
April stood near the center of the room, slightly hunched forward, hands braced on her hips as she caught her breath. Her hair was a little out of place, chest rising and falling like sheâd rushed all the way here without stopping.
âHey, angelcakes! Whatâs happening?â Mikey called from the couch, half sprawled over the cushions like nothing in the world could possibly be urgent.
April didnât even acknowledge him.
Thatâs how you knew it was serious.
She straightened quickly, lifting her wristâthe custom watch Donnie had made her flickering to life as she tapped the screen.
âI just found out the Foot has their hands on a stabilized mutagen canister,â she said, words coming fast, still slightly breathless.
The room shifted.
Just like that.
Donatello appeared from the garage entrance almost instantly, wiping his hands on a rag as he stepped into the room, eyes already narrowing behind his glasses.
âNo,â he said immediately, shaking his head as he moved closer. âThatâs not possible. Thereâs none left.â
April looked at him, jaw tightening slightly.
âI donât know how they got it,â she admitted, pulling up files on the screen. âBut I intercepted chatterâthis isnât a rumor. They have it. And theyâre planning to use it.â
She turned the screen toward him.
Donnie leaned in, scanning quicklyâhis posture stiffening the longer he looked.
ââŚThatâs real,â he muttered under his breath.
The room went quiet.
Even Mikey sat up.
Raph pushed off the wall, arms crossing as his expression hardened, already shifting into action mode.
âWell,â he said, voice firm, eyes cutting toward Leo, âletâs get our hands on it.â
All eyes moved.
To him.
Leo hadnât spoken since we walked in.
He stood a few steps behind the rest of us, posture straight, arms at his sidesâbut there was a tightness there. Controlled. Focused. Like heâd locked everything down the second the mission dropped in front of him.
Like whatever happened in the kitchen⌠didnât matter right now.
Or at least, thatâs what he was pretending.
His gaze flicked brieflyâjust once.
To you.
Then back to April.
Raph rolled his shoulders slightly, the movement slow but loaded with anticipation. âSo whatâs the plan, fearless leader?â
Leoâs jaw tightened just slightly before he answered, like he was locking everything back into placeâpushing whatever had almost surfaced earlier down where it couldnât interfere.
When he spoke, his voice was steady again.
Controlled.
âWe need to find a way to get our hands on it,â he said, eyes shifting to April. âDo you know where it is?â
April nodded quickly, already pulling something up on her watch.
âYeah,â she said, tapping the screen before turning it toward the group. âI tracked the signal to an old lab buildingâabandoned on record, but thereâs definitely movement inside.â
Donnie stepped in closer, adjusting his glasses as he scanned the data.
ââŚIâm picking up heat signatures,â he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. âMultiple. Andâyeahâthereâs some kind of shielding around the main room. Thatâs probably where theyâre keeping the canister.â
Raph let out a quiet huff. âSo we go in, take it, and get out.â
âItâs not that simple,â Donnie cut in quickly. âIf itâs stabilized mutagen, itâs going to be in specialized containment. If that gets compromisedââ
âWeâre not breaking it,â Leo said firmly.
The room fell quiet again.
His tone left no room for argument.
âWe get in, secure the canister, and get out without drawing attention.â
Mikey raised a hand slightly from the couch. âQuick questionâhow do we not draw attention when weâre, you knowâŚâ he gestured vaguely at all of them, ââŚthis?â
That earned a small pause.
A real one.
April glanced between them, then back at Leo.
ââŚYou canât,â she said simply. âNot without being seen.â
And thatâs when it clicked.
Donnieâs head lifted slightly.
Raphâs brows furrowed.
Mikey slowly lowered his hand.
Leo didnât move right away.
The room held its breath.
âWellâŚâ you started, shifting your weight slightly, forcing yourself to speak before the silence stretched any further. âI can probably get to it. I could slip in through the ventilation shafts.â
There was a beat.
âGreatââ Donnie started, already turning toward his tabletâ
âNo.â
Leo cut him off instantly.
Sharp.
Final.
The word landed heavy in the room, stopping everything cold.
Donnie blinked, mid-sentence. Raphâs brows pulled together slightly. Even Mikey sat up straighter.
Slowly, Leo turned to face me.
And just like thatâhe was different again.
The softness from earlier? Gone.
His arms crossed over his chest, posture straightening as that familiar leader persona snapped firmly into place. Controlled. Unyielding.
Distant.
âDo you have a single clue how many Foot soldiers are in there?â he said, voice low but edged, eyes locked onto yours now.
You held his gaze, refusing to back down.
âOne wrong move,â he continued, stepping just slightly closer, âand youâre done.â
The words hit harder than they should have.
Not because they were wrongâ
But because of how he said them.
Like you weren't capable.
Like you needed to be shut down before you even tried.
you straightened slightly, crossing your arms in return.
âI wouldnât be asking if I couldnât handle it,â You shot back.
A flicker of something crossed his faceâfast, almost unnoticeable.
Frustration.
Or something else.
âThis isnât a game,â he said, sharper now. âYou donât get second chances in there.â
âAnd you think I donât know that?â you fired back, taking a step toward him now. âIâve handled worse than a ventilation shaft and a few guards.â
Raph let out a quiet, low âoh boyâ under his breath.
Mikey leaned slightly toward Donnie. âRound two,â he whispered.
Donnie didnât respondâhis eyes were glued to the two of you.
Leoâs jaw tightened again, his gaze hardâbut there was something underneath it now. Something less controlled.
âYouâre not going in alone,â he said.
Not if.
Not maybe.
Not weâll figure it out.
A decision.
You tilted my head slightly. âWasnât planning on it.â
That made his expression shiftâjust barely.
Because now?
Now he had to say it.
Out loud.
ââŚWeâll need someone who can move through without drawing attention,â he said, the words more measured now, even if his tone wasnât.
April stepped forward slightly.
âI can get in through the front,â April said. âIâve done it before. If they think Iâm just press or snooping around, I can buy time.â
You nodded, thinking it through for half a second before speaking.
âWe can get Casey to go with me.â
April didnât hesitate.
âPerfect,â she said, already pulling out her phone. âI know heâll be in.â
Leoâs expression darkened almost instantly.
âThe last thing I need,â he said, voice tight, âis another variable to keep track of.â
His eyes flicked between the two of you before settling on you again.
âWell,â you said, lifting a brow slightly, âyou did say you didnât want me going in alone.â
That hit.
Just enough to make him pause.
His jaw tightened, shoulders stiffening like he was physically holding back the argument that wanted to come out. For a second, it looked like he was going to shut it down completelyâ
But he didnât.
Because he couldnât.
Not without contradicting himself.
Not without admitting this wasnât just about the mission.
ââŚFine,â he said finally.
The word came out clipped, reluctant.
Forced.
âBut you stick to the plan,â he added immediately, stepping closer, his voice lowering just enough to make it feel more personal. âYou stay in communication. And the second something feels offâyou get out.â
His eyes held yours for a second longer than necessary.
Not just giving orders.
Warning you.
You didnât look away.
âIâll be fine,â You said.
That didnât make him feel any better.
It showed.
Behind you, April was already dialing, pacing slightly as she waited for Casey to pick up.
Mikey leaned toward Raph, whispering just loud enough to be heard, âHeâs gonna lose his mind, isnât he?â
Raph smirked faintly. âOh, yeah.â
Leo ignored them.
But his hand flexed once at his side againâsubtle, but there.
April perked up suddenly.
âHe picked up,â she said, turning slightly away. âHeyâyeah, hi. Quick question, how do you feel about breaking into a Foot Clan facility tonight?â
A pause.
Then she smiled.
âYeah, I figured youâd say that.â
â--
You stood atop a nearby high-rise, the city stretched out beneath you in a sea of flickering lights.
The wind cut cold against your skin, tugging lightly at your clothes as you watched the building across the street.
The Footâs activity was steady.
Too steady.
Figures moved in and out through the front entrance in timed intervalsâheads down, shoulders squared, blending in just enough to pass as normal. To anyone else, it wouldâve looked like late-night workers filtering through a building in the middle of New York.
But you knew better.
The plan was simple.
Once the movement outside died down, Casey and you would make your way across the rooftops, slip onto the building, and find an access point through the ventilation system.
April would go in through the frontâdraw attention, ask questions, keep eyes off us while you moved inside.
Simple.
On paper.
You exhaled slowly, watching as another pair of âworkersâ disappeared through the doors below.
April stood a few feet away, adjusting her jacket, already shifting into that confident, reporter persona she wore so easily. She knew she couldnât just walk in and start asking questions outrightânot here. Not with the Foot.
But this building was in the middle of the city.
Public enough.
Busy enough.
The Foot couldnât risk being obvious.
No weapons. No armor. No masks.
Just people.
Which made them harder to spotâ
And way more dangerous.
Behind you, you could feel it.
Before you even turned.
Leo.
His presence wasnât loud, but it was thereâsteady, unmoving. Watching everything. Watching everyone.
Watching you.
You glanced back over your shoulder.
He stood near the edge, arms crossed, gaze locked on the buildingâbut it flicked toward you the second you looked.
Just for a second.
Below, April was already making her way toward the front entrance, her figure growing smaller as she slipped into the flow of people outside.
âHere,â Donnie said, stepping closer, holding out a couple of small devices. âI made these so we can keep in touch.â
You took one from his hand, turning it over in your fingers for a second before clipping it onto your belt.
âThanks, D,â you said, glancing up at him with a small smile.
âSweet,â Casey added, already shoving his into his pocket like it was nothing.
Typical.
The moment didnât last long.
You moved.
Crossing the rooftop quickly, the wind picking up around you as you made your way toward the vent access. Your boots scraped lightly against the concrete, the sound swallowed by the city below.
Leo reached it first.
Of course he did.
He crouched down, gripping the metal cover before pulling it up with a low creak, setting it aside carefully. The opening beneath was narrowâtight, dark, barely enough space to crawl through.
Casey didnât hesitate.
Already dropping down and pulling himself inside like heâd done it a hundred times before.
You stepped forward, crouching slightly as You prepared to followâ
And thenâ
A hand wrapped around your shoulder.
Firm.
Warm.
Stopping you instantly.
You froze.
Leo.
You didnât have to turn to know it.
But did anyway.
He stood close behind you now, closer than before. Close enough that you could feel the heat of him even in the cold air, his grip steadyânot tight enough to hurt, but enough to keep you there.
To make sure you listened.
âBe⌠safe in there,â he said.
His voice was lower now.
Quieter.
Not the leader.
Not the commanding tone from earlier.
Just him.
His eyes met mine, and for a secondâjust a secondâthere was no frustration, no tension, no control.
Just concern.
Real, unguarded concern.
ââŚOkay?â
You softened a little at that, Your hand lifting to rest over his where it sat on your shoulder.
âI will,â you said gently. âPromise.â
For a moment, neither of you moved.
Like he wanted to say something else.
Like he almost did.
But he didnât.
His hand lingered for half a second longer before finally letting go.
And just like thatâ
The distance was back.
You gave him one last look before turning, lowering myself into the vent and pulling forward.
The metal was cold beneath your hands, the space tight as you crawled deeper inside.
Behind youâ
You could feel it.
Even without looking.
Leo didnât move.
Didnât say anything.
He just stood thereâ
Watching.
Until you disappeared completely into the dark.
â------
Leonardo pulled himself back up onto the adjacent rooftop, the cool night air hitting him as he steadied himself beside the others.
The team had already fallen into place.
Donnie stood off to the side, tablet glowing in his hands as lines of data and small moving signals flickered across the screenâtracking every movement inside the building.
Raph was near the edge, watching the street below like a hawk, his attention locked on April as she blended into the crowd and slipped inside.
Mikey⌠was leaning against a vent pipe, whispering something to himself about âmission impossible vibes,â clearly tryingâand failingâto take things seriously.
Leo didnât comment.
Didnât look at them.
He moved straight to Donnieâs side.
âStatus?â he asked, voice low, controlled.
Donnie tilted the screen slightly so Leo could see.
âAprilâs inside,â he said. âMoving through the main floor. No oneâs flagged her yet.â
Leo nodded once.
His eyes shifted.
Two small signals blinked steadily across the map.
One of themâ
yours.
He focused on it immediately.
Watching as it moved slowly through the ventilation system, steady, deliberate.
Safe.
For now.
He didnât realize heâd stopped paying attention to everything else until
Donnie noticed.
Of course he did.
Donnieâs eyes flicked toward him briefly before returning to the screen, a small, knowing look settling behind his glasses.
âSoâŚâ he started casually, like he wasnât about to poke at something very obvious.
âWhatâs going on with you two?â
Leo didnât react at first.
Not outwardly.
His posture didnât shift. His gaze didnât leave the screen.
But there was the slightest pause.
A fraction too long.
ââŚNothing,â he said.
Flat.
Quick.
Too quick.
Donnie hummed softly, unconvinced.
âRight,â he muttered. âBecause you definitely donât snap at people for no reason.â
Leoâs jaw tightened slightly at that.
âIâm focused,â he replied. âThereâs a difference.â
âMm,â Donnie said, tapping lightly on the tablet. âYouâre focused on her tracker.â
That landed.
Leoâs eyes flicked to himâsharp, brief.
Then back to the screen.
ââŚIâm monitoring the mission.â
âUh-huh.â
Donnie didnât push right away.
Didnât need to.
The silence stretched just long enough to make it obvious.
âYou know,â Donnie added after a moment, quieter now, âyou couldâve just said you were worried.â
Leoâs hand curled slightly at his side.
âIâm always worried,â he said. âThatâs my job.â
Donnie shook his head faintly, a small smirk tugging at his lips.
âThatâs not what I meant.â
Leo didnât respond.
Couldnât.
Because the truth sat right there, unspokenâand way too close to the surface.
Instead, his gaze locked back onto the screen.
On you.
Moving deeper into the building.
Every step you tookâ
he followed.
He didnât understand his own emotions anymore. The most composed turtle of them all was conflicted.
About you.
He wasnât stupid. He saw itâthe way Caseyâs hand would linger on yours a moment too long. The way your face would light up whenever his name came up. The little stories the others would tell about the two of you spending time alone.
And yet, at the thought of you being alone with him, a sharp, unreasoning anger filled Leoâs chest.
It didnât make sense. It shouldnât make sense. He was supposed to be the level-headed one, the leader. The one everyone could rely on.
But there it was anywayâhot, relentless, and utterly distracting.
He clenched his fists at his sides, jaw tight, eyes flicking back to your blinking tracker.
And he hated that he couldnât look away
â------
âGod, it smells strong in here,â you muttered, crawling carefully behind Casey.
The metal walls of the vent were cold against your hands, the narrow space forcing you to move slowly. Dust hung in the air, and every shift of the vent panel groaned under your weight.
Casey moved ahead without hesitation, seemingly oblivious to the tight squeeze and the stifling smell. You swallowed hard, trying to keep your nerves in check. One wrong move, one careless sound, and the whole plan could fall apart.
âAlmost there,â Casey whispered, his voice barely audible over the hum of the buildingâs ventilation system.
You nodded, keeping your breathing steady, though a shiver ran down your spine.
Footsteps echoed somewhere below. You and Casey froze, pressed tight against the narrow vent walls. Two pairs of boots shuffled carefully beneath you, then stopped.
A womanâs voiceâmuffled, sharp, and not Englishâcut through the silence. She spoke in short, commanding tones, the kind that made your stomach twist. The sound faded as the soldiers moved on, but your pulse was racing.
You crawled, careful with every squeak of metal. The vent twisted sharply, forcing you to crouch low.
Then, without warning, the floor panel beneath you gave way.
You yelped as you plummeted into the room below, barely able to grab onto the edgeâbut your hands slipped.
Above, Casey froze, pressed tight against the vent wall. He considered jumping downâbeing the heroic guy he always claimed to beâbut before he could act,
he saw the Foot soldiers swarm around you.
You were on the ground, barely able to move.
Pain shot through your body from the fall, and every instinct screamed at you to get upâbut before you could make a sound, the soldiers barked orders at each other in harsh, clipped tones.
Strong hands grabbed you, yanking you to your feet, and before you could react, they dragged you into the shadows.
Caseyâs heart pounded in his chest, but exposing himself now would mean certain death.
He stayed frozen, watching helplessly, as your figure disappeared from sightâleaving only the echo of his own frustration and the chilling reality that
Author's note: Leo in the bayverse movies is kinda nasty sometimes LIKE i understand where he is coming from most of the time but he is kind of a dick to his brothers for like zero reason. need him to yell at me like that lowkey
Word count: 6479 words
The cold settled in the moment I stepped onto the ice.
It wasnât biting, not enough to be uncomfortableâbut it lingered, sharp against my skin, curling into my lungs with every breath. Each exhale came out in a soft cloud, fading just as quickly as it appeared.
The rink was alive in a quiet kind of way.
Blades carved steady lines into the ice, the sound crisp and rhythmic. Laughter echoed from somewhere across the rink, mixing with the faint hum of music playing overhead. Lights reflected off the surface beneath our feet, turning it into something smooth and glass-like, almost glowing.
I stood there for a second, taking it in.
ââŚI forgot how much I missed this.â
Beside me, Casey crouched slightly as he tightened the last lace on his skates, tugging it firm before tying it off with quick, practiced hands. His movements were easy, automaticâlike muscle memory drilled in from years on the rink, just a different kind.
âYeah?â he said, glancing up at me. âDidnât peg you as the type to miss freezing your face off.â
I huffed a quiet laugh, shifting my weight as the cold seeped through the soles of my skates.
âItâs not the cold,â I said, nodding toward the rink. âItâs this.â
Casey followed my gaze for a moment, watching a couple skate past, their movements uneven but determined.
ââŚYeah,â he said after a second, a little quieter. âI get that.â
He stood, rolling his shoulders once before stepping up beside me at the edge of the rink. For a brief moment, we both just stood there, watching the flow of peopleâsome confident, some clinging to the railing, all moving in their own rhythm.
Then Casey pushed off.
His blade cut into the ice with a sharp, controlled scrape, sending him forward in strong, grounded strides. There was power in the way he movedâbuilt for speed, for impact, for control in tight spaces. Hockey.
I followed a second later.
The second my skates touched the ice, everything fell into place.
The balance settled under me instantly, edges catching clean as muscle memory took over. I pushed forward into a smooth glide, weight shifting effortlessly from one foot to the other, each movement controlled, preciseâyears of figure skating settling back into my body like Iâd never left.
The cold air rushed past, brushing against my cheeks as I picked up speed without thinking.
It felt⌠easy.
Familiar.
Like stepping back into something that had always been part of me.
I exhaled slowly, letting the rhythm take over for a few seconds before I noticed Casey glancing over his shoulder.
ââŚOkay,â he said, dragging the word out as I pulled up beside him. âYeah, thatâs not normal.â
I smiled faintly, not slowing as I matched his pace.
âIt is if you know what youâre doing.â
âYeah, no,â he shook his head, letting out a quiet breath of disbelief. âThat was way too smooth.â
âThatâs the point.â
He huffed a laugh, adjusting his stride to stay beside me.
âAlright,â he said. âSo whatâthis is like a hidden talent thing, orâŚ?â
âOr Iâve just been doing it for a while,â I replied.
âYeah, that makes more sense.â
We fell into an easy rhythm after that, skating side by side as the sounds of the rink blended into the background. His strides were heavier, sharperâcutting deeper into the ice with purpose. Mine were quieter, lighter, guided by edges and balance rather than force. Different styles, completelyâbut neither of us had to adjust much to stay in sync.
After a moment, he spoke again.
ââŚSo howâd you end up with those guys?â he asked, nodding vaguely. âNot exactly your average crowd.â
I let out a small breath, eyes focused ahead as I leaned slightly into a curve, letting the edge carry me.
âHonestly? I could ask you the same thing.â
He smirked a little at that.
âFair.â
There was a brief pause, the only sound between us the steady scrape of our skates against the ice.
âJust kinda happened,â I added after a second.Â
âWrong place, right time.â
Casey nodded once, like that was all the explanation he needed.
âYeah,â he said. âSounds about right.â
He pushed forward a little harder, gaining a bit of speed before looping around in a loose arc, cutting across my path with a quick hockey turn before falling back into place beside me.
âTheyâre good, though,â he added. âYour guys.â
A small smile pulled at my lips.
âThey are.â
âLittle weird,â he said.
âVery.â
âBut solid.â
I glanced over at him. âYouâre one to talk.â
âHey,â he pointed briefly at me as he skated, âIâm completely normal.â
âMm. Sure you are.â
He bumped his shoulder lightly into mine as he passed a little too close, the contact brief but steady enough to throw off my balance for half a second.
âCareful,â I said, correcting smoothly, shifting onto my edge without breaking rhythm.
âRelax,â he shot back. âYouâve got it.â
I let out a soft laugh, pushing into a longer glide, one foot trailing behind me in a clean, controlled line, posture straightening instinctively.
Casey slowed just slightly, watching.
ââŚSee, that,â he said. âThatâs what Iâm talking about.â
âWhat?â
âYou make it look like youâre not even trying.â
I shrugged, letting the movement carry me.
âIâm not.â
âThatâs not helpful.â
A small smile tugged at my lips as I turned slightly, letting the edge of my blade guide me into a smooth transition. Without really thinking about it, I spunâquick, centered, controlledâyears of practice making it effortless before I settled back into a glide like it was nothing.
When I looked back at him, he was staring again.
ââŚWhat?â I asked, a hint of amusement in my voice.
He blinked, like heâd been caught, then let out a short breath.
âNothing,â he muttered. âJustâyeah. Thatâs actually kinda cool.â
ââKindaâ?â I echoed.
âDonât push it.â
I laughed, the sound lighter now, easier.
For a moment, neither of us said anything.
We just skated.
The cold air, the steady rhythm, the noise of the rinkâit all blurred into something distant, leaving just the movement and the quiet understanding settling between usâhis power, my control, somehow meeting in the middle.
Casey exhaled slowly, glancing around like he was taking it all in again.
ââŚHavenât done this in a while,â he admitted.
âYeah?â
âYeah.â
I nodded slightly. âSame.â
Another small pause.
Then I glanced over at him, a hint of challenge creeping into my tone.
âAlright,â I said. âLetâs see what youâve got.â
Caseyâs head turned toward me, brow lifting slightly.
âOh, youâre serious.â
âVery.â
A slow grin spread across his face, something more competitive slipping into his expression now.
ââŚYouâre on.â
â---------------
The lair buzzed with noise.
Not chaoticâjust alive.
The TV cast flickering light across the room, reflecting off the concrete walls as the sound of a hockey game filled the space. The sharp crack of sticks, the rush of skates, the distant roar of a digital crowdâit all blended into the usual background chaos.
ââNO, that was a penalty! Thereâs no way that was clean!â
Michelangelo was halfway off the couch again, one foot planted on the cushion as he pointed aggressively at the screen, like the players could hear him.
âIt was clean,â Raphael shot back from across the room, arms crossed, completely unmoved. âYour guy just got outplayed.â
âHe got demolished! Thatâs not the same thing!â
Donatello barely glanced up from where he sat, fingers moving across his tablet.
âTechnically,â he said calmly, âbody checking is a legal maneuver within regulation playââ
âDonnie,â Mikey cut in, whipping around dramatically, âI donât need facts right now, I need support.â
âYou came to the wrong turtle.â
Before Mikey could argue furtherâ
Footsteps echoed faintly from the tunnel.
âWow,â a familiar voice called. âI could hear you from halfway down the sewer.â
April stepped into the room, brushing a bit of dust from her jacket as she looked around, a small smile tugging at her lips.
Mikey lit up instantly.
âApril!â he said, spinning toward her. âPerfect timingâyouâre about to witness injustice.â
She raised an eyebrow. âIâve been here for three seconds.â
âExactly. Youâre unbiased.â
Raph snorted under his breath.
âUnbiased doesnât mean blind.â
April laughed softly, shaking her head as she stepped further into the living area, her gaze flicking between them.
âYou guys are unbelievable,â she said. âIs it always this loud down here?â
âYes,â Donnie answered simply.
âAlways,â Mikey confirmed.
Aprilâs attention shifted as she looked around the room, taking in who was thereâ
Then who wasnât.
ââŚWait,â she said, brows pulling together slightly. âWhere is everyone?â
Mikey followed her gaze, looking around exaggeratedly before slowly sitting up straighter.
ââŚHold on.â
He pointed toward the empty space beside the couch.
âWhereâs (Y/N)?â
There was a brief pause.
April answered without thinking, her tone casual.
âOhâshe went out with Casey.â
That landed.
Not loudly.
But enough.
Raphâs head tilted slightly.
Donnieâs fingers stilled for half a second.
Mikey blinked.
ââŚOut?â he repeated.
April nodded, shrugging lightly as she stepped closer to the table.
âYeah, they mentioned something about an outdoor rink. Skating, I think.â
Silence slipped in.
Quick.
Noticeable.
Across the roomâ
Leonardo stopped moving.
Heâd been near the counter, one hand resting lightly beside his mug, posture relaxed in that controlled way he always carried himself.
Nowâ
Still.
Not rigid.
Not obvious.
Just⌠still.
April didnât notice.
âThey seemed pretty excited about it,â she added, glancing back at them. âCasey was going on about hockey, and she said she used to skateâlike, actually skate.â
A quiet clink echoed through the room.
Ceramic against stone.
Leo had set his mug down.
A little too hard.
Mikeyâs head snapped toward him immediately, eyes widening just slightly.
Raphâs gaze followed, slowerâbut sharper.
Donnie definitely noticed.
April blinked, looking between them. ââŚWhat?â
Leo didnât look at anyone.
His gaze stayed forward, jaw set just enough to give him awayâif you were looking for it.
âI have training,â he said.
His voice was steady.
Measured.
Too measured.
Mikey tilted his head, squinting. ââŚRight now?â
âYes.â
Raph pushed off the wall slightly, arms still crossed. âDidnât you already train this morning?â
Leoâs expression didnât change.
âIâm going again.â
Short.
Final.
There was no room for argument in it.
He turned before anyone could say anything else, footsteps echoing against the floor as he headed toward the hallway.
Controlled.
Even.
But his hand flexed once at his side, fingers tightening before relaxing again.
Then he was gone.
The room sat in silence for a second longer than it should have.
Donnie adjusted his glasses slightly. âThat was quite the behavioral shift, yes.â
Raph huffed quietly, shaking his head just a little. âHeâs ainât subtle.â
April looked between them, confusion turning into realization as she replayed the moment in her head.
ââŚWait,â she said slowly. âDid I say something?â
Mikey turned to her immediately.
âYes.â
âYou absolutely did,â Donnie added.
April blinked. ââŚWhat did I do?â
Mikey leaned in closer, lowering his voice like he was sharing something important.
âYou started something.â
Aprilâs eyes widened slightly as it clicked.
ââŚOh.
â--------------
The cold lingered a little more once we stepped off the ice.
Without the constant movement, it settled inâbiting at my cheeks, seeping through my clothes as I pulled my jacket tighter around myself. The sounds of the rink faded behind us, blades and laughter turning into something distant as we stepped back onto solid ground.
I flexed my fingers slightly, still warm from the gloves.
ââŚOkay,â Casey said, exhaling a cloud of breath into the air. âThat was worth it.â
I smiled faintly. âTold you.â
He nudged the door open with his shoulder, holding it long enough for me to step through first before following me out into the open air.
The sky had darkened while we were inside, the last traces of daylight gone. Streetlights cast a soft glow over the sidewalk, reflecting faintly off patches of ice and snow.
For a moment, neither of us said anything.
We just started walking.
Boots crunching lightly against the ground, breath visible in the cold between us.
ââŚYouâre way better than you let on, you know that?â Casey said after a minute, glancing over at me.
I huffed a quiet laugh. âI didnât âlet onâ anything. You just didnât believe me.â
âYeah, well,â he shrugged, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. âDidnât expect that level of⌠whatever that was.â
âSkill?â I offered.
He gave me a look. âDonât push it.â
I smiled a little, looking ahead again as we walked.
The quiet wasnât awkward.
Just⌠easy.
The kind that didnât need to be filled.
Casey kicked lightly at a patch of snow in his path before speaking again.
ââŚYou should come out more,â he said. âNot just skating. Justâout.â
I glanced at him. âAre you saying I donât go outside enough?â
âIâm saying,â he started, then paused, like he was choosing his words more carefully this time. âYou seem different out here.â
I raised an eyebrow slightly. âDifferent how?â
He shrugged, but his gaze lingered on me a second longer than before.
âLess⌠guarded, I guess.â
That made me look away for a second.
The cold air filled the space between us again as we kept walking, the distant hum of the city settling in around us.
ââŚYeah,â I admitted quietly. âItâs easier out here.â
Casey nodded once, like he understood exactly what I meant.
âYeah,â he said. âI get that.â
Another stretch of quiet followed.
Comfortable.
But now⌠a little more aware.
I glanced down the street ahead, recognizing where we were getting closer to.
âYou donât have to walk me all the way, you know,â I said. âIâm good from here.â
Casey scoffed lightly. âYeah, not happening.â
âI can handle myself.â
âI know you can,â he said. âDoesnât mean Iâm not walking you.â
I shook my head slightly, a small smile tugging at my lips.
âStubborn.â
âSmart.â
âDebatable.â
He let out a quiet laugh at that, his breath fogging in the air.
We slowed as we reached my place, the street quieter here, the noise of the rink long gone.
Casey stopped, rocking back slightly on his heels.
âSo,â he said. âIâll see you around?â
I looked at him, a small smile lingering.
âYeah,â I said. âYou will.â
He nodded once, like that was enough.
âGood.â
There was a pause.
Not uncomfortable.
Just⌠there.
Like neither of us was in a rush to break it.
Casey shifted slightly, hands still tucked into his pockets, glancing down the street for a second before looking back at me.
âWell,â he said. âGet inside before you freeze.â
I rolled my eyes lightly. âYouâre the one standing out here.â
âYeah, but Iâm built for it.â
âSure you are.â
He smirked faintly.
Another pause.
Shorter this time.
Like this was the part where one of us was supposed to leave.
I hesitated.
Then stepped a little closer.
Casey didnât moveâjust watched, a flicker of confusion crossing his face.
âThanks,â I said softly.
âFor what?â
âFor today.â
Something in his expression shiftedâjust slightly, softer than before.
ââŚYeah,â he said. âAnytime.â
And before I could overthink itâ
I leaned in.
Pressing a quick, light kiss to his cheek.
It was brief.
Warm despite the cold.
And then I pulled back just as quickly.
Casey blinked.
Once.
Then again.
ââŚOkay,â he said, clearly thrown off, one hand coming up to the back of his neck. âDidnât see that coming.â
I smiled, just a little.
âYeah,â I said. âMe neither.â
For a second, neither of us moved.
Then he let out a small breath, a crooked grin slowly forming.
ââŚAlright,â he said. âIâm definitely walking you home again.â
I laughed softly, shaking my head.
âGoodnight, Casey.â
I turned slightly toward the doorâ
Then he spoke again.
âHeyââ
I paused, glancing back at him.
âYou coming back to the lair?â he asked. âWe were probably gonna hang out for a bit.â
There was a small hesitation.
Just enough to matter.
ââŚNot tonight,â I said. âI think Iâm just gonna stay in.â
Casey studied me for a second, like he was trying to read if there was more behind that answerâ
Then he nodded.
âAlright,â he said. âIâll probably head back.â
âYeah?â
âYeah.â
Another small pause.
âGet inside,â he added, softer this time.
I smiled faintly. âYou too.â
He huffed a quiet laugh at that.
âYeah. I will.â
I gave one last glance before stepping inside, the door closing softly behind me.
And when I looked back through the windowâ
Casey was still there for a second.
Then he turnedâ
And headed back the way we came.
Toward the lair.
â-------
The walk back felt shorter.
Maybe it was the cold.
Maybe it was the fact that Caseyâs mind wasnât exactly⌠focused.
His hands stayed shoved in his jacket pockets, shoulders slightly hunched against the night air as his boots hit the pavement in steady rhythm. The streets were quieter now, the city settling into that late-night calm.
But his mind kept replaying it.
That moment.
The way you stepped closerâ
The kiss.
Casey let out a quiet breath, shaking his head once like that might reset him.
ââŚYeah,â he muttered to himself. âDid not see that coming.â
A few more stepsâ
Then the familiar entrance came into view.
He didnât hesitate, pulling it open and slipping inside, the colder air of the tunnels wrapping around him as he made his way down.
By the time he reached the lairâ
The noise hit first.
Voices overlapping, the flicker of the TV casting shifting light across the room, the low hum of Donnieâs tech blending into it all. It was the same as always.
Comfortably chaotic.
Casey stepped in, pushing a hand back through his hair.
âYo.â
Michelangelo popped up immediately from the couch, twisting around so fast he nearly lost his balance.
âCASEY!â
He leaned over the back of the couch, eyes lighting up.
âWhere have you been?! Weâve been bored for likeâhours.â
April stood nearby, leaning against the table with her arms loosely crossed, a small smile on her face as she glanced over.
âPretty sure itâs been twenty minutes,â she said.
Casey smirked, shaking his head. âRelax, I was out.â
Mikey practically fell off the couch. âWITHOUT ME?!â
Casey held up a hand. âHey, they donât make skates big enough for your feet, man.â
Raph snorted. April let out a soft chuckle. Mikey glared down at his feet, muttering indignantly, âThese are proportional!â
Casey shrugged, unscrewing the cap of his water bottle. âI played hockey; she skates better than me.â
That earned a small laugh from April and a quiet shake of the head from Raph. Mikey froze, eyes wide.
âBetter than you?â he repeated, slowly. âNo way.â
âWay,â Casey said simply, leaning back slightly. His gaze softened as he remembered the rink, the way you movedâfluid, precise, effortless.
April glanced between Casey and Mikey, noticing the subtle shift in his expression. She tilted her head. âSounds like fun,â she said quietly.
âYeah,â Casey admitted, taking a small sip of water. âSheâs⌠really good.â
Mikey flopped back against the cushions, staring at him. âI wouldâve fallen immediately.â
âYou wouldâve tripped before you got on the ice,â Raph muttered dryly, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.
The room settled into its usual rhythm again. Mikey muttered about betrayal, Donnie went back to his tablet, Raph leaned back against the wall smirking, and Aprilâs gaze lingered a moment longer on Casey, a knowing glint in her eyes.
Casey leaned against the table, quietly spinning his water bottle in his hands, still thinking about the eveningâthe way youâd laughed, the way your blades had cut across the ice, the warmth of your small gesture before parting. It was simple, quiet, but it stuck with him.
Around him, the lair buzzed on, unawareâor maybe unwillingâto notice just how much his mind was elsewhere.
â â â â
The next evening, you stepped into the lair.
You barely made it a few steps in beforeâ
âSon of aâ!â
A loud clang of metal echoed through the space, followed by the sharp scrape of something hitting the floor.
You paused, blinking.
ââŚDonnie?â
The noise had come from deeper in the lair, and without thinking, you followed itâyour footsteps echoing lightly against the concrete as you made your way toward the makeshift garage.
The moment you stepped in, the scent of metal and oil hit you.
And there he was.
Donatello was halfway under the Shellraiser, only his legs and the edge of his shell visible as sparks briefly flickered from beneath the vehicle. Whatever he was working on clearly wasnât cooperating.
ââŚokay, thatâs not supposed toââ he muttered under his breath.
âHey, Don,â you called, stepping closer.
There was a pauseâthen the sound of something being set down quickly.
A second later, he rolled out from underneath the Shellraiser, adjusting his glasses as he sat up.
âOhâhey!â he said, a little breathless but smiling. âDidnât hear you come in.â
You smiled back, glancing up at the massive vehicle.
âWow⌠itâs looking great, Donnie.â
And it was.
Even from the outside, it looked more reinforced than beforeânew plating, cleaner welds, pieces that looked like they definitely werenât part of a normal garbage truck.
Donnie pushed himself up to his feet, towering slightly as he grabbed a nearby rag and wiped his hands.
âThanks!â he said, clearly pleased. âLeo actually had a few improvement ideas, so Iâve been trying to stay on top of everything.â
âLeo, huh?â you said, stepping a little closer, your hand brushing along the side of the Shellraiser. âI think it looked amazing before the improvements.â
Your fingers trailed lightly along the metal, cool beneath your touch.
Donnie snorted softly, amused.
âHave you even seen the inside yet?â
That caught you off guard.
You hesitated, glancing back at him with a small, slightly sheepish smile.
âI mean⌠not really,â you admitted. âIâve seen it in action, butââ
âNot up close,â he finished for you, already grinning.
You laughed quietly, looking away for a second.
ââŚNot quite.â
âWell,â Donnie said, stepping toward the door and pulling it open with a bit of a flourish.
âAfter you.â
You raised an eyebrow, smiling.
âWow. A gentleman.â
âOnly on special occasions.â
You laughed, ducking slightly as you stepped up and into the Shellraiser.
And the second you were insideâ
You stopped.
ââŚOkay,â you said softly. âYeah, this is insane.â
It was nothing like the outside.
Screens. Lights. Organized chaos of tech lining the interior. It felt more like stepping into a mobile command center than a vehicle.
Behind you, Donnie climbed in, clearly pleased with your reaction.
âIâve been upgrading the internal systems,â he explained, moving past you to tap lightly on one of the panels. âNavigation, defense protocols, communicationâbasically everything.â
You turned slowly, taking it all in.
âYou built all this?â
âWellââ he adjusted his glasses, trying to play it cool, âârefined it.â
You smiled, shaking your head slightly in disbelief.
âDonnie, this is incredible.â
For a second, he just stood there, clearly trying not to look too proud of himselfâ
and failing.
âOkay, yeah,â he admitted. âItâs pretty great.â
You laughed softly, leaning back against one of the seats as you took everything in again, your eyes flicking over the glowing panels and controls.
âDo I get to go for a ride?â you asked, turning and spinning lightly in the front seat, hands gripping the sides for balance.
Donnie snorted, leaning casually against one of the consoles.
âOnly if Leo says yes,â he said, giving a small shrug. âWhich is⌠statistically unlikely.â
You groaned, letting your head fall back dramatically against the seat.
âOf course it is.â
He smirked a little at that, tapping a few buttons absentmindedly.
âI mean, you could ask him,â he added, glancing over at you. âBut I wouldnât get your hopes up.â
You turned your head slightly, giving him a look.
âWow. So supportive.â
âI deal in realism.â
You huffed a small laugh, shaking your head as you glanced back toward the front windshield.
ââŚHeâs not that bad,â you muttered.
Donnie didnât respond right away.
Instead, he just adjusted his glasses, a small, knowing smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
âDidnât say he was.â
A quiet beat passed.
Thenâ
âYou gonna ask him?â he added casually.
You hesitated for a second, your gaze drifting away from his as you let out a small sigh, shoulders relaxing just a little.
âUh⌠something kind of happened the other night,â you said, trying to sound casualâbut not quite pulling it off. âNot really in the mood to talk to âlame-oh-nardoâ right now.â
You giggled under your breath, like you knew exactly how ridiculous that sounded.
Donnie raised an eyebrow, immediately intrigued.
âOh?â he said, dragging the word out slightly.
He reached over and pulled the Shellraiser door shut with a solid thunk, then dropped into the seat across from you, leaning forward with interest.
âOkay,â he said, resting his arms on his knees. âTalk to Donatello.â
There was a light laugh in his voiceâbut his eyes were sharp behind his glasses.
You shifted slightly in your seat, leaning back as your gaze drifted toward the front windshield instead of him.
âI donât really knowâŚâ you started, exhaling softly. âHeâs just been⌠sharp with me lately. I think thatâs the word.â
Your fingers tapped lightly against the armrest as you thought about it.
âLeo and I have always been good,â you continued, quieter now. âBut the other night he kind of just⌠snapped at me.â
You frowned slightly, shaking your head.
âAnd ever since then, heâs been short. Likeââ you paused, searching for the right words, âânot ignoring me, but not really⌠talking to me either.â
Donnie didnât interrupt.
Didnât joke.
He just listened.
Really listened.
His expression shifted slightly, thoughtful now as he adjusted his glasses.
ââŚThatâs not normal,â he said after a moment.
You let out a small, humorless laugh.
âYeah. I noticed.â
A quiet beat settled between you, the low hum of the Shellraiser filling the space.
Donnie leaned back slightly in his seat, arms crossing as he thought.
âDid anything happen?â he asked. âLikeâbefore he snapped?â
You shook your head slowly.
âMe and Mikey were just playing games for a bit⌠Then Casey dropped in. I went to say hi to leo while he was meditating, and heâs just beenâŚâ You trailed off, staring out the front windshield, the soft hum of the Shellraiser filling the space.
âWellâŚâ Donnie began, leaning back slightly, fingers steepled under his chin as he thought.
âNow that you mention it,â he said after a moment, eyes narrowing just a fraction, âlast night when April was over, she said you and Casey were skating. If Iâm correctâŚâ
You felt your stomach twist just a little.
âYeah⌠thatâs right,â you admitted quietly.
Donnieâs expression sharpened, his gaze flicking toward the front as if he could already picture it. âLeoâs body language⌠tensed up the second it was mentioned.â
You shifted in your seat, fidgeting slightly with the edge of your sleeve.
âYou noticed all that?â you asked softly.
Donnie gave a small, knowing smirk, adjusting his glasses. âI notice a lot. He may not say anything⌠but itâs there.â
The air in the Shellraiser seemed to thicken for a moment, quiet except for the low hum of the vehicleâs systems.
You let out a soft sigh, leaning back against your seat. âFigures. That sounds⌠just like him.â
Donnie nodded slowly, eyes still thoughtful.
âHey, Donnie,â you said, rubbing the back of your neck nervously. âAre you going to tell Leo about this conversation? Things are already⌠awkward, and I really donât want to make it worse.â
Donnie leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
âYour secrets are safe with me,â he snorted, a teasing glint in his eyes.
You gave a small laugh, letting some of the tension slip from your shoulders. âGood. Because Iâd rather survive his silent treatment than have it get worse.â
Donnie laughed at that, the sound echoing softly in the Shellraiser.
âLeo is always like thaââ
Before he could finish, the Shellraiser door swung open with a firm creak.
âLeoâs like what?â
You both froze.
Standing there, framed by the dim light of the lair, was Leonardo. Hands planted firmly on either side of the Shellraiser door, his stance tall and imposing. His eyes scanned the two of you like he was trying to read every thought before it could be spoken.
The quiet hum of the Shellraiser suddenly felt deafening.
Donnie straightened, adjusting his glasses, but didnât speak.
You swallowed, heart thumping just a little faster, and shifted slightly in your seat, suddenly aware of how exposed you both were under Leoâs gaze.
âLooks like youâre working hard, Don,â Leo spat, his tone thick with sarcasm as he turned away slightly, clearly not fully engagingâbut making sure you both knew he was watching.
You and Donnie exchanged a quick glance, neither of you saying a word. The silence stretched, punctuated only by the soft hum of the Shellraiserâs systems.
Donnie finally pushed off from the vehicle, stepping fully out, hands relaxed but ready.
âHey, Leo⌠listen, we were just talking,â he said carefully, voice calm but cautious.
You caught a hint of a laugh in Leoâs voice, low and dry, like he was amused and irritated at the same time.
âOh, Iâm sure you two were,â he replied, the words sharp but not overbearing, his gaze flicking between you and Donnie.
You shifted slightly in your seat, fidgeting with your hands. The weight of Leoâs presence pressed down in a way that made the Shellraiser feel smaller, more confining.
âWell, now that youâre here⌠did you wanna see what I added to the Shellraiser?â Donnie asked, his tone light, trying to ease the tension.
âI have no interest,â Leo barked, sharp and cold.
What a dick, you thought, glaring at him. Donatello had been working his shell off making improvements Leo himself had asked for, and now heâs dismissing them without even a glance?
You stepped out of the truck, following Donnie, your jaw tightening.
âHey,â you said, voice firm, cutting through the tension. âDonnie put a lot of work into this, and he deserves a little credit, whether youâre interested or not.â
Leoâs eyes narrowed, and his hands clenched slightly at his sides. âI donât need to give him credit for following instructions,â he shot back, voice low but edged with irritation. âHeâs doing what he was told. Thatâs his job.â
âHis job?â you repeated, incredulous, stepping a little closer. âDonnie didnât just follow instructions. He improved your ideas, made it better than what you asked for, and he deserves acknowledgmentânot a dismissal.â
Leoâs stance stiffened, chest rising as he took a step toward you. âIâm not dismissing him. Iâm being realistic. He doesnât need me patting him on the back for doing what heâs supposed to do.â
You crossed your arms, meeting his gaze without flinching. âRealistic? Thatâs just an excuse to be dismissive. Effort matters, Leo. And Donnie put in effortâand youâre being a jerk if you act like it doesnât.â
A tense beat passed. Leoâs jaw clenched, his eyes sharp, but you didnât back down. âI wonât stand here and let you make him feel small. Not over this,â you added firmly.
Donnie shifted beside you, awkward but grateful, as Leoâs expression softened fractionally, though the pride and irritation lingered.
Finally, Leo let out a controlled exhale, stepping back slightly. âYou think Iâm being unfair,â he said, voice tight. âMaybe I am⌠but I wonât let this turn into praise for every little thing.â
âNot every little thing,â you said, nodding. âJust the things that actually matter. And thisâthis matters.â
He said nothing after that, eyes flicking briefly to Donnie, then back to you. The tension still hung heavyâbut the argument had been made.
âWell,â you said, letting the words roll off your tongue just a little louder, âyou know Leo can be a real asshole.â
Leoâs eyes snapped to yours immediately, sharp and focused, his jaw tightening slightly. He didnât say anything, just stood there, silent but clearly listening.
Donnie shifted awkwardly beside you, glancing at you with a mixture of surprise and amusement.
You, meanwhile, just let a small, sly smile tug at your lips, refusing to look away. Mission accomplished: Leo had heard, and you werenât backing down.
The garage felt charged, every hum of the Shellraiser louder than before, as if it was holding its breath along with all three of you.
You stepped away, brushing past Leoâs tall, solid frame as if he were just another person in a crowded hallway. Your movement was casual, but your eyes caught the faint tension in his stance as you passed.
Heading toward the living room, you let Donnie lead the way, gesturing excitedly to Leo as he pointed out all the improvements heâd made. Tools glinted under the overhead lights, welds shone, and circuitry hummed softlyâa testament to Donnieâs work.
Leo followed silently, shoulders stiff, hands tucked loosely at his sides, watching Donnieâs every move. He didnât say a word, but the way his gaze lingered on you for the briefest of moments before snapping back to the Shellraiser made it clear: he was aware. Every step you took, every laugh or comment Donnie made, he noticed.
You kept walking, trying not to smirk too much at the unspoken tension youâd stirred, letting Donnie shine while Leo silently processed the scene.
By the time you stepped into the living room, you felt like you could finally breathe again, letting the cool hum of the lair settle around you. Donnie and Leo were still in the garage, absorbed in their own world, and you decided to give them some space.
Your attention immediately shifted to the couch, where Mikey was sprawled across the cushions, his eyes glued to the TV. Raph sat beside him, arms crossed, grumbling quietly at whatever was playing.
âHey,â Mikey greeted without looking away from the screen, tossing you a bag of chips. âWhereâve you been? You missed all the action!â
You laughed softly, taking a chip and sinking onto the armrest of the couch. âAction, huh? You mean chaos?â
Mikey grinned, barely containing himself. âTomato, tomahto! Totally the same thing.â
Raph muttered something under his breath, but you could tell he was half-listening, half-annoyed, the way he always was when Mikey was hyped.
You leaned back, letting yourself relax for a moment. But even as the roomâs casual energy surrounded you, a small, familiar tension lingered in the back of your mindâthe one Leo left behind. You knew it wasnât over, not by a long shot.
â-
You walked into the kitchen to get yourself a cup of coffee. Casey was supposed to stop by soon, though you had no idea exactly when. Youâd texted a bit earlierâno one besides Donnie really knew what had been brewing with Leo.
Opening the fridge, you pushed past the sodas to reach the coffee creamer buried deep in the back. As you pulled it out and closed the door, the unmistakable sound of heavy footsteps filled the room. Leo had entered, his presence announced by a deliberate huff, sharp and deliberate, like the air itself stiffened around him.
You poured a splash of creamer into your coffee, swirling it slowly, then turned to face him. A teasing smirk tugged at your lips, just enough to let him know you were aware of the tension. He wasnât fooled; he knew exactly what you were doing.
âYou better watch it,â he began, voice low and sharp, âorââ
âOr what?â you cut in, leaning forward just slightly, letting your smirk grow. You could see the way his shoulders tensed at the challenge.
He didnât speak, just stared through you, those piercing blue eyes narrowing ever so slightly, measuring you, calculating.
âYou know,â you began, voice firm but careful, âI donât know what this⌠switch up was, but I never did anything to you.â
Leoâs jaw tightened, a faint clench that betrayed the effort it took to keep his composure. His hands flexed at his sides, fingers curling and uncurling, like he was physically restraining himself from saying something sharp.
âYou think itâs that simple?â he said finally, voice low, controlledâbut every word carried the weight of unspoken frustration. âYou waltz in, make everyone else laugh, shake things up, and suddenly Iâm the one out of step?â
You shook your head slightly, refusing to step back. âNo. Iâm not the problem, Leo. You donât have to snap at meâor at Donnieâjust because youâre⌠unsettled. Thatâs on you, not me.â
His eyes flicked away for a moment, and you caught the faintest sigh escaping him. A moment of vulnerability, quickly masked by his usual rigid posture.
âIâm not snapping,â he muttered, but the words were thin, unconvincing.
âOh really?â you asked softly, voice just above a whisper, letting the tension hang in the air. âBecause it sure felt like it.â
He stared at you again, silence stretching between you like a taut wire, neither willing to let goâbut both fully aware that this conversation was far from over.
âIs there an issue?â
Master Splinterâs calm voice cut through the tension like a gentle blade. He stepped into the kitchen, eyes scanning the two of you carefully. The subtle weight of his presence made the air feel heavier, as though even the hum of the lair had quieted in respect.
âNo, sensei,â Leo replied quickly, straightening his posture, his voice clipped but controlled. His hands twitched slightly at his sides, betraying the irritation he was trying to mask.
You gave a small, almost imperceptible shrug, letting your expression remain neutral, though the heat of the argument still lingered in your chest. Splinterâs eyes lingered on the two of you, unspoken understanding passing in the silenceâhe could feel the tension, even if the words werenât said aloud.
âVery well,â Splinter said softly, his tone calm but carrying authority. âBut remember, sharp words and unspoken frustrations have a way of growing when left unresolved. You would both do well to address them before they fester.â
Leoâs jaw tightened again, but he didnât respond, merely inclining his head slightly in acknowledgment. You stayed quiet as well, letting the senseiâs words settle, though the undercurrent of challenge between you and Leo hadnât dissipatedâit had only been paused.
Splinter gave a small nod and quietly left the kitchen,
leaving the two of you alone again, the silence now ringing louder than before.
Authors note: Did you know Nurses usually walk 5-6 miles during a 12 hour shift? I learned that in the lecture I wrote this fan fic in ahahhahaa- This also isn't proof read..
Word count: 1248 words
Synopsis: A quiet night in the lair turns unexpectedly tense when Caseyâs playful flirting draws more attention than expected. Someone watches from the shadows, calm yet unnervingly focused, and the air between them begins to crackle with unspoken feelings.
Michelangelo shouted as he threw his controller onto the couch cushions and jumped to his feet like heâd just won the Super Bowl.
âTHREE IN A ROW, BABY!â
I stared at the TV screen, the bright âYOU LOSEâ flashing mockingly back at me. My defeated character slumped in the corner of the screen while Mikey celebrated like a champion.
I sighed, rubbing my face before looking up at him.
âGreat job, Mikey,â I said with a small smile.
He pumped his fists in the air, spinning around in a victory lap across the living room.
âThank you, thank you! I will be accepting trophies and pizza slices.â
This was the third time in a row heâd beaten me.
At first it was funny.
Now it was starting to get irritating.
I pushed myself up from the couch and walked over to the TV stand where the stack of video games sat beside the console. The cases were piled unevenly, some half open from Mikey digging through them earlier.
Behind me, Mikey had already collapsed back onto the couch, stretching out comfortably with his hands tucked behind his head like a king admiring his victory.
I flipped through the cases slowly.
âHmmâŚâ
I pulled one out.
âWhat about Minecraft?â I suggested, holding the disk up over my shoulder.
Mikey made a face immediately.
âUgh, no way.â
I turned slightly.
âWhat? Why?â
âToo many blocks,â he said dramatically, waving a hand like the very thought offended him.
I laughed softly and slid the case back into the stack before pulling out another.
âWellâŚâ I said, examining the cover. âWhat about a hockey game?â
I held the case up so he could see it.
Before Mikey could even respond, a familiar voice echoed from the sewer tunnel entrance.
âHockey? Sounds like my kind of game.â
Both of us looked up as Casey Jones walked into the lair like heâd been summoned by the word itself.
His hockey stick rested casually over his shoulder, and he tossed his mask onto the nearby table as he strolled into the living area.
Without hesitation, he dropped onto the couch beside Mikey.
Mikey grinned.
âOhhh, we got a professional opinion now.â
Casey leaned forward slightly, eyeing the game case in my hand with interest.
âHockey game, huh?â
I held it up again.
âThought it might be fun.â
Casey cracked a grin.
âYeah.â
He reached out and took the case from my hand, flipping it over to look at the back.
âThatâs definitely happening.â
Mikey pointed excitedly.
âYO! You should play!â
Casey raised an eyebrow.
âAre you kidding? Iâd destroy you.â
Mikey gasped.
âRUDE.â
I laughed as I took the disk back and moved toward the console.
âWell thereâs only one way to find out.â
The console hummed to life as I slid the disk inside.
Behind me, Mikey scooted over on the couch to make room while Casey leaned back comfortably, stretching his arms along the top of the cushions like he was settling in for something good.
âOh this is gonna be fun,â Mikey said.
Casey smirked.
âFor me, maybe.â
Casey leaned back into the couch cushions like he had already won before the match even started. One arm stretched lazily along the back of the couch behind Mikey while the other loosely held the controller, his posture relaxed and full of confidence.
The kind of confidence that was just begging to be challenged.
Beside him, Michelangelo practically vibrated with excitement. He leaned forward so far his elbows were digging into his knees, eyes locked onto the TV screen like the loading menu was the most dramatic thing heâd ever witnessed.
I walked back over to the couch and tossed Casey one of the controllers from the coffee table.
âAlright, hotshot,â I said, dropping down onto the cushion beside him. âLetâs see if you can actually back up that ego.â
Casey caught the controller smoothly with one hand without even looking, flashing a crooked grin.
âOh I definitely can.â
Mikey pointed dramatically between the two of us like a sports announcer.
âLadies and gentlemen, we are about to witness the greatest gaming rivalry in sewer history.â
I rolled my eyes but couldnât stop the smile creeping onto my face.
âYouâre not helping.â
âIâm enhancing the experience,â Mikey said proudly.
The gameâs menu music blasted through the speakers as the team selection screen appeared.
Casey immediately started flipping through the teams.
âObviously Iâm picking the best one.â
âYou picked that in two seconds,â I said suspiciously.
âInstinct.â
âYou didnât even look at the stats.â
âDidnât need to.â
Mikey crunched loudly on a chip from the bag heâd grabbed off the table.
âI love the confidence,â he said through a mouthful of chips.
I selected my team a little more carefully, scrolling through the options before locking it in.
Casey nudged my shoulder slightly as he leaned forward.
âReady to lose?â
âReady to be humbled.â
The puck dropped.
For a split second both of our players skated toward itâ
Then Casey stole it immediately.
âHEY!â I shouted.
âToo slow,â he said calmly.
His player darted down the ice like a rocket, weaving effortlessly between the defenders.
âWaitâwhatâhow are you alreadyââ
Before I could even catch upâ
GOAL.
The loud horn blasted through the TV speakers.
Mikey exploded off the couch.
âNO WAY!â
Casey lifted both arms in the air like he had just scored in an actual championship game.
âTold you.â
I stared at the screen in disbelief.
ââŚThat was like ten seconds.â
Mikey pointed accusingly at Casey.
âOkay hold onâhold onâhave you played this before??â
Casey shrugged like it was the most casual thing in the world.
âMaybe.â
I slowly turned my head toward him.
âYou didnât say that.â
âYou didnât ask.â
Mikey collapsed back onto the couch laughing.
âOh my god, you totally got hustled.â
I groaned and leaned forward again, gripping my controller tighter.
âRematch, Jones.â
Casey cracked his knuckles dramatically.
âOh absolutely.â
The second round loaded.
This time, I was ready.
The puck dropped again, and I immediately snatched control.
âYes!â I shouted.
Mikey jumped up on the couch behind us.
âGET HIM!â
Casey leaned forward now, his relaxed posture instantly shifting into focus as he narrowed his eyes at the screen.
âOh itâs like that now?â
âYes,â I said determinedly.
Our players slammed into each other across the ice as we fought for control of the puck.
âPass pass passâNO NOT THAT GUY!â Mikey yelled like he was coaching from the sidelines.
Casey bumped my shoulder lightly as he leaned closer to the TV.
âCareful,â he said.
âYouâre in my space.â
âYouâre losing.â
âIâm not losing.â
Right then my player broke free down the ice.
I took the shot.
GOAL.
The horn blasted again.
Mikey screamed.
âLETS GOOOO!â
I threw both hands up in victory.
âYes!â
Casey leaned back into the couch again, laughing.
âAlright, alright. Beginnerâs luck.â
âExcuse me?â
Mikey clapped loudly, the sharp sound echoing off the concrete walls of the lair.
âThis is the best day ever!â
He bounced once on the couch cushions before flopping back down beside Casey Jones, still grinning like he had front-row seats to the greatest sporting event in history. The bag of chips crinkled loudly in his hands as he dug around for another handful, eyes darting between the TV and the controllers like he didnât want to miss a single second.
Casey chuckled at Mikeyâs enthusiasm before shifting slightly on the couch. He leaned a little closer toward me, resting his elbow casually along the back of the couch. His posture was relaxed, but the crooked smirk on his face said he was about to say something.
âYou knowâŚâ he started, glancing from me to the hockey game paused on the screen.
âIf you ever wanted to learn hockey,â he continued, his tone dripping with playful confidence, âIâm your guy.â
He gestured lazily toward the television with his controller, where the digital players skated across the bright white ice.
âSkatingâs pretty hard,â he added, shrugging like it was common knowledge. âBalance, stopping, turning without wiping out. Most people can barely stay upright the first time.â
Mikey nodded seriously beside him.
âOh yeah. I would fall immediately.â
Casey barely acknowledged him, his attention still on me.
âBut I could teach you the basics,â he said, flashing that same smug grin. âStick handling, skating drills⌠maybe even get you on the ice sometime.â
I folded my arms slightly, raising an eyebrow at him.
âOh really?â
Casey shrugged again, leaning back into the couch cushions like the offer spoke for itself.
âYeah,â he said simply. âIâm basically a professional.â
That earned a small laugh from me.
âWell⌠funny you mention that.â
Casey tilted his head slightly.
âWhat?â
I leaned forward a little, resting my elbows on my knees as I looked over at him.
âI used to be a figure skater.â
For a second, Casey just blinked.
ââŚWait.â
Mikeyâs head whipped around so fast it was almost impressive.
âYou WHAT?!â
I smiled a little at their reactions.
âYeah.â
Casey leaned forward now, resting his forearms on his thighs as he studied me more closely, like he was trying to decide if I was serious.
âNo way.â
âOh, Way.â
I nodded toward the TV screen again where the hockey game still waited to start.
âSo maybe,â I said casually, âI could show YOU a thing or two.â
Mikey gasped loudly.
âOH SNAP.â
Casey let out a small laugh, shaking his head in disbelief.
âFigure skating and hockey are two completely different things.â
âBoth involve skating.â
âYeah butââ
âBalance. Edges. Control.â
Casey narrowed his eyes slightly.
ââŚYouâre serious.â
I gave a small shrug.
âTriple spins.â
Michelangelo grabbed Casey Jones by the shoulder dramatically, nearly shaking him.
âDUDE, sheâs like a ninja⌠but on ICE.â
Casey leaned back against the couch again, letting out a small laugh, though there was a hint of genuine impressment on his face now. His earlier smug confidence had softened a little as he looked over at me.
âOkay⌠thatâs actually kinda cool.â
âThanks,â I said, leaning back into the couch cushions and stretching my arms comfortably along the back.
The conversation settled for a moment, the soft hum of the TV filling the quiet as the hockey gameâs menu music looped in the background. Mikey was still muttering to himself about âfigure skating ninja moves,â while Casey tapped the controller lightly against his palm like he was itching to start the next round.
I tried not to notice it at first.
I figured he was busy with whatever he had been doing before coming into the room.
But every so often, I caught movement out of the corner of my eye.
The quiet clink of ceramic against the counter echoed softly through the lair.
It bounced off the concrete walls and metal pipes overhead, a small sound in the otherwise relaxed room.
No one reacted.
Michelangelo was too busy leaning halfway over the back of the couch, staring at me with wide curiosity like I had just revealed some hidden ninja ability.
Beside me, Casey Jones lounged comfortably against the cushions. One arm rested along the back of the couch while the other loosely held the game controller, tapping it lightly against his palm while the hockey game menu glowed on the television.
âOkay⌠thatâs actually kinda cool.â
âThanks,â I said quietly, leaning back into the couch.
The cushions dipped slightly as I settled into them, stretching my arms along the backrest.
For a moment the room felt easy againâMikey muttering excitedly about spins and ice and ninja moves while Casey chuckled under his breath.
I tried not to notice it at first.
Across the lair, in the kitchen area, Leonardo stood near the counter where his mug rested. Steam curled faintly from the tea as he remained there, tall and still.
He looked busy.
Occupied.
But every once in a while, his gaze drifted across the room.
Toward the couch.
Toward us.
The first time I caught it, he looked away quickly, lifting the mug to his lips like heâd only been lost in thought.
So I ignored it.
Casey shifted slightly beside me, leaning forward as he studied the TV screen.
The game menu music looped quietly in the background.
Mikey continued rambling from behind the couch, still completely fascinated with the idea of spinning on ice.
From the corner of my eye, I noticed movement again.
Leo set his mug down on the counter.
The sound was softâbut deliberate.
He stood there for a moment, arms resting against the edge of the counter as he looked toward the living area, Watching.
Then he pushed himself away and walked away.
âAnother round?â Casey says, showing me the controller.
âI think I might take five. â I say standing up and walking toward wherever Leo vanished.
I paused at the threshold of the hallway, taking a deep breath. The faint hum of the lairâs ventilation echoed around me, mingling with the distant sounds of Casey and Mikey still squabbling over controllers.
Leo was nowhere in sight, but I could feel the quiet tension lingering in the air, the kind that made even the hum of electronics feel heavy.
I stepped lightly, careful not to make too much noise, my fingers brushing against the cool stone walls as I followed the faint trail of his presence. Around the corner, the dojo lay bathed in soft shadows, the large windows letting in a muted glow from the city lights outside.
He was sitting cross-legged on the polished floor, his eyes closed, hands resting lightly on his knees.
I hesitated for a moment, watching him. There was something calm, almost regal about the way he sat, but the subtle tension in his shoulders betrayed the fact that he wasnât entirely relaxed.
Taking a quiet step closer, I lowered myself to the floor a few feet away, mimicking his posture as best I could. My heart beat a little faster than it should have, the silence between us thick but not uncomfortable.
A few slow breaths in, a few slow breaths out.
I glanced sideways at him. His mask hid most of his expression, but the slight twitch of his jaw, the way his chest rose and fell, all told me he was trying to keep himself together.
For a moment, I simply sat there, letting the quiet settle around us. Then, softly, I spoke.
âYou⌠okay? Youâve been pretty quiet tonightâ
He didnât open his eyes right away. Instead, his head tilted slightly, acknowledging me with the barest hint of a nod.
âI am,â he said finally, voice low, measured. âJust⌠collecting myself.â
I smiled faintly, understanding completely. Without another word, I closed my eyes and focused on my breathing, letting the quiet of the dojoâand of himâwash over me.
Minutes passed in shared silence, each of us wrapped in our own thoughts, but connected in a way that made the noisy lair behind us feel like a distant memory.
Slowly, imperceptibly, he shifted, his back straightening a little, shoulders relaxing, and I felt a warmth in the space between usâa quiet acknowledgment of trust, of closeness, of something unspoken.
I opened my eyes slowly, letting them adjust to the dim light of the dojo. Leoâs form was still, his back straight, hands resting lightly on his kneesâbut the faint tension in his shoulders told me he hadnât fully relaxed.
I shifted slightly, stepping closer, careful not to disturb the fragile calm.
âYou know,â I said softly, âyou donât always have to carry everything on your own.â
Leoâs head shot up abruptly, and his eyes narrowedânot at me, but in irritation.
âWhy are you here?â he snapped, voice low but sharp. âGo bother Casey if youâre so worried about someone other than yourself.â
I blinked, startled by the sudden sharpness. My hand paused mid-air, unsure whether to reach out or retreat.
âI⌠I wasnât bothering anyone,â I said carefully, stepping back a fraction. âI just wanted toââ
âNo,â he interrupted, standing abruptly, the soft calm of moments ago replaced with controlled tension. âThis is my space. My training. My meditation. If you want to be here, you can go watch the chaos in the living room with everyone else.â
His words stung more than I expected. The dojo, usually a place of quiet focus and calm, now felt charged, electric with the edge of his frustration.
âI wasnât trying to intrude,â I said, my voice barely above a whisper. âI just⌠I thought maybeââ
âThought maybe what?â His voice cracked slightly, betraying the calm exterior. âThat youâd just stroll in and disrupt my focus? That this is a game? That your presence here doesnât matter?â
I swallowed, heart hammering. He was mad⌠not at me directly, not entirelyâbut mad nonetheless. And somehow, it stung all the same.
âLeoâŚâ I started, taking another careful step toward him.
âGo!â His tone was sharp, cutting through the quiet like a blade. âSeriously. Go bother Casey or Mikey or anyone else. But not me. Not here.â
I froze for a moment, my chest tightening. And then⌠slowly, I stepped back, lowering myself to the floor and sitting a few feet away, giving him the space he demanded.
Leo let out a deep breath, closing his eyes again, though his jaw remained tense. Even in meditation, even in stillness, the annoyanceâand something more, something unspokenâhung in the air between us.
I stayed there, quietly, letting the silence stretch. My presence hadnât left entirely, but Iâd learned that sometimes, even when someone pushes you away, being nearbyâsilent, patientâwas still a kind of closeness.
And for now, that would have to be enough.
I simply stood up and walked out.
-----------------
End of part 1 twins, Not the best but what everrrr...
Ledger!joker x reader/mc, original storyline and characters, strong female protagonist <3
Part 11 -
"Who is responsible for the gas attacks?" I asked, driving straight to the point.
"You know, I saw Alexe Ibanescu here four months ago. They were transferring me temporarily so that they could reinforce the security measures in my cell - I bit one of the orderlies, you see," he paused and frowned, as if wondering whether to continue down that particular avenue, before shaking it off, "-anyhow, he was shaking and screaming, in the grips of terror. The staff say that's all he ever does now. Screams until his voice gives out." a look of perverse enjoyment lit up his face as he watched for my reaction.
I didn't know exactly how much the GCPD knew, or at least suspected, about my involvement in that particular crime. But I had to hope it wouldn't come back to bite me.
"Fascinating," I said, sarcastically, "now let's get back to the point of my question."
He smiled, ignoring my request.
"They have to keep him sedated and strapped up in a straight jacket or he'll claw his own face until it bleeds..."
I paused for a moment, almost feeling sorry for anyone in that state of mind. Then I remembered prescisely why I had condemned him to that fate and wished I could have seen his suffering in person.
A knowing look came across the face of the man opposite me. A kind of recognition of my innermost thoughts. He knew what I was thinking and it disturbed me.
"They say someone deliberately gave him enough fear toxin to permanently fry his brain, and that's why he's stuck in a living nightmare..." he added, slyly.
Unwanted memories of my own brush with the drug's same effects forced their way into my mind. The horrible visions and hours writhing in pain, cold with sweat, teeth clamping together so hard I thought they would break...
He was getting to me and he knew it. It felt harder to breathe. I stood up and turned to leave. Desperate to get some air. Cursing my loss of control. I tried to feign calmness, but he knew. He knew he'd hit a weak point. As I reached for the door, he called after me.
"Jonathan Crane was fascinated by what happened to him... before he escaped."
I froze in place, cogs whirrring away in my frightened brain.
"Dr Crane saw that?"
"Former doctor. Oh yes, and he was not happy," J said with a dramatic sigh and a shrug.
I turned to face him.
"Why?"
"That's definitely more than one question, doll."
"Well, what did he say specifcally J. I need you to -"
I was so rattled i'd even referred to him by the familiar name i'd sworn not to use again.
"You need me?" He cut in with a sly smile.
"I need you to tell me what he said!" I urged
"You know, not long after he escaped the head nurse here took her own life. There's whisperings of some kind of scanadlous affair, murmurings that she was the reason he successfully escaped..."
I watched his movements as he spoke, seemingly excited by the melodrama.
"Tell me what he said," I urged.
"I am," he said coldly.
What did he mean?
My head was spinning.
So, Crane was responsible for the gas attacks, that wasn't surprising news. Though no one had proof, it was the widely accepted theory that the so-called Scarecrow was the cause - But the fact he knew what I had done to Alexe, and it angered him, certainly was news worthy of note. I was trapped, standing on thin ice, hearing audible cracks. I could barely even discuss it without admitting I was responsible for the attack on the Ibanescu crime family. There were half a dozen top GCPD officers listening to my every word, recording it.
"So he was angry, that the vigilante used his toxin?"
"Oh yes, he wouldn't shut up about it, see, after I bit that orderly, I had the cell next to his for a time. He was furious! And fascinated. He wanted to know why. You know how these quacks are, even the former ones," he rolled his eyes.
"Quacks? As in doctors?" I asked, not following his rambling train of thought.
"You know, you're really not following the rules..." he tutted.
I said nothing. Irritatingly, he wasn't wrong.
"I'll cut you some slack, for now. Yes, quacks as in doctors."
Thinking it was better to shut up and listen for a while I said nothing, only nodded in acknowledgement. He seemed pleased with this development.
"They just won't let it go. The questions never stop..."
He looked around us and leaned forwards for a moment.
"They ask and they don't listen. Once they are driving at you, trying to 'work' on you, they just won't stop."
"And Crane was one of them... before he ended up here," I muttered, finally starting to appreciate the point being made as the joker was getting more and more worked up.
"Always with the questions...
Why did you do that?
And how does that make you feel?
Why did you kill those people?
Are there voices telling you to do it?
Do you see demons?
And how does that make you feel?
Do you like pain?
Do you feel sad?
Did your mommy and daddy treat you well?
And how does that make you feel?
Have you always felt that way?
Did your schoolteacher molest you?
How does that make you feel?
What makes you crack?
Why do you see the world that way?
And how does that make you feel?
What's your real name?"
He slammed a hand down against the metal table with a loud bang, making me jump as he erupted into waves of laughter.
I watched frozen in place still. There was something thrilling about it, the air felt charged with a kind of dangerous static electricity.
Finally he snapped his head back up to look at me.
"They won't let it go, ever" he reiterated, boring holes into me once again, that low serious tone back again so suddenly.
Before I could respond, the door behind me flew open and Gordon pulled me out. I felt like I was drowning and he'd just dragged me up to the surface for air.
I watched silently as the guards re-entered the room and closed the door. I leaned against the wall, feeling the rough bricks against my sweaty palms. He'd quickly ushered me into a stairwell away from the rest of his cops.
"Are you alright?"
I nodded, trying to bring myself back to my body faster.
"I can handle it... he's just so intense. I guess being locked up here certainly didn't do anything to improve his mind... I think anyone staying here would go crazy, if they weren't already when they came in," I shook my head.
The comissioner smiled wryly.
"It certainly doesn't help that the Arkham board seem to keep cutting back spending and turning a record profit."
"What do you mean by that?"
"Well, the latest owner doesn't want anything to do with the facility, but that means that the board seem to have free rein to do whatever they want... including not paying for the upkeep of the hospital.
"...and if they'd done that maybe Crane wouldn't have managed to escape?"
"Exactly," he nodded, "listen, you should get some rest. The clown will keep until morning and I doubt we'll get anything more out of him tonight," he sighed, patting my shoulder.
I wanted so badly to trust him, but he was the head of a corrupt police force. I wondered how he'd risen to the top, what dark deals he'd had to make to get there. And reminded myself not to get overly familiar.
"No," I said finally, "I can handle it. Let me go back in. We have to get to the bottom of this."
"But he's talking nonesense..."
I shook my head slowly, piecing it together.
"No, he's being sly. But there was something in there. If it is Crane, how did he escape? The head nurse? Did that get looked into further?"
"The cops on that assignment said they'd found her in her bathtub not long after. It makes sense that she would have motive to take her own life after he escaped with her help and left her to face the repercusssions..."
"No more career, and probably criminal charges..." I muttered, thinking.
"And I assume the coroner's report matched up?"
"Consistent with suicide, yes."
"Right, certainly convenient for Crane. She can't spill any of his secrets now she's dead..." I muttered.
"Very," he seconded.
"He was talking about the Ibanescu crime boss, and the attacks on them. Alexe is an inmate here now, or what's left of him anyhow... Crane was furious at someone using his toxin for a high profile crime like that. He was happy enough to sell it in the Narrows while he was out, but while he was locked up in here he felt someone was stealing his thunder..."
"Yes. What was it they called her? The Queen of Spades?" I mused, trying my best to believe my own lie that I knew nothing about her.
He nodded slowly.
"If only we could track her down, maybe she'd be able to shed some light on the situation..." he said, and I couldn't tell from his pointed look whether he could see through my bullshit or if I was in the clear.
"Maybe, but if you focus on what you do have... there's more he knows. I'm so sure of it. Let me back in. I want to dig into it."
He relented and walked me back to the door to the interview room. I straightened up and smoothed my clothes, not wanting to appear shaken up on my return, despite my exit confirming it.
Tag List:
I reclaimed my seat in silence, holding the bemused gaze of the man opposite me.
"You came back," he smirked.
"So that was what? Two questions?" I said, ignoring his comment.
He frowned.
"I would've said far more than that, but i'm in a charitable mood. You look like you could use a little helping hand."
"Two then. So go ahead, ask away," I said impatiently.
He was silent for a moment, watching me before he spoke in a considered way.
"Where did you go?"
"A tiny rural town - Well, that's where I settled. At first I just went wherever I could get to on the tiny bit of money I had."
"Yes but where?"
"Out in the middle of nowhere, that was the point. The great plains. I never saw so much sky, not here."
He snorted a little.
"Not downtown, at least. Out on the bay maybe... No, Gotham's an island, sure, but it may as well be an open air prison. A closed system... it's own little anomaly."
"Well there we don't disagree," I muttered.
He caught my gaze again and held it for a while.
I decided to try a less direct attempt to obtain the information I needed with my next question.
"When was the last time you saw the sky? I can't imagine you get yard time..."
He chewed his lip for a moment, thinking.
"Hm, not since I was carried in here. Not since we parted ways. Early morning sky, grey clouds. Then nothing but the ceiling," he said, indifferently, turning the spotlight back to me.
"My turn. How did that happen?" He said, gesturing to my bandaged wrist.
I coughed, uncomfortable at the emotional sting of recalling it.
"I don't want to talk about that."
"And that's why I asked. You agreed to the rules..." he said with a 'tsk tsk' of condescention.
I ground my teeth for a moment considering how to answer.
"Someone killed my cat. I turned him down and I guess he didn't like that. I was going to go and... confront... him, but my friends stopped me. I wasn't thinking straight," I admitted.
He began to laugh.
I felt anger rising in my chest watching him.
"What's funny about that?" I snapped, unable to keep it in.
His laughter faded and he looked back at me for a moment.
"I wouldn't have stopped you," was all the answer he gave.
It left me consfused, did he find it funny that someone had killed my cat? That I was devastated by that? Or simply that my friends had stopped me getting revenge? I couldn't tell...
I moved to ask something else but he cut me off -
"That was your question, doll. It's my turn now."
I wanted to protest but knew that he was technically right so I let it slide.
"How'd you get the money to live out your little, uh, house on the Prarie fantasy?"
I frowned.
"I'm a waitress in a diner. I emptied my bank account when I left Gotham. I didn't have much but it was enough for a month or two. Worked odd jobs the first few months and made it out to a little town where someone was willing to give me a job and someone else was willing to let me pay cheap rent. If that satisfies your question."
He grinned.
"You have a little twang in your accent now. Trying to assimilate with the natives... and a waitress? In a diner? Hardly paradise..."
"It was good enough for me. Far better than where I came from, better than a moldy apartment in a miserable city. No rats in the hall, no landlord trying to solicit me for sex to pay my rent... no crazies taking me hostage" I contested, fed up of his condescending tone.
"But a guy will still kill your cat when you refuse to go on a date with him," he said plainly.
He'd rendered me speechless now.
My death glare was so hot with contempt it could have raized the Asylum to the ground.
"Don't bite, I'm just making an observation," he protested.
"I think that's enough for today," I said coldly.
"Come on now, don't be like that, dollface. We were just getting somewhere..."
I said nothing, sizing him up and moving as though I was going to leave.
"Don't you want to ask me more about what Dr Crane is up to out there?"
I slowly sank back into my seat.
"Fine... that was a question, by the way."
He realised his mistake, and grinned.
"I knew you wouldn't disappoint!"
"What's Crane's plan for the city?"
"Hm... you know, some of the inmates and even some of the staff say that Arkham's haunted..."
"Wh-" I stopped myself posing a question and thought more carefully about my wording, "I don't see how that has any bearing on the current situation..."
"Aren't you even a tiny bit curious? I really thought you would be, given how you acted over at Parkview..."
I sighed. I could tell he was pushing me towards asking further questions.
"You didn't answer that one yet," I protested, but gestured with my hands as if to say, 'continue'.
"Well, they say they see the figure of a man covered in blood, wandering the halls."
"Hardly surprising that some of the inmates see things..." I muttered.
"No, no - this is different. Like I said, the staff have seen him too."
I rolled my eyes.
"Anyone stuck in here, staff or patient is bound to catch something out of the corner of their eye. The building gives me the creeps but I don't think it's because of something supernatural."
"Hm," he shrugged.
I knew he didn't believe in it either. So why was he insistent on bringing it up?
"You've still not an answered my question..."
"Oh, his plan for the city is to send people crazy, crazy with fear."
"No. We know that what I meant is -"
"The past can really come back to haunt us (y/n), do you regret killing those two men?" He interrupted too eager to get to his own question.
My throat closed up in panic. I knew it would have come up sooner or later, but it still caught me off-guard. The fact that the cops were listening, recording probably, stopped me in my tracks. I was desperately trying to work out how to answer without it coming back to bite me.
"Well, that's not entirely true, is it?" I countered.
"No?" He asked, bemused.
"You put me in a fight for my life. That's what led to it. That's what led to me stabbing you..."
He laughed.
"That's very funny. That's not how I remember it at all... I remember you stabbing them to death and then, after I turned that girl loose and agreed not to kill you, you gave me a judas kiss and stabbed me."
I thought about the little kid on the hospital gurney and pushed aside the riot of emotions threatening to throw me off course. There was no way of skirting around it. I would just have to hope that the GCPD decided not to come after me. What cjoice did I have left now?
"I killed them because they were going to kill her and me too. You're right"
He sat back and gestured as if to say 'well, there you go.'
I wasn't done though...
"But you set that whole thing up. You turned her loose, sure, but I wasn't free to go. I tricked you and took my chance while I had it. I had to get away. From you..."
"Answer the question," He pressed coldly.
"Yes. Yes it haunts me. I have nightmares about it. About the blood... sometimes I wake up and scrub my hands raw."
"Like Lady Macbeth," he mused.
I shifted in my seat uncomfortably.
"You know, you really shouldn't feel bad. If i'd asked them to, they would have killed you without giving it a second thought. To them it's just business. These, uh, these mob men, they don't care. They just follow orders... sure, maybe some of them feel bad in the beginning, but it gets easier each time. They all just blame the guy at the top."
He turned then, looking around the room and shifting his attention away from me.
"Just like you, comissioner. Whatever happens to this city, if your boys in blue can't save it, they'll blame you. Anything bad they do, comes back to you."
He began to laugh again, rocking back and forth in his seat.
I thought about what he'd said. Part of the danger he posed was that, however twisted his methods, no matter how extreme his worldview, at least some of it did make sense...
"Once it's all over and the dust has settled, they'll toss you aside. Heros are needed during a war, but they have no purpose during peacetime. You'll see..."
His gaze snapped back to me.
"They need you right now, but when they don't..."
I paid him no mind, growing increasingly tired of his meandering approach to giving up information.
"Where is Jonathan Crane?"
"Now that, I don't know. Though he spoke a lot about tunnels, if that helps..."
"That doesn't narrow it down much in this city."
He shrugged.
"If you wait long enough, I'm sure he'll come to you..."
"Very funny, but we need to stop him before he sends half the city into a state of psychosis, not after."
Before either of us could say anything further, the door opened with a loud clang and James Gordon approached me.
"That's enough for today. We have some leads to chase up now."
"You're welcome commissioner!" The joker replied in a false sweet tone.
Gordon ignored him, instead wordlessly gesturing for the guards to take him back to his cell.
Not the comfortable warmth of a blanket pulled too tight, not the dry bite of a heater left on overnight.
This was living heat, thick and amber, pressing against your skin like a second layer you hadn't asked for. The second thing you noticed was the ceiling. Lacquered wood. Red silk hangings. An oil lamp swaying on a chain of hammered bronze.
Not your apartment, the room looks like it's from a completely different time era.
You sat up so fast the room tilted, and the silk sheets pooled around your waist.
A room materialized around you in pieces, a carved vanity, a screen painted with twin phoenixes, shuttered windows bleeding gold light through their slats. A tray of food sat on the low table nearby. Someone had been anticipating your consciousness.
The door opened before you could fully panic.
He was younger than you expected, given the room. Given everything. He couldn't have been more than a few years older than you, but the way he carried himself, straight spine, measured steps, one hand clasped behind his back, made the space rearrange itself around him like the room itself was paying attention. A scar pulled at the left side of his face, pink and permanent.
He looked at you the way someone looks at a problem they have already decided to solve.
"You're awake," he stated with a small smile.
"Where am I?" Your voice came out rougher than you intended.
"The Fire Nation Capital." He moved to stand near the window, not approaching, not retreating. "The palace, specifically. You were found unconscious near the outer gates three days ago. The guards assumed you were a threat." A pause, something flickering through his expression. "You were not a threat."
Fire Nation Capital? You have never heard of a palace like this before in geography.
Three days. You touched your own face, half-expecting to find something different.
"I don't... I'm not from here. I don't know how I got here. I don't know where here is, exactly, I mean I've never heard of..." You stopped. That sentence had no safe ending.
He watched you flounder with patience that didn't quite look like kindness. "You'll stay in the palace," he said, as if the matter had been considered and settled long before this conversation. "Until we understand how you arrived and where you belong."
"You don't have to do that."
The sentence was said with a desperate voice which sounded like 'Please don't throw me out!'
"I know. But it is not honorable to leave a lady in need."
He left before you could find the words for the particular feeling that sentence left behind.
--------
Weeks became a month.
The palace was enormous and you were given a corner of it: the room, an adjoining bathing chamber, a small garden terrace that looked out over red rooftops cascading down toward the harbor.
You were not a prisoner. No one said you were a prisoner. But the world outside those walls was entirely illegible to you, the currency, the customs, the way people spoke around you like you were something fragile that had arrived without instructions.
Also people bended elements like Zuko who bends fire, and bending is something you are unable to do in any way or form.
And so you stayed.
Fire Lord Zuko or simple Zuko, you kept having to remind yourself, which felt absurd and then slowly stopped feeling absurd, checked on you with a regularity that was either conscientious or deliberate.
You hadn't yet decided which. He answered your questions about the world with the directness of someone who had run out of patience for anything indirect, and you found that, unexpectedly, you preferred it. He didn't soften things. He didn't perform warmth.
When he sat across from you at dinner and told you the history of the war like it was something he needed to say out loud to someone who had no prior judgment about it, you understood it was a different kind of intimacy than most people offered.
You thought, sometimes, that you were beginning to understand this world and it might not be that different from the world you came from.
But mostly you understood Zuko.
Or at least you thought you understood him.
-----
He came to your terrace one evening near the end of your second month.
The sun was going down and taking the heat with it, and the harbor below had gone from silver to copper to something deeper, and you were watching it with the specific pleasure of someone who has learned not to take anything for granted.
You heard his footsteps before you saw him, as you had learned his footsteps patterns.
"You look like you're thinking," he said.
"I'm always thinking."
He came to stand beside you at the railing. For a while he said nothing, which was one of the things about him you had come to understand.
The silences were never empty with Zuko. They were weighted, working.
"There is something I need to discuss with you." He said it to the harbor.
"Okay."
"The servants talk." He paused. "The court notices things. You've been living in the palace for two months. You eat with me. You walk the grounds with me." Another pause, shorter. "They have come to certain conclusions about the nature of your stay."
You turned to look at him. "What kind of conclusions?"
His jaw moved. "The kind that have become difficult to ignore. Word travels fast in the capital. There are rumors in the city now about a woman living in the Fire Lord's wing." He finally turned to look at you. In the low gold light, the scar looked less like damage and more like topography, just part of the landscape of him. "It puts you in a complicated position. Without status and protection."
Your stomach did something uncomfortable. "Zuko..."
"I've thought about this carefully." He said it with the clipped certainty of someone who had, in fact, thought about it carefully, and did not want to be interrupted mid-conclusion. "The most practical solution, the one that resolves the problem entirely, is marriage."
The word landed in the warm air between you and just sat there.
"Marriage," you repeated.
"You don't know the outer city. You don't know how things work here. If you were to leave the palace without status, you would be..." He stopped. Looked back at the harbor. "Vulnerable. People would take advantage. The simplest way to protect you, to make it impossible for anyone to use your position against you, is to give you a position that cannot be questioned."
You stared at the side of his face. He stared at the harbor.
"If you don't want that," he said, and something in his voice changed register very slightly, "I'll find another solution. But it would be more complicated."
You thought about the city below, which you didn't know. You thought about the currency you didn't have, the language you were still learning at the edges, the fact that you had arrived here with nothing and been handed warmth and silk and someone's careful, unasked-for attention.
"Okay," you said.
He finally looked at you. Something moved behind his good eye and vanished before you could name it.
"Okay," he repeated, quieter.
The sun went below the harbor. Somewhere in the city below, lanterns were beginning to come on.
----------
There were no rumors.
His head secretary, would have mentioned it. His advisors, who watched the city's pulse like old men watching weather, would have brought it to council.
The servants' gossip ran through the palace like water through stone and none of it, none of it, had ever surfaced in any report about a woman in the Fire Lord's east wing.
Zuko knew this.
He had known it when he rehearsed the conversation on his terrace the night before, parsing the words until they sat right.
Zuko had known you would agree because you had the faith of someone who did not yet understand how the world here worked, who was relying on the one person in it she knew.
He stood at the window of his own chamber long after you'd retired for the evening.
It wasn't something he was proud of, exactly.
But you had arrived with nothing, out of nowhere, and the palace was the only world you knew, and he had watched you for two months learning to trust this place, learning to trust him, and the thought of you leaving, of someone else finding you first, of you being out in the city where he couldn't...
He stopped that thought, it's already decided that you would become his wife.
He was the Fire Lord. He had spent enough of his life doing things he wasn't proud of for reasons that seemed, at the time, like the only available reasons.
Zuko went to his desk and began drafting the announcement.
He was not his father. Zuko had told himself this so many times it had become something close to prayer. He was not his father. He had ended the war, burned the war councils and rebuilt the ministries and sat across from Aang in rooms full of people who had every reason to hate him and done the work anyway, year after year, because that was what it meant to not be his father.
Zuko also promised himself he would find a way to deserve being your husband. He told himself he would spend however long it took making the cage into something that didn't feel like one. He told himself this was different.
watching 90s-2000s tv is crazy because itâs like wow. there used to be good writing and acting and more than 10 episodes per season and a new season every year. we really had it all.
Ledger!joker x reader/mc, original storyline and characters, strong female protagonist <3
TWS for this chapter: (ptsd) nightmares, violence, guns.
Part 10 - #
The way one of the officers kept looking at my face in the rearview during the drive to the hotel was really starting to grate on me. I was long since used to people stealing a look here and there, but some of them didn't know when to stop and it became outright rude. Perhaps he thought I couldn't tell that he was doing it, since it was via the mirror rather than direct eye contact. I sighed irritatedly and pulled out my sunglasses from my backpack. Sometimes I liked to wear them for the psychological barrier they created between me and the outside world, and now was the perfect time for that. Behind the dark tinted lenses, I watched the lights of downtown roll on by, musing on my past relationship with the strange city and her many dark secrets.
The hotel was a simple branch of a national chain. Nothing especially fancy, but definitely preferable to the crumbling establishments on the east side: hiding out here would be much more comfortable. By the time I was checked in and the elevator opened on the third floor, I was ready to drop. I fumbled with the room key and finally threw open the door.Â
Locking it and tossing my bag down onto the king size bed I rushed to unlace and kick off my shoes. I grabbed a glass of water and inspected the little tray of refreshments in the corner. I was incredibly hungry from all the travelling and seized on several packets of crackers and a candy bar. Opening the minifridge, I found several cans of soda and bottles of water. I collapsed back onto the bed with my little stash and made it disappear in no time.
With a contented sigh I sank back onto the bed. I hadn't meant to fall asleep just yet, fully clothed and on top of the bedsheets, but before I knew it I was out like a light.
I woke up feeling a little cold with a dry throat at 5am. Blinking through bleary eyes, I managed to get up to drink from the bathroom faucet. I kicked off my jeans and sweater and finally struggled out of my bra. Then I crawled underneath the sheets after I had struggled to prise them free. Why did they always insist on wedging them so tightly under the mattress when they made the beds in hotels? I didn't want to feel like I was one of Arkham's inmates; strapped down in my sleep.
I fiddled with the radio on the bedside cabinet, eventually tuning it into a classical music station and left it playing quietly in the background. A couple of people were talking in the hall, but their voices were hushed. I laughed a little at the stark contrast to my last hotel stay in Gotham. This place might as well have been the Four Seasons in comparison. I sighed and rolled over, pulling one of the pillows close to my body. As the music lulled me back to sleep, strange visions twisted to life behind my heavy eyelids.Â
One in particular seemed to take on a life of its own. I was adrift at sea, or on a lake, in a little boat. The water was unnaturally flat and still, the sky was full of bright stars. At first it brought a smile to my face, one thing I'd loved about getting out of Gotham city was seeing the stars for the first time. No light pollution, no glass or concrete blocking my view, only wide open skies on the flat open plains, no urban sprawl - no major population centres for miles. I'd often fantasised about how wonderful it must feel to drive those wide open roads in a car that let me put the top down, just me and all that sky.Â
In my little boat, I laid back and gazed upwards. For a time it stayed calm, serenity washing over me.
But then something changed. The stars began to disappear, going out one by one until there were barely any remaining - snuffed out like candles. The boat began to rock, slowly at first, but quickly becoming more and more violent as the wind picked up around me. It got worse and worse until I was lost in the middle of a storm. I clung to the seat of the boat, my arms wound around the crude plank of wood, praying it would stop. Thunder crashing and white forks of lightning cleaving the sky in two. It was deafening. Water was lashing down on me, soaking me to my bones. The air had a metallic tang to it.
Eventually, one of the waves was so big that it capsized my little boat, throwing me into the frigid water. I coughed and spluttered, struggling to surface. The churning water seemed to slow a faint and eerie green. My body was rolled by another enormous wave, sending me tumbling through a white flash of bubbles. I could no longer tell which way was up, which was down and began to panic.Â
Then, suddenly, I surfaced, coughing so hard I felt like my lungs would come up. Noticing I was near a beach now, I struggled towards it until I was able to dig my hands and feet into the shifting sand, clawing my way out of the water and towards dry land. I felt like some sort of primordial creature.Â
Evolve or die.Â
The gritty sand scratched my skin and got under my fingernails as I dragged myself free.
Adapt to survive.
I didn't have the energy to get upright, just lying for a while, face down in the wet sand, head twisted to the side so I could breathe, hacking up the last of the water. As my breathing slowed I listened to the sounds of the now distant storm.Â
Suddenly, I heard a voice - familiar in tone. I looked up to see the figure of a man standing in front of me, one arm outstretched. I was relieved to recognise him. It was Tony.
I made a fragile grab for him and it took him little effort to hoist me to my feet, as large in stature as he was, and strong as an Ox.
"I worried you never made it... I thought you'd bleed out in the snow somewhere that night."
"I like the snow. I'm Polish," he shrugged with a mischievous grin.
"I thought you died," I breathed shakily, touching his arm in disbelief.Â
Curiously, he said nothing, only staring at me for a moment.Â
Without me noticing, the beach, and the water had disappeared, bled away into somewhere else entirely. I turned to look around at the space, open and dusty. It looked like one of the old warehouses down by the docks, with a few beams of light pouring in through the holes in the roof. I turned to check if Tony was still with me, and he was. I could hear the murmuring of distant voices and peered out from behind the stack of crates.Â
There were a handful of mobsters playing cards and drinking beer. A haze of cigarette smoke filled the air around them.Â
"Where are we?" I whispered.
Tony shook his head and took out the Beretta that I had become the latest custodian of. Before I could react he stepped out and began shooting. The men were caught off guard by the ambush and all fell in a hail of bullets and the sound of breaking glass bottles. One of them rolled to a stop beside me, green and glinting. I looked up at the scene, a tableau of total carnage. The room was uncomfortably silent now.
Tony approached the only one of the figures showing signs of life and quickly put a stop to that with a final shot to the head which rang in my ears.
"What did they do?" I stuttered out.
My eyes settled on the blood spattered cards still clutched in the hands of the nearest man. The front card was the ace of spades - the death card.
Tony didn't answer.Â
Suddenly, a new voice caught me off guard.
"They were merely in the wrong place, at the wrong time."
Unsure of the direction of the low voice I spun around, my eyes searching frantically.Â
"Memento Mori - Remember death. At the end of all things..."
I strained my eyes in the dark, moving to try and see around a large stack of crates.
"...around every corner".
I found myself mere metres from the source of the ominous voice. A figure seeping out of a cloud of billowing green-tinged smoke. My eyes stung and my throat burned as I stumbled backwards.Â
Looming ahead was the nightmarish figure of death himself, his gaunt, skeletal hands protruding from frayed robes - patchwork winding sheets, musty and earthy from open graves, and coarse burlap. I froze in terror, like harvest wheat ready to be reaped, and I was suddenly in the open fields.Â
Then the black sky glared over the green stalks of the maize, swaying in the ill wind. I began to run, heavy legs blundering forwards in blind panic.
"There is nowhere to go..." warned the low, whispering voice.
It sounded like the wind in the flat leaves of the maize rustling in the breeze around me. Dry, and raspy.
Again the figure appeared in front of me and I stumbled to a halt.Â
"You cannot outrun fear," he said coldly, as the crows began to take flight, launching themselves into the dark sky above.Â
Their cacophony of caws echoed around us as they took to the air on night black wings.
"You cannot escape death."Â
I caught sight of the glint of his milky eyes, polluted with the blue hue of death, and a flash of cold metal as he swung his scythe towards my head.Â
I woke up with a jolt and inhaled so sharply it triggered a coughing fit that ended with me drinking again from the wash basin. I wiped my cold sweat from my brow and sat with the lights on for a while, trying to calm my racing heart.
I felt sick to my stomach and eventually crawled back into bed, but not before opening the window blinds. The sight of the pink clouds that signalled the oncoming dawn were some comfort to me after being so badly tortured by my subconscious.
Red sky at night, Sailor's delight.Â
Red sky in the morning, Sailor's warning...
I shook my head in mild amusement. At least back in the real world I wouldn't have to be in command of any boats.
"No sailing for me, I guess" I muttered, climbing back underneath the heavy covers for warmth.
I still had another five hours before Gordon wanted me back at Arkham and I intended to try and get as much sleep as I could before then. I would need a well rested brain and body for everything that was sure to follow.Â
I soon found myself returning, a reluctant visitor to whatever particular circle of hell the rotting institution was, being led deeper into the maze of old hallways. The faded splendour of the arched neo-gothic architecture in the lower security wings soon gave way again to the more brutalist looking higher security wings.
Gordon, despite his initial reluctance, had evidently agreed to J's demands for a different setting - I soon found myself sitting in a shadowy interview room. The table and two chairs in the middle were surrounded on all sides by open space. Gone was the telephone and visiting booth.
For some reason, it was still shocking to see him without his makeup. I had seen his bare face once or twice before, but not like this. I'd seen it absent of the garish paint, but not without the green tint to his messy curls, not just pale skin and dark circles. He looked far more sickly and a little gaunt, no doubt from all his time locked in the deepest recess of the crumbling Asylum. Everything here was grimy, and tinged in a pale greenish light, like some alien landscape. I watched as the guards sat him down and bolted his restraints to the floor.
I coughed nervously as the police officers left and was glad to see an armed guard would be remaining in each corner of the room. This was so much worse than the separation of the scratched up bullet proof glass in the visiting booth. I felt raw and exposed in the cold room staring down the man in the striped uniform across the table - the stripes of a tiger, or a snake perhaps, as he sized up each of the occupants of the room like his prey.
"You wanna know how I got these scars?" He said, finally breaking the stony silence and gesturing to the permanent 'smile' he wore.
I sighed, realising he was still going to make it as difficult as possible to get to the point of my visit.
"You know my answer to that question already," I said, unimpressed.
"Not even this one?" He asked, lifting his shirt to expose his torso.
The guards seemed antsy at his sudden movement, their hands darting to their weapons, holding them at the ready.
"Relax," he muttered, rolling his eyes disdainfully at the nearest before turning his attention back to me.
seeing that he wasn't going to let his shirt drop until I entertained him, I broke from his cold gaze to take a look. Sure enough, there was a sizeable scar, his pale flesh marred by a red line, fading at the edges, but still bright and raw in the middle. My mind replayed again how his expression had changed, softened even, as I thurst the blade forward. He hadn't realised right away... I could hear his laughter as he sank to his knees, distant, dream-like.
"No one's ever left a mark quite like you," he concluded, a wild, unreadable look in his eyes.
"Is that why you were so determined to pull me back here? I know it has nothing to do with the attacks," I challenged, folding my arms and leaning back against my chair, trying to maintain an air of disinterest.
He shot me a disapproving look.Â
"You know, it's no fun if you don't play along. Don't be so cold."
"I'm here, aren't I? Unless you start giving me the information you claim to have, I won't be."
He chuckled as I continued.
"For someone with your level of intelligence I expected better... but I can see you don't learn. You keep trying the same old patterns. That's what led you here..." I gestured to his cuffed hands and around us at the grimy tiled walls of the Asylum.
I watched his face closely, the tiniest movement betraying a flexed jaw, teeth clamping together ever so slightly in irritation. He was so used to being the one able to pick people apart at the seams, with scalpel precision.Â
"TouchĂŠ," he muttered, leaning back on his chair until the front legs left the floor.Â
"So, what exactly do you have to tell me, that you won't tell the GCPD, or the Batman?" I pushed.
He sighed, lazily throwing his hands behind his head as he continued to swing backwards, just shy of the chair's tipping point.
"No, no, no" he muttered darkly, "This won't do... I think we need to establish the rules of the game first. Don't you?"
I considered this for a moment. Given how the last 'came' we played had ended, I didn't like the sound of that.Â
"Fine, but if I don't like the rules, I'm not obliged to play."
He shrugged as if to say he had no objection there.
"So. What are the rules?"Â
"Well, first of all, it's only a two player game. These, uh, fine men from the GCPD's SWAT team, they're not in play."Â
He nodded his head to the guards at the corners of the room.Â
"That's not something I have the power to change." I protested.
"No?" He said cocking his head to the side and raising an eyebrow.
I thought for a moment. I wasn't sure if he knew that Gordon was on the other side of the wall. But he was smart. He probably did. He'd know they were listening in.
"It's not my decision," I shook my head.
He sighed dramatically.Â
"Then I can't help you," he said with feigned anguish.
"What are the other rules? You may as well lay them all out now, not one by one."
He considered this.
"You never were good with delayed gratification," he said with a knowing smirk as he stared me down.
This time it was me who tried to hide my frustration. His thinly veiled innuendo, the deliberate threat of revealing what we had done, whilst the detectives listened in, was a calculated and devastating blow.
"I make no promises," I muttered, signalling that I wanted to leave the room.Â
As soon as I was on the other side of the glass, Gordon rushed to stop me.Â
"Are you alright?"
I waved him away.
"Yeah, yeah I'm fine. But you see the problem? He wants them out of the room. Just us two."
Gordon frowned.
"Obviously that's not gonna happen. He's kept in maximum security for a reason."
"But you know he won't talk unless they leave. Can't you put them just outside the door? You can still see everything. It's only a few more feet."
He looked incredulous at my insistence.
"Are you out of your mind? No one wants to be in a room alone with him."
I laughed a little.Â
"Well no, but the way I see it, I've already been there, and I'm still here today.Â
"That was different..."
"He's not going to kill me, at least not until we've played a few rounds of his little 'game'... besides you're keeping an eye out," I urged.
Gordon sighed in frustration.
"Lock him up tighter if you want, put him in a straight jacket if makes you feel better, but you know he won't talk otherwise..."
"Don't get close enough for him to touch you, I'll get them to shorten his restraints,"Â he relented finally.
I nodded.
As we reentered the room, the clang of the iron door behind us was like the toll of an ominous bell. I watched as the comissioner had the specialist staff shorten the reach of the chains connecting his cuffed hands and feet to the desk. There was a flurry of activity around us as people moved in and out, until it was just three of us left. As he moved to quit the room, Gordon caught me softly by the arm.
"I have to keep you safe, not just this city. Don't let him get to you."
I met the gaze of his concerned eyes and nodded resolutely. Then, as the door swung shut a final time behind me, there was eerie silence.
The joker was silent, and unusually still, boring holes into my skull with his dark glare.Â
"This is the trade-off. Take it, or leave it." I said, thinking how furious he must be at the increased restraints.
He stayed silent as I approached slowly and pulled out my chair.
He still said nothing as I sat down.Â
"So, what are the other rules?"
Still nothing.
I watched him for a moment, holding his silent gaze.Â
"All that effort from me and now you won't speak. Like a child throwing a tantrum?" I sighed.Â
There was still only silence. I'd have to try a different tactic.
"You know, I've been thinking a lot about what you said to me. When you asked me why I would leave Gotham - why I would willingly seek out a boring, uneventful life."
He said nothing but there was a glimmer in his eye that told me his interest was piqued.
"I had that life for the past two years. It was boring, but it was good. And then, I had the most awful week. Everything fell apart around me. And to top it all off, you and the GCPD conspired to drag me back to Gotham..."Â
He began to lean back in his chair again, pushing it to the precarious point of balance.
"Sometimes, you can try and try to change your path, but you find yourself back in the place you started. Back in the pit. I guess in that sense at least, we're not so different..."
The corner of his mouth crept up into a smile.
"Acceptance. Very mature of you," he said finally.
I bit my tongue at his condescention.Â
"So what are the remaining rules of play?"
"There are only two more. The second rule is that for every question you make me answer, you answer one of mine."
I frowned.
"I don't have time for a little heart-to-heart."
"Well then, you better make each question worthwhile," he shot back with a grin.
"Fine," I muttered, "and the third rule?"
"No lies. If you try to deceive me, the game is over."
"Only if that goes both ways. Rules for both players," I challenged immediately.Â
He hesitated before shrugging his shoulders in agreement.
I thought about it all for a moment. I wondered what mind-bending tactics he was sure to employ. I didn't want to be put through his verbal autopsy, but what could I do?
"How can I trust you to play by the rules of the game when you're the one who said you live without rules?"
He hummed in consideration.
"Well, you're the one who said we fall back into the same patterns. Why can't I try something different?"
There it was. The first a-ha moment. I sighed.Â
"Something different would be me deciding not to play at all. Forfeiting the match."Â
He let the chair fall back onto four legs with a sudden crack of metal against the stone floor which made me flinch.Â
"If you want to save this city then you're going to have to play..." he said, his voice dropping lower into a much more sinister register.
"Fine," I relented.
He grinned and I felt my stomach twist in anticipation.
Please let me know if you want to be added or removed!
Please consider commenting! I am having a SHIT time right now with work stress and other crap, I'd really appreciate the motivation to keep at the story, as I don't even feel like doing my hobbies rn. đ đ
Tag List:
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@judyfromfinance
@moonfairyacid
@clownfluencer
@dis0rderly-cl0wn-nerd
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AI is trash and I NEVER use it. This work is transformative and therefore copyright applies to it.
Quick reminder for fanfic writers both on here and ESPECIALLY on AO3âŚ
If your main character has a name and described appearance, DO NOT use the character x reader tag. LikeâŚseriously.
That is an OC. Use the âx ocâ or âx original characterâ tag. Stop using the âx readerâ tag. It will not give you more reach because people looking through the âx readerâ tag arenât going to read it. Three guesses why.
You are also making the filtering system null and void, which is harmful ESPECIALLY for archival sites like ao3 where the tags and filtering system are specifically there to make things easier. Itâs basic fandom etiquette guys. Common sense and consideration for others. It wonât kill you to tag things correctly.
The Bewilderment of Alluring Attraction [Fellowship X Reader]
A.N: hey guys! This one shot is based off of this one of my imagines! It was really fun to write and helped me work through/explore an aspect of myself. I hope you all enjoy it!! Please let me know what you think!Â
Request: none
Pairing: its complicated? none really?
Summary: A female human warrior joins the fellowship. Sheâs a complete badass and a flirt. In addition to this she is bisexual (though no one knowsâŚyet)!!!
DISCLAIMER: please do not misinterpret Legolasâs confusion for homophobia or biphobia!! It is intended to be that Legolas, as unexposed to anything other than strict elvish customs, is just confusion and is more like OMG WHAAaaa!!!!Â
(In case you donât get the joke the very first lyric of the song is âSheâs a freaky young gal, a bi-sexual. But a hustler thoughâŚâ) and tbh thatâs how the reader be movinâ in this fic.
I aim to be this outspoken one day.
I love confused Elves being confused by human customs in LOTR/the hobbit stories. It itches the same spot as Isekaiâs do.
The Rings and Jewels Upon Your Ears - Sensitive Elf Ears [Legolas X Reader]
A.N: hey guys! here is another one shot about our favorite blue eyed elf that I wrote while procrastinating my fanfic because writers block!!! So enjoy this short fic about sensitive elf ears bc I am, and always will be, a slut for elf ear fics oop. Also if you do not have earrings Iâm so sorry this was just an idea!
Request: none
Pairing: Legolas X Reader
Summary: Girl falls into middle earth and the elves of Mirkwood are confused about her earrings; most find it distasteful, but Legolas is fascinated!
Word Count: 2,246
Warnings: heated kissing (nothing further)
*all elvish was looked up online from numerous sources so please dont hate if it is not entirely correct*
(gif not mine)
MASTERLIST
(Y/N)âs stomach dropped and queasiness overtook her as she plummeted through the cold air. She tried to grasp onto somethingâanythingâto stop her from plunging to her death. But no matter how much she reached outward, the only thing she held in her hands was dewy water and moistureâfor the only thing to grasp was dark gloomy clouds. (Y/N)âs limps felt limp as freezing rain collected on her skin, soaking her to the bone; Her wet hair whipped around her face like an over-sized mop in a miniature tornado, inviting the thick strands to get stuck in her mouth. Her whole body was numb from the cutting cold as she spun downward. To make matter worse, she was 89% sure she had lost a shoe as her one foot felt significantly colder.
(Y/N) didnât think the circumstance could possibly get more terrifying as her heart was already struck with paralyzing fear; but alas, it was just her luck. A brilliant bolt of light shuttered from the sky, zapping through the air right next to her. She was sure she could feel the electricity rushing through her blood as the thin hairs on her arm stood up.
Gotta love a good Isekai. Modern girl in middle earth is my jam and I think this was lovely. I wasnât expecting her to become an elf! But it makes more sense that way. If she was just human they wouldâve left it at âah weird human shit.â
-I'll kiss your pains away in secret , though you'll never know.
Pairings : Legolas x f!reader | fatherfigure!Bard x f!reader
Summary : In the aftermath of a devastating dragon (smaug) attack on Laketown, among the chaos, you struggle under the weight of guilt, exhaustion, and grief, feeling powerless against the loss surrounding you. Bard and Fili did not seem to be the only ones who have comforted you. A particular elf did as well, with a kiss on your wounds, and a promise he made, though you'll never know.
A/n : This is for anyone who had to grow up too fast, who learned independence before they were ready, and carried more than they should. Honestly⌠I wrote this fic for me at one point of my life. Haha, sometimes we write what we need mostt. If you've ever felt guilty, like you weren't enough, or that your efforts went unseen, I hope this fic reminds you that you are enough. I hope these pages bring a little comfort, a little hope, and a reminder that even in the chaos, you're never truly alone. đ¤ (veryyy emotional topics are written so be aware) (Part of the f!reader is not from middle-earth series | Can be read as a one-shot as well!)
The air was cold, not the gentle, quiet chill that came with dawn, but something far more biting. It clung to your skin like a second shadow, sharp and invasive, a cruel contrast to the suffocating heat of dragonfire that had only just torn through everything.
The shift was too sudden, too violentâlike the world had been wrenched from flame into frost without mercy. Even the wind felt different now, hollow as it whispered through the ruins, carrying with it the faint scent of ash and something far heavier that lingered in your lungs.
Morning had come, but it brought no comfort. Dawn stretched weakly over the lake, pale and lifeless, its light spilling across the water in dull streaks that did nothing to warm what remained. It only revealed more, too much more.
Laketown, what was left of itâlay in ruin.
The banks were crowded with survivors, if they could still be called that. People huddled together in scattered groups, their voices fractured into a restless chorus of grief.
Cries rang out, sharp and broken; Shouts followed, desperate and disoriented. And beneath it all, the quiet, endless sound of sobbing, low and unrelenting, as though the land itself mourned with them.
Smoke still rose in thin, stubborn trails, curling into the pale sky from what remained of the wooden structures. Blackened beams jutted out at odd angles, skeletal and warped, barely holding its shape.
Some pieces still burned, small tongues of fire flickering weakly, clinging to life despite the cold, as if refusing to let the destruction end just yet.
The water lapped softly at the shore, deceptively calm, its surface reflecting the grey light of morning. But even it could not hide what it carried. Ash drifted across it in uneven patches, and beneath the surface, just barely visible, shadows moved where they should not.
Everything felt⌠still. It was certainly not peaceful. Just⌠empty, in the aftermath of something too violent to fully comprehend.
And scattered among it all, was the dead. They lay along the shore where the water had claimed them and returned them just as mercilessly. Bodies half-submerged, limbs caught at unnatural angles, clothing darkened and heavy with lakewater. Some were dusted in ash, their forms blurred beneath a grey veil, while others remained untouched by flameâyet no less still, no less gone.
The gentle lapping of the water against them felt almost cruel, as if the lake itself refused to acknowledge what it carried.
Your gaze drifted over them slowly, as though pulled against your will. You couldn't look away, not fully. Your eyes traced shapes, faces you dared not linger on for too long, yet couldn't help but see.
Your face felt tight, streaked with something you hadn't noticed until now, your tears, dried and fresh all at once. Your lips parted, a breath catching somewhere in your throat, but no words came. Nothing formed. Nothing could form. What was there to say, when everything that mattered had already been lost?.
A heaviness settled deep in your chest, pressing down until even breathing felt like an effort.
Useless, or perhaps it was guilt for every life you hadn't been able to save in time. For every scream that still echoed somewhere in the back of your mind, refusing to fade no matter how tightly you tried to shut it out. For standing here now, breathing, when so many no longer could.
Your eyes slipped shut, lashes trembling as they brushed faintly against your cheeks. Your head bowed, just slightly, as though the weight of it all had finally found somewhere to rest. For a moment, the world fell awayâthe cries, the smoke, the ruin, and all that remained was the quiet within you.
A prayer came then, fragile and fleeting. Not in words, you had none left to give, but in feeling. In the ache that filled your chest, in the silent plea that reached for those who could no longer hear, no longer answer. It lingered only for a heartbeat before dissolving into the stillness, carried away like ash on the wind.
When your eyes opened again, they burned. Glassy, rimmed red, your vision wavered as the world returned in fractured pieces, light bleeding into your vision, shapes blurring before slowly, cruelly, sharpening back into focus. And with it came everything you wished it wouldn't, the devastation, the loss. The undeniable truth laid bare before you.
It was your first time experiencing such a cruel sight, a war scene. What you were going through now is real, and thats your reality.
Your breath hitched, shallow and uneven, as something tightened painfully in your chest.
If onlyâŚ
The thought came quietly, yet it struck deeper than anything else.
If only you had been stronger.
You were so lost in your thoughts, drowning in the quiet, relentless echo of your own failures, that you didn't notice when someone stepped up beside you.
Sound faded into something distant. You didn't hear the soft crunch of gravel beneath approaching boots, didn't notice the subtle shift in the air as someone stepped close. You didn't even register your name being called.
"âŚhey, are you alright?" The voice came gently, threaded with careful concern, worry woven into every syllable, like he was afraid of saying the wrong thing and pushing you further away. It pulled at you slowly, dragging you back from the spiral in your mind.
Your gaze dipped first, unfocused, before your head turned just enough to acknowledge the presence beside you. And there he was.
FĂli stood close, closer than you had realized, near enough that you could see the fine tension in his expressionâhis brows drawn together, eyes searching your face with quiet urgency.
His usual confidence had softened into something far more vulnerable. His lips pressed together briefly, then parted again, like he had something to say but didn't quite know how to begin, nor continue.
"I⌠I don't know, FĂliâŚ" Your voice came out quieter than you intended, barely above a murmur, almost unsteady in a way as though they might break apart before fully forming.
But he heard it. His expression shifted immediately, concern deepening as his shoulders straightened just slightly, as though bracing himself for you, every bit of him focused on the quiet crack in your voice.
This wasn't the you he knew. The spark he had always admiredâthe quiet strength, the fire in your eyes, the way you carried yourself like you could withstand anything, felt dimmed now, like it had been smothered beneath something heavier.
FĂli noticed it immediately, the absence of it, and it unsettled him more than he let show. His jaw tightened faintly, a flicker of something protective crossing his expression as he studied you, as if trying to find even a trace of that familiar light.
But your gaze didn't linger on him. It slipped away almost the moment it met his, dropping to the ground near his boots. You fixated on the dirt, the scattered ash, the faint marks left behind by chaos, anything that wasn't him.
Your fingers curled slightly at your sides, tension settling into your frame, shoulders drawn in just enough to make yourself smaller.
"HeyâŚ" he murmured again, softer this time, his voice dipping as he shifted a half-step closer. "Don't shut me out."
Still, you couldn't look at him. Or maybe⌠you wouldn't.
A flicker of something uneasy tightened in your chest. Were you afraid of seeing disappointment in his eyes⌠or afraid that it was already there? That he had already decided you had failed upholding your responsibilities?
The thought hit harder than you expected, striking like a jagged stone in your chest. Old words clawed their way back: useless.
Your jaw tightened, teeth pressing together as your chest constricted with each shallow breath. The air felt thick, almost heavy enough to push you down.
Maybe⌠maybe they were right. Maybe this was proof. Standing here, trembling with your own helplessness, breaking over things that felt inconsequentialâlove, fleeting moments, the chaos of emotions, while others had lost everything, truly lost it.
If only you'd focus on yourself, on honing your powers, mastering what you were capable of, instead of chasing after someone who thrived on giving you mixed signals. The thought gnawed at the edges of your mind, sharper than any blade.
You lifted your gaze, trying to steady yourself, eyes drifting past the smoke and rubble of Laketown to a scene unfolding nearby. KĂli was there, leaning slightly toward Tauriel, his hands gesturing as he spoke, words lost in the distance but his earnest expression unmistakable. Tauriel's lips curved faintly, a small, amused smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, her posture relaxed yet attentive.
And there, Legolas stood frozen, shoulders rigid, eyes locked ahead, almost as if he was staring at Tauriel with a quiet intensity that seemed to anchor him to the spot.
His jaw was set, lips pressed thin, a flicker of something raw and longing, or was it frustration?âpassing across his otherwise composed face. Even from here, you could sense the tightness in his chest, the way his hands curled slightly at his sides, fingers twitching as if restraining some invisible urge.
For a fleeting moment, it hit you: maybe all those soft reassurances, those quiet, intimate words he'd offered back there⌠perhaps they were just that, meant for friendship. Nothing more. And yet, seeing him now, the image carved itself into your mind, a mix of envy, clarity, and that bitter pang of wanting what you couldn't have.
You had time to ache over a feeling, a fleeting attachment, but not enough strength to save more lives. Not enough to pull anyone from the ashes. The thought pressed down like molten lead, squeezing your lungs, coiling around your stomach.
Your shoulders slumped involuntarily once more, drooping as if the weight of every failure, every scream, every life that had slipped from your grasp rested there.
Even standing felt like a burden. Your fingers twitched at your sides, nails digging into your palms, as if grounding yourself could somehow anchor the storm of mixed emotions inside of you.
"I don't even know what I'm doing anymore..." you whispered, voice cracking faintly, barely audible over the distant cries, eyes glistening with unshed tears as the world around you blurred in grief and smoke.
"âŚhey." FĂli's voice came again, softer this time, warmer, threading through the haze of your thoughts.
You felt it before you saw it, his hand lifted slowly, hesitating just above your arm as if testing the air, then settled lightly, a grounding weight that didn't push, didn't demand.
His fingers pressed just enough to remind you he was there, steady and careful. "Don't do that," he murmured.
He waited, thumb brushing the fabric of your sleeve in a subtle, almost tender motion, a silent reassurance. His eyes met yours, steady and unflinching, holding you in place without a word. "Look at me," he said again, quieter now, the insistence threaded with patience.
You felt it, not a shove, not a commandâbut the gravity of his gaze, pulling you gently back into the present, leaving no room to look away.
You turned at last, slowly, as though the movement itself weighed on you. When your eyes met his, the worry there hit harder than anything else, it strucked clear, written plainly across his face.
"You are not useless," FĂli said, the words leaving him with quiet conviction, his grip on your arm tightening just slightly as if to anchor you there. His brows drew together, gaze searching yours like he needed you to understand. "Not in any way."
He drew in a breath, chest rising before he let it out softer, more honest. "And I'll admit it⌠I admire you. actually" A faint, almost self-conscious huff left him, like the confession surprised even him, but he didn't look away. "And I'm not the only one who thinks that way-"
The moment didn't get to settle, before another called.
"Fili! We've got to get going to the other side!" A voice shattered through, causing the both of you to turn toward the voice calling. Across the ruined shore, Ăin stood with the others, already gathering themselves, already preparing to leave. They were waitingâbut not for long.
FĂli's attention then snapped back towards you, urgency creeping into his movements. His hand slid down to catch your sleeve more firmly this time, tugging you with him. "We have to go," he said quickly, glancing back once, then again at you, before pulling you gently along. "We need to meet Thorin- come on-"
He stepped forward.
You didn't.
The resistance was slight, but it was enough. Enough to stop him mid-motion, enough to make the fabric in his grasp pull taut.
FĂli stilled, the motion dying instantly as realization crept in, slow and unwelcoming. His hand remained where it was, fingers still curled in your sleeve as if letting go wasn't an option he was ready to face.
He turned back to you, more slowly this time.
"You're not leaving..." His voice dropped, quieter now, something fragile slipping through the edges of it. It wasn't really a question. His brows knit together, confusion flickering into something heavier, his grip tightening just slightly like he could keep you there if he held on long enough.
"âŚare you?"
You shook your head slowly, the motion small but resolute. Your fingers slipped from his grasp, though not harshlyâjust enough to create some distance.
"I can't go," you said, voice quieter now, but steadier than before. Your gaze drifted past him, back toward the refugees, the wounded, the smoke still curling into the pale morning air. "They need help. I can heal, and they're short on medicine and supplies. I can't just leave them like this, Fili."
FĂli blinked, the words hitting him harder than he expected. "No-" he started, almost immediately, his voice catching before he forced it forward.
"They⌠they can manage. They've survived this long, haven't they? They have Bard as well." His hand lifted again, uncertain, hovering between reaching for you and pulling back. "We gave our word to Thorin⌠didn't we?"
But he didn't stop there. The words kept coming, faster now, uneven, like he was trying to fill the space before you could respond. "And Thorin- he didn't mean half of what he said. None of us did. We-" he faltered briefly, jaw tightening before pushing on, "...we like having you with us. More than that." His voice softened despite himself, quieter, almost pleading. "You should come with us-"
"I-" You cut in gently, your thoughts scrambling, tangling over themselves before you forced something lighter to the surface. A small smile tugged at your lips, fragile but playful, as you tilted your head slightly. "Aww⌠you guys care about me that much? Well, I figured."
It should've worked. Normally, that would've earned at least a faint smile, a huff, something. Maybe a teasing remark, maybe a small roll of his eyes.
But not this time. FĂli didn't smile. Not even a little.
His expression barely shifted, eyes still fixed on you with that same unwavering worry, like he could see straight through the thin veil you'd thrown up. His brows knit tighter, his gaze softening in a way that only made it worseâbecause he knew.
He knew you were pretending.
"Are you sureâŚ?" FĂli asked after a beat, his voice quieter now, the resistance in him easing but not gone. His brows remained drawn, eyes searching yours with a lingering doubt. "It's not because of something else, right?"
Your smile heldâsteady, practiced. You gave a small shake of your head, lifting your chin just slightly as if to make it more convincing. "I'm sure," you said gently. "Don't worry about me⌠worry about your king."
For a moment, he didn't move.
FĂli just stood there, studying you. His gaze flickered over the little things: the tightness in your smile, the way your fingers curled faintly at your sides, the slight tension in your shoulders you tried so hard to hide. He noticed all of it, and it made something in his chest sink.
But time didn't wait. Another call rang out from behind him, sharper this time, more urgent. His jaw tightened further, and he finally took a step back, even though it looked like the last thing he wanted to do.
"Then⌠we'll meet again," he said, trying to steady his voice, though it softened despite him. A faint, hopeful smile touched his lips. "We'll have a proper feast once we've reclaimed our home. A big oneâyou'd better be there."
He hesitated, then added more quietly, more sincerely, "And⌠you should know this." His eyes met yours again, unwavering. "You're strong. And kind. Our companion." His voice dipped slightly, almost gentle. "Don't let anyone make you believe otherwise."
Then, as if to lighten the weight of it all, he lifted his hand, closing it into a fist, holding it out toward you with a small, tentative smile. "Fist bump?"
Your eyes widened slightly, surprise flickering across your face. For a second, you just stared at his hand, caught off guard. Then something warmer broke through, your smile growingâthis time slightly real, almost softer, touched with something almost fond.
"Really?" A soft breath of disbelief slipped past your lips as you stepped forward, closing the small distance between you. Your hand lifted, hesitating for just a second before gently meeting his in a light tap.
"I can't believe you rememberedâŚ" you murmured, a faint, genuine warmth touching your voice as your fingers curled back to your side. "And I will," you added, a little firmer now, holding his gaze for one last moment. "We'll meet again. Soon⌠hopefully. well, I did promise I'll help officiate Kili's wedding with Tauriel, and be the godmother of his two children..."
FĂli let a small, quiet smile tug at his lips at your remark, the memory of overhearing that conversation still fresh in his mind. He lingered a heartbeat longer, eyes tracing the gentle curve of your expression, as if committing the sight of you to memory, before he finally turned.
His hands flexed lightly at his sides, a small, almost imperceptible sigh escaping him, before he finally turned. One careful step, then another, until he was moving, merging with the rest of the group.
His figure gradually faded into the ebb and flow of the others, yet the imprint of the moment remained, silent and steadfast, carried with him as they pressed on.
You stayed where you were. Your eyes followed him until you couldn't anymore, until distance swallowed the details, until he became just another silhouette against the pale morning light.
And only then⌠your smile began to fade.
It slipped slowly, the warmth draining from your expression as the last trace of him disappeared. Your shoulders sank, the tension you had been holding so tightly loosening all at once, leaving behind something heavier in its place.
Whatever strength you had gatheredâwhatever you had held together for their sake, unraveled quietly the moment they were gone.
You slumped against the rough face of a large rock, your body giving in the moment it had something solid to lean on. The cold seeped through your clothes, but you barely noticed it anymore. Every muscle ached, heavy and unresponsive, as if even the effort of sitting upright was too much to ask.
Hours had passedâhours of pouring yourself into others, of mending wounds that weren't yours, of giving and giving until there was almost nothing left.
Now it showed. Your vision blurred at the edges, dark spots flickering in and out as your head throbbed dully, each pulse slower, heavier than the last. It didn't feel like simple exhaustion anymore, you simply felt yourself slowly drifting away.
A faint, strange tickle brushed against your upper lip. It pulled a weak reaction from you, your hand lifting sluggishly, fingers dragging beneath your nose.
You froze. When your hand fell back into your line of sight, there it wasâdark and unmistakable. It was blood.
For a brief second, your heart lurched, a flicker of panic sparking in your chest. Your brows twitched, lips parting slightly as if to react, to say something, or anything, but nothing came.
Even that felt too heavy for your current state. Your hand lowered slowly, almost limply, resting against your lap as your head tipped back against the stone. Your breathing remained shallow, uneven, your body too drained to respond the way it should.
"You're exhasuted." The voice called out. It pulled you back just enough to lift your head, though the movement felt slow and heavy, like even that small movement cost too much. Your vision swam for a moment before settlingâand then you saw him.
Bard. There he stood a few steps away, his posture firm despite the weariness etched into his features. Strands of his hair clung slightly to his face, his clothes still marked by ash and battle, but his eyes, they were sharp and observant, fixed on you with quiet certainty.
You stared back, caught off guard.
It wasn't your first time seeing him, not after everything that had happened, but something about this felt⌠different. The aftermath of survival, of standing side by side against something that should've killed you both, it left a strange, lingering tension in its wake. One that made words feel awkward, misplaced.
So you said nothing, and Bard seemed to have expected that, understanding your choice of silence.
He held your gaze for a moment longer before exhaling softly, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly. Then, without another word, he stepped closer and lowered himself beside you, leaving a respectful distance.
His gaze shifted away, settling somewhere ahead, giving you space rather than pressing for conversation.
For a while, the two of you simply sat there. The distant crackle of fire, the murmur of voices, the soft lapping of water against the shoreâit all filled the silence between you, but it wasn't uncomfortable.
"Thank you." The words were quiet, but firm enough to pull your attention back to him. You turned your head slightly, your eyes landing on his profile.
"You saved me," He continued, "My son⌠my people from the dragon." His jaw tightened faintly, like the weight of it still sat heavy on him. "You helped give this town another chance."
He paused, then turned to look at you fully, his gaze meeting yours, direct and sincere.
"And⌠thank you for dealing with Alfrid." There was the faintest shift in his expression then, something almost resembling dry amusement. His eyes drifted past you, and yours followed instinctively. Not far off stood a familiar figureâdisheveled, shaken, and very deliberately keeping his distance.
Ah. Right.
You remembered. The sharp edge of your frustration, the way it had spilled over earlier when he'd pushed too far. The impact, the lack of restraintâyou hadn't exactly held back.
Your eyes lingered on him for a second longer before shifting away again, the memory settling quietly at the back of your mind.
"His name' Alfrid?" you murmured, the words slipping out softly, almost absentminded. A faint pout tugged at your lips, your nose scrunching slightly as if holding something back. "Not surprisedâŚ" you added under your breath, a small, breathy huff escaping you.
Bard exhaled quietly at that, the faintest hint of agreement in his tone. "YeahâŚ" He spoke, though it lacked any real focus. The words faded almost as soon as it was spoken, his attention already shifting back to you.
His gaze moved slowly, deliberately, taking in what you had tried not to show. Your hair sat in slight disarray, strands clinging where sweat and ash had settled. The faint stain beneath your nose hadn't gone unnoticed, even if you had wiped it away. Your eyes, tired and dulled at the edges, carrying something heavier than exhaustion.
Something no one your age should have to carry.
There was a subtle change in his expression then, something tightening behind his composure. Not pity, never that, but a quiet understanding.
Then his gaze shifted downward, settling on your hands. The bruises darkened beneath your skin, cuts etched across your knuckles and palm, faint streaks of dried blood still clinging stubbornly.
His eyes softened slightly, a mix of concern and quiet admiration flickering across his features as he took in the silent testament of everything you'd endured.
"âŚYou put everyone else before yourself," Bard said quietly, his voice low, carrying a weight that made you pause. His eyes flicked toward your hands, "You've been mending everyone else⌠but your own wounds⌠you've left them untouched."
Your brows knitted, confusion etching across your face as his words sank in. You followed his gaze, hesitant, almost afraid of what you might see. Slowly, almost reverently, you lifted your hands into the morning light, letting them catch the pale sun filtering through the smoke.
Cuts marred your skin, bruises darkened and swollen, streaks of dried blood faintly clinging to your knuckles and palms. You stared at them, frozen, a strange dissonance creeping over you, as if these marks didn't belong to your own bodyâthat somehow you were only truly seeing them for the first time.
Your lips parted slightly, a soft, shaky breath slipping out as if the words themselves were too heavy to form. For a moment, you just sat there, staring blankly at the ground, unsure if you even had the strength to speak.
A faint frown tugged at the corners of your mouth, but just as quickly, you let your hands fall to your lap, brushing them over one another with a weak shrug.
"They needed it more," you murmured, almost automatic, as if stating a fact rather than a choice. Your gaze drifted, unfocused, tracing nothing in particular. "It's just a few cuts⌠I'll be fine."
A quiet laugh escaped you, bitter and soft, shaking your head. "And you know⌠that's exactly what my grandpa used to say. Always lecturing about putting myself first. But⌠they need this more than me, no? I can't just stand by when I can help."
As you moved, the pendant at your chest shifted, the chain loosening beneath your tunic. It slipped partially free, catching the light and Bard's attention.
His eyes widened slightly, a flicker of recognition passing over his features. The piece of jewelry⌠it was no ordinary trinket. He had heard tales of it beforeâan ancient emblem once worn by one of the greatest elves, the one who could bend time and life at her will, Lumena.
Bard's gaze lingered, a mixture of awe and disbelief shadowing his expression as the pendant swung gently with your movements.
His gaze was then brought back to yours, sharp now, as if he were connecting the dots in a sudden realization. "That necklace⌠I've heard stories," he said carefully.
"Of the elf who could heal, who could bend time itself⌠Lumena." His eyes searched yours, gauging every flicker of reaction.
And you did just that, your eyes widened slightly, a sharp intake of breath betraying surprise before you steadied yourself. "YouâŚYou know about this necklace?" you asked, voice quiet, a mixture of curiosity and caution threading through each word.
"I do," he replied, tone careful, almost reverent. "I've heard countless tales. A powerful elf⌠chosen for great responsibility. But with such power, there is always a price. Every time she wields it, her life force is sapped. The more she uses, the greater the toll." His eyes softened, reflecting a dawning understanding, and a subtle weight settled over his features.
"Are you�" His question hung in the air, tentative, and for a heartbeat you let yourself laugh softly, shaking your head with a small, rueful smile.
"No," you let out a soft laugh, the sound light but a little too quick, like it was meant to smooth everything over. The smile touched your lips briefly, but it didn't stay. It faded almost as soon as it came, your lips pressing into a thin, controlled line as your gaze flickered away for a second before returning.
"I think⌠you're talking about my mom." There was a faint glint of amusement in your eyes, but it didn't quite reach themâsomething else lingered there, something tighter, carefully hidden behind the ease in your tone.
Bard nodded slowly, as if accepting your answer, but his eyes never truly left your face. "Ah⌠I see." A brief pause followed then, his gaze lingered on you, thoughtful, something unspoken turning behind his eyes. "But the consequences⌠they're real, aren't they?"
The question was then hung between the two of you, heavy and suffocating, as though even the air had stilled to wait for your answer.
You didn't give one. Your lips parted slightly, a breath slipping out quietly, but the words never followed. Instead, your gaze droppedâjust for a second, just long enough. Your fingers shifted faintly against your lap, shoulders drawing in as your breath hitched before you forced it back into something steady.
It was subtle, but not subtle enough. Bard had caught it all, the hesitation, the tension you tried to swallow down, the faint crack in the composure you were so carefully holding together.
His expression changed the moment he realized, understanding settling in slowly, unwelcome. His jaw tightened, brows knitting together as his eyes lingered on you, quieter now, but far more certain.
"You've been using it nonstop since the battle," Bard said, his voice firmer now, concern no longer hidden beneath the calm. He shifted closer, leaning forward with a quiet urgency, one hand braced against his knee,while the other hovered briefly in the air, as if he meant to steady you, but thought better of it.
His brows pulled together, eyes searching yours with a firmness that didnât waver. "You need to stop. You need to rest, before you push yourself too far."
"Look, I'm fine, alright?" The words came too fast, cutting through his before he could finish. You straightened instinctively, pushing yourself up against the rock despite the faint sway in your balance. Your brows furrowed, eyes narrowing just slightly as you met his gaze for a brief momentâdefensive, almost stubborn.
But you spoke too soon, by then, a thin trail of warmth slid past your upper lip.
You froze for half a second before your hand came up, wiping it away hastily, almost carelessly, but the faint smear of red across your skin was impossible to miss. Your fingers trembled faintly, but you pulled them back quickly, hiding it as best as you could.
Bard's gaze sharpened instantly, something in it darkeningânot anger, but concern that rooted him in place. His brows drew together deeper now, his attention fully locked onto you, as if he wasnât about to let this go so easily.
"âŚokay, maybe I'm not," you admitted, voice harsher than intended, a flash of defensiveness threading through your words. "But I can do whatever I choose. I want to help⌠it's one of the reasons why I'm here."
Your teeth sank into the inside of your cheek as soon as you spoke, a small bite to hold back the tremor in your voice. Your shoulders tensed, and your gaze fell immediately to the ground, tracking the cracks in the dirt, avoiding him. Fingers twitched against your knees, restless and nervous, unwilling to meet his eyes.
But what he'd say next caught you off guard almost immediately, "You'd choose to, or is it out of guilt?" Bard's voice was soft, deliberate, but it carried the weight of truth. "For not being able to save those who had passed..."
Your head jerked up upon hearing his words, eyes wide, as though he had peeled back a layer you didn't even know you were hiding. Your lips parted, words failing, and your chest tightened painfully.
Was it really guilt, just as he said? Or was it responsibility? The need to do something⌠anything⌠because you could? Your brows knitted together, jaw clenching, and for the first time, the faintest quiver crossed your lashes.
You didn't answer immediately. Instead, you fidgeted with your sleeve, fingers curling around the fabric, grounding yourself against the weight of the truth he had so effortlessly unearthed.
"I..I'm not a child alright? You dont need to tell me what I know." You bit back, voice trembling faintly despite the edge you tried to put on it. Your eyes darted away, tracing anything but him, unable to hold his gaze.
"But you are one," He said softly, each word deliberate, heavy with meaning. "You are a child... at least one in my eyes-" His eyes held yours now, warm and steady, piercing softly through the walls you'd built, patient and understanding in a way that made this feeling felt unbelievable, distant at times.
"Well... I'm eighteen." you muttered back, a mixture of defiance and weariness lacing your tone. You straightened your back just slightly, trying to seem taller, stronger, though your shoulders sagged with exhaustion, and your lashes dipped in fleeting vulnerability.
He leaned forward, closing the space between you ever so slightly, careful not to overstep, his presence grounding. "Age doesn't change the weight you've carried," he murmured, voice low and steady.
"No child, no one⌠should ever have to endure cruelty like that. The pain, the burden, you've shouldered far too much." His words hung in the air, tender but piercing, as his eyes searched yours for the smallest flicker of acknowledgment, a quiet insistence that you weren't alone.
He truly cared, and he wasn't entirely sure why. Perhaps it was gratitude, for the way you had saved him, his son, and the people of the town. Or perhaps it was something deeper, a compulsion to protect, to shield someone so clearly strong yet undeniably vulnerable.
You had the power, yesâthere was no denying that, but beneath it, he saw the confusion, the fear, the quiet tremor in your spirit that you tried so hard to hide. How could he turn away from someone who needed guidance, or even just a sliver of warmth and reassurance? His chest tightened at the thought, and without realizing it, he shifted slightly closer, an unconscious gesture of silent support.
Your lips parted then, wanting to speak, to argue back at him, but no words came. Instead, you swallowed hard, the heat rising in your chest, and your hands fidgeted slightly in your lap, fingers brushing against the bruises and cuts you hadn't noticed in your fatigue.
You froze before you knew it, breath catching in your throat as your eyes locked with hisâeyes so full of care, directed entirely at you, a stranger he had only just met.
The weight of it pressed into your chest, and for a fleeting second, your defenses wavered, crumbling down all together. You had never really had anyone to confide in, not truly. Fear of humiliation, of being misunderstood, had always kept you silent. And now, staring at him, that fear roared back, sharp and insistent.
A tightness coiled in your stomach as memories surfacedâgrowing up without parents, relying only on your grandfather, the one family you could count on even if blood didn't bind you.
It hadn't mattered then, and it didn't seem to matter even now, yet the absence left a hollow ache, a constant reminder that you were always forced to be stronger, faster, smarter, older than your years.
Being sent here only deepened it. You had no one you could truly call your own, not in this world, at least. The responsibility pressed down relentlessly: saving others, tending to the injured, yet powerless to protect those who mattered most. That thought twisted your chest, gnawing at something raw and tender within you.
You finally shifted slightly, fingers curling into the dirt beneath you, eyes flickering away to avoid his gaze once more, though part of you wanted to cling to it. To admit the truth, to let someone else see the cracks you'd spent years hiding.
Bard didn't move closer, not yet, but his posture softened, the rigid line of his shoulders easing. His eyes never left yours, gentle but steady, as if he could see through the walls you'd built so carefully, read through the tension you refused to admit out loud.
"You don't have to carry it all alone," he said, voice low, careful not to startle you. "I don't know everything you've endured⌠but I see you. And I⌠I can help, if you let me." There was no judgment in it, only quiet acknowledgment of the weight you bore. "Not everything is yours to fix."
Your gaze then flickered toward him, hesitant, as if testing the waters. The tremor in your hands faltered slightly, then steadied, and you let out a small breath you hadn't realized you were holding.
"I⌠I just-" Your words caught, lost somewhere between frustration and exhaustion. You wanted to explain, to defend yourself, but the truth lodged in your chest too firmly. He didn't push, didn't ask for details. Instead, he simply stayed there, letting the silence stretch, letting you feel that you weren't entirely alone.
You didn't continue your answer immediately. You couldn't. Instead, your gaze stayed on him. A soft exhale escaped your lips once more, almost involuntary, as if acknowledging something you hadn't allowed yourself to admit: maybe it was okay to let someone in, even just a little.
Just as you did, the lump in your throat then began to grew too heavy to swallow. Your chest tightened, a sudden, unbearable pressure that made your vision blur. The dam you had built around your emotionsâthe careful walls of pride and strength had cracked, splintering under the weight of everything you had held inside for so long.
And then, finally, it broke.
Hot tears spilled over your lashes, trailing down your cheeks unchecked. Your shoulders shook violently as you sank downwards, sliding down the rock slightly, the exhaustion and guilt and fear pouring out in raw, trembling sobs. "I⌠I can't⌠I can't save them allâŚ" you gasped, voice hoarse, each word trembling with anguish. "I try, I try so hard, but it's never enough!"
Bard reacted instantly, lowering himself beside you. His hands were gentle, but firm, sliding around your trembling frame, pulling you close. "Shhh⌠it's okay. It's alright," he murmured, voice soft but steady, grounding you. "You're not alone. I'm here."
You let yourself collapse against him fully, forehead pressed to his chest, arms clutching at him as if holding on for dear life. Every sob shook your body, every shiver of pain and exhaustion escaping in ragged breaths.
He didn't speak over you; he just held you, letting you cry, his fingers stroking the back of your hair gently, anchoring you to something solid, something safe.
Through your tears, you could feel his warmth, the steadiness of his heartbeat beneath your temple. For the first time in a long while, you weren't trying to be strong. You weren't trying to be invincible. You were just⌠human, a child who needed someone to care for them.
And he didn't flinch. He didn't judge. He simply held you as the storm inside you raged, whispering quietly, "You're stronger than you think⌠but even the strong need someone sometimes."
Your sobs slowly began to weaken, shaking less violently, though the tears continued to fall. You buried your face deeper into him, seeking both comfort and absolution, finally allowing yourself to feel the weight of your own fragilityâand knowing, for the first time in so long, that it was okay.
From afar, unseen by you, another pair of eyes had already found you.
"Ă-veditho nadad lin nĂŽf?" (Will you not give her comfort?) Tauriel's voice came softly. She stepped closer, her boots barely making a sound against the ground as she came to stand beside him.
Legolas didn't answer. He stood still, almost unnaturally so, his gaze fixed on youâon the way your shoulders shook, the way you clung to Bard like you were falling apart in his arms. His jaw tightened, a flicker of something raw passing through his eyes before it was quickly buried beneath his usual composure.
He wanted to move. Every part of him urged it, to close the distance, to pull you away from that pain, to hold you the way he should have, long ago when he had the chance to. To reassure you, to tell you that you didn't have to carry it alone. His fingers twitched faintly at his side, curling as if they already knew the shape of you.
But he didn't. He couldnât.
Your words echoed in his mind, relentless. The prophecy. The vision. Your death. It had all been so clear, so unavoidable. And he had chosen to leaveâto walk away from you before it could come to pass, before he could watch it happen with his own eyes. Fear had driven him then, sharp and suffocating.
And now⌠it was consuming him.
A quiet breath left him, almost unsteady, his gaze faltering for just a second before settling on you again. Seeing you like this, hurting and breaking, something twisted painfully in his chest.
"Ah aen, le dartha sĂ." (And yet you stand here) Tauriel added, softer now, her eyes flickering between him and you, understanding settling in her expression.
His lips pressed into a thin line. When you pushed him away earlier, it had struck something deep, something he hadn't been prepared for. At first, it felt wrongâunacceptable. He didn't understand it, didn't want to. But then your words had settled, sharp and final, and he had no choice but to hear them.
And it hurt, more than he cared to admit.
"Ă-chenin." (I'm⌠not sure) The words came quieter than expected, almost lost beneath his breath. Legolas blinked rapidly, his gaze faltering for the briefest moment. There was a sharp sting behind his eyes, it was unfamiliar. It had been centuries since he had felt anything close to this, and yet now it pressed in, relentless, refusing to be ignored.
Tauriel noticed immediately. Her gaze lifted to him, studying the subtle fracture in his composure. For a moment, she said nothing, her expression softening with quiet understanding. Then, gently but firmly, she spoke.
"You said we ride north to Gundabad," she reminded, her tone steady and grounding, an anchor against the storm she could see building in him. She took a small step forward then, turning slightly toward him. "We shall leave within a few hours."
She paused, her eyes lingering on him, searching before continuing. "Le lĂĄe uin echuiad er a phadar den," (You may only have one chance to tell her) she added, softer now, but no less certain. "Avo losto" (Do not waste it)
With that, Tauriel turned, her steps light as she moved away, leaving him standing there with the weight of her words settling heavily in his chest.
Legolas didn't follow ahead. Instead, his gaze remained fixed on you, unmoving, as if the world around him had faded into nothing. He watched the way you clung to Bard, the way your frame trembled with each sob, and something inside him twisted painfully.
His hand shifted at his side, fingers curling slightly, then loosening againâuncertain and restrained just for you. Every instinct urged him forward, to close the distance, to reach for youâŚ
Hours had passed since then, before the world finally grew quiet again. The chaos had settled into a fragile stillness, and somewhere within it, you had drifted off, resting against the cool surface of the rock, your breathing slow and even, as if your body had simply given in after holding on for far too long.
Bard had stayed until he was sure of it, his quiet insistence eventually winning over your stubbornness. Only then had he left, leaving the quiet to settle around you like a fragile cloak.
And now⌠you slept.
Legolas approached then, only when he was certain no one was watching. His steps were soundless, careful, almost hesitantâas though he feared disturbing something fragile.
His gaze fell on you the moment he drew close, and for a second, he simply stood there, unmoving. Your expression, finally at peace, struck something deep within him. It was the first time he had seen you like this in⌠too long.
Slowly, his eyes traced downward, the sight of your injuries quickly caught his eyes, traces of blood stained your nose, your palms bruised and cut, knuckles still raw. His chest tightened, a sharp ache that twisted deeper the longer he looked. He couldn't believe he had left you there, alone, carrying all this on your own.
He stood there staring, unable to bring himself down near you, but he did so in the end anyways. Finally, he'd lowered himself beside you, careful not to startle your slumbering form.
His hands hovered a moment over yours before gently enclosing them, lifting them slightly into his lap. The touch was tender, almost afraid, afraid of breaking the fragile being in front of him.
"Goheno nin..." (Forgive me) He whispered, the words fragile, barely audible, yet carrying the weight of every moment he had failed you. His lips pressed softly to the back of your knuckles, warm and gentle, and he closed his eyes, letting the memory sweep over him, the two of you as children, carefree, innocent, the bond they had once shared before you left him.
The ache in his heart deepened, bittersweet and heavy. He had remembered that day ever since. And now, holding your hand in his like this, he vowed silently, not to let you face the world alone again.
"You just need to kiss the pain away! That's what my grandpa told me." A younger you declared, determined, your small hands clutching his as they hovered over a tiny cut.
Legolas' eyes were still red from crying, glistening with unshed tears, as he looked down at you in stunned confusion. Before he could respond, your lips pressed lightly against the back of his hand, a soft, earnest kiss.
His face heated immediately, a faint blush creeping across his cheeks, and he looked away, embarrassed yet captivated by your sudden intrusion.
"See? It's no longer pain isn't it?" you smiled, pride spreading across your small features, eyes sparkling with the certainty only a child could muster. But Legolas only shook his head gently, still wincing just slightly, though he tried not to show it.
You frowned at his response, not wanting to believe it hadn't really work. Your brows knitted together in mock indignation, "Then I guess you need more kisses!" With that, you peppered his hand with quick, giggling kisses, squirming just enough to tickle him, earning bursts of laughter from the tiny elf.
And suddenly, somehow, it was true, he couldn't feel the pain no more. From that day on, Legolas carried the memory with him, a ridiculous, impossible notion that somehow held powerâbecause if it came from you, he knew it was always an exception.
Legolas' eyes fluttered open, soft green catching the fading light as they settled on your sleeping face. A faint, helpless smile tugged at the corner of his lips, small and quiet, but entirely his, because when it came to you, restraint had never been his strong suit.
He lingered there, watching the gentle rise and fall of your chest, letting himself trace the familiar lines of your features. Then Tauriel's words seemed to have found its way back to his mind. Should he wake you? Should he finally tell you everything? His hand hovered in the air, frozen, uncertainty tightening his chest.
Not now, he whispered silently to himself, letting it drop back to rest beside him. "Weston⌠tolathon ad. SÎr," (I promise... I will return. Soon,) he murmured under his breath, voice low, almost drowned out by the stillness around you. "Ir tolathon⌠pedithon i daer peded ned echuir i 'wain. O 'wanath nÎn⌠a chen." (When I do⌠I will speak what should have been spoken long ago. Of my regret⌠and of you.)
"Ă-chebin le edraith dan i chened nĂŽn⌠ú-chebin le edraith dan i innas nĂŽn. Le uin i chenen⌠iâŚ" (You were never beyond my sight⌠nor beyond my thoughts. You've always been the one I've watched, the one IâŚ)
He faltered, the weight of the truth catching in his throat, but finally, in a whisper meant only for the wind, he let it slip.
"i mellon nĂŽn..." (The one I love...)The words hung in the quiet, fragile as crystal, and you never stirred to hear themânot now, not ever in that moment. And perhaps, if you had, you wouldn't have even known.
His gaze drifted back to your bruised and battered hands, lingering over the cuts and dried blood. He paused, heart tightening, he wasn't gifted with the subtle art of healing like some, but he refused to let that stop him. Not for you. Not ever.
He fumbled through his pockets, fingers brushing against the small, worn container of ointment he had brought. A soft, almost wistful smile curved his lips as memories washed over himâhow he used to do the exact same thing whenever youâd scraped yourself as a child.
Ever since you had shown him the 'kiss,' he had followed the ritual in secret, pressing his lips softly to your injuries while you slept, before carefully applying the ointment to fade the pain and marks.
Though, there had been one time, long ago, when a wound cut too deep and left a scar he couldn't erase, a small reminder that even his devotion had limits.
Snapping out of his reverie, Legolas uncapped the container and pressed his fingers gently against the balm, spreading it across your bruises and scratches.
Every movement was slow, tender and meticulous, ensuring that each wound was soothed, each ache attended to. He murmured softly to himself, almost unconsciously, "Rest⌠I've got you," as his hands traced the contours of your injuries with care, his blue eyes reflecting a fierce, protective devotion.
Just as he finished, a sharp voice pierced the quiet. "We need to leave now, or else it'll be too late to travel back," Tauriel called from behind, her tone brisk but not unkind. Legolas stiffened, the reminder pulling him from the fragile cocoon of care he had wrapped around you, reminding him of duty beyond this quiet moment.
He nodded once, almost imperceptibly, before he paused, his gaze lingering on your peaceful face, so still and vulnerable in sleep. Every breath you drew seemed fragile, precious, and he felt the weight of the world pressing down upon him for having left you before.
A low sigh escaped him, barely more than wind through leaves. His voice then dropped to a whisper, rough with unspent emotion. "I swear it⌠I shall return to you," he murmured, his voice trembling with quiet resolve. "Soon, and I will speak all that my heart has long held silent."
His hand hovered, almost instinctively brushing a stray strand of hair from your cheek, lingering as though he could imprint the memory into himself.
His eyes traced the curve of your jaw, the faint rise of your chest, the softness of your sleeping featuresâevery detail he feared might vanish if he turned away. "Tolo nĂŽn." (Wait for me,) He whispered, words thick with longing and promise.
With measured steps, he rose, the faintest tension in his shoulders betraying the turmoil within. One last glance, one last imprint of your presence, and then he turned, leaving the quiet stillness of the rock behind. Yet even as his form receded, his eyes remained drawn to you, unwilling to sever the fragile thread that bound them.
Just as Legolas vanished from view, Bard caught the movement, his sharp eyes narrowing in curiosity. He stepped forward cautiously, but by the time he reached the spot, the elf had already disappeared down the path, leaving only the quiet rustle of leaves in his wake.
Bard's gaze fell to you, still slumbering against the rock. He bent slightly, his brow furrowing as he considered waking you to move on with the others toward the castle. But then, something caught his attentionâyour hands.
They rested gently on your lap, unblemished now. No cuts, no bruises, no traces of the blood that had so recently marked them. His eyes widened, the faintest gasp escaping him, a mixture of awe and disbelief flickering across his face.
He could see the careful touch that had healed you, the tenderness, the intent, the care that spoke of someone who knew you, who had cherished you.
Bard's lips parted slightly, eyes tracing the curve of your hands, the faint marks of care already gone. He looked toward the path Legolas had taken, understanding dawning. A small smile touched his face, "SoâŚ" He whispered softly, "she is not alone⌠someone watches over her."
He crouched just a little, keeping his gaze on you, the awe lingering, heavy and silent. In that moment, he didn't need to know the details, didn't need namesâhe only knew what mattered. Someone cared for you. You had not been abandoned, you had not been truly alone.
Bard straightened at last, a quiet sense of peace settling over him as he whispered, almost to himself, "You are not alone, little healer. Not alone⌠never truly alone..."
Risk It For A Biscuit: Sebastian Michaelis x Isekai!Reader
Chapter 1: Why Are You Here
When you arrived at this terrible place you were all too fortunate to run into several strings of luck. Luck that your background wasnât scrutinized, luck that you met the right charitable people, luck that you retained skills and knowledge that proved lucrative, and luck that this place had a pervasive naivety. You needed all of this good luck but it didnât even begin to make up for the bad. Being deposited into the consumption-riddled streets of late 1800s London was the biggest instance of âastronomically abyssal luckâ that has ever happened to you.
It wasnât something you were proud of but lying came naturally to you in this place, it was easy, it was fast, and you were able to navigate situations quickly before anyone even noticed what was happening. You chalked it up to being a different time period- maybe it was the abysmal literacy rate or multiple diseases that made people soâŚgullible. In your defense, it was necessary.Â
How else would you explain yourself? You had no connection to nobility but had the appearance of such with your healthy skin and physique. You had no proof of education but could read better than most and held âsecretâ knowledge that only tenured scholars would theorize about. It was imperative that you obscured this wealth of information not only because it could be undiscovered by the world- but also because you were a woman.Â
It concerned you, the readiness that people seemed to have for the death of any woman who stepped out of her role. Within your first week you had seen a woman beaten into unconsciousness by her own husband in front of a neighborhood which only tutted that she should have known better than to burn the pot roast. Lingering religious fanaticism expressed itself as priests on the street preaching about the eradication of witches who collude with Satan. This was the primary reason lying was your most practiced skill. Out of an abundance of caution, you were prepared to act the dutiful wife with various props. Items of âproofâ that functioned to make your existence acceptable- your fake wedding ring, the lock of hair from your âhusbandâ (a clipping of coarse black hair from a stray dog) inside a pawnshop locket, and an elaborate story about âhisâ dreams of becoming a captain of trading ships.
It took two years but you had found your footing and were finally settled in your apartment and office, a block from each other, with your forged life, and with an acceptance that you would live and die in a time you werenât even born in.
You followed things that were interesting enough to become engrossed in work, your skills caught the attention of merchants and the occasional unconventional member of nobility. What started out as something so frightening you were vomiting from the mere nerves of it- unable to sleep for days, crying in hysterical fits of anxiety, loneliness and confusionâ became normal. Life became normal. Almost.
There was the lingering feeling that something was wrong. Once you had the money and stability, you bought and poured through academic journals and history books. It felt like something was missing, like you were sitting in the cave looking at the shadows on the wall. All information had the shape it was supposed to but the edges were blurry and undefined. For a few months you rode a manic high, unable to sleep as you poured over the books and scribbled down your suspicions. You couldnât check the internet to see if your hunches were correct- there was just loose speculation and the growing pit of dread in your stomach. Did this country exist yet? Is it too early for car phones? Why is everyone still obsessed with witches and burning people at the stake? Were literacy rates supposed to be this bad? If there was compulsory smallpox vaccinations, why was the disease still ravaging the streets? Why the fuck was the bubanic plague still an issue?Â
But the thing that felt impossible to ignore but also impossible to confirm or deny- was everyone supposed to look like they were attending a Lolita Convention?
Eventually your frenzy died down, washed by waves of exhaustion. Everything felt wrong but you couldnât do anything about it. The only thing stopping you from lapsing into a catatonic depressive episode was the fear of being institutionalized pumping your body with enough adrenaline for daily functions.
You woke up, you ate, you buried yourself in familiar red tape for hours on end in your private office, went home for dinner, and went to bed. It was a delicate routine wherein you found the times where people were least around to do your shopping- the most remote way to connect with your clients- and with your home and work being so close you were shamelessly able to lock yourself away from the rest of the world.Â
The dangers of being a lonely woman living alone were mitigated with your lies- a seafaring husband (whom you hint cheats on you prolifically while maintaining an airheaded facade to elicit pity from your audience), family of poor health who relocated to the French countryside where you send your checks to help pay for medical attention (the deposit of such funds are to a dummy account under a false identity, that you then use to buy stocks), friends left behind in your âhometownâ (the falsified place you hail from which explains your accent and mannerisms as culturally local instead of culturally 150 years in the future) as you had to move for your dearest husbandâs career. Months of living on the edge, months of lying to everyone, months of calculated isolation. Finally, finally, routine had done its job and you felt at ease.
Monday was like any other day. Collect mail, throw away correspondence from members of nobility- especially from that particular house-, sort and answer clients and related paperwork, draft writs and permit requests, finalize outgoing mail for delivery, drop off at the post office and walk home.Â
Tuesday was like any other day. You had begun to worry about rats again so you allowed some stray cats into your office. Collect mail, throw away correspondence from members of nobility, sort and answer clients and related paperwork, draft writs and permit requests, finalize outgoing mail for delivery, drop off at the post office and walk home.Â
Wednesday was like any other day. Collect mail, throw away correspondence from members of nobility, sort and answer clients and related paperwork, draft writs and permit requests, finalize outgoing mail for delivery, drop off at the post office and walk home.
Thursday was like any other day. Collect mail, throw away correspondence from members of nobility, sort and answer clientsâŚ
You had a new letter, someone reaching out for your services. The name was recognizable- in fact you think you had seen it in one of the envelopes you threw away earlier in the week.Â
This time the envelope was plain, humble. It lacked the gold-lettered embellishments and silver gilded officiation stamp that the first carried. But the paper inside betrayed the simple exterior- through the thin material of the conventional office envelope you could feel the thick paper used by nobility.Â
What really stopped you wasnât the weight of the paper- it was the name which accompanied it. A creeping feeling of dread- you remember on Monday that you had passingly thought that it bore some familiarity before putting it into your burn pile. That familiarity had morphed into a slap in the face as memories bloomed in your brain.
E A R L Â P H A N T O M H I V E
A year ago you would have brushed this off, would have just thought the name to be the same Victorian/Edwardian preference of all others you read. But the nagging feeling you have had about this place made you pause.Â
There was always that out of place predictability, the pliable nature, the unusual simpleness as if people were playing background roles with the singular objective of making any particular scene happen the exact way it was written. People would swing from senselessly conspiratorial to frighteningly trusting but always as a unified front. Seldom did you encounter a contrarian- and when you did it seemed their voice was the catalyst for the crowd to turn tide.Â
You stared at the envelope in your hand and your thoughts spiraled.Â
The grocery clerk who remembered your name the first time you gave it but couldnât recognize you outside of your work clothes. Overseas merchants knowing little to nothing about the political events of their original countries except for matters pertaining to England. The stillness of social progression that the public believes to be a turbulent storm. Background information, exposition, just enough detail to lend itself to a larger narrative.
On Thursday you closed in the afternoon and rushed to the nearest newsprint to scour their archives for any sign of the name. Unfortunately, you found it with little need for investigation- on page 6 of the daily paper was an article recounting the tragic events of the Phantomhive family, and relaying that the sole survivor and now successor was finally recovered enough to begin managing his estate.Â
âLondon Daily contacted the Phantomhive Family Estate for details about the young Lordâs health, they relay:
All is well, Lord Phantomhive is recovering steadily and plans on continuing his familyâs work. He gives his sincerest gratitude to those who have wished him well, his steadfast employees, and to all Phantomhive products customers who continue to trust in the quality of our products.
With 3 months until the 1 year anniversary of the Phantomhive Tragedy, no announcement has been made regarding a mourning ceremony.â
You stopped reading. You took a deep breath, thanked the paper clerk for his time and returned to your office. You disposed of the letter, went home, and buried yourself in your books for the first time in months.
Friday was like any other day. Collect mail, throw away correspondence from members of nobility, burn the third letter sent from the Lord Phantomhive, sort and answer clients and related paperwork, draft writs and permit requests, finalize outgoing mail for delivery, drop off at the post office and walk home.
Saturday was like any other day. You had begun to worry about rats again so you allowed a stray cat into your office. Collect mail, throw away correspondence from members of nobility, sort and answer clients and related paperwork, draft writs and permit requests, finalize outgoing mail for delivery, drop off at the post office and walk home.
Sunday was like any other day. You were still worried about rats so you brought the cat back inside again. Collect mail, throw away correspondence from members of nobility, sort and answer clients and related paperwork, draft writs and permit requests, finalize outgoing mail for delivery, drop off at the post office and walk home.
Monday was like any other day. You werenât worried about the rats anymore but allowed the cat to come inside anyway. Collect mail, throw away correspondence from members of nobility, sort and answer clients and related paperwork, draft writs and permit requests, finalize outgoing mail for delivery, drop off at the post office and walk home.
Tuesday was like most any other day. The cat expects to come inside now. Collect mail, throw away correspondence from members of nobility, sort and answer clients and related paperwork, prepare for a meeting with a new client, finalize outgoing mail for delivery, drop off at the post office and walk home.
When you woke up on Wednesday you knew it would be a long day- a new client meeting in the early morning would require several hours poured over various documents as you tried to understand the asset history of an individual (who usually had spotty documentation).Â
The few copies of business certifications and permits you had received so far were clean and neat. It was a breathtaking change of pace to read something so organized. But it also filled you with suspicion- if the client had sent you such tidy documentation, what need did they have for a woman running a borderline illegal advising business?Â
What problem from hell did this client have that they needed your services, and to have so urgently requested a meeting? Suffice to say- you expected the worst.
And âthe worstâ is what you got.
At the scheduled time of your appointment- no, exactly 60 seconds before the scheduled time- you received a knock at your door. It was early enough to be unusual for mail or the random visitor- meaning that your client had miraculously showed up in perfect time for their appointment.Â
While stifling a yawn, you unstick yourself from your spot on the floor where you were warming yourself by the fire. The unnatural cold that met your palm when you held the door handle was a warning of what lay outside the door.
Fog rolls inside, disappearing as it meets the heat of your fireplace. It brings with it a pleasant freshness that you inhale deeply. Your lungs fill with a cool and damp air that soothes you, the scent of roses and fresh linens sitting on the top of your palette. In the door frame stands a figure whose silhouette is framed by the early-morning gaslight from the street.Â
As you open the door further to welcome him in and begin to step to the side- a stray cat darts inside. The feline is at a vigorous sprint, which is why you lose your balance when he charges behind your legs.Â
Maybe itâs because you have been apathetic and half-praying to enter a coma for the past several years but you resign yourself to the fall. This willingness to endure bodily harm would normally warrant a visit to a psychologist but you arenât desperate enough for a lobotomy yet.
It seemed this stranger had excellent reflexes and wherewithal- as they reacted while you didnât. Two strong hands have caught you instead. One behind your back, placed between your shoulder blades where your muscles melt against the warmth you feel radiating from under a leather glove. The other finds your wrist, a loose hold that you think was probably to keep you from accidentally smacking someone with your hand.
Your fall has been stopped because the stranger used your momentum to redirect you into their chest. You collided softly, and felt heat spread through your body like you were submerged in a bath. It made you want to melt.Â
It had beenâŚsome time since you were touched.Â
You reuse your measurements for all clothing, and the fleeting glances from fingers taking the length of your calf is very different from the insistent contact that you were experiencing right now.Â
Gloves were an every day accessory, you had become germaphobic in this world on account of all the fucking germs.
There was no one you wanted to touch- your standard of hygiene wasnât commonplace just yet. And worse, there was a tangible inoffensiveness to everyone. They were neither hot nor cold, not quick or slow, there was no discernible difference between the touch of a person and the touch of an animal. No- if anything, the animals held a sort of tension in them which lends itself to unpredictability.
Which is why this proximity to the stranger made your heart beat faster with desire, especially when you realized that the pleasant scent you were inhaling wasnât the crisp morning air.
âIâm terribly sorry about that- I am not so nimble this early in the morning. Ah- um and the cat- he- Iâm so sorry.â You rush to apologize and try to pull away despite being unsteady on your feet. The strangerâs hands linger on you. That palm that was once pressed against your back shifts with fluid precision to cup your elbow. They do not let you pull away completely, their touch anchors to you even as you adjust your posture.
The thing that stands out to you the most is the absence of cigarette smoke and B.O. From such a close proximity you have insight into just how clean this individual is- a tasteful layer of rose perfume or maybe a spiced cologne on top of the thin bed of soap. Such hygiene was a rarity in your office, the advanced personal-care practices of your modern era are either too expensive or too informed to be commonplace in what-ever-the-fuck-era London you found yourself in. What a treat, what a luxury.Â
Without meaning to, you took in deep breaths even while you tried to put distance between your bodies. This person was your first, and likely only ever, favorite client.
âItâs quite alright, My Lady. I should have caught him before he ran inside. But, he looked so eager, I couldnât bring myself to intervene.â A smooth and amused voice. A voice that sounded like it brushed its teeth! A voice that was as relaxed as it was warm, just like the hands that withdrew once it was assured you were stable on your feet. A voice that was self-assured and familiar. And Familiar.  And  Familiar.
You raise your head and look up into the face of a man. These past couple days you had become somewhat of a religious experimentalist, praying to every single god you could find to ask that they keep this monster away from your door. He was as beautiful as you imagined a demon to be. Angular features that seemed to direct all attention to his eyes which were a dark beautiful brown.
So beautiful, it is almost painful that you would deny yourself the pleasure of basking in his clean presence. Wonderful eyes framed by delicate black eyelashes and slender eyebrows that quirked up at you in mild surprise-Â
Probably because your expression of terror wasnât appropriate when he hadnât threatened to cook you alive in an oven and serve you with fingerling potatoes. Yet.
âMy LadyâŚ?â His voice is soft and apprehensive, as if he is actually concerned for you. His voice was so velvety, you wanted to press yourself against him again to see if you could feel the vibrations that were created when he spoke. You also wanted to vomit because so far the most real person you have met is the homicidal demon from your edgelord phase.
Sebastian Michaelis was every bit the dangerous heartthrob that he was written to be. A few brief seconds of being in front of him and you knew he was as capable and deadly as you believed- and likely even more brutal than your little teen-audience anime could reasonably depict.Â
He followed the Lead Character, a little hellion ball of negativity who was burdened by the plot to bring death and ruin in his wake- a life written to be turbulent and miserable. Sebastian was, of course, just another character who was pulled to and fro by the story to create the character development of----
âStop blocking the doorway, itâs cold out here!â
---The Protagonist, who was clambering to enter your parlor.
Synopsis: Sebastian takes it upon himself to investigate your home while you sleep to get more insight into your character. The actual nsft part of this is very short.
Tags: Non-Con/Dub-Con Touching, (Sorta) Somno, (Sorta) Oral (Reader Receiving), Panties Stay On During Pervert Time
This is a part of a chapter for a longer Sebastian x Isekai!Reader fic I am working on. I wanted to get some opinions on this- it is pretty Reader-centric so I'm not sure how enjoyable it actually is to read lmao.
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âPardon the intrusion.â Sebastian announced himself in a soft tone as he entered your home holding his own already-lit chamber candlestick holder. He closed the door smoothly behind him and clicked the latch shut. âI am here to collect payment for your rather unscrupulous attention this afternoon. As a gentleman, I cannot ignore the potential damages to my reputation that such a heated stare would stir.â He continued speaking to the dead night-air.
Before he continued his trek from your doorway to your living room, he stopped himself. Looking down curiously at the floor. Your shoes were neatly lined by the door just off of the rough carpet he stood on. Even more curious- there was an old icebox with the door removed, laying on its back and filled with sand. A deliberate display, perhaps you are superstitious?
He walked on.
âMy Lord has not yet asked me to investigate you at your residence but I assume it is only a matter of time. Any Phantomhive Butler worth their salt would act before their master gives the order.â He slides a hand across the top of your loveseat and surveys the various books lining your shelves.Â
Books on history, scientific theory and politics feature cracked spines with ribbons peaking out from worn pages, indicating a sort of obsessive research. He pulls out one book on British history which seems to have suffered the most abuse. A collection published by Oxford University detailing the wins and misery of the United Kingdom which was released only last year. Your annotations and scribblings line the margins- in some instances you have even written down extensive notes on a loose sheet of paper and then folded it inside the page. The thin wood cover has been snapped, leaving half of it to hang limply encased in the scratched fabric. Sometimes your notes are curses, while the more elaborate scribblings propose historical corrections. Sebastian can sense that he holds the work of a madman in his hands, thumbing the torn edges of the paper in thought. He isnât sure what this means but it is certainly a clue.
After sliding the book back into its place on the shelf- with more care than you have ever given it surely- and moves onto the small selection of books tucked into a corner shelf.
Several volumes of Yellow Books were lined by date on one end- and next to themâŚ
âOh my, what a naughty thing you are.â Sebastian chuckles to himself and picks up one of the erotic works.Â
âThe Lustful Turk, what a classic.â He wishes you were able to hear his teasing. But opening the book it becomes apparent that you only read about 20 pages of it, and the paper which did flit between your fingers lacks the raving madness that possessed you in the History compilation. Sebastian grabs another book.Â
âWhippingham Papers, do you fancy yourself a Mistress?â He opens the book but is once again disappointed when your devoted touch is absent from the pages.
With a pout, he puts the books back and barely glances at the clearly enjoyed Penny Dreadfuls that make up the last of your written entertainment.
âSuch a disappointing display of passion from the Lady who stared me down all day.â He sighs and walks into your kitchen.
And he is pleasantly surprised. Like the rest of your home, the kitchen is clean and orderly. You seem to favor wax paper wrappings, canned goods, and preserved meats.
"You have specific tastes, for someone who forgets to eat." He remarks in amusement. The kitchen goes beyond cozy homemaking- there is an edge of perfectionism and caution.
"You don't appear picky...in fact it has been some time since I have seen such a wordly-eater. But goodness, what on earth are you cooking that requires chainmail to help with the cleanup?" He closes the sink cupboard with it's scrubs and soaps. Sebastian can see it in the expensive metal utensils, the scrubbed and oiled wood cutting boards, the glass jars and their meticulous labeling. At least half of your income must be dedicated to your kitchen, and certainly half of your time. The edge of mania- paranoia even- touches every corner of the room. Sebastian feels a great deal of intrigue and satisfaction just looking at it. Simply put- game recognizes game.
He travels upstairs, looking at your minimal decorations. Some paintings, some dried flowers, plants, and items from abroad that he assumes were gifted to you or acquired at a discounted rate. Noticeably there are no personal affects. Commoners may not be able to afford paintings or photography but they still retained objects with memories- show tickets, childhood toys, craft work from a mother or grandmother- but your decorations lacked any sort of history. It was as if you inherited bits and pieces of human connection from others. His candlelight illuminates a mirror at the top of the staircase, it is the dirtiest thing in your home he has seen, the surface distorted with a layer of dust that is found no where else, highlighting its neglect.
The mirror in your bathroom is in better shape, slightly. But it is the least interesting aspect of the space. Once again, you favor jars and labels. Your beauty products follow the same trend as your kitchen, clean and cautious. Thereâs a preference for Chinese and Arabic products, a clear aversion to the arsenic-laden but popular European offerings. The notable exception being the German âTanagraâ dental products that occupied your vanity. Sebastian felt himself charmed and impressed. It was exceedingly rare to find such cultured hygiene habits in England, the Plague combined with the chokehold the Church had on the citizens led to a degradation of public and personal cleanliness. One that Sebastian was in a constant battle with in his current estate.
"You truly are after my heart, My Lady." Perhaps Sebastian would be able to use you as an example to his Master. The surly boy seemed to respect you well-enough, maybe he will curtail his whining when Sebastian pulls out the fluate paste.
He looked through your drawers and cabinets thoroughly, taking in your preferences for scent and aesthetic. Eclectic in source but harmonious in the application of itâs owner. It stirs an attraction in him, you have an artless style unmarred by popular influence, an effortless ownership. If every pot of rogue, bar of soap, and herbal comb is a piece of a puzzle then you are the assembler who makes a complete image out of random scraps. Sebastian resolves himself to studying your preferences further for his own application in decadence as he leaves the room.
Your living room displayed obsession, your kitchen held itâs breath with caution, and your bathroom a conveyance of confidence. All that is left is the most intimate place in your home- your bedroom. The place you have rested since he entered. Curiously, your door is wide open. He walks inside without a sound but his attention is drawn to your sleeping figure before he can take in the myriad of details. If Sebastian was more patient, he would have taken note of how vacant the room felt. Basic dresser and closet, clothes neatly arranged, a plant by the balcony. The door leading outside and the windows are all covered in thick drapes to keep the cold at bay. He would have found it odd that all of your jewelry is new and that you have an iron lock box shoved into the back of your closet. But Sebastian is impatient and approached your bed without a glance in any other direction.
Finally, the most important object of observation. Your reproach for him has made it difficult for Sebastian to properly study you. He sets down the candle holder, the stick is over a fourth of the way melted, he had been roaming your small home for an hour.
He used his clawed finger to lift the hair from your face, putting his nose inches from yours.
âCurious. And, is the rest of you like this as well?â He carefully pulls down the blankets- but pauses. You are in an unthinkable state of undress. Even a commoner woman would wear an ankle length chemise and with your occupation you would surely be able to afford one of great quality. But instead, you wore a summer undershirt with a low swooping collar. Even worse your nethers hid behind menâs boxers which were riding up your hips, leaving the entirety of your legs bare.
His mind reached. Were these your undergarments of choice for the day as well? Under your dress, were your nethers blocked only by a manâs thin bolt of cotton?
âI have noticed, My Lady, that not a single cross mounts your walls.â He raises your undershirt and looks at your chest, focusing on the skin that wraps your ribs and circles your nipples. He readjusts himself on the bed, rocking your body slightly as he straddles you, and uses his other hand to run his fingertips from the column of your throat down your sternum with agonizing restraint.Â
âThey are quite the useless eyesore, arenât they? At least you donât bother yourself with such empty promises of protection. Deluding yourself into thinking you could be safe.â He coos out. Under him your heart quickens and your breaths shorten. His eyes watch the goosebumps raise on your stomach.
âExcited? I know,â His voice drops lower as do his hands, they graze the waistline of your boxers and pull them further up your hips so that the cotton presses against your pussy. âI have known since you fell in my arms. You are completely untouched by this world.â He feels his mouth watering.
The eerie magenta glow of his eyes highlights the puff of your pubic hair, the impression of your lips against the fabric, the faint but present wet spot at the center. He inhales deeply, presses the scent of you against the roof of his mouth and swallows the glob of spit at the back of his throat with an audible gulp. He exhales against your skin, warm and wet on your trembling abdomen.Â
âShall I give you a reward for being so pliant? Or should I take my payment for being the object of your desire?â He lowers his mouth to your sex and licks.
Your entire body jerks under him, a squeak leaving your throat. Sebastian chuckles and traces his nose against the hood of your clit.
âSo sensitive. Dare I even continue? I fear that even my influence wouldnât be enough to keep you asleep, and you would wake up thrashing and begging for release.â He is open-mouth breathing against your mound, his fangs poking your skin through the boxers. âMaybeâŚinstead I should try something more restrained.âÂ
He is mumbling to himself but with his lips ghosting your sex, you feel every word. Your trembling legs closed around his head, unbidden.
âI should put your innocence to use. Stimulate your appetite so that you devour those neglected books of yours downstairs.â He presses an open-mouthed kiss to your pussy, sucking on the entirety of it through the boxers so that it presses against the flat of his tongue. With a wet pop he pulls away and admires the glistening spit mixed with your arousal. âAnd then just looking wonât be enough, you will be begging for a taste. Yes, let's do one more taste for tonight."
While he has resolved himself to one more lick, he instead once again puts his entire mouth over your pussy. He licks and sucks, trying to coax out your slick from between your folds so it can seep into the fabric and mix with his spit. Along with the wet sucking sounds, he releases the occasional groan. Your boxers are still held in his hands, stretched over your hips so that the fabric can dig into every nook of your pussy. He lavishes it until it throbs with want, plucks your clit with his teeth until it strains against the cotton.
"Trying to hide yourself in such loose garments, how is anyone supposed to know the delicious treat that is between your legs if you do not show it properly?" He chides you while stroking his tongue between your folds, shoving the cotton into your hole.
A 'last taste' becomes 15 minutes of sucking until your sex puffs out obscenely through your clothes.
When he is finally satisfied with the debauched and inviting appearance of your pussy, Sebastian gently unwraps your legs from his head and tucks your blankets back over your trembling body. He tuts at your face- eyebrows knit and eyelashes fluttering. He uses the back of his tattooed hand to caress your cheek, a final parting gift. The touch is mindless, neither sweet or threatening. The act is automatic, his body making one final skin to skin connection with yours for the night.
âSweet dreams, My Lady.â
He blows out the candle on your bedside table, which is just a dim wick floating in a pool of wax, and disappears from your room along with the light.
You lay trembling in bed, waiting. It feels safe. It feels like you are alone. But you donât know for sure so instead you just lay there with your eyes shut and your heart pounding. After what feels like an hour you roll onto your side and curl into a ball, releasing a frustrated sigh. Since you have been waken up by a demon praising your religious abstinence and then his promise to torture you in the future, you donât think thereâs much hope in going back to sleep now. Now you were caught in a terrible debate- masturbate now and risk getting caught or masturbate later when you know the demon will be stuck babysitting.
