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bitsandbobsofwriting · 3 years

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Long Lost Prince Part 2;

Merlin leads his people home and Arthur grapples with whether he should keep his feelings to himself or not.

Part 1

Just like Arthur promised, a portion of Camelot's army mixed with around fifty of Merlin's knights are marching towards the Dragonlands within a month.

Merlin and Arthur lead the way, Sir Thornway, Sir Leon, and Sir Mordred following closely behind. It was decided fairly quickly that Hunith and Gaius would stay in Camelot; they were desperate to get home, but they weren't fighters, and whilst the chance of attack was fairly low considering the army behind them and the two dragons circling ahead, Arthur and Merlin were unwilling to risk it.

At a quick pace, Arthur reckons they could've made the journey in a week, but the army is slow-moving, and it takes them almost three to reach the border. They don't hear a peep out of anyone as they move through the countryside, though Arthur does raise an amused eyebrow at Merlin every once in a while, as and when the Warlock chuckles at Kilgharrah whispering in his head about all the various pathetic mercenaries and bandits running away screaming at the sight of his silhouette against the clouds.

The Dragonland, in comparison to Camelot, was a very small kingdom, but it’s capital city was near the far border, backed by miles and miles of towering mountains. In one of the many sessions of reminiscing that Merlin, Thornway, and Kilgharrah have in the evenings, they discuss the mountains at length. They were mostly uninhabited by people, even before the purge, they were far too treacherous for those without a guide and strong magic, and even then the paths were still dangerous.

The great mountains were where the Dragon’s resided; in a network of twisting tunnels and great caverns carved with fire and magic. Merlin vaguely remembers being taken there a few weeks before... before they left. Thornway told him that retreating into the mountains was one of the back up plans, if Uther’s army was too big and there was no hope of escape through the countryside.

(Arthur frowned at that. He was frowning at a lot nowadays, but Merlin just squeezed his leg under the blanket they were sharing (Leon did NOT smirk and Arthur did NOT blush) and whispered, yet again, that he was not his father.)

The escape through the mountains was planned to be a last ditch effort though, even with the dragons leading them and their strongest sorcerers protecting them, the perilous paths, with their knife edge drops and loose rocks and harsh snow, would have taken too many casualties to count. Though, in the end, escaping through the countryside had been just as deadly.

Arthur also used the journey to think about what Leon had said. Though Merlin and The King stuck close by for the whole trek, conversation was sparse (though the silences were comfortable); Arthur was unsure how to bring up the inevitable change in their relationship, though he knows that, for his own peace of mind if nothing else, he should.

They were deep into the Kingdom, having passed all the now doubly abandoned outer villages (Arthur was right in thinking that two dragons and a marching army scared away all the various mercenary groups and bandits) and now only a day’s ride from the capital, that Arthur asked Merlin the question that had been plaguing his mind for weeks. The two of them were sat against a fallen log, the night flourishing around them. The silence over the rest of the camp was tense, the knowledge that they were close hanging in the air, but the silence between Merlin and Arthur was comfortable, peaceful:

“What are you planning on doing?”

Merlin took a noticeably deep breath and Arthur turned to him, trying desperately to keep the worried frown off his face:

“I don’t know. I didn’t really discuss it with ma, we just... wanted to get home, and work from there, see what happens I guess.”

Arthur nodded, gulping slightly before he responds:

“Do you think she wants the throne? Your mother? Or will you become King?”

Merlin chuckles, but Arthur clenches his hands and looks away at the humourless lilt the noise has:

“I’d love to see her back in her crown, on her throne, but it’s been a long time. She did everything with my father by her side, I don’t know if... if she would want to do it on her own. I don’t know that she would cope.-”

The Warlock turns to face Arthur, and it strikes The King how close they are when he can feel Merlin’s breath on his cheek. He turns to meet his gaze once more:

“-What would you do, Arthur? In my place?”

Arthur can only hold his stare for a few moments before he looks to his lap, shaking his head slightly:

“I don’t know, Merlin. Tell me what’s on your mind, I... I can’t promise that I’ll have the answers, but maybe saying things out-loud will help.”

Merlin nods as he shuffles in his spot slightly, and Arthur likes to think that he was moving closer:

“I... I’m desperate to get home. But at the same time, I waited. I waited for twenty years, I’ve built myself a life in Camelot, I’d... given up on ever returning home, and I was just about coming to terms with the fact that Camelot was my home now. And then... this. I have to lead my people back, I know that, I owe it to them, it’s my job to protect them and give them back their heritage-”

Arthur interrupts quietly:

“Your heritage.”

Merlin sighs:

“-yeah, my heritage. My mother, and Gaius, and my people, and... and I, we deserve to go home. But I was only six when we left, I never got all the lessons on how to be a Politician, a King. Yes, I’m the heir, yes, I remember home and the crown and being a little Prince, but I am not built to be a King, Arthur, I don’t want to- I can’t fail my people, but I fear I will. I... I’ve been putting up a brave front for my mum, for Thornway, but I’m terrified. I have no idea what I’m doing, Arthur. What if I mess up?”

Arthur allows a small smile to slip onto his face as he takes Merlin’s fidgeting hands in his own. He shakes his head as he huffs out a short laugh and Merlin looks at him incredulously:

“You couldn’t possibly, Merlin. I know you well, do I not?-”

Merlin nods his head vigorously:

“Better than anyone.”

Arthur fights the blush:

“-And I’m telling you, that you have nothing to worry about. You may not have had official lessons, but you have the mind for politics.-”

Arthur glances to his lap briefly as he takes a fortifying breath, stroking his thumbs over the back of Merlin’s hands, still clutched in his, and looking up to him again:

“-I had all those lessons. All that training, and practicing, and tutoring. But I was still so... lost when I became King. I don’t think I ever told you, Merlin, but the only thing that got me through was you, always by my side. Because I knew that you would never let me fail, because I trusted you to see my shortcomings and make up for them without fuss, without fault. And you did, without asking for any thanks, or recognition, like you do with everything. To this day, you think I’m a good King because of destiny, but that’s utter bollocks and I’ve always known it. I’m a good King, Merlin, because you made me a good man first. And on days when I doubt my own rule, I remind myself of how much faith you have in me, and it gives me strength, because I know you would never allow me to fail, and on the off chance I fall, I know you would catch me. Every good King who cares about his people has doubts, Merlin, but however much faith you have in me? I have the same amount, if not more, in you. You’ll do just fine.”

Merlin looks at him with wide, teary eyes, and Arthur flushes under the scrutiny. The King goes to say something, maybe a flippant joke to de-charge the atmosphere, but before he can utter even a word, Merlin throws himself at him, wrapping tight arms around his shoulders and burying his face in his neck. Arthur almost falls back, but he holds steady, chuckling slightly as he returns Merlin’s hug with equal intensity. Merlin’s muffled voice from his shoulder has Arthur tightening his grip:

“Will you catch me? If I fall?”

Arthur moves a hand up to cradle the back of Merlin’s head:

“You won’t fall. But I’d spend the rest of my life stood below you with my arms out ready, Merlin, if that gave you just a fraction of the belief in yourself that you should have.”

Neither pulled away for what felt like hours, and by the time Thornway wondered over to check on them, they had fallen asleep against the log, arms still firmly wrapped around each other.

He smiles mournfully as he drapes a blanket over them. You would have to be blind to miss the odd moroseness that had overtaken them both, and the old knight knew that his Prince was dreading having to leave Arthur, and that Arthur was dreading the same. They shuffle in their sleep, and Thornway freezes, worried that he had woken them, but when Arthur just mutters Merlin’s name and moves impossibly closer to the other man Thornway sighs. This is going to be... painful for the two of them, and he’s not quite sure how he can help.

After another day of travel, they find themselves moving through the capital city, towards the castle sitting at the foot of the mountains.

The army was left with orders to methodically clear the city whilst Arthur, Leon, Thornway, and Mordred headed straight for the citadel gates. Though the city had fallen into disrepair, the castle looked like it had barely been touched, even by the elements, and Thornway explained that powerful enchantments laid over the ancient building, preventing it from being invaded or damaged by even the strongest of armies:

“It was meant to be a stronghold, somewhere we could hide and keep our people safe in emergencies, but we knew if we did that we would have backed ourselves into a corner. Uther was taking over more and more of the city every day, if we locked ourselves in... we would have just starved. Trying to escape through the city and out into the wilderness was our only hope.”

Merlin nods absent-mindedly as he stares up at the main door:

“Can we even get in?”

His voice is quiet and shaky, and Mordred steps forward to put a hand on his shoulder as Thornway replies with a small smile:

“You’re the heir, the doors will always open for you, Little Falcon.”

Merlin replies with a weak smirk and flushed cheeks:

“You know, I’m not all that little anymore.”

Thornway barks out a laugh as he shakes his head slightly, ruffling Merlin’s hair as the younger man pouts:

“Well, you’ll always be littler than me.-”

Merlin goes to retort, but before he can, his knight steps back and gestures to the great doors in front of them:

“-Go on, it’s time for us to finally come home, I think.”

Merlin gulps and nods, and Mordred lets his hand fall back to his side as the older Warlock takes the steps two at a time, hesitating only slightly before he wraps his hand around one of the doors’ metal rings. It twists easily in his grip, and the door swings open. Merlin has to take a step back and cover his mouth with his sleeve as he coughs, the billowing clouds of dust being disturbed for the first time in two decades making it almost impossible to see into the dark hall.

It settles after a few moments and Merlin takes a deep breath, reaching behind him wordlessly and relaxing only when he feels Arthur take his hand. The blonde King gives his hand a comforting squeeze, and Merlin takes his first shaking steps across the threshold.

He walks through the dark corridors slowly, one hand tightly clenched in Arthur’s, the other trailing along the wall next to him. The rest of the group is silent as they follow him, and nothing can be heard bar their muffled steps over the dusty rugs, and the deep breathing of Merlin and Thornway.

Merlin seems to know where he’s going, so no one questions the corners he turns and the rooms he passes without second thought. The deeper into the castle they get, the darker it becomes, until finally Merlin stops, a long hall stretched out in front of him. His eyes flash gold and the torches lining the walls flare up, illuminating the corridor in golden light. Arthur turns to look at the Warlock beside him, empathetic tears gathering in his eyes as he sees tracks on Merlin’s cheeks.

Merlin turns to glance at Thornway, whose in a similar state, before closing his eyes and flattening his free hand against the wall, digging his fingertips into the cracks as his voice comes out quiet and raspy:

“I know these halls, this stone.-”

Thornway takes a deep stuttering breath, muttering Merlin’s name. Merlin steps away from the wall, looking back to his knight with a weak, teary smile:

“-Do you remember? Chambers filled with golden light, vast halls bustling with people and dragons and magic?”

Thornway gulps and nods, slowly moving towards Merlin and putting a hand on his shoulder:

“I remember.-”

He nods down the corridor, taking a deep breath and clearing his throat before asking:

“-You remember what’s down there?”

Merlin smiles and nods, squeezing Arthur’s hand and leading the group down the hall, obviously impatient to get to wherever their destination is, but unwilling to walk any quicker.

Leon and Arthur share a confused and slightly concerned look but don’t say anything, allowing Merlin and Thornway to lead the way. Once again, Merlin hesitates only slightly before pushing the door at the end of the corridor open. and the six of them gather inside the immense chamber. Like the rest of the castle, it was dusty, but untouched; unlike the rest of the castle, it was bathed in colourful light. The walls were high, the ceiling obviously stretching far above the surrounding rooms, and the afternoon sun shone brightly through giant stained glass windows.

Reds and blues and greens and every other colour imaginable were splashed across the stone floor, painting pictures of dragons and flowers and family, but everyone’s eyes skip over the colourful artwork, instead being drawn to the two golden thrones sat on a dais at the other end of the hall. Merlin lets go of Arthur’s hand, walking towards the thrones with wide eyes as the others stay back, watching with a mix of pride and grief. Thornway follows after a few moments and Leon has to put a hand on Arthur’s shoulder, shaking his head slightly when the King looks at him. Arthur clenches his hands and looks away, but stays by the door, wanting more than anything to be with Merlin through this but also understanding that it wasn’t his place.

Merlin finally reaches the thrones.

He wipes the thick dust from the armrests with shaking, but reverent hands before sitting down on the steps, slightly to the side of the golden seats. He runs his fingertips over the stone, remembering every bump and crack and texture, and Thornway stands behind him, in line with the thrones, putting a hand on his shoulder and muttering:

“Now this brings back memories.”

Merlin nods, looking up at him, tears no longer flowing, but still gathering in his eyes:

“I... I don’t remember much, but I still... know. I know this is where I sat, with you behind me, ma and dad next to me on their thrones. I remember dad promising that when I was older, they’d have a throne made for me, so I could sit with them.”

Thornway nods, slowly moving to sit beside him, ignoring the creaking in his bones as he lets his weight fall onto the stone steps:

“Hmm. foreign royalty and dignitaries thought it odd that the King and Queen let you sit in on meetings, even as a young child, but they were always adamant; they didn’t want to hide you away. You were always safe, of course, but they wanted you exposed to the people and the people exposed to you. I suppose they wanted to nurture a natural love and protectiveness of your people in you; how could they expect you to serve the Kingdom well if you were only doing so out of duty, and not genuine love?”

Merlin hums thoughtfully before smiling briefly up at Arthur, still stood on the other side of the room. When Arthur tentatively returns the smile, despite not hearing the hushed conversation, Merlin looks to Thornway next to him, bumping shoulders with a short giggle:

“Probably why I’ve always been so disrespectful to Arthur, everyone in here was equal, no matter what. I guess that’s why the treatment of servants and commoners was such a shock when I moved to Camelot, I don’t really remember much of home, but it definitely felt different.”

Thornway nods as Merlin stands, holding out a hand to the knight and pulling him to his feet. Merlin’s gaze moves around the room, though he stays rooted to the spot, and Thornway asks his question quietly:

“What do you want to do? Do you want to finish clearing the castle and the city first, or fetch your mother and uncle first?”

Merlin gulps before taking a deep breath, staring at the floor and saying in a small voice:

“I don’t know... what do you think I should do?”

Thornway chuckles and shakes his head:

“This is your decision, Little Falcon. You are the Crown Prince, this is your Kingdom, your city, your people, trust your instincts. What should be done?”

Merlin looks to Arthur once again, reminding himself of the King’s promise to catch him should he fall, before looking back at Thornway with a determined expression:

“Send Kilgharrah to fetch ma and Gaius. We no longer need him as a deterrent, and we’ll still have Aithusa. He can make the journey to Camelot and back in a week at most, knights, even on horseback, will take at least twice that. It’s been a while since either of them went flying, but they’ll remember soon enough, and I trust Kilgharrah to keep them safe. We can keep clearing the city and start rough plans for rebuilding whilst we wait.”

Thornway grins and nods proudly:

“Exactly what I would have suggested. See? You’ll be just fine.-”

Merlin returns his grin shyly, blushing slightly as he rubs the back of his neck. Thornway rolls his eyes good-naturedly before gesturing to the others:

“-Come, My Lord, we should let the others know and head out to send Kilgharrah off as soon as possible.”

Merlin pushes the older knight’s shoulder playfully at the use of a title, but Thornway just smirks and waves Merlin ahead of him.

Arthur, Leon, and Mordred were told of the plan as the group made their way out of the castle again, having to cover their eyes when they step into the bright sunlight. They all smiled fondly as they saw Merlin’s growing confidence, though Arthur had to stamp down the growing anxiety swirling in his stomach; he refused to be sad for himself.

Kilgharrah was flying back towards Camelot within the hour, and Merlin was separating the army into groups and assigning tasks with a strong voice and straight back, taking every question and suggestion in his stride and organising hundreds of people without issue.

Arthur knew that there was still a conversation to be had between himself and Merlin, though with every day that passed he questioned whether it was the right thing to do. He wasn’t oblivious enough not to notice the way Merlin always asked for his council, even when he didn’t need it, always searched for his eyes in the crowd when he addressed his people, but that didn’t mean that his... affections, were returned.

Everyone, even Thornway now, kept shooting him pitying looks, and he figured out fairly quickly that he wasn’t as subtle as he’d like to believe. Leon was the only one he could rely on to convincingly pretend nothing was wrong, and Arthur used that to back up his deliberate ignoring of his stupid emotions.

Six days had passed and the clearing of debris from the lower town was well on its way when Kilgharrah landed in the castle courtyard, his two passengers tense and teary. Only Hunith, Gaius, Merlin, and Thornway took the journey through the castle this time; the others continued to help with the work in the town, not quite feeling that they would be welcome on the emotional tour.

Hunith decided fairly quickly that she would move on to become Queen Mother. Merlin would be crowned King (though he put his foot down and insisted that it wouldn’t happen until everything was properly sorted, and the people were settled back in the city), and though Hunith would still be the most senior of the royals, Merlin would technically have the most power.

Arthur had mixed feelings about that.

As King, Merlin would be a lot busier, would have a lot more responsibilities, but equally, he would have much more control over the use of his time; somehow making it both harder and easier to organise visits between the two of them. Though Arthur, of course, didn’t mention such feelings, just pulled Merlin into another tight hug and congratulated him with a grin.

With the help of Merlin and Mordred’s magic, and the few sorcerers scattered throughout the army they had brought, clearing the town of debris and rebuilding what they could with whatever was left went fairly quickly. Soon enough, the blacksmith’s and an infirmary were up and running, and the farms were ready for work to commence, just as soon as the resources from Camelot arrived.

The castle, whilst it had been fully explored by Merlin, Hunith, Thornway, and Gaius, had yet to be opened up to others or cleaned properly, but no one mentioned it. The gang slept happily in homes rebuilt in the upper town, and accepted Merlin’s excuse of wanting to focus on the people’s infrastructure first.

It was a week or so after Hunith and Gaius had arrived, Kilgharrah and Aithusa had disappeared into the mountains with Merlin’s approval, and Arthur once again found Merlin stood in the otherwise empty, still dusty throne room, staring at the golden seats with his hands in his pockets and his face tense.

Years ago, Arthur would’ve been wrong in his assumption that Merlin hadn’t heard him approach, but just this once he knows that he’s right. Arthur had slowly become an expert on picking up Merlin’s ticks, and even in the low light of the evening the blonde could tell that Merlin had no clue he was there.

Arthur didn’t want to feel like he was intruding, so cleared his throat quietly, only walking closer to the other man when his head whipped around, smiling slightly when he saw it was just Arthur.

Arthur stepped up next to him, and they both stared at the thrones in silence, shoulders brushing ever so slightly. Everything had been so busy in recent weeks that, other than the conversation two weeks earlier, Arthur and Merlin had spent barely any time together, just the two of them; every other time Arthur had found Merlin alone in the throne room he had shut the door quietly behind him and left, too afraid to intrude, not quite ready to start a conversation. The conversation.

After a few minutes, he clears his throat again and speaks in a quiet voice, not looking to the Warlock next to him:

“What’s on your mind?”

Merlin responds almost immediately, but like Arthur, he speaks quietly and doesn’t move his gaze from the thrones:

“Nothing, everything. I’m... doing ok, I think.-”

Arthur nods with a small smile, but Merlin continues before he can say anything:

“-But I’m scared that I’m only doing well because you’re here. You have to go back to Camelot eventually and... it sounds stupid, but I... I don’t want you to go. I need you, Arthur.”

Arthur gulps, finally looking to Merlin’s sorrowful face, though the other man refuses to meet his gaze. He takes his hands out of his pockets, fiddling with them roughly, rubbing his knuckles together and scratching his palms harshly. Arthur clenches his jaw, taking one of Merlin’s hands in his own gently and running soothing fingers over the younger man’s callouses:

“I know what you mean.-”

Merlin looks to him in surprise, his eyes widening, and Arthur continues with a small smile:

“-I told you, Merlin, I’m only a good King because of you. I’ve never had to rule on my own before and I’m dreading going back to Camelot without you.-”

Merlin shakes his head roughly, but Arthur continues once again, before he can disagree:

“-No, Merlin, don’t argue, it’s true. I... I need you as well, I don’t want to be without you, and I’ve no clue how I’m going to cope with a week’s ride between us. Leon tried talking some sense into me back in Camelot, and I know he was right, that all relationships take effort and we’ll have to work incredibly hard to stay in each other’s lives in any significant capacity, and I’m absolutely willing to do anything to keep you close, if not physically then... otherwise, but I’m still...-”

Arthur sighs and looks away, his cheeks just a little bit pink as he continues quietly:

“-I’m still scared to be without you.”

Merlin gulps and squeezes Arthur’s hand in his own, waiting for the blonde to finally look up at him again. The Warlock smiles at the eye contact and Arthur returns it weakly as Merlin finally replies:

“The last ten years of my life have revolved around you, completely and utterly, and I know it’s selfish of me to... not want that to change. I know I’m staying here, with my people, as their King. I would never consider abandoning them, not really, but I desperately want to, just so I can stay with you. We... we’ll figure something out, find some way to communicate quickly. I’m magic incarnate, there has to be a way, I... I’ll make a way, if I have to.”

The tears in Arthur’s eyes finally overflow at Merlin’s determined tone, but before the other man can say anything about it, Arthur pulls him into a tight hug, clutching his cloak in shaking fingers and burying his face in his shoulder, for once feeling grateful for the extra inch in height that Merlin has on him. Merlin returns the hug without hesitation, closing his eyes against the tears, though not managing to stop them from falling as he quietly speaks, his voice thick:

“I promised that I would stay with you until the day I died, but I... I have to leave, I... I can’t-”

Arthur tightens the hug as he interrupts him:

“No, Merlin, you owe me nothing, you don’t have to explain. You’ve already given me my kingdom, now it’s my chance to return the favour. I would never ever ask you to leave this behind just for me.”

Arthur can feel Merlin’s body shaking with silent sobs, and he runs a hand through his hair softly, breathing deeply in an effort to hold in his own bawling.

They stand wrapped in each other for a while, neither willing to let go even when their tears dry up and their breathing evens out. Eventually Merlin rasps out a whispered:

“I don’t want to lose you.”

Arthur pulls back at long last, but doesn’t go far, leaning his forehead against Merlin’s and closing his eyes before replying:

“You won’t. We’ll take turns hosting Yule celebrations, and I can visit on your birthday, and there’ll be tournaments of course, and trade routes, and shared patrols near the border. I refuse to let you slip from my grasp, Merlin, you’ll never be without me, not for long anyway.”

Merlin huffs out a gentle laugh, and Arthur thinks the flutter of his breath over his cheeks and through his eyelashes is the most beautiful thing he’s ever felt. Both of them open their eyes, but they don’t move away from each other, even as they stare, becoming increasingly aware of the very little amount of space between them. Arthur’s brows crease slightly but he ignores the concerned question in Merlin’s eyes, instead lifting a hand to gently cup his jaw, gulping as Merlin’s expression falls into a soft smile.

The King takes a deep breath as he summons his courage, eyes filling with tears again as he clears his throat, whispering so quietly that it’s a miracle Merlin hears him, even with only inches between them:

“Merlin, I... you mean a great deal to... I mean I... -”

He cuts himself off with a quiet huff, and Merlin smirks at the slight blush dusting his cheeks, patiently waiting for him to continue. Arthur shuts his eyes tightly, taking another deep breath before opening them with a newfound determination. He meant it, he’d come this far, he was not going to let Merlin slip away:

“I love you, you are the single most important person in my life, and I would go to the ends of this world just to see you smile. I owe you my life, and so much more than that; you’ve been making promises and swearing oaths to my crown for years-”

Merlin interrupts him quietly:

“To you, to Arthur, not the crown, to you.”

Arthur huffs slightly and rolls his eyes:

“I’m trying to confess my undying love here Merlin, and I’m not very good with this whole... expressing shit, so shut up and let me finish.-”

Merlin snorts but stays otherwise silent, raising an eyebrow to prompt Arthur to continue:

“-Like I was saying. You’ve been swearing things for years, and now it’s my turn.-”

Arthur steps back, taking Merlin’s hands tightly in his own as he lowers himself to one knee, pressing his forehead to the Warlock’s knuckles:

“-I swear on my crown and in the name of Camelot, that I will always love you, that I will always be ready catch you, and that I will never stop putting the work in to make sure I don’t lose you, that you don’t lose me.”

The blonde can hear Merlin’s stuttered breathe and barely has time to process Merlin’s whispered-

“I accept your oath.”

-before he’s being pulled to his feet and urgently kissed.

One of Merlin’s hands settles on the side of Arthur’s neck and the other grips his hip. Arthur’s arms flail for only a moment in his shock before he moves to clutch Merlin’s collar tightly, closing his eyes and kissing back, pushing as much of his devotion into the action as possible and wanting nothing more than to sooth the stress-induced bite marks on Merlin’s lips.

They pull back far too soon, as far as both of them are concerned, once again resting their foreheads against each other as they catch their breath. Arthur’s face slowly morphs into a grin as he says:

“And to think I was stressing over whether I should tell you for weeks.”

Merlin rolls his eyes in response, snorting in amusement as he admits, much to Arthur’s chagrin:

“Believe me, I already knew, you weren’t very subtle. You’ve been sulking.”

Arthur lets out an incredulous huff and pulls back, still holding Merlin’s collar but staring at Merlin’s amused raised eyebrow with wide eyes:

“I am a King, Merlin, I do not sulk.”

Merlin chuckles:

“Well so am I, and yes you do.”

Arthur narrows his eyes slightly:

“Not yet you’re not. That’s besides the point, if you knew... why didn’t you say anything?”

Merlin’ face falls slightly, and if Arthur had to guess, he’d say that Merlin looked a little guilty. The blonde furrowed his brows but pulls his Warlock close again, stroking his jaw softly with his thumb as he waits for an answer:

“I... I love you, Arthur, more than anything, but... I wanted see if you would do anything about it. I knew I would do anything for you, but I needed... I needed to know if you thought I was worth the distance, the effort. If I said something first, I never would have known... I would always be second guessing if you were about to... to break it off, because you didn’t want to put in the frankly ridiculous amount of effort it’s going to take to keep things... good.”

Arthur smiles and shakes his head disbelievingly, landing a quick kiss to the tip of Merlin’s nose and smirking at the way his face scrunches in response:

“Well, now you do know. I will do anything, everything, to keep you happy and safe and loved. You will always be in my heart, if not by my side.”

Merlin smiles, and the two of them resolutely ignore the tears gathering in their eyes as he whispers his reply:

“As will I. I’ll talk to the Druids, Kilgharrah, Thornway, I’m sure we’ll be able to figure out some magical way to communicate.”

Arthur just smiles and nods, taking Merlin’s hands in his own once more:

“Ready to head to sleep? It’s late, and I know you’re tired.”

Merlin takes a deep breath, glancing to the thrones before walking towards the door, keeping Arthur’s hand securely in his:

“Yeah. Though unless we sneak past the others I doubt we’ll get to sleep for a while. Morgana’s been speaking to me in my head and teasing me for weeks and my mum keeps hinting at how politically beneficial a marriage between the kingdoms would be.”

Arthur doesn’t even try to hide his snort, but nods in agreement and squeezes Merlin’s hand, following him out into the star-lit evening with a newfound enthusiasm to see what the future will bring.

THE END OF PART 2!!!

I think I’ll write one more reeeaally short part, a ten years later sort of thing, just because I have a few more ideas about this, but no real huge plot points, just cute little things I want to add in but haven’t found space for yet.

This took a little longer than I expected to come out, but I hope y’all enjoyed it!!

(and yes, I may have taken a little inspiration from The Hobbit movies, sue me (pls don’t, I’m kidding))

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hlizr50 · 3 years

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Update: The Raven and the Songbird

Chapter 6

A little pain relief for everything I've put you through

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When Azriel landed in the training ring he shook his head, exasperated with himself. Now that he was here, what exactly did he plan to do? He couldn’t very well find Gwyn’s room, shake her awake, and beg her to forgive him.

He took a moment to survey the ring, racks of wooden weapons, steel, shields. The Valkyries had grown from desperation to get Nesta on the right track to three females surviving the Blood Rite to a small legion of Illyrians, priestesses, and other fae. They would be outgrowing the space soon, and he pondered that as the stone glowed blue in the moonlight.

Gwyn had never spoken much about the Blood Rite, not that he could blame her. The Illyrian tradition was barbaric under normal circumstances, and much more so with Briallyn’s meddling – with the intention of killing all three of the females. Azriel couldn’t help but grin to himself.

How spectacularly had her plan backfired.

He had not admitted that Cassian was not the only one sleepless and mortified that week, but where the general was a barely-contained force of will and expression Azriel was schooled in hiding his emotion. He’d had to stay stoic – to find Briallyn and Koschei, to support his brother while his mate fought for her life. But his relationship with Gwyn had begun to develop by then, as well. Slowly. It was all he could do some days not to fly in and destroy them all. She had already suffered unspeakable horrors, and the possibility that she had been at the mercy of Illyrian males – bred with a thirst for blood and flesh – had been nearly unbearable.

When that general is finished hurting her she has to feel the soul-crushing terror of watching the next soldier take his place because you don’t come to save her.

He ran a hand through his onyx hair, remembering Nesta’s words. His shadows seemed to wither around him, drooping over his shoulders and wings. How had it come to this?

The shadowsinger sat himself down on the ground, knees drawn up. He rested his forearms on them and gazed at the ink-dark sky painted with stars. Much like his High Lord, seeing the stars had always been a comfort to Azriel – a reminder that he was free from the prison of his upbringing, that he had escaped and had replaced his father and brothers with a family that cared for him and showed him what love and brotherhood really meant.

His found family had grown so much in such a short time. He was grateful for that, for so many reasons. Rhys had emerged from Under the Mountain a broken male and Feyre had helped piece him back together. She had quickly become a glue for all of them, holding them tight and treating them with such love that Azriel was often awed by it. It wasn’t hard defending her, being dedicated to her safety as High Lady. She was far more than a monarch to him.

Then came Nesta and Elain, and what a storm that had been. Cassian and Nesta were meant to be since the beginning, but that path had been long and painful, and not just for his ears and the new… sanitation concerns for public living spaces in the house. Sometimes he was surprised that he counted Nesta as his friend. She had been intentionally hurtful so many times. How often had he seen the pain in his brother’s countenance because of something she had said or done? And yet now he understood her, maybe more than he cared to admit. She had been hurting and afraid and overflowing with self-loathing.

He had hurt Gwyn for those very reasons.

Gwyn.

He felt his shoulders and wings sag with the weight of Nesta’s questions tonight. Accusations thinly veiled as questions, and each one like a carefully crafted throwing knife plunged into his gut. He’d made her cry for at least the third time in as many weeks. Training and working to exhaustion, and not being able to sleep because of the worsening nightmares – nightmares that had cruelly transformed to remind her that he had abandoned her.

Even his shadows felt heavy.

The spymaster hung his head, shame like a blanket smothering him in summer heat. How could he ever forgive himself for causing that pain? It was a fate he had personally prevented, and now she was forced to experience it in her dreams. Because of him. Because he was a coward.

Azriel let his eyes drift closed and focused on his breathing. Sleep would not be an option tonight, and he could only pray that the priestess was sound asleep in the house, getting the rest she so desperately needed. Training didn’t seem to be in the cards either, as he sifted through the torrent of thoughts and emotions. He just needed to sit and think. And in the morning, he would speak with Gwyn as soon as he could. He would fall to his knees and beg for forgiveness if he had to.

“Azriel?”

The inky tendrils flitted to life around him at the sound of that voice. Cauldron damn him, of course she would find him now. But part of him was relieved to be able to talk to her so soon – that she was even here.

“Azriel, are you alright?” His heart squeezed at the softness of Gwyn’s voice, music to his ears – a sweet melody with harmonies of concern and kindness. How could she still be so kind to him?

“I don’t deserve to be asked that. Especially not by you,” he murmured, staring down at the stone between his feet.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Azriel.” Her soft footsteps seemed to echo in his head, a ringing alarm that she was coming closer. He didn’t want to run from her, but his heart was still racing. How could he face her inevitable rejection? He noticed her shadow fall over the space between his legs and when he looked up she was crouching in front of him, eyes shining with sincerity. “You deserve for people to care about you. And I do. I won’t just leave you out here alone when anyone could see the weight of the world pressing down on you.”

Gods, but wasn’t that exactly what he had done to her?

The shadowsinger had no air in his chest as he studied her. The expression on her face was difficult to describe – caring and teasing and scolding all rolled into glittering ocean eyes and the slightest quirk of her full lips. She rose and his gaze followed as she held her hand out to him, beckoning him to stand with her. It took more courage than he cared to admit to place his violence-scarred hands in hers, but their warmth spread through him like sunshine warming his bones as she helped him to his feet.

She didn’t let go, and that gave him the strength he needed.

“Nesta found me at the river house tonight. She had… a lot to say,” Azriel began as he saw color bloom on Gwyn’s cheeks. She looked down to their hands.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for her to –“ He squeezed her hands and she snapped her head back up to meet his gaze.

“I deserved every single bit of venom she threw at me, Gwyn. Do not apologize.” The shadowsinger looked down, then, unsure how to move forward or which of his many transgressions he should address first. So he asked, “Is it true? About the nightmares? That… that I don’t come for you?” He could feel the emotion catching in his throat, cracking his voice. His eyes burned as he looked back to the priestess. Her lips were pressed together as she tried to keep the silver lining her eyes from spilling down over her cheeks.

“Yes,” she whispered, lashes lowering as the silent tears fell. Each droplet was a nick in his heart, the guilt and pain salting those wounds. How could she be so strong, to endure this agony and yet hold the hands that caused it? He released one of the hands and lifted it to her face, hesitating with his fingers a breath away from her cheek. Azriel had his mouth open to ask if he could touch her when she leaned her face into his palm. He brushed at her tears with his thumb before bringing up his other hand, cupping her jaw.

“Gwyn,” he breathed, pleading silently for her to look at him. The shining pools that opened to him were so enthralling, depths shimmering with trepidation. Gods, what he would do to bring back the joy in those eyes. “I will always come for you. No matter what. And I will never be able to forgive myself that there might be any part of your mind or your heart or your soul that could believe otherwise.” He watched as she took a shuddering breath, but her eyes held his and he was emboldened.

“I’m so sorry, Gwyn. For all of this. I was a fool and a coward and I let my guilt and my fear own me. And it only hurt you.”

Gwyn’s hands covered the scars on his own as she pulled them away from her face, returning them to their place entwined between them. Azriel stayed silent and her head tilted as she studied him.

“What could you possibly be afraid of?” she released a hoarse, hiccupped laugh. The shadowsinger could only gulp down a breath and look toward the stars.

“I… I was afraid of the feelings I was developing for you. And of the pain I would feel when you would see all the things I have done and the monster that I am and run away from me. Or that you would be hurt because of this darkness inside of me.” His eyes had returned to hers and, while he saw understanding swimming there, her expression was uncompromising.

“Have I not been hurt already?” Her bluntness shocked him, and he felt the slightest twinge of panic that told him to run. Her fingers tightened like a vice around his hands and he saw her eyes darken, as if she knew what he was thinking. “Don’t you dare even think about running away, Azriel. Not now. I deserve better from you.” Even his shadows seemed focused on where their hands touched, intent on keeping them tied together.

She did. She deserved so much better. Better than what he’d done. Shame washed over him that he could have thought to flee from her. Again. He had already wronged her… too many times. But he had come here determined to right those wrongs. Azriel wasn’t sure if he would ever be able to give her what she deserved, if he would ever be good enough for her. But he sure as fuck was going to try.

“You’re right,” he conceded, that panic replaced by resolution and a faint, foolish glimmer of hope. “I’m not going anywhere.” She grinned softly and he thought his chest would burst from relief. They were still here, together, talking. They were going to figure this out.

“Why did you run, Azriel? If you care for me, like you say,” she demanded, that sea-deep stare piercing straight into his soul. “Why? Why are you afraid of me seeing who you are?”

He should have known that she would demand an explanation. Gwyn was strong and confident. She knew her worth and what she deserved, and him sharing the story behind all of his idiotic decisions was the very least of that. But he was not prepared, and he didn’t want to. He never wanted to darken others’ lives with his history.

“That’s… a long story, Gwyn,” he huffed, hoping that might be the end of it. But he saw her eyes, determination and challenge and fire blazing blue in the moonlight.

“We have all night.” She released his hands and gestured to the darkness around them. She would not be deterred, would not back down until she accomplished her goal. It was one of the many things he admired so much about her. “Should we sit?”

Azriel found himself smiling as he nodded, sitting cross-legged on the stone. Even though the impending admissions rang as a death knell in his mind, it warmed his heart to know that she cared so deeply – that she wanted to know the worst of him.

He had put her through enough, and he could relive his pain and push out his fear for this night, if only for her.

“I don’t know where to start.” He scratched the back of his neck, a nervous tick he was usually good at hiding. But then Gwyn – that sweet, incredible, special female – gathered his other hand with those long, pale, graceful fingers and he felt the tension ease. He looked at her, taking in the beauty and serenity of her features. Freckles were scattered over cheeks stained pink, an encouraging smile crinkling the corners of her eyes.

“The beginning seems like a good place, don’t you think?”

So that’s where he began.

~~~

Azriel was not proud that he could not find the strength to look at Gwyn as he walked her through his story, but he could still hear and feel her reactions. And he dared a glance at her from time to time, trying to read everything her eyes were saying. He told her about the cell he was kept in as a child, how little touch or affection or love he had experienced, and how the shadows around him seemed to move and react and speak. She clutched his hand tighter when he told her about what had happened to them, that his brothers had set fire to them to see how he would heal. She hadn’t said a word, but he smelled the salt from tears and felt impossibly soft strokes of her thumbs over those scars.

He explained his time in Illyria and the fearsome reputation he and Cassian had to maintain, simply to make up for the circumstances of their birth. And while Cassian had been brute force and power, Azriel was deadly calm, precision, intellect, terror. He admitted to her how he had hoped to find validation in his role as spymaster under Rhysand’s father, and that he could truly revel in his duties under the right circumstances.

“Those soldiers I killed in Sangravah,” he told her. “I would have enjoyed dragging out their deaths as long as possible for what they did to you.”

Gwyn’s hands were so gentle around his as he told her how much the death and darkness grated against his soul, and how he’d had nothing to tether him to the light. He talked to her about Mor, a waste of literal centuries. And then, somehow, he told her about Elain. Not that he’d loved her, because he never had. But that he’d felt entitled to her, like he deserved what his brothers had found with the other two sisters. That he was the third brother and she was the third sister and that was all that mattered. His entitlement, his lust and desire for the bond - as opposed to love for the person - just another ugly facet of his true self.

“So I suppose that brings me to you, to these past few weeks.” Azriel made sure to meet her gaze for this. “I panicked after the necklace, because I wasn’t prepared for what it would do to me to see that hurt in your eyes. And when I told you things would go back to normal I still didn’t know what to do. I thought distance would be best between us, because I knew you would be able to draw me out of myself. And that was dangerous.”

The shadowsinger’s throat burned with emotion when Gwyn smiled softly. He could see so much roaring in her gaze, but there was no sign of pity or disgust or fear. Azriel ran his free hand through his hair before resting it atop their other clasped hands. Wetness burned his eyes, but he didn’t care.

“When I found you in the rain that night, I could smell your tears and I saw your hands – split knuckles and bruised, swollen fingers. And,” he choked down his feelings even as the tears began their descent, “and I was torn apart with the guilt. It was my fault that you were doing that to yourself. I might has well have put those marks on you with my own two vile hands.” Azriel closed his eyes and let the tears fall – not many, but enough. The silence rang through his ears, his history hanging between them. He waited for the fear, the rejection, especially when she drew her hands away from his. But his eyes snapped open when delicate calloused fingers stroked his cheeks. Gwyn had risen to her knees to dry the wetness on them, her stare a storm of trust and understanding... and compassion.

“Thank you for telling me your story, Azriel,” she whispered. “I see you. You have nothing to fear. I’m still right here.” Then she smiled brightly, and he unraveled.

“Gwyn, I don’t know if you can ever forgive me – I wouldn’t blame you if you couldn’t. But I care for you as more than a teacher, more than a friend. You are a light in my dark life and these past few weeks have been miserable without you in them.” Her smile widened slightly and he reached out a thumb to catch a stray tear that had fallen from those precious, beautiful eyes. He felt his own grin pushing his cheeks against her warm hands.

“I care for you, too, Azriel. As more than a friend.”

He held that watery stare until she released his face. She stood up, brushing off her knees before reaching her hands to him again to help him to his feet. He tilted his head curiously at the determination flashing in her eyes.

“Here is what’s going to happen,” she began, looking down at her hands in his. “Before we pursue anything… romantically, I need to be sure that this isn’t something that will happen again.”

He opened his mouth to speak but she pressed her fingers against his lips. “We both have darkness and fear and I understand that. But if you feel it taking over, I need you to come to me, to talk to me. Because if I open my heart to you and this happens again – if you insist on shutting yourself off from me or deciding for me what I deserve or want – I will be heartbroken.” The confession left Azriel raw.

“What can I do, Gwyn? How can I reassure you?” He could hear the desperation in his own voice, but he couldn’t find it in him to care.

“We are going to go back to how things were before this mess.” She had returned her hand to his and gave both a squeeze. A shadow darted down around them, as if to approve of the contact. “The way it was that led us to realize that we feel the way we do. And you are going to prove to me that we can have what we had before I found out about that stupid, lovely necklace. Do you think you can do that?” He could have fallen to his knees seeing the hope in those ocean eyes, mirroring the spark of hope inside of him. It was something he hadn’t dared to let himself fully feel with her.

“I will.” Azriel’s voice was low and rough. “I swear it.”

“And then we can decide what comes next. And I can prove to you that your hands and your darkness are just as important to me as the rest of you.”

He was grinning like a fool, he knew. He still had a chance, because Gwyneth Berdara was the definition of grace and love. And by the Mother he would not screw this up.

He felt more than saw her wrap her arms around his back, pulling herself into him. For a moment he was frozen by the intimacy of it – shocked by her initiation of it – but he quickly let his arms settle around her waist. He breathed in, pulling her tighter, and leaned his cheek on the crown of her head.

“Don’t let me down, Shadowsinger,” she muttered into his chest. He chuckled and dared to move one hand to comb through her hair. “I want to see… what comes next.” He wanted to see, too. He wanted to know what it was like to look to the future and see more than dread and loneliness and exhaustion. He could see it with her.

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Berdara.”

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magickastiel · 3 years

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Somewhere Off in the Dark (Dean/Cas) 7.3k

It’s easier to be with Cas in the dark.

Dean hasn’t got to see those eyes at full brightness, boring into his soul. Instead he can just talk and not worry about the embarrassment scalding his face or the discomfort twisting his spine.

It’s dangerous being with Cas in the dark.

Gift for @jackttwist for the @starrynightdeancas gift exchange! ✨

mild warning for a scene during early s13 so dean is very self-destructive and doesn't care about his own life. It's along the same times as the show but if you're triggered by that, skip from: 'Dean is sick' and pick up again at: "The Empty?" Dean whispers, feeling cold' for the cute stuff!

a03 or keep reading 💖

Dean will never get used to waking up and seeing eyes peering back at him.

He starts awake, half-reaching for the gun tucked under his pillow before he can pull himself back. He glares and throws the blanket off his lap, immediately regretting it when the cool night air hits his legs.

“Hello, Dean.” Castiel says, voice dry and face impassive. He watches without shame as Dean clambers to his feet, eyes skimming over his legs, his rucked up t-shirt, the scowl on his face.

A chill shoots up Dean’s back and, not for the first time, he wonders how many pairs of eyes Castiel really has. He walks from the couch to Bobby’s kitchen for something to do with his overly observed body.

“I’ll shoot you one day.” He says over his shoulder. “That’ll show you.”

“What will that show me?”

Dean wants to be annoyed but instead he snorts with laughter. Castiel seems to have this affect on him.

“Nothin’. Forget it.” His eyes itch with fatigue and he rubs them with the back of his hand. “You want coffee?”

“I have no need for - ”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Dean turns to lean his back against the counter and almost jumps again when he sees that Castiel has silently followed him to the kitchen. He can count the number of worn tiles between his bare feet and Castiel’s shoes. He has to swallow before he speaks. “Didn’t ask if you needed it. You want some?”

The angel’s eyes travel over him again and Dean feels like an ant under the hot glare of a magnifying glass on a sticky summer’s day.

“Yes.” He says eventually.

“Right.” Coffee.

He potters about, feeling eyes on him wherever he goes. He doesn’t let his hand shake.

By the time they’re sat back on the couch with two half-empty mugs, Dean’s body has loosened as he becomes accustom to the silent scrutiny. There’s no looming threat and no harsh judgement because Castiel is as he always is – curious. Every movement is apparently fascinating to him, every sentence Dean says is worth contemplation and every sip of coffee is a new experience to mull over. Again, Dean is surprised how little it annoys him.

“You remember the first time you woke me up here?” He says after a long pause. “You threatened to throw me back into Hell. Real nice of you.”

In the dark, Dean has to rely on Castiel’s voice to judge his expression. “Yes.” The word sounds solemn, like he’s disappointed that Dean remembers it. “I did say that.”

Dean takes the last glug of coffee to think. There’s an obvious question that’s been lingering between them for the last ten minutes.

“Why did you come here tonight?” He asks and doesn’t know what he wants the answer to be.

Even though he can’t see him properly, he’s sure Castiel is staring straight at him even as he ponders his answer. It’s another reminder of how alien he is. He doesn’t have that need to look away, to hide his face as his mind races to find the right way to say the right thing. Dean envies him that.

“I wanted to apologise.”

“Apologise for what?”

When he speaks again, his tone is unnervingly soft. “Your friends.”

Ellen. Jo.

Dean’s heart clenches and he feels the urge to move, unable to sit still in his grief. His knee knocks against Castiel’s solid thigh but the angel stays perfectly still.

“I should have been with them.” Castiel continues his voice low and smooth. If it wasn’t for the subject matter, Dean might think he was being read to sleep like a troubled child. “I should have protected them.”

“Not your fault.” He mumbles and means it. It never occurred to him to blame Castiel. He’s been too busy blaming himself to consider anyone else’s actions.

“I arrived with them and I should have stayed with them. I let them down. I – I let...”

Castiel is hesitating. This is new behaviour for him and it’s dangerously human.

“I...let you down.”

Dean feels like he’s been doused with cold water. He doesn’t blame Castiel for not wanting to say that. It’s so ridiculously untrue and so goddamn weird to say that he let Dean down specifically. It’s too much focus on him, on them.

“You didn’t let us down, man.”

“You are being kind.” Castiel says in neither admonishment nor gratefulness. He just states it like it’s a sure fact. “Thank you. But I shall endeavour to make it up to you.”

“Oh.” Dean says feeling dumb and strangely warm. “Right. But like I said, nothing to make up for.”

“You are not sleeping.”

He almost gets whiplash at the sudden change in conversation. “Uh well, no, not right now. You did wake me up.”

“Allow me to clarify: you do not sleep enough.” The still air is disturbed by the rustle of his trenchcoat and the sharp clack of the ceramic mug being placed on the table.

“Kind of a lot going on, dude.” Dean says, trying to protest as Castiel pulls his mug from his hands and places that on the table too. “Uhhh, what are you doing?”

“Lie back down.”

Dean does as he’s told but frowns too. He tells himself it’s a good compromise. “You gonna stare at me until I fall asleep or something?”

“I could but I believe that will be unnecessary.” He stands and looms over the couch. He looks intimidating from down here – tall as a skyscraper and dark as a void. Dean clutches at the blanket for something tangible to hold on to. “Your body still hasn’t recovered from the physical and emotional trauma of the last week. And when you sleep you have nightmares thus reliving the pain. You must rest completely to correct this and regain your full strength.”

Dean snorts. “Oh, yeah? So what you gonna do – zap me to sleep?”

“Yes.”

“Wait – ”

Two fingertips brush his forehead and he sleeps.

Dean can’t stop looking.

Even as Benny regales them with some batshit story, even as he eats his handful of berries, even as he wanders the perimeter of their little camp.

Cas is here.

Like, actually here.

He hadn’t let himself lose hope but it had been slipping. Just around the corner, he’d think. One more fight and he’ll be there. On and on.

And then there he was, alive and washing his face like he’d just woken up after a bad night’s sleep at a motel.

Dean’s eyes flit over to him again. He isn’t used to it yet. They only found him a few hours ago. Man’s gotta bask in having his best friend back.

“Dean? You hear me?”

He sighs and turns back to Benny who, to his credit, doesn’t even look annoyed. “Yeah, yeah. Sleeping, shifts, food.”

He snorts. “Got the gist, at least.”

“I’ll take the first shift. Gotta...” He glances over his shoulder at Cas again. He isn’t quite sure what he’s got to do, but he knows it involves Cas.

“Like that, huh?” Benny says, a slight smirk on his face.

“What do you mean?” He mutters, grabbing a stick and poking the meagre fire for something else to focus on.

“Nothin’, nothin’.” He waves a hand, but the smirk hasn’t left his face. “Just startin’ to feel like a third wheel, is all.”

Dean’s face heats unpleasantly. He knows it’s not like that but he can’t quite bring himself to argue about it. Instead he stares into the fire as Benny wanders off to rest. He feels horribly cracked open. He’s gotten used to his hardened shell – Purgatory took all the resilience he had and coated him in it. But the first sight of Cas had split him apart and now his usual racing thoughts have come rushing back with the force of a ten tonne truck. He almost wishes he could go back to how he was yesterday, pure focus and drive.

Now he feels small next to the fire, between a vampire and an angel.

He’s just one slightly shitty human lost in Purgatory.

“Dean?”

Cas joins him suddenly, with that eerie angelic stealth. Dean only just manages to stop himself from jumping like a kid. Cas sits on his left, watching him intently.

Everything is kind of colourless in Purgatory. It drove Dean insane for the first few days; everything seemed slightly off and unreal. Then he got used to it – the lacklustre trees, the blank water, even the fire looked kind of grey.

Cas’ eyes are still very blue.

It’s the first real colour he’s seen in months.

“Dean?” He says again, sounding slightly alarmed. “Are you alright?”

He clears his throat. “Yeah. Just...weird to see you, I guess.”

“Oh.” Cas blinks. “I...I suppose it is strange to see you too. I have seen you from a distance a few times. If several leviathans caught me at once, it would take me a while to kill all of them. Each time, I was very aware of how you were likely closing in on my location. Then I would catch a glimpse of you through the trees and that was when I knew I needed to get ahead again.”

“You what?!” Dean hisses, only keeping his voice down for Benny’s sake. “You mean you’ve been in spitting distance before and you didn’t say anything?! You could have...” He thinks about the sleepless nights, the desperation to find him alive. “I was afraid you were dead.”

“I am sorry, Dean.” Cas squints and tilts his head a little. Dean feels his anger dissipate. “I wanted nothing more than to join you. Together, I am sure we can conquer almost anything.” Right. That’s a total normal thing to say to someone. “But I was the one who released the leviathans. It was my responsibility to deal with them. If they got to you I would never be able to forgive myself.” His gaze drops to the fire. “I will never be able to forgive myself.”

“Don’t.” Frustration pushes at Dean’s skull, making his eyes water. “Yeah, ok. You did something pretty dumb. But you did it because you were trying to save the world. I should have...if I hadn’t been so damn caught up with other stuff. If I had just been there more - ”

“Dean, you cannot blame yourself.” Cas sounds genuinely horrified at the thought. “It was my decision and the consequences are mine to bear. All I can hope is that you can find a way to forgive me. And Sam - ”

“Sam’s good now.” Dean says quickly, half to reassure himself. “You screwed him over, not gonna lie. But at least you fixed it.”

Neither of them speaks for a while. Cas seems intent on watching the fire while Dean’s shell shatters a little more. Had he really had forgiven Cas just like that? He thought of what John Winchester would say about that. To say Cas had ‘screwed Sam over’ was a bit of an understatement. He had totally destroyed his mind. And here Dean was, casually forgiving him like it was no big thing.

It isn’t just words either. Dean really doesn’t feel any animosity towards the angel at all. Look out for Sammy. That had been drummed into him since he was four years old, when he carried his baby brother from their burning home. He still lives by it too. So it’s unnerving to forgive someone who hurt Sam. He’d been angry at first, sure. Upset, if he was being honest. He’d been hit with the double whammy of worrying about Sam and being betrayed by the only real friend he’d ever had. The only one that sticks around.

Well, that isn’t quite true. Cas always leaves but he always comes back too.

Now Dean just feels happy. And tired. He’s pretty tired too.

“You should sleep.” Cas says, softly. “I can watch over you.”

His knee jerk reaction is to tell the angel that’s weird. In any other situation it is weird. But here, he really does need someone looking out for him.

“’Angels are watching over you.’” He says, thinking of soft blonde hair and a warm smile. He swallows around the lump in his throat. “That’s what my mom used to tell me every night when she put me to bed. Guess that’s true tonight, huh?”

“I suspect she did not imagine that to come true in Purgatory while you are travelling with an angel and vampire, but the sentiment is lovely nonetheless.”

Dean can’t stop himself from grinning as he settles down, wedging his jacket under his head like Benny did.

“Do we have to travel with the vampire?” Cas grumbles beside him, sounding wonderfully like himself.

Dean raises his eyebrows against his makeshift pillow. “What, you don’t like Benny?”

“I don’t like the way he acts.” His eyes narrow, glaring at the sleeping figure the other side of the fire. “He looks at you like he wants to...consume you.”

Dean laughs and, for a moment, the clearing rings with it. “Dude trust me: Benny ain’t gonna eat me. He’s got plenty of food around.”

But Cas still looks unsure. “That’s not...” He sighs. “Yes, I suppose you are right.” He gives Dean one of those rare, small smiles as he looks down at him. “Sleep.”

Dean does as he’s told for once, letting his aching limbs stretch out next to the warmth of the fire and under his best friend’s watchful gaze.

But after a few moments, he can’t resist another look, even as his body succumbs.

“You can sleep, Dean.” Cas says, almost chastising. “I’ll watch over you.”

“Ain’t that. Just...” His tongue feels too big for his mouth and his heart feels too heavy for his chest. “Just checkin’ you’re still there, is all.”

As he falls asleep, he hears his voice one more time.

“I’m still here. I’ll always be here.”

When Dean asks Cas where he can drop him, the ex-angel avoids his eyes and says something about being ‘between places’.

Yeah, Dean’s the worst friend in the world.

He drives them to a motel because that’s the least he can do.

He mentally berates himself on the drive there while Cas is quiet in the passenger seat. This really is the least he can do. He should be driving Cas home to the Bunker, buying him dinner on the way back. He should be apologising for throwing him out. But if he starts apologising that means he’s got to start explainingand that’s something he really can’t do. Not yet.

So he drives his awesome best friend to a shitty motel and books them a shitty twin room and orders a shitty pizza.

Once they’ve eaten in relative silence, Cas perches on the edge of one of the beds staring wide-eyed and blank faced at the television. Unfortunately, it’s not Dr. Sexy. Just some grim drama about murders and family betrayals. Like they don’t have enough of that to deal with already.

He looks small and Dean has the sudden urge to rest a hand on his shoulder.

“Dude,” He says, busying his restless hands with clearing up the greasy napkins and tossing them into the bin. “Don’t sit that close to the TV. You’ll get square eyes.”

For what seems like the first time in an hour, Cas blinks. “Is that possible?”

Dean chuckles and settles back on his bed, kicking off his boots with a groan. “Nah, just somethin’ parents tell their kids. Dad used to say it to me all the time.” His smile slips as John Winchester’s dark eyes narrow in his mind. “Used to watch so much Scooby Doo it drove him mad. ‘Turn that TV off and do something useful! Ain’t got no use for a son with square eyes!’” He fidgets on the bed, fighting the urge to pull a blanket over himself.

“Oh.” Cas half turns away from the TV. “That seems unnecessarily harsh.”

Dean shrugs. “Just watched it when he was gone.” Had plenty of time.

“I assume you had plenty of time to watch it then.”

Huh.

Dean’s stunned into silence long enough for Cas to look over. Something on his face makes Cas look guilty.

“I’m sorry. It isn’t my place to comment on your father.”

“No.” Dean says but isn’t sure if he means it.

Cas stands, flicking off the TV and sitting against the pillows of his own bed. The quiet makes Dean realise that he’s alone with Cas in a motel room. He isn’t sure why it sets his teeth on edge – it shouldn’t be any different from sharing with Sam. So why does he feel a bit too hot under his shirt?

“Family is a complicated thing.” Cas continues, oblivious to Dean’s discomfort.

“Y-yeah.” The word sticks in his throat. “You miss ‘em? The other angels?”

In the soft lamplight, Cas’ profile looks striking as he thinks. “Yes and no. I miss the simplicity of being with them.”

“Simplicity? Can’t imagine Heaven ever being simple.”

“Oh, it’s not, not really. But I knew my place and I knew what I required to do. And I was known. Understood.”

“You think I don’t get you?” Dean asks before he can stop himself.

Cas leans back further, turning slightly to rest his head on the pillow. His eyes look almost velvet in the soft light. Dean finds himself turning a little too, cheek brushing the cotton pillowcase.

“I think you understand me more than I could have ever hoped for.”

“Oh.” Dean feels struck dumb and something inside his chest clunks. “That...that’s what friends are for, I guess.”

“Yes.” Cas smiles, gummy and a little crooked where he’s resting his head. “It is.”

Dean rolls onto his back, heart hammering as he stares at the ceiling. Cas’ eyes are still on him – he knows the feel of that gaze like a dangerous coastline knows the relentless glare of a lighthouse.

The silence drags and his fingers itch to switch the TV back on.

“Coulda got you your own room.” He mutters, almost to himself. Least I could do. “Give you some privacy.”

“No.” Cas says firmly. “This is...this is good. Thank you.” He sounds so earnestly grateful Dean almost cringes in shame. “I spend quite a lot of time alone. It’s good to have company.”

“Right, yeah. Of course.”

“But if you’d rather - ”

“Nah, it’s all good.” He says and is surprised that he means it. He’s counted the stains on the ceiling three times and his heart is slowing to its normal pace again.

“Dean?” Cas sounds a little slower now. “Tell me something?”

“Uh, sure. What?”

“Anything.”

“Like a story?” Dean frowns and looks over to see Cas’ eyes are already half-closed.

“Hmm.”

“Uhhh...” He flounders. He hasn’t done this since he was a kid, making up stories for Sammy to fall asleep to in the back of the Impala. “Ok. Once, this guy woke up. Let’s call him...Dan. He woke up and realised he was underground, being suffocated. So after he panicked a bit, he dug his way out and almost goddamn blinded himself ‘cos it was a sunny day, right? He walks to this old gas station and keeps thinking ‘how am I alive?’ ‘cos he’s pretty sure he was dead.”

He knows he isn’t telling it well but it doesn’t seem to matter because Cas hums again, sounding pleased this time. Dean feels his own body melting like hot wax into the bed as he watches Cas’ eyes close.

“Then he looks in the mirror and sees he’s got this mark on his shoulder. A handprint. So he’s like, ‘who the hell left that there?’”

Cas chuckles, mouth thick with sleep. Dean pulls a blanket over himself and wraps an arm around one of the pillows.

“Turns out, his best friend left it there. But here’s the thing: he ain’t met him yet.”

Dean smiles as Cas’ breathing gets even and heavy. He watches for a moment and squeezes the pillow tight against his chest before turning out the light.

He dreams of Hell but when he wakes, all he can remember are dark wings beating hard against fire.

Dean is sick.

He throws up until his body is shaking, until his throat is raw and his eyes are bloodshot.

He slumps down next to the toilet and takes in breaths he doesn’t really want. The cool title presses against his burning back and he closes eyes. Which is a horrific mistake.

A beam of light streaming from his mouth, from his eyes, from the hole in his chest -

His body jerks and his foot knocks the empty whiskey bottle with a jarring clatter. Yeah, that’s rule one, buddy. Don’t close your fucking eyes.

He stands on shaking legs, picks up the empty bottle and goes back to his room where he’s stashed another. Thankfully, he doesn’t pass Sam on the way. He can’t deal with the pity, he can’t deal with the logic and he can’t deal with his stupid, childish hope. Mom’s gone. Ain’t no sense in pretending otherwise. Gone just like –

Nope.

He opens his door and chucks the empty bottle down again, letting it roll off to some dark corner of his room. He scoops up the next one and cracks open the top, taking a deep swig. It hits him hard; neat alcohol on his turbulent stomach makes him gag but he perseveres. He’s exhausted but he can’t close his eyes.

So he’s aiming for blackout.

It can’t be too far away – he can’t remember when he last ate. He’s aching all over, boiling hot and he’s...

Sobbing.

“You...you son of a bitch...” He sways a little when he looks up at the dingy ceiling but he’s trying to talk beyond that. “Whydya hav’ ta...fuck!” He rushes over to the sink and throws up the whiskey he just swallowed. It burns even more on the way up.

Once he’s stopped retching, he tries to take another swig but his body won’t let him do it. He collapses onto the floor again, legs too weak to stand. The bottle clangs in the sink, probably spilling all of its contents down the drain. He makes a weak sound of protest but doesn’t move.

His eyes feel tight and dry against the salty wetness on his face. He wonders how far above him Heaven is. If he’s even there. Something tells him he isn’t. If he is, surely he would have found a way to get back.

Dean whispers his name, a private prayer of desperation. There’s still some dumb part of him that thinks he might just appear again, slightly dishevelled and annoyed at Dean for not looking after himself.

But he doesn’t.

The silence stretches and Dean contemplates hitting his head on the floor. If he does it hard enough, there’s a good chance it’ll knock him out for a while, maybe a few days if he’s lucky.

He tries to lift his head but it’s too heavy. A wave of panic rushes over him as he starts to feel paralyzed – trapped in his own body and smothered with grief.

“Cas?” He chokes, a fresh wave of tears rushing down his face. “You...you’re meant to come back. You always come back. You gotta...you gotta come back, man. Please. Please, I can’t - ”

I can’t do this without you. I don’t want to. Don’t make me.

With all his might, he rolls onto his side before he’s suffocated completely. His head spins as he turns, his stomach churns and his eyes roll back. When he finally passes out, he doesn’t see anything at all.

“The Empty?” Dean whispers, feeling cold.

“Yes.” Cas whispers back. He’s only whispering because Dean is. Dean feels completely normal about that and not giddy at all.

“What was it like?” He doesn’t want to know but has to ask all the same.

“Empty.” Cas says, deadpan.

“Oh ok, smartass – thanks for clearing that up!” Dean huffs good-naturedly and has to grip the railing until his knuckles turn white. He’s got so much happiness in him his body doesn’t know what to do with it. He feels energy thrumming through him and he has the sudden urge to start sprinting and laughing.

They’ve stopped at a motel on the drive back from Colorado to the Bunker. Sam is already asleep, hair all splayed out on his pillow like Sleeping Beauty. But Dean...well, Dean was dead for a couple of minutes today so he figures he’ll enjoy being alive for a bit longer. He leans on the rail overlooking the parking lot and lets the cool air fill his lungs.

He’s got company.

“How is Jack?” Cas asks, obviously expecting a better answer than the quick reassurance they’d given him earlier.

“He’s doing ok. I was...” Dean trails off, his good mood momentarily dipping into guilt. “I was kind of a dick to him at first - ”

“What a surprise.” Cas sighs, world-weary and affectionately irritated. Dean wants to make him sound like that every day.

“- but we’ve gotten better.” He knocks Cas’ shoulder with his. “I’ve gotten better.”

“Good.” Cas smiles at him and he has to grip the railing again.

Dean watches him stare up at the moon, the pearly light making him look as otherworldly as he is. Dean is reminded there are wings somewhere behind Cas. Broken, yes, but still there. It’s weirdly exciting that Cas isn’t human. A strange thrill shoots through him when he really thinks about it. He feels like one of those people who inadvertently tame some dangerous beast and have their photos taken with the thing sat on their couch with them. It’s that precious feeling that you’ve been chosen, that something that would normally kill you with a snap of jaws or a click of its fingers saw you and thought you were special. So it decided that it wanted you to live. That it wanted to spend time with you. That he wanted –

“Dean? You’re staring.” Cas turns back to him with a raised eyebrow and a slightly smug expression. “You usually tell me off for that.”

“Right.” Dean doesn’t stop looking. “It’s just...you’re back.You came back again.”

Cas’s expressions softens and he edges a little closer. Suddenly – wildly – Dean thinks if Cas kissed him now he’d be fine with it.

He doesn’t.

“It was suffocating.” He says instead. “The black emptiness was...all encompassing. Like no matter what I did or where I went, I would never escape the feeling of total despair. Of being painfully alone. It was like - ”

“Choking.” Dean says and swallows hard against his healing throat.

“Yes.” Cas’ fingers twitch on the railing and Dean thinks that if he moved his left pinkie, he could feel his skin. Cas’ hand drops before he can really contemplate doing it. “But I did escape.”

“Yeah.” Dean’s full of energy again, happiness buzzing around his body like a swarm of bumblebees. “You got out, man.”

“I was afraid that feeling would follow me. That I would still feel that fear no matter how far I ran.”

“And?”

“I don’t.” Cas turns to the moon again, bathed in pure light, eyes shining as bright as his grace. “I don’t feel scared at all.”

Dean blinks back the sting in his eyes and smiles. “Me neither.”

Dean pushes open the door with a sweaty palm.

Cas stands next to him, staring into the room with his lips slightly parted. Dean’s gaze lingers on them for moment before he drags his eyes away.

Just because Cas...said what he said, doesn’t mean he wants that. Maybe he didn’t really mean it. Or maybe he did mean it but like...friends. Best friends love each other. Of course they do. Sure, it did seemlike a momentous romantic confession made by a guy madly in love with his best friend before he sacrificed himself to save said best friend but maybe...maybe it wasn’t really like that.

“You did this for me?” Cas sounds almost tearful and Dean can’t look at him like that. It reminds too much of –

“Yeah.” Dean clears his throat. “Well, Sam helped too. Turns out he’s kinda nerdy about plants too. But I bought ‘em all and watered ‘em and...Jack got you that stuffed bee, by the way.”

Cas steps inside the room and Dean can finally look up from his feet. His eyes go straight to Cas’ broad back, casually dressed in one of Sam’s sweaters. The sleeves are too long but Cas says he likes it. He’s wearing a pair of joggers that Dean kept aside for him and a pair of socks with a hole in the toe.

“I love it.”

Dean’s heart literally skips a beat. Great, he loves it. Loves it in the way he loves –

“Wanted you to have something to come back to, you know? I know this was always kinda your room but there was nothing in here and I thought...after what you said before about the Empty...thought you’d want something good to come back to. Bright and full of life...or whatever, I dunno. Just thought you might like it.”

“It’s incredible.”

Dean thinks that’s over stating it. It’s not that good. Not nearly enough to repay his debts. Not anywhere near what Cas deserves. He deserves a real home, a huge garden, a fucking mansion with butlers and people who bow to him and call him ‘sir’. Instead Dean has given him his old room back. Sure, it’s got a few shelves up, a new rug, bedding that Jack picked out called ‘jungle dreams’, a load of plants and a tall lamp that gives everything a nice glow but it’s still the same room.

Dean has never felt more pathetic.

Castiel is an angel. Ok, barely an angel now (and whose fault it that?) but still a celestial being. He might get tired sometimes, he might get hungry and he might be able to get drunk but he’s still an angel.

He’s still better.

Better than this stupid room, better than this miserable Bunker. Better than Dean.

“Is this your blanket?” Cas asks suddenly, plucking the Scooby-Doo fleece blanket from the bed.

Oh, that. “Uh, yeah. Thought you might get cold now. Don’t want you to get numb toes or nothin’.”

“That’s...” Dean isn’t prepared for the open, raw joy on Cas’ face when he looks up. It almost sends him reeling backwards out of the door. “That’s very kind of you. You didn’t have to do all of this. It’s...”

Stupid. Stupid plants, stupid lamp, stupid goddamn blanket.

“It’s wonderful.”

“It’s stupid.” Dean blurts, feeling awkward and childish. “Shoulda done something more. Shoulda got you - ”

“You got me.” Cas says firmly. “You got me out, Dean. You and Sam and Jack...I will never be able to thank you enough. And then to come back to this room that you worked so hard on, that you filled with things you knew I would like...there is nothing better than that in the whole world. The whole of creation. To be known and to be wanted is the best thing there is.”

Fuck.

Dean doesn’t know what to say to that. What can he say to that? What can he say that would ever compare to what Cas said? What he said before –

“Right. Ok. Great. That’s...good. I’ll just...” He gestures over his shoulder to the door. Being in here with Cas is too intense, like staring at the sun or holding your hand over an open flame. “You probably want to rest.”

Cas hesitates before saying, “Yes. I suppose I should. Thank you again for this. I really love it.”

“Yeah, man.” Dean almost winces. “No worries. I’ll just...leave you to it.”

He steps back into the open doorway, unwilling to take his eyes away from Cas because he’s here, in the room Dean has imagined him in for weeks. It’s kind of annoying that Cas doesn’t have the same trouble. He turns his back, wandering towards the plants on the shelves and gently touching the leaves.

Dean lingers, like a moth perched on a lightshade.

“Are you - ” Just leave. “Are you gonna be ok by yourself? I mean, you said before that it was lonely being in the Empty. Thought maybe you’d want company?”

Cas seems surprised when he faces Dean again. “Oh. Well, yes, of course. I would enjoy you staying for a while. But please don’t feel like you have to.”

The idea of Cas thinking he’s keeping Dean against his will is laughable.

“So, er - ” He sits on the bed, fingers clutching at his blanket. “What do you wanna do? I could get my laptop and we could watch a movie? Or we could watch one of those nature documentaries that kinda send me to sleep? You know the ones with the British guy with smooth voice - ”

“Actually, I should rest. I am quite tired.”

“Oh.” Dean tries to not look crushingly disappointed. “Right, yeah.”

“You could rest with me.” Cas says, just like that. Like it’s not a big deal at all. Like guy friends just clamber into bed with each other all the time and die for each other and confess their love for each other...

“Sure.” Dean’s mouth decides for him. “We could – we could do that.”

So they get into bed together.

Cas slides in as though this is his regular night time routine, looking totally at ease in his new ‘jungle dreams’ bedding and borrowed blanket. Dean’s hands shake as he lifts up the covers and slides in too. He waits for it to be weird, waits for discomfort and his father’s face swimming in front of eyes.

Instead, he just feels warm.

They’re led next to each other, unmoving and flat on their backs. Dean’s right leg is about to fall off the bed and Cas’ shoulder looks like it’s digging into the nightstand. Maybe this bed wasn’t made to fit two fully grown men too afraid to touch.

“Dean, are you comfortable? I am not.”

He laughs and rubs a hand over his face. “Yeah, this isn’t great. Maybe if we...uh - ”

“What about if we do this?”

Cas’ hands are suddenly everywhere, manhandling him in a way that Dean has never experienced before but wouldn’t mind experiencing again. He ends up with his head resting on Cas’ chest, forehead pressed against his neck. His right leg has nowhere to go but to hook around Cas’ legs, entwining them together.

And Cas is holding him.

His arms are wrapped around him and not just because they haven’t got anywhere else to go. Because he wants them to go there. Because he wantsto hold Dean. Possibly all night.

Dean starts to panic.

Led like this, his ear is pressed against Cas’ chest – his heartbeat the loudest thing he can hear. What if someone breaks into the Bunker without him knowing? What if something is happening to Sam? To Jack? And he hasn’t even brought a gun with him. He squirms a little, debating on popping back to his room to get one when Cas says,

“Are you thinking about getting a weapon, Dean? I promise you, you won’t need it.”

Cas’ deep voice rumbles through his body, rocking him out of his spiralling worry so quickly Dean briefly wonders if he used some of his remaining slither of grace to do it.

“I would never let anything happen to you.”

“What if someone comes in?”

“An intruder? Judging by our current position, I assume I am the being most visible from the door.”

Dean’s fingers curl in Cas’ borrowed sweater. “You mean you’d be shot first?”

“Yes.” Dean feels his arms tighten around him for a moment. “And I believe my body would shield you from the vast majority of attacks.” He sighs and his breath tickles Dean’s hair. “Of course, if someone were to gain access to the Bunker, it’s likely they would be a supremely powerful being. That would reduce our chance of survival by quite a lot. However, if you really insist on being armed, I am confident that in the few seconds I could shield you, you could at least reach for a makeshift weapon. Whatever good it would do.”

“Right. But...” Dean doesn’t really feel comforted. “I don’t want you to...” He can’t quite say the word.

“Die?” Cas finishes for him as his fingers begin to move, leaving warm trails over Dean’s back. “No, I cannot say that I am enthused by the idea either. I have no desire to leave you again.”

“Not ever?” Dean asks and despises himself for the needy edge in his voice.

“Not ever.” His hands are moving now, big and slow in soothing motions against Dean’s back. He can’t remember the last time he was held like this. Mom, he thinks. When he was a kid. He knows he must look pathetic – six foot plus guy that’s been to hell and back being held like a baby. He should move, should pull away, wipe his eyes and tell Cas it’s time he went back to his own room.

He doesn’t want to.

“You love me.” He says instead, face burning and mouth dry.

He feels Cas smile against the crown of his head. “Yes.”

“You’re like...in love with me.”

One of Cas’ hands moves higher, fingertips trailing over the back of his neck leaving goose bumps in their wake. “Yes.”

Dean will never admit to the half moan, half whine he lets out. He buries his face in Cas’ chest and breathes him in. The smell of him fills Dean’s lungs and Cas’ arms start to feel like a weighted blanket, pressing gently on his body. It makes his eyes soft and his limbs heavy.

As he drifts off, he feels Cas’ lips brushing against his temple.

Dean wakes slowly.

He’s cocooned in softness and warmth and he has no desire to rush anything anymore – least of all to the leave the comfort of his (new) memory foam and his angel. He shifts a little, nuzzling his nose against stubble.

“I thought you were making breakfast.” Cas’ voice rolls over him slow and sweet like honey.

“Hmm.” A murmur, breathed into Cas’ neck, is all Dean can manage.

“Dean, you did promise them.” Cas says, with barely a hint of firmness. His voice is a little husky, like he’s still battling the urge to sleep.

“Oh, yeah? When?” Dean’s lips brush over warm skin.

“Last night.”

He pretends to forget. “Can’t take anything I said last night serious, Cas.”

“Oh?” He sounds a bit more awake now – that familiar dry, teasing tone creeping in.

Dean feels a pang of something in his chest so intense he almost squirms. “Alright, maybe some things were serious.”

“Hmm.” One of Cas’ hands rubs languid strokes up and down his back. “I should hope so.”

The memories come back easy and bright, playing like a dream behind Dean’s heavy eyelids. The stillness of their bedroom is punctuated by the sound of quiet voices in the living room. He grins at that, relishing waking up with the love of his life and his family just in the next room. Happy. Safe.

“Screw ‘em.” Dean says, more to himself than Cas and rubs his foot along his leg a few times, settling down again.

Cas doesn’t seem to have any objections. His hand strokes higher, fingers brushing through Dean’s hair and his blunt nails lightly graze his scalp.

Dean almost whines, his head lifting to follow the touch. He half opens his eyes again and sees a smile, unhurried and adoring. Cas leans down a little and kisses him, stubble rough and lips soft. Dean’s fingers curl against skin and his legs squeeze a muscled thigh beneath the blankets.

They stay that way for a while – bodies warm and entwined, gently greeting each other as the new day dawns. The rising sun has drenched the room in rich yellow light, soft and muffled through the curtains.

Cas’ hand is just caressing his hip and his tongue is getting hotter and more demanding in Dean’s very willing mouth when there’s a knock at the door.

“I know you’re both awake.” Sam’s voice rumbles through the door, amused and still a little sleep rough. “And don’t think we forgot about breakfast either. Eileen wants pancakes and she says I don’t make them right.”

“Not unhealthy enough!” Eileen voice calls out, a little further away.

Dean laughs against Cas’ lips.

“Alright, alright! Gimme five.”

As they slowly detangle, he catches a glimpse of silver as Cas stretches. Dean’s hand feels heavy and warm, like someone’s been holding it for hours. Dean yawns and dangles one leg out of bed, then another. He’s easing himself into the day, taking it a bit at a time.

He can do that now.

He laughs as Cas drags him in for one last kiss before he slides away, shoving his feet into his slippers and tugging on his trusty robe. His ties it around him and wanders, a little stiff-legged, to the window. He pulls back the curtains and from the bed Cas both grumbles and raises his face to meet the sunrise.

Dean watches the sun bathe him in bright light and remembers seeing him like this before. But then it was moonlight and he and Cas were at some shitty motel just out of Colorado. Not in their own house, not in theirbedroom. Dean has his first unbearably intense wave of wild happiness. It won’t be the last one today.

“I like having a window.”

“I liked having eyesight.” Cas mutters, burying himself into the covers.

Dean laughs and thwacks him on the thigh as he passes out the door. Cas’ll be up in his own time.

Four steps and Dean’s in the kitchen.

His brother is perched on one of the chairs at the little island separating the kitchen from the living room. Eileen is signing at him and he’s watching, completely enraptured, with a look of total adoration on his face. Dean would have laughed at him for that once. Now, he knows what it’s like when someone looks at him like that. Now he knows what it’s like to look at someone like that.

But he might still laugh a bit. That’s a big brother’s right.

“Mornin’!” He calls cheerily, rummaging in the fridge for eggs and milk. He emerges triumphant, plopping them onto the counter with a grin. “If the lady wants pancakes, the lady gets pancakes.”

“Best brother in law ever.” Eileen says and Sam almost falls off his seat. She just shrugs cheekily. “Unofficially.”

“For now.” Dean winks and Sam splutters.

“Right, well. Once you’ve finished marrying me off, can we get some breakfast?”

“Alright, alright!” Dean glares but he’s itching to get started. “Goddamn demanding baby. Eileen you could do so much better. Sadly, I’m already taken - ”

She laughs and so does Sam. He wraps an arm around Eileen’s waist and she plays with his hair as they all talk. They talk about Jack getting hyperactive on sugared almonds, about Claire and Kaia wearing matching suits, about Jody and Donna getting drunk and singing karaoke until they were booed off the stage.

Then Cas stumbles out of their soft-lit room; hair wild and face crumpled. He bids them all good morning in a slightly rough tone before shuffling over for coffee. He cradles his mug in both hands as he leans against the corner counter, basking in the sun with his eyes closed.

Dean watches him, aching with joy.

Being in the dark with Cas is easy. But being with him in the light is better.

He twirls the whisk in his hand and it knocks against the ring on his left hand, so new it glows against his skin. Cas kisses his neck as he passes into the living room and Dean grins, looking up at his family.

“Hey, Eileen. What’s the sign for ‘husband’?”

#destiel #deancas #dean winchester #castiel #destiel fic #spn fic #userstarry #dean and cas night time snippets throughout the years #it's mostly cute #ahhhhh my first spn fic i'm so excited #i really loved working on this #mine

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ashintheairlikesnow · 3 years

Text

We Keep Going, That’s All

@whimpers-and-whumpers , this is for you. Hope your surgery goes well today!

CW: Aftermath of near-death, hospital whump, recovery whump, survivor's guilt, alcohol use, referenced drug use

Ryan shows up to the hospital with Coke bottles full of liquid that absolutely is not Coke - or not much of it, anyway - and Nate doesn't refuse the gift.

He twists off the plastic cap and takes a drink, wincing at the burn down his throat. "Jesus, Ryan, this is m-m-more Jack than Coke."

"Yeah, well. Figured we could use some relaxing." Ryan gives him a slight smile, and the bruising that's been along his jaw - the obvious press of fingers - is finally starting to fade. Off-white bandages ring his neck, hiding from direct view the deep, slowly healing gashes rubbed in by the iron collar he'd worn for a year.

There are other wounds, Nate knows, underneath the lightly-draped black t-shirt Ryan wears, under his effortlessly casual, perfectly-on-trend jeans.

There are deeper wounds still entirely underneath his skin, inside his head. Nate knows those even better. He doesn't begrudge Ryan the need to find some way to fuzz out the edges of what must be written in stark, bright blood in his memory.

Nate spent a year and a half doing the same, after all, before Bram came back for Danny again.

"How is he?" Ryan asks, settling into a hard wooden chair with plastic back and cushion in a dull pastel mauve. "Any different?”

"Then y-yesterday?" Nate exhales, slowly, rubbing at his unshaven jaw. The stubble prickles his fingertips, itches a little as it grows in. There's a razor in the private room's little bathroom, but he doesn't have the energy to use it. All of Nate's energy now is focused entirely around staying right here, being right here, for the rare moments that Danny is both awake and himself.

"Yesterday wasn't... great.”

"No, it wasn't." Nate sighs, leaning over in the chair he sits in, next to Ryan, reaching out with his good left hand to gently nudge a bit of wavy red away from over Danny's face.

The love of his life - the man he's killed for, twice, and would kill for again - lays on his stomach with his head turned to one side. The hospital blanket is pulled up nearly to his chin, hiding from view the fact that nearly all of Danny seems made of bandages these days, bandages and tubes and wires. He breathes slowly, a drugged deep sleep to let his body rest and try desperately to heal itself around the nearly-fatal place the knife went into his back.

He sleeps, more than he's awake. But Nate makes sure that when his eyes open, someone is here for him, every single time.

"Today has been a little b-better, I think," Nate says after a moment's though. He brushes a crumb from the corner of Danny's mouth. "He ate a l-little, this morning. Just Jell-O and a little bit of cereal, but...”

"But something." Ryan nods, takes another drink, looks out the window. Outside, the day is bright and sunny, with a cloudless blue sky. The courtyard below is full of visiting families and patients taking walks through the landscaped flowers, all of them in brilliant bloom. "Have you even left this room since we got here?”

"No." Nate doesn't bother to lie.

Ryan looks over at him, and smiles very slightly. "Remind me to bring you by some multivitamins do you don't die of Vitamin D deficiency.”

"I'm f-fine." Nate takes another drink, feels the warmth slowly spreading through his shoulders, relaxing the knots and tension that have been slowly building day by day. The 'bed' he has here is just a visitor's couch built into the wall, lumpy and hard, with exactly one flat pillow with a scratchy pillowcase. But he'd rather be here than anywhere else. He'll be here for every single second Danny needs him. "I eat oranges for breakfast every d-d-day. No sc-... sc-... scurvy for me.”

"Didn't we joke about scurvy once?" Ryan asks, slightly faintly, looking up at the ceiling. "After Danny came home the first time?”

"M-Maybe. Don't remember. Why do you c-care if I feel good, anyway?”

“My brother can’t fuss over you right now,” Ryan says with a casual shrug. “So someone has to. He’ll never let me live it down if anything happened to you while he’s here. I’ll get chewed out if you get so much as a headcold and we both know it.”

“I d-doubt-”

Danny shifts a little and both men go silent, watching him move in the bed - just an inch or so to the right, his eyes tightly closed, body tensing as even the slightest movement brings a wash of pain.

"It's okay," Nate whispers, and Danny's eyelids flicker, slowly open. The blue in them is hazy and clouded, but not empty. This time, at least, it's Danny who is looking at him, and not the other one, the one that Nate knows only as someone else. The one who runs Danny's body when Danny can't do it any longer.

"Hey," Danny says, in a hoarse whisper. He tries for a smile, and it's faded and wobbly, but it's there. Then he lifts his head a little, looking over to see Ryan. "Oh, you're both... here. How long was I asleep?”

"Four hours or s-s-so," Nate says, standing up - ignoring the twinge of pain in his bad knee - and moving the pillow under Danny's head to still support him even as he moves. A hint of freckled shoulder shows, with its swirling trace of scars from Bram's knife. There's a star carved into the back of his left shoulder that Nate did, at Bram's command, once.

Ryan's gaze be damned, Nate leans over to kiss it, and to kiss one by one the carved letters that are still there, faded, in the back of Danny's neck. A. D. N.

He tries not to feel the guilt that twists in him at the ownership Bram had meant to make obvious, there. His own first initial with Bram's initials, his own... his own culpability.

“How do you feel?” Ryan asks, leaning over close to Danny.

Danny’s nose wrinkles. “You smell like a liquor store.”

“Yeah, well. When your big brother scares the shit out of you by getting himself stabbed almost to death because of you, maybe you need a little pick-me-up now and then.” Ryan manages a half-cocked smile, but it’s fragile, and they both know it.

With a hiss of pain, Danny moves his hand up the bed, offering it to Ryan, who takes it without hesitation, leaning over so his forehead rests gently against Danny’s.

“I’m okay,” Danny whispers.

“No, you’re not,” Ryan whispers back.

Nate moves to sit back in his chair, then stands again, restless. He doesn’t want to sit there but he doesn’t know where he does want to be... until he looks at Danny, thin and dwarfed even by a small hospital bed. He sets down the mostly-jack-and-a-little-coke and climbs into the bed without hesitating, laying down behind Danny on his side, letting his good hand rest just next to a swirl of Danny’s hair on the pillow.

Danny’s smile widens - not that Nate can see that, from his vantage point. Although Ryan can. “I’ll be okay,” He corrects himself, watching his brother. “They said there’s no sign of paralysis. I’ll walk, I’ll probably even run after a while.” He tries moving and hisses again. “A long while. It’s going to be okay, Ryan.”

“You always were way more optimistic when you were high as balls,” Ryan whispers, and he and Danny laugh, until the action makes Danny whimper at a new spike of pain. “What do we do now, Dan, huh?”

“Keep going,” Danny says, voice low, barely audible even to the two men on either side of him. “That’s all. We keep going.”

“I keep thinking I should’ve died back there, ten times over,” Ryan murmurs. “But every single time, you took the pain for me. I should’ve died-”

“Nah. You’re my little brother. I need you here.” Danny manages to keep the smile, then, and his blue eyes are warm. “If you feel so bad about it, sneak me some of that booze next time, yeah?”

"Dan, I am not going to help you mix IV drugs and alcohol-”

“Just leave it in a really easy-to-reach place and I’ll help myself.”

“Danny. No.”

“Danny yes.”

“Daniel Michaelson-”

“Ryan Niall Michaelson-”

Nate’s rumbling laughter interrupts them. It’s such a rare sound that both of them go immediately silent when they hear it, and Danny even tries to look over his shoulder, gritting his teeth through the ache to see the smile on Nate’s face. It’s slight, nearly private - a smile barely noticeable by anyone who isn’t looking for it.

But Danny is, and through the fog of the painkillers still coursing through his system, he sees it.

“What?” Ryan says. “What’re you laughing at?”

Nate lays a hand over the star he once carved into Danny’s skin, and moves to rest his nose, just lightly, against the warmth of Danny’s neck, breathing in the scent of him under the hospital-smell that surrounds them. “Nothing,” He says, and Danny shivers a little as his lips move against the curve of the D at the back of his neck. “I’m j-j-just... realizing I’m g-going to listen to you two do this for the r-rest of my life.”

“Is that a bad thing?” Ryan’s voice is dry.

“No,” Nate says, eyes closed. He can almost feel them in the cabin, like this, just the two of them on days Bram was gone. Lying in the bed wasting the whole morning being warm, just them together. Warm and safe. It feels like being in Danny’s apartment during their year and a half of freedom, the way sometimes when Nate couldn’t get out of bed Danny would just stay with him, holding him, until the pain inside of Nate had lessened enough to let him stand.

Now it’s his turn to hold Danny.

@tiddiroki @whump-it @bleeding-demon-teeth @finder-of-rings @whumpywhumper @endless-whump @18-toe-beans @pumpkinthefangirl @goneuntil @swordkallya @astrobly @evermetnotforgotten @whumpiary @card-games-and-pain @raigash @whump-tr0pes @orchidscript @wildfaewhump @doveotions @eatyourdamnpears

#daniel michaelson's story #hospital whump #recovery whump #recovering whumpee #referenced stabbing #referenced drug use #alcohol use #caretakers #caretaker and whumpee #whump #aftermath whump #the bad arc #injured whumpee #survivor's guilt tw

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sisterspooky1013 · 3 years

Text

The Perfect Gift by SisterSpooky1013

2931 words, rated E

Read it here on AO3

Adult content immediately after the jump

He trailed kisses down her sternum, stopping to lavish each nipple with the rough brush of his tongue before continuing to her belly button, dipping into the shallow well of her navel and eliciting giggles from up among the pillows. He smiled against the skin of her lower belly as he rubbed his second-day stubble on her flesh, delighting in more arousal-laden tittering. The amount of play and laughter in their newly-blossomed sex life had surprised him; someone who was generally as serious and task-focused as Scully didn’t strike him as the type to make a joke while he was breathlessly driving himself as far into her tiny body as he could get, but she did, and often. He nipped at the hem of her panties, snapping the elastic with his teeth, then ran his nose down the damp gusset of the thin fabric, smelling her arousal. He wanted desperately to taste her. Tentatively, he ran his tongue along the seam of her thigh, slipping millimeters into her panties. His hopes were dashed, yet again, when he felt her hands on the sides of his face, pulling him up.

“Come here, Mulder,” she breathed in an intimate whisper. “I want you here.”

After they had each found their release and lie sated and sweat-damp on her bed, his head resting on one of her small breasts as though it were a pillow, he surveyed her face to gage her openness to a real conversation.

“Scully, can I ask you something?” He queried.

“You just did, “she replied smartly, brushing her fingers over his scalp with a content smirk on her lips.

“Har har,” he said with a sarcastic roll of his eyes. “I can’t help but notice that you don’t seem to want me to, shall we say, go down under.” He lifted his eyebrows and tipped his head back slightly to indicate he was referring to the lower half of her body.

“‘Go down under,’ Mulder? I assume we’re not talking about a trip to Australia here?” She was making light, but he caught the slight tensing of her body when he’d mentioned it.

“Okay, if euphemisms are unwelcome, let me clarify that I’m talking about me putting my mouth on your vagina.” He punctuated the statement with a haughty little smile as her eyes briefly went big before she composed herself.

“I think you mean vulva, Mulder. The vagina is just the opening and pathway to the uterus. The vulva is everything external, including the labia majora and minora, and the clitoris.” She was averting her eyes to where her fingers were trailing down his upper arm, hiding behind facts and definitions. Had anyone else witnessed this conversation, they would not detect that she was deeply uncomfortable. Mulder knew better.

“Thank you for the anatomy lesson, Dr. Scully. But that begs the question of why you won’t let me go down on you.” He worked to keep his expression soft and open, without judgment or expectation.

She met his eye and shrugged, pushing her chin into a pout concurrently. “I’m just not a fan. Is that a problem?”

“No, not a problem per se. If you truly don’t like it I can accept that, but I can’t help but wonder if you actually don’t like it, or if you’re just not comfortable with it.” He had picked up her hand after she dropped it from his arm and was brushing his thumb over her palm. He wanted to maintain connection, to communicate that this was wasn’t meant to be confrontational. He just wanted to understand her.

She inhaled deeply and let the air stream out through puffed lips. “I suppose I would say the former, because of the latter.”

“So you’ve done it before?” He clarified. “Or experienced it, more accurately.”

She peered at him from under her eyelashes, a look of slight annoyance on her face. “Yes, Mulder,” she said as though it were the most obvious answer possible.

“And you didn’t like it?”

She sighed again, growing tired of the conversation. “I’ve just never been able to…get out of my own head, I guess. It’s just awkward, and I find it difficult not to think about what my partner is thinking or experiencing.” She picked at a patch of lint on the comforter. “I’ve honestly never enjoyed it so I’d rather just skip it.”

He absorbed this information, to which he had numerous rebuttals, but he knew that it wasn’t something he could or should push her on. “I respect that decision,” he started, “but I also think you should know, just so you’re armed with all relevant information, that I’m really good at it. Like, REALLY good.”

She smiled sadly at him. “I don’t doubt that, Mulder. But the fact remains that I could make you the best rhubarb pie on Earth and you still wouldn’t like it, because you hate rhubarb.”

He shifted so that he was lying on his side facing her, propped up on one elbow.

“Or have I only ever had shitty, underripe rhubarb? I’d have to try it to know for sure.”

“Mulder.” Her tone carried warning that he was taking it too far.

“Okay, okay. Just one more thing and then I promise to let it go.” He lifted his free hand and placed it gently on her thigh so that his thumb was resting just beside the cleft of her sex. “What if I told you that in all the times that I fantasized about being with you, which were very frequent by the way, that the thing I thought about the most was going down on you?” He swept his thumb lightly back and forth, a whisper of a touch near her clit.

“Then I would tell you that I’m deeply sorry for your loss,” she replied, bringing her hands to his face and pulling him towards her for a kiss, at the same time letting her legs fall open so he could explore her with his fingers. That much, she would happily permit.

******************************************

Autumn had arrived in full swing, the yellowing leaves and chilly air sending them into hiding beneath wooly blankets, favoring her place for the availability of a fireplace to keep them warm. It was here that they sat on a lazy Sunday afternoon, steaming coffee cups wafting up to their kiss-swollen lips after a morning of lovemaking.

“It’s almost your birthday, Mulder,” Scully remarked, “What do you want to do?”

He shrugged. “Nothing. You know I’m not a big birthday fan. For myself, anyway.”

She leaned her head against his shoulder. “I know, but that’s because no one ever made any effort to make your birthday special. I’d like to change that, if you’ll let me.”

“I don’t want you to put a bunch of effort into it, Scully. It’s just another day, it doesn’t need to be a big deal.”

She set her mug on the coffee table and then took his, doing the same. She wrapped his cup-warmed hands in hers and looked at him with tender affection.

“It IS a big deal, Mulder. I’m certainly grateful that you were born.” He smiled sheepishly and looked at his lap, uncomfortable with such unabashed praise. “I really want to do this for you. Think of something you’ve always wanted to do but never have, and we’ll do it together. It would mean a lot to me.”

He met her eye and felt his heart swell at how open and genuine she looked. “Okay, I’ll think about it,” he finally said, and she smiled victoriously as she retrieved his cup for him.

*******************************************

“I figured out what I want to do for my birthday.” He announced. It was October 10th, and she’d reminded him a few times that she would need at least a little bit of notice to make arrangements, depending on what he decided on doing.

“Oh good!” She exclaimed, setting the file she’d been reading on his coffee table so she could give him her full attention. “What is it?” She sat at the far end of the couch with her back against the arm rest, legs crossed.

He felt nervous, knowing that he had to do this just right or it wouldn’t work. “It’s something I’ve been wanting to do for a long time, years actually, but I’m not sure you’ll want to do it with me.” He rubbed his palms on the tops of his thighs. “Actually, never mind.” He picked up another file and opened it in his lap.

Scully stood and moved to sit right beside him, one leg folded under her so that she was facing him, and took the file from his hands. “Tell me, Mulder.”

He fought off the smirk that tugged at his mouth. “Before I tell you, do you promise you’ll do it, even if you aren’t exactly excited about it?”

“Of course,” she said emphatically, her eyebrows stitched in concern as she folded her diminutive hands around his own. He felt a little guilty, but not enough to stop. “It’s your birthday, and I’d really like to do whatever it is that would make it special for you. It doesn’t matter whether I enjoy it, as long as you do.”

“Okay,” he said, beginning to lose the battle to maintain a neutral expression, which contorted his face into an odd grimace. He looked at her and bit his lip. “What I really want for my birthday, more than anything in the world, is for you to let me go down on you.”

Her eyes widened and then narrowed as she let go of his hands and sucker-punched him on the upper arm. “Mulder!” Her mouth dropped open in a mix of surprise and amusement. “That isn’t fair, you tricked me!”

“I did not, everything I said was completely true and honest. I have been wanting to do this for years, it’s all I want for my birthday, Scully.”

She shook her head at him ruefully, but there was a soft smile on her mouth. “I’ll give you three minutes, Mulder, and that’s it.”

“Deal,” he replied, extending his hand in an offer to shake on it. He had the good sense not to tell her how confident he was that she would be begging him not to stop when those three minutes were up.

******************************************

At the time she agreed to his birthday gift, it had been four days since they’d last had sex, and he artfully avoided being in a position for them to be intimate for the following three. Part of his plan, which was exceedingly well thought out, involved her being as turned on as possible when he finally touched her. He picked up her favorite red wine and made sure she had the opportunity go home after work before he came over, in case being able to take a shower or bath was something she’d want to do, not that he cared. He just wanted her to be as comfortable as possible, part of which included being in her own apartment.

His own excitement was palpable, his cock twitching at the idea of tasting her as he knocked on her door, bottle of wine in hand. When she answered in a knee length grey dress, the apartment abnormally warm with a fire blazing, he failed to suppress the grin that spread across his face. Easy access was all he thought, and he was hoping she had the same thing in mind.

“Happy Birthday, you bastard,” she crooned, pulling him through the door and pushing on to her tip toes to kiss him.

“Why thank you,” he returned, pulling back and holding up the wine. “I brought you something.”

Taking it from him, she walked to the kitchen and set it next to an already open bottle. “I’m two steps ahead of you,” she replied, pouring him a glass after she drained her own.

He joined her by the counter, setting their glasses to the side and gripping her by the hips to lift her up on to it. Stepping close to occupy the space between her thighs, he brought his hands to her face and tipped it up until she was looking at him. “You know you don’t ever have to do anything with me you don’t want to, right? No matter how much I want this, if you’re not into it, we won’t.”

She nodded. “I know. But I’ve made up my mind. I think I can withstand three minutes of something mildly uncomfortable for the sake of all your birthday dreams coming true.”

He smiled warmly at her. “Okay. But just so you know, my plan is that it’s slightly better than tolerable.”

She chuffed a laugh and he kissed her, a slow languid kiss that morphed into the slip of a tongue, and then the grip of a hip, until finally they were making out on her kitchen counter as he tugged her pelvis against his own, grinding into her as she hummed with desire.

He hadn’t expected them to get right to business so quickly, but he was more than happy to initiate phase one of the plan; torture her until she was practically begging to be touched. Slipping his hands under her ass, he lifted her off the counter and carried her into her bedroom, placing her gingerly in the center of the bed. He kissed down her throat, his lips brushing over the sensitive spot beneath her ear and sucking gently at the juncture of her shoulder. Feeling for the zipper at her back, he peeled it down and then pushed it from her shoulders to get at her breasts. She’d skipped a bra, and he circled her nipples with his tongue before flicking at the hardened buds. She flexed her hips, moaning softly, and he trailed his hand up her inner thigh to cup her lightly over her dampening panties; not enough pressure to relieve her need, but enough to drive her crazy with want. He moved between her mouth, neck, chest and breasts, licking and sucking as he simultaneously teased his hands around the edges of her panties, brushing close but never touching her clit. Finally he peeled her panties off and lifted her dress over her head, leaving her naked and aching before he resumed the same pattern on her bare skin. His fingertip danced at her opening, placing a hint of pressure but never going inside. He fluttered over her inner lips, hovering just above her clit and she squirmed, biting his lips and whimpering. She was incredibly wet, which allowed him to slide over and around her effortlessly with almost no pressure. This went on for a deliciously long time, until she arched her back abruptly in an attempt to force more contact and then moaned in frustration when he pulled his hand away.

He moved quickly, not wanting to give her time to pull herself out of the moment with self-conscious thoughts. Moving to the end of the bed, he shucked off his shirt and then gripped the top of her thighs and pulled her down to where he was kneeling before her. He hoped that in the future he’d have the opportunity to look and explore and taste her slowly, taking his time, but in this circumstance he instead immediately brought his lips to her swollen, aching clit and sucked it softly, fluttering the pointed tip of his tongue across it as his eyes darted to her bedside clock and took note of the time.

She sucked air into her lungs audibly, her chest rising and obscuring her face as a single, piercing “Oh” escaped her lips. He proceeded to devour her, dipping his tongue into the liquid pool of her entrance and tasting her sweet and slick, running up her seam and to her clit, when he felt her hand on the back of his head. Dismayed, he thought this was the point where she would ask him to stop, and he would without question if she asked him to. But when he glanced up he saw that her eyes were closed, her face contorted into an expression of absolute ecstasy as her other hand gripped her breast tightly and pinched at her nipple. Encouraged, he swirled his tongue around her sporadically throbbing bud and let his ears delight in the sounds of her pleasure, knowing that she was close. When her panting became quick and rhythmic, he slipped two fingers inside her and flexed them against her front wall, and she cried out in a mix of surprise and relief as he felt her clench around him, spasming under his tongue as she dripped down his chin and his wrist, wetter than he had imagined possible. He continued, slowing only as she did, pulling from her each pulse her body had to offer, not letting her miss out on a moment of it. When she shifted her hips away from him he removed his fingers and placed one last kiss to the inside of her thigh before he crawled up the bed to find her with her eyes closed, breath still quick as she returned to Earth.

“Hey Scully,” he whispered into her neck.

“Mmhmm,” she replied, eyes still closed.

“I still have 30 seconds left on the clock. You wanna go again?”

She snorted. “Happy Birthday, Mulder.”

“Thank you. Hey Scully?”

“Yes?”

“I think you liked my present.”

She opened her eyes and turned to look at him, pupils the size of saucers, a sated smile on her lips.

“That I did.”

Tagging @today-in-fic thanks!

#dana scully #fox mulder #the x files #txf #gillovny #msr #sculder #xf fanfic

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shadowturtlesstuff · 3 years

Text

No secrets...

here is my how you get the girl cressworth. its kinda sad, i wanted to do happy but i cant apparently. the end is happy and i really want to do a part 2 in cresswells pov

The cold buries itself inside me, finding its way past my bones and gathering through me till all my thoughts are of the cold. Distracting me from what I am about to do, and I cannot figure out whether that is a good thing or not. I haven't spoken to the insufferable Mr. Thomas Cresswell for over six months, yet I am walking a familiar route to his door. I still haven't pieced together why I feel the need to see him tonight, instead of the morning but even if he shuts the door on me and leaves me to fend for myself against the rain it might calm my racing mind. He would be right to do so, after I walked away first. We were close, getting closer every day. Thomas had told me his feelings plenty of times and I had brushed them off till I started to feel them too. I panicked and then made a mess of everything. We are both poor at expressing our feelings yet I had run from the thought of even trying, and now that I have been away I realized how important he is to me, not only as someone I love but as a friend. I miss his quick wit, his charm and dry humour that uncle doesn't think is appropriate half the time. I miss knowing I will see him and see his own smile at me. Knowing I could melt the cold heart of his with just a small comment is something I was proud of, yet began to fear slightly as it was too easy to see that smile. I had learnt that nothing in life is that easy.

I was wrong. Desperately wrong.

Now I haven't seen that smile in so long and I miss it. I miss the person who shares my humour and lets me face any challenge. I just hope he has missed me half as much as I missed him.

My heels click against the cobblestone, my pace speeding up to match my racing heart. Thomas’s house comes into view as I round a corner and I suck in a sharp breath. Can I really face Thomas again? Tell him that I miss him?

This is a worthless idea, a ridiculous notion that Thomas would want to talk to me now. I should leave now and get out of the rain before I become seriously ill and bed ridden by my father. The rain has drowned my skirts, my hair clings to my face. This was a fool's errand. I turn trying to swallow my embarrassment and resentment towards myself when I hear a door open. Shit. I refuse to turn and see if it’s Thomas’s and hope that it-

“Audrey Rose?”

Shit. of course luck would abandon me to this. I don't know what I expected to find when I turned back but it was not this. Thomas, my devilishly handsome friend, stands in his doorway eyes completely transfixed on me. We stand staring, the only sound surrounding us is the pouring rain and my own heartbeat which has amplified its sound so all of London can hear my fear. My anticipation, love and heartbreak and guilt. Words flood my mind but none surfice what I need to tell him and I open and close my mouth like a gaping fish. I’m sure the rain is helping reinforce me looking like such a fool. My mind repeats what an idiot I am and I begin to turn to save myself from further embarrassment.

“Come inside?” Thomas's voice fills the whole street, it sounds slightly panicked, as though he doesn't know what to say. I don't blame him. I showed up uninvited at his flat and haven't managed to look like a functioning human yet I debate leaving, even if I want to stay, but just as I make a step to leave I hear a broken please.

Once again we stare at each other, there are so many words between us that I consider that there isn't a right one to start with. Perhaps his ‘please’ is an effective start. It certainly captured my attention. The rawness of the plea makes me nod and walk towards him. I want to believe Thomas has missed me, that I meant something, but if that is the case, he should be more mad at me. So why invite me in? Why bother?

“I saw you out the window and,” Thomas begins as I stop in front of him and wait in case he changes his mind, “I thought I was crazy at first but when I realized it truly was you I thought I'd save you, just like old times.”

His tone is bittersweet, I wince because I am the reason it has a bitter-ish undertone laced with a hint of grief.

“Save me?” I look around slightly confused, there is no assailant chasing me, no murderer on my tail as far as I knew so what is he saving me from? My own mind, because in a way he has, or at least might.

“The rain. I know you hate the cold and no one wants to stand in the rain so,” he moves from the door and gestures inside. I look down at my dress, completely full of water and wince again.

“As you might guess, the rain has now used my dress as a sponge so if I enter your flat I will ruin it.” I take a step back, it is coward-ish but I can't ruin anything else for him, even if it is only water damage. It won't be the worst thing I've done to him.

“Wadsworth, just get inside.”

His flat is warm and makes me notice how cold I truly was. Immediately I begin shivering as Thomas gets towels, blankets and anything to warm me up.

We sit across from each other, I'm wrapped in blankets and holding onto a mug of coco for dear life as Thomas sits with one hand on his and the other tapping on his armchair. The silence is not as bad as I expected but it was never awkward silence that Thomas and I shared. Which reminds me of Thomas's previous words.

Just like old times.

Except not like old times at all. I have to say something soon and again there is no right way to start this. Sorry will not suffice or fix it, but it is still necessary. Hopefully it will mean something at least.

“I know this is unexpected and probably unwanted and it has been awhile since we spoke but,” I chance a glance at him and he is staring at his mug with an unreadable expression, I've no idea where I'm going with this speech but if I can get him to at least look at me it will be worth it, “but I've missed you and I've had time to reflect on my mistakes.”

“Wadsworth, I've missed you more than I want to admit. I spent everyday waiting to see if you would come back but now you’re here…”

He trails off, leaving me to guess what he is thinking, which is always difficult, but add my paranoia I can only expect he wants me gone. However, I wait in dreaded silence for him to collect himself and speak his mind.

“You’re here and I've no idea what I want.”

We both consider his words, it seems we are still both atrocious at understanding our feelings.

“I've figured out that I want you in my life in some way, any way, and that I was tired of running, of pretending and hiding. I was afraid, before, of what we were and even if we can never go back to that I- I guess I am not going to conform to my fear anymore.”

“I lost my mind when you were gone. I thought I had somehow pushed too far or interpreted things wrong, perhaps I had, but coming here and saying you missed me doesn't fix everything.”

“I understand the fear, Wadsworth but we were partners, no secrets, remember?”

He finally looks at me and I wish he hadn’t. His dark brown eyes pierce my already fragile heart. “I know.” I whisper, looking at my cup.

Once again I whisper I know. I knew this would only be the start of fixing things and I was grateful he was even letting me try.

“I know, no secrets,” I look at him and brace myself to confess my thoughts, “I am a fool for running, I know that now, but at the time I felt trapped, not because of you but what you represent, in a fashion, change does not come easy, but you made it feel so easy I hadn't realized the change and I had convinced myself long before you nothing was easy or fair. I was the difficult, unfair one, and I will forever be sorry, Cresswell, I would like to make it up to you but I understand if-” I let out a breath and attempt to say, if you don't want me to but I can't. It is selfish but I desperately want to make things right.

“No secrets,” Thomas says, almost to himself as he quickly stands then takes the seat right next to me, taking the coco and setting both mugs down. “You are a little insane Wadsworth,” he says with a hint of a smirk and I let the comment slide just because of that smirk, “We cannot change what has happened or fix it as quickly as we would both like but I've missed you too much to be mad. In the future we should be better at this, both of us. I never told you how petrified I felt either. My adoration of you caught me off guard. I thought I had some disease, much to Dacina’s amusement, and I considered running too but you were, are, intoxicating.” Thomas smiles at me, full of promise that I smile back. He is offering a truce of sorts through his own truth and I can't help but imagine Thomas trying to explain his feelings to his sister.

“No secrets, no running.” I offer back and he nods, taking my hand in his and absentmindedly making shapes as we sit in silence. Just like old times.

Except I ruin it with my shivers. I was so focused on Thomas I forgot I was still damp and cold.

“You know, skin to skin contact is the most efficient way of warming up, I wouldn't want you catching hypothermia when there is a simple solution.” he says, smirking fully and I roll my eyes despite my huge smile. There is the Cresswell I fell in love with.

“Scoundrel.” I remove my hand from his and place it under the blankets and nestle further back.

“I am indeed, but also a gentleman. You’re staying here till it's stopped raining. You can have my bed if you want, or the sofa. I can find some fresh clothes and dry your dress as much as possible.”

Thomas leaves the room too fast for me to formulate a sentence so I sit and mull over what has happened. It will not be like before, we have those elements but mixed with something new. I expected to fear that, but found myself excited instead. Thomas returns with a pile of clothes and sets them by me but i make no move to get them. I have only just gained some warmth and even though sitting in wet-ish clothes will be worse, I can't make myself move.

“Can you sit with me please? For a bit, then you can use your bed. I've imposed too much so the sofa is fine, thank you.” I watched him sit back in his chair and smile slightly. I missed all his little mannerisms, how he immediately sets his arm out ready to tap if he needs to. How his hair flicks down. I decide I much prefer his messy hair than neat. There is a softness to his features now that wasn't there when I first saw him tonight. He also looks tired and I consider that I should have picked a better time. Thomas is too kind to comment on that fact.

“You are not imposing Wadsworth. I will happily sit with you all night if you wish and thank you for coming. Albeit the timing is bad, you could have waited for better weather to prevent any illness but- I'm glad you came. I wanted to see you but I thought I was a coward and didn't want to face you if you didn't want to see me.”

His words hit me like a knife in the gut. We were both afraid, both controlled by our own insecurities that we both nearly never got to this stage. It is laughable at how ironic it was. Thomas and I were both convinced the other would not want to see us.

“You are right, we do need to be better,” I say and he looks over at me, “tomorrow, weather permitted, would you like to go to breakfast with me?”

“I'll make breakfast and if weather permits I'd be delighted to go to lunch with you.” Thomas tries to stifle a yawn and I ignore the tug of uneasiness that is screaming. This is too easy. Instead I lean my head back and revel in it, commit Thomas's adorable yawn to memory and agree to tomorrow's plans.

“You should go to bed Cresswell, we seem to have a long day planned tomorrow and i need to get out of my wet clothes.”

“Do I need to reiterate my method of warmth?” He asks.

“Need I reiterate what a scoundrel you are?”

“Yes, I enjoy your slight blush when you say it.”

“Goodnight Thomas.”

He stands and I watch him stretch slightly, walk so that he is facing me. Then he reaches and presses a kiss to my temple. “Goodnight Audrey Rose.”

The kiss lingers, a phantom touch that stays with me all night. Warms me enough to hold onto the hope that Thomas and I will be okay. Our spark will reignite just as, if not more, intensely than before.

@fangirling-again @kittycat2187 @goatahoan @city-of-fae @the-hoofflepooff @ink-insomnia @purplecreatorhorsewagon @boredbookwormgirl @goddess-of-writing-wars @lovecakeandmore @yikesitsmaddie @loveyatopluto @bookscressworth @androgynousdeputylawyershoe @fandomtakeover @throneoftsc

#sjtr #hpd #efh #ctd #btdp #cressworth #audrey rose wadsworth #thomas cresswell #thomas #audrey rose #wadsworth #cresswell #kerri maniscalco #i have just finished kingdom of the wicked and im making the wise decision to re-read efh and then ctd #how you get the girl

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angst-fairygodmother · 3 years

Text

He Could Be That Boy ~ Alfie Jones x Reader (Me and Mrs. Jones) - 2

A/N: Alright, folks. The freeloader in my brain is getting another chapter. Haven’t decided if there will be more from here... Word Count: 1405 Rating: T - partial nudity, implied sexual content, language

Stirring with a groan, you sat up, rubbing sleep and lingering booze-bleariness from your eyes. One hand dropped to gather the sheet still over your lower half and you frowned, noticing now that they were not your usual patterned ones. Frowning in confusion, you took a more careful look around you.

“Oh fuck,” you breathed, staring in horror at the person in bed beside you. “Fuck fuck fuck.”

Tossing the blanket aside, you scrambled to your feet and away from the bed, grabbing random articles of clothing off the floor as you went. Practically pressing yourself into the corner you held them over your underwear-clad body and continued to stare.

“Five more minutes Mum,” he mumbled, rolling over and pulling the sheet closer around his bare shoulders, only half-waking from the commotion.

Your heart ached at how cute he looked, hair disheveled and face slightly squished into the pillow. If only waking up next to him were planned, instead of panicked.

You couldn’t remember what happened, after maybe the fourth cocktail. After Alfie had...had he really kissed you or was it just a vivid and wonderful dream? And was that all the two of you had done?

You needed to take stock of the situation. You were still in your bra and panties, that was probably a good sign, but not definitive. After all, Alfie had a thing about underwear, and you were in a rather cute lacy set. There was clothing everywhere. But it was Alfie’s room, so that was mostly just its constant state. Back and forth your mind raced, spotting signs you had slept together, and then signs you hadn’t, everywhere. Eventually you came to the conclusion that the only thing to do was wake him up and ask.

Your stomach flipped.

“Alfie?” you hissed, hoping you could get his attention without alerting the rest of the Jones household. “Wake up.”

No response. You sighed.

“Alfred!” you picked up an old pair of jeans and balled them up to throw at him.

He groaned, batting them away and pretending to keep on sleeping.

“I know you’re awake you ass, and if you don’t answer me I will dump cold water on you.”

The threat, and prior experience that you really would, had him bolting upright, only to double back over as his head no doubt swam. After a tense moment where you thought he might puke, he turned to look pathetically at you.

“Y/N?” he asked, frown deepening. “What are you doing in my room...over there...are you naked?”

“Because this is where I landed when I launched myself after waking up next to you in my underwear. What the fuck happened last night?” you snapped, attempting to maintain a glare despite how exposed you felt under his gaze.

“You don’t remember?”

“It’s...fuzzy. Is there something to remember?”

A different kind of frown crossed his face now, one full of anger and hurt. “No. Forget it.”

“Alfie,” you sighed, fixing him with a look. “We’ve been friends for...too long now. Do you really think I can’t tell when something’s wrong?”

He frowned, lower lip stuck out in a pout. “I thought it...meant something.”

“Thought...what meant something…?”

“Will you stop hiding over there in the corner?”

“No, I think I’m good here,” you shook your head violently. “At least until I find something to cover myself properly with.” You gestured around you vaguely with one hand to the floor and scattered clothing.

“Well you’re holding one of my shirts and you’re so tiny…” he shrugged, unapologetic about his own near-nakedness, as usual.

You glared for a moment longer, lifting the material to your nose and giving it a sniff. It smelled of him, but not in a way that was gross and you sighed. You pulled it over your head, heart racing slightly as you became enveloped in it. Slowly, tugging the hem of it down as far as you could over your thighs, you shuffled back to the bed. You folded your legs under you, claiming half of his blanket to cover yourself better.

“Now can we talk?” you asked, turning slightly to face him, resisting the urge to lean in, like something was drawing you there.

“What do you think happened last night?” he asked, fiddling with a loose string on the edge of the blanket.

“I...we drank. And we…” you bit your lip and looked away.

Alfie was surprisingly still, waiting for you.

“Did you kiss me or did I make that up?” you asked softly, afraid of what he’d answer, and unsure what would be the worse answer.

Silence settled over you and you felt your face heat with shame. Tugging at the hem of his shirt again, you got up, doing your best to keep it down while you moved around, looking for your clothes.

“Y/N,” Alfie said. You felt him reach out for you and shrugged him away, fingertips barely brushing your arm.

“I should just go, this is ridiculous,” you muttered. “Where the fuck is my skirt?”

“Y/N, come on. Just…”

“No. No. Whatever happened was a mistake. And if I leave…” he caught you this time, despite your continued attempts to search and dodge.

You stumbled as Alfie pulled you in, landing heavily against his naked chest. A chest that was much more toned than you remembered it being before he left. Your fingers curled into a fist pressed to it, his warmth radiating through you and one of his arms around your shoulders now.

“If I leave…” you protested faintly. “We can pretend whatever happened or didn’t happen...never happened.”

“Or…” he drawled, wagging his eyebrows, a smirk growing on his face. “My bed is right there.”

“That’s not funny Alfie,” you snapped, trying to pull away.

Reluctantly he let you go. “I’m being serious, for once. I was a proper idiot for waiting so long to kiss you. And last night…”

There it was again, that implication, and the anxious bile it caused to rise up in your throat.

“We didn’t do anything,” he said, waving the concern away before you could ask again. “Well, we did some things, but not that. You were drunk and I would never.”

Now it was your turn to raise a brow.

“I mean...I wanted to but...I sound like such a fucking tosser right now. Have I told you how fit you look in my shirt?”

“You don’t though. Sound like a tosser,” you mumbled, biting your lip, face heating intensely. “It’s sweet.”

He scoffed, groaning as his head dropped backward. “Nobody wants to be called sweet, Y/N. That’s what you say about your brother or the guy you’re letting down nicely.”

“Maybe the girls you usually go for,” you said, tilting your own head to whisper in his ear. “I happen to like sweet.”

You smiled at him, eyes dancing as he watched you curiously.

“So what I did last night...” he asked, looking down at you, dark eyes soft and hopeful.

“Hm. You should definitely do it again. You know, just to remind me what it was,” you said with a smirk.

He leaned down to capture your mouth in his, inhaling sharply as he did, the sound hungry and desperate, trailing into a moan that you matched as your lips connected. One of your hands curled against his chest again, and the other gripped his arm, desperate for purchase as your legs buckled beneath you from the intensity of it. Alfie giggled, catching your waist to support you.

“Oh,” you said, pulling away.

“Alfie magic, works on all the ladies,” he said, smirking as if you didn’t notice that he was just as breathless as you.

You rolled your eyes fondly, stretching up on your toes to press a kiss to his cheek now.

“Tell you what, I need a shower, but maybe we can revisit your magic...and the idea of going back to bed...when I’m done?” your heart skipped a beat and the heat from your face crept down your neck and along your scalp as you suggested it.

“Yeah?” he asked, face boyish and hopeful as he caught your implication. He flopped dramatically onto the bed, posing like he was about to ask you to draw him like a french girl. “I’ll be waiting right here for you my love. Oh, and towels are in the cupboard.”

#a little bit spicier than part one #but not as spicy as the theoretical part 3 will be #if you catch my drift #Alfie x Reader #Me and Mrs. Jones fic #childhood friends to lovers

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r3almellow · 4 years

Text

MLQC Boys and Jealousy Sex

I’m blaming @kim-stxtches for this because I really wasn’t going to do this and then they forced me! Okay, I’m lying! I needed an excuse to write this! I’m shocked I finished in one go tbh. Normally takes me 3,000 years. Please enjoy!

Warning: Title speaks for itself, but it is NSFW!

UNDER THE CUT!

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Kiro

THIS MISCHIEVOUS MAN!

Will “discreetly” get handsy with you in front of whoever he feels threatened by.

Purposes stands close enough to squeeze your ass. Might hug you from behind and press himself against your ass so you can feel his hardened length.

Its kind of like a reminder when he does it.

“Hey, don’t forget your boyfriend is here.”

By the time he’s done teasing you, you’ll have to excuse yourself. It’s highly likely that you’ll drag him along with you, so he could finish what he started.

Kiro’s a biter.

He likes to leave his mark all over your body, but does his best to leave them in places that make it easier for you to hide. Only because you asked.

Jealous Kiro will throw all that out the window. Be prepared to have your neck covered in bite marks. It’ll be turtleneck season for a while.

You’ll have bite marks on your inner thighs as well so that whenever your legs brush against one another, you’ll have the memory of Kiro and the long lust filled night you spent together.

Doesn’t help when you’re at a shoot with him and you feel your pussy clench involuntarily as you shift slightly, while trying to hold a conversation with Savin. Kiro will notice your discomfort and give you an impish smirk from across the room and all you can do is glare.

The idea of you thinking of him when you’re with another man fills him with pride and has him dying to bury himself inside you when all this is over.

Kiro gets pretty ruthless when he’s eating you out. Normally, he’ll do it until you’ve reached your orgasm and tease you a little bit after, but jealous Kiro is a different story.

No matter how much you beg for him to let up, he probably won’t. He’ll continuously use his mouth until you’re a complete twitching whimpering mess. You’ll be on your fourth orgasm before he finally looks up at you, licking your juices off his lips.

“I’ll make it so that I’m the only one who can make you feel like this.”

Gavin

A Jealous Gavin in the streets is a soft Gavin in the sheets.

In the moment, he’s possessive of you and has no problem with letting the person know that unless they want to get choked out they need to back off.

Behind closed doors, he’s another one that likes to cling on to you. His actions, however, aren’t as naughty as Kiro’s. Gavin doesn’t like the idea of you catching someone else’s eye so his hugs are also a reminder that you have him. You can barely walk around your apartment without him holding on to you. You rarely complain because a hug from Gavin is like a protective blanket.

It doesn’t take long for you to start to feel him trail soft kisses along your neck and cheek. Then a hand slips under your shirt, lightly grazing your stomach as it travels up to cup your breasts.

His kisses will get a little more intense. The sound of his lips smacking against your skin growing louder as he leaves hickeys in his wake.

When Gavin is jealous he wants to make sure you never feel the need to look elsewhere for love. Will pamper you until his last breath because he loves you and doesn’t want to lose you. Might go a bit overboard so make sure to stop him if he gets ahead of himself.

Gavin, please don’t suffocate while eating me out.

Once he slides his cock into you, just know that his movements will be as rough and desperate as his kisses. Yeaaaah prepare for your lips to be swollen and throbbing after this.

He uses his body to convey all the things he wants to say. “I love you.” “You’re mine just as much as I’m yours.” “No one else can you see you like this but me.” “Thank you for choosing me.”

Hands roam all over your naked form to make sure you’re still with him, that you’re more than just his dream girl.

At some point you’ll realize why he’s doing all this and turn the tables on him. Telling Gavin how much you love him while riding him will definitely boost your man’s confidence.

Wiggle your hips the way he likes it, let him hear you moan his name, take his hand, guide it to your aching pussy and have him feel how wet you are.

To make him lose his mind say “You feel that, babe? Only you can make me feel this good.”

Victor

Jealousy sex and angry sex kind of go hand in hand with you and Victor.

You hate when he tries to showcase his dominance, but you also love when he has you bent over his desk, a hand firmly pulling your hair back and his length sliding roughly into your pussy.

You know exactly why he gets like this? A business associate looks at you a lot longer than they should. A passerby makes a comment about how good you look. You say something that gets him worked up.

Victor does his best to compose himself and tries to not let his jealousy get the better of him especially when he’s at work. But if you pick up on it and tease him he will break.

“Is the great Victor Li jealous? Guess he should really appreciate how great his girlfriend is because other men seem to think so.”

Its safe to say that even if you deny it, you love when he’s rough with you. That’s the only reason why you push his buttons when he’s annoyed, jealous, or angry. And he knows it!

Let’s be real...Victor’s thrust game is always on point, but its even better when you’ve gotten under his skin. He hits that spot with excellent precision just so he can have you crumble beneath him.

A few slick comments and you’ll be glad that the sound of your moans and the lewd sounds your pussy made as your juices coated his dick will never leave his soundproof office.

If you don’t tease him enough, Victor will wait until the two of you are home to strike.

You’ll get mouthy which is to be expected, but your feisty words only make things that more intense and you end up on your knees sucking him off regardless.

Afterwards, your grumpy man gets really soft and holds you close while stroking your hair. He knows that being with him is a challenge. He hates to admit how stubborn his is but you take it in stride and challenge him when you could easily live a life of simplicity.

“I know I don’t say it a lot, but I’m grateful that you chose to be by my side.”

Lucien

Lucien is the type of jealous lover who likes to test you. How far can you go before you’re begging for release that only he can give.

Expect for him to throw toys into the mix. More specifically vibrators. He’ll use anything to stimulate you as long as its not his body.

You’re not allowed to touch yourself or orgasm either. That defeats the purpose of what he’s trying to do.

You’ll be chained to the bedpost writhing and panting, practically pleading for some form of release.

Lucien will only watch intently from the other side of the room. Like he’s making note and watching your every move as the seconds ticked by.

“Lucien..please...I don’t think I can...”

Your eyes are watery, the throbbing between your legs growing more unbearable, and your back arches as you let out a frustrated moan.

When he sees you’re almost close to an orgasm, he’ll give you exactly what you want.

Depending on the situation, he can be just as rough as Victor or he’ll dial it down a bit, but you could careless. You just want him to fuck you senseless.

“My beautiful butterfly... You’re forever trapped in my web.”

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I’m honestly proud of myself. I managed to bust this out in a day! Anyways, hope you all enjoyed it this.

Check out my other works here!

#mlqc #mlqc kiro #mlqc gavin #mlqc victor #mlqc lucien

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mochiyoonfi · 3 years

Text

Our Utopia

Synopsis: Y/n is an Idol Trainee under the same company as her big brother- Kim Namjoon. But there’s more to her than her angelic voice.

Universe: idol!bts, idol!reader, reader is Namjoon's sister.

Warnings: Angst, mentions of drug abuse/addiction, mentions of suicidal thoughts, depression, abuse, sexual assault, violence.

A/N: This is a request! Requested by @deereadeer Sorry this took so long!

~ (reader discretion is recommended) ~

Betraying the darkest parts of your heart to strangers was definitely something you wouldn’t recommend. Heart in your throat, you looked across at the judges. The founder of the company had his eyebrow raised, as if asking if you were going to do anything.

Taking a deep breath, you summoned every ounce of your courage and opened your mouth.

As you begin to sing, you feel everyone’s eyes fixed on you. You don’t pay attention to that, only to the thumping feeling of your racing heart.

You close your eyes, putting all the emotion you can manage without breaking down, into your voice.

Suddenly the room around you faded, you saw your darkest fears, the ones you could never talk to someone about. Your worst memories.

Walking through the lush park that you could no longer stomach to see, the gentle air playing with locks of your hair. The three men, strangers to you, who now haunted your nightmares regardless, had come out of nowhere, the darkness around them betraying the darkness of their hearts. And when it was over, they slunk back to nowhere.

You had only been two blocks away from your house.

You were almost home.

But you weren’t.

The frightful attack was just the start of your mentally declining slope. Drugs, alcohol. They became your only comforts. The only thing helping you cope. The shame surrounding your use of them was apparent to only you. No one else knew of your pain. Not even your best friends.

The real saving light to your turmoil came, maybe not when you desperately wanted it to, but it came nonetheless.

Your parents.

Of course you knew that your trusting, caring parents would have never imagined the spiral you had fallen into.

But they tried their best to comfort you regardless. You saw the shame in their eyes though, they couldn’t hide that. Their shame didn’t change the fact they loved you.

You knew that they loved you.

So when they told you to go to rehab, you went willingly. They had to know what was best for you. Because you sure as hell didn’t.

Your eyes slowly trailed up to the judges, resisting the urge to wipe your eyes, unsure of if there were even tears in them.

The judges all had straight faces. For a second your heart sunk.

Maybe you just weren’t good enough.

Was your best not good enough?

The female judge was the first to crack. She turned away and her shoulders began shaking, her hands shooting up to her face. Sobs were torn from her mouth, none too quietly.

The CEO, Bang Shi Hyuk or better known as PD Nim, wasn’t crying or staring almost blankly at you. He was smiling.

“Thank you for auditioning, we’ll get back to you if you’ve made it through.” He stated, voice a little quieter than normal. “You remind me of someone.”

You blinked.

He sighed, realising that you wanted to know who he meant. “You remind me of RM, from BTS. You both speak well and have heartfelt lyrics.”

It was your turn to smile, a sense of pride washing over you. “He’s my brother.”

The judges gasped quietly, the crying woman’s eyes widening. “Why didn’t you tell us beforehand? We would’ve marked you better!”

You shuffled on your feet, fingers playing with each other. “Well…I guess… I..”

“I think Kim Y/n means that she didn’t want to use her brother to make it through the auditions.” Bang Shi Hyuk said, smiling kindly at you.

You nodded vigorously. “Yeah. I want to do it for myself. Not cheat my way through…”

The woman stood up, face contorted somewhere between disbelief and anger. “What if you don’t make it through? Wouldn’t that be worse on your reputation? It wouldn’t even be cheating, it would just be an advantage!”

“I want to do this myself. I’m sure I can.”

Bang Shi Hyuk nodded. “We have your details and contact information. The period of call backs is one to two weeks. Thank you. Goodbye.”

-✥-

“Namjoon’s really good at rapping.”

You were lying on the floor of the practice room at Big Hit Entertainment with five other girls. Not just any girls. These girls were insanely talented— and also the only female idol trainees signed under the same company as the Kpop sensation, BTS, the band your brother was in. You six girls were kind of special in that sense.

“Yeah I know.” You replied, not trying to hide the pride in your voice.

“How come you aren’t good at rapping then?” Aiko asked, her dark eyes fixated on the tv mounted on the wall. You rolled your eyes when you saw that her eyes were solely on your brother. You still weren’t used to the whole ‘worldwide famous brother’ thing.

“Just because my brother is a good rapper doesn’t mean I am too.”

Heeyoung laughed. “Yeah but how can you not even drop a beat?”

Heeyoung was the main rapper in the group, so you weren’t surprised to hear this from her.

“I’m a singer, not a rapper.” You replied.

Ji-Eun smiled softly. Her smile was a welcoming thing to you. She normally was quiet, didn’t smile much and wasn’t very opinionated— a real peacekeeper. When she spoke, she spoke with pure honesty. You had never seen her lie before, at least, not successfully.

“You’re the best singer I’ve ever heard. Better than all those professional singers out there.”

You went red. “J-Ji! You can’t say that!”

Aiko shook her head. “No, she’s right. You’re a real natural talent. Probably even better than Jungkook.”

Your eyes widened. “J-Jungkook? He’s a senior to us! You can’t insult him like that!”

“Y/n, it’s a compliment to you.” Aiko scoffed, no malice in her voice.

“B-but-!”

A tinkling laugh filled the room and you turned to the source. The lead dancer of your group was grinning up from her phone. “Y/n, you really can’t accept compliments can you?”

“I can accept compliments just fine Luna.” You pouted.

Luna shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe just not in front of us.”

“Baram has no problem accepting compliments. I guess she should do our acceptance speeches.” Aiko stated.

Baram looked up from her phones. Baram smirked instantly. “No, that won’t work. Our modest leader shall accept everything.”

“Accept what?” Luna laughed. “We haven’t even debuted yet!”

Aiko jumped up, thrusting her fist into the air. “Yeah, but I know we’ll do well! Just like BTS! Just like TXT!”

“Yeah but BTS is mainly vocalists. We have two vocals.”

Everyone’s eyes drifted to Baram. She was a known overthinker. Ji-Eun quickly came to the rescue though. “Doesn’t matter. We’ve got some of the best dancers I’ve ever known! We’ll rock the industry to their core.”

You grinned. If anyone could energise your group, it was definitely Ji-Eun. “On three! UT-Opia!”

“UT-Opia!”

-✥-

You sat down in your dormitory, ignoring the fact that Aiko was sleeping, quite loudly, in your own bed. You rolled your eyes, throwing a blanket over her and turning on your camera.

You smiled warmly into the camera. “Welcome back, Blisses! I’m Y/n, the leader and main singer of UT-Opia! Today I’ll be talking about the song writing process! First I think of what the song will be about. Normally two themes: Love or sadness. I’m feeling pretty happy right now, so I’ll write about love.”

You talked for maybe five minutes before signing off and turning off the camera. You sighed in relief. Now all you had to do was your afternoon workout, and you would be done for the day.

Aiko stirred from under the blanket. “Oh. Hey Y/n.”

Walking over to her, you smiled lovingly. As much as you loved all the girls equally, you had a soft spot for the maknae, Aiko.

“Hey Aiko.”

She looked over at where your camera was set up, sheets of music and note paper discarded messily. Her brow creased. “Were you filming a daily vlog?”

You nodded.

“Don’t overwork yourself.” She warned.

You laughed unintentionally at this. Here she was, so exhausted from her daily life that she had collapsed into your bed, and slept for who knows how long. And she was telling you to take a break.

“I’m fine Aiko. You, however, look tired. Please sleep well. I’ll wake you when we need to practice.”

Her head immediately fell into the blanket again. “Thanks Y/n.”

You shared a room with Ji-Eun, which you never used. Really, it was more a gesture than anything useful.

You carefully pried open the front door to your actual dorm, being as silent as possible.

“Y/n! You’re back!”

Your brother greeted you with a hug and you couldn’t help but fall into his warm embrace. He smiled at you.

“Where were you? I hope you weren’t practicing all day..”

You grinned and pulled him into another quick hug. “No more than I need to.”

Namjoon sighed. He rustled his short blue hair and eyed your own dyed hair. “Honestly, at this point do we even look like siblings?”

“The price of fame.” You quipped. He laughed slightly.

“The price of keeping your fans happy.”

You turned to him, setting down the cup of coffee you had just begun to make. You studied him with care, studying him for any of his normal nervous habits. But no, he was standing calm and still.

“Don’t you enjoy making your fans happy anymore?”

He looked up from his own cup. He shook his head. “I do. I love making them happy. In fact, they make me happy.”

“I wonder if I’ll be as happy.”

The words came out without any intention to. Your thoughts had somehow managed to scramble themselves and now your older brother was looking at you, bright eyes unable to mask their sympathy.

“I’m sure you’ll be just as successful—if not more. And I’ll always make sure you’re happy.”

You sucked in a breath. “Always?”

“When have I ever not been here for you?”

You didn’t answer his question, knowing if you lied he may be able to tell, somehow. Instead you just nodded, smiled slightly awkwardly.

A gush of breeze raced past you, so fast you couldn’t even see what it was. Well, not really. As sneaky as Taehyung thought himself, the young man from your brother's group was actually not very good at unnoticed movements. In fact it had only taken two days of living with him to know his lying habits, exactly how fake his smile was, and what he did when he was tired. A lot of the time, it was the latter. He never seemed to get a full night's sleep. Often he would knock on your door and you would get out of bed and follow him out onto the deck. Together you would sit in silence, just gazing at the stars.

“Y/n! You hard worker! I’m glad you’re back!”

You smiled at the younger man and brought him in to you for a brief hug. “Ah, I should be saying that to you guys. Promoting a new album is making your schedules busy, eh?”

Namjoon sighed loudly. “It’s hard.” He saw your slightly disappointed face and hurried to correct himself. “It’s always worth it though.”

“Mm. I’ll wait until I see the worth.”

You breath hitched. Min Yoongi, the second oldest in your brothers group, had entered the room. He scratched his neck slowly, eyes trailing to each person's present face. He looked away before he got to you though.

“Oh Yoongi give her some hope.” Taehyung complained.

Yoongi shrugged. “It’s true. I’m just tired right now. Where’s the cereal?”

“Grandpa, it’s 10 at night.” Namjoon groaned.

Yoongi’s upper lip curled downwards in something that resembled disgust. “What’s wrong with cereal at night?” His frown deepened. “And don’t call me grandpa.”

Namjoon rolled his eyes. “Whatever. How’s your practice going anyway?”

Realising this was directed at you, you looked up into your brothers strong eyes. “I think we’re pretty good! Almost as good as you guys!” You teased.

Namjoon laughed. “I wouldn’t be surprised. You girls are very talented. All we have really is years of work and a massive fan base backing our every move.”

Your eyebrows fell. “We haven’t even debuted yet. Of course we aren’t that successful.”

“You guys still do daily vlogs right?” Taehyung asked.

“Yeah Y/n did one this morning.”

Turning to Yoongi, your heart caught slightly. “D-did you watch it?”

He nodded. “It was good. I like the way you write your music. It’s very deep.”

Your heart began pounding, not because of the butterflies catching at the fact that he had been watching you, but now because he had seen you so invested in your music. It almost felt as if you were ripping out pages of a diary you had kept for years and giving it to him to read through.

“Too bad you didn’t do any singing though.”

“I haven’t heard you sing— really sing, I’m so long Y/n.” Namjoon jumped in. “Do you think you could sing for me at some point.”

“Me too!” Taehyung jumped in, reminding you that he was still there.

“Maybe later?” You squeaked.

Namjoon’s eyes narrowed. “That’s fine. I think you should go to bed.”

You sighed. Of course Namjoon had noticed the sleep bags under your eyes. He was too perceptible for his own good sometimes.

“I will. I just need to talk with Jungkook first.”

The three boys nodded. It had become a regular thing, you talking to each of the boys in private every few days. They just assumed that it was for some type of mentoring purposes, as the things you asked about were always vague. But your conversations always turned to a more emotional route.

Because you weren’t there only for their tutoring and mentoring.

-✥-

“Jungkook sunbae?”

“Come in.”

You slowly opened his door, walking in quietly. He was slouched on the floor against his wall, phone in hand. He looked up at you and grinned.

“Hey Y/n. Nice to see you. And for the hundredth time, just call me Jungkook. You’re older than me for goodness sake.”

You laughed, sliding down next to him. “But you have so much more experience than me. It doesn’t feel right addressing you so casually.”

“You’ve been living here for two whole years now. I think we’re pretty good friends at this point.”

“You guys have really blown up over two years.”

He turned off his phone, throwing it and landing it perfectly onto his bed. “And you guys have gotten a lot better at dancing— which to be honest, is astounding seeing how good you were to start with.”

“And your mental health has gotten so much better.”

“It’s only thanks to you.”

You smiled. “I’m glad I can do anything to help you. You didn’t need much helping really, just a gentle push in the right direction. You’ve been strong since I’ve known you.”

“You as well.” Jungkook responded earnestly. “You were really reluctant to move in with us at first.”

A laugh filled the room. “Well you should expect that— A 23 year old moving in with a bunch of men.”

Jungkook shrugged. “I moved in with a bunch of teenagers and young men when I was only young. I guess I had very different experiences to other people.” He looked down at the tattoos running all along the skin of his hands. The word ‘ARMY’ spelt out of his group members' names. “I guess some of those experiences were good though.”

A warm smile washed over your face, lighting up your eyes.

Jungkook was right.

Some experiences were different— and they weren’t all enjoyable.

But some of them were good.

“I’m really glad I came here. Even if I didn’t really want to at first. I’ve learnt so much from you guys. I think I’ve grown a lot more too.”

Jungkook chuckled, ready to poke fun at you after your shared emotional moment. “I hope you don’t mean in height, because that certainly isn’t true.”

You rolled your eyes, shoving him slightly as you got up.

He looked slightly crestfallen as you began to exit his room. “Wait I didn’t mean to offend you!”

You giggled. “And you didn’t. I just need to go to bed. I’m tired, Kook.”

A bright grin washed over his face, white teeth popping out in a bunny like expression. “You called me Kook!”

You paused in his doorway. “No..”

Bolting towards, and before you could react he had his arms wrapped around you tightly.

This felt sickeningly similar.

The feeling of being deprived of air.

The world turned to pure black.

“Y/n?”

You blinked.

Right. That was just your memories. This was the present.

And there was no reason for you to be afraid.

Grabbing at Jungkook’s back you found your chin resting on his shoulder. He fidgeted, clearly surprised that you had returned his gesture.

“Yeah I called you Kook. Goodnight, Jungkook. Sleep well.”

He pulled back, even though you were his noona, a few years older than him even, he still stood a large majority taller than yourself. He leant down to press a light kiss onto your forehead. A brotherly action.

You pulled him into another hug quickly before running out of his room, trying in vain to hide your beaming face.

-✥-

“They’re coming over here? Them!” Aiko squealed, not even trying to conceal her inner fangirl.

“Yeah. And one of ‘them’ is my older brother.” You eyed up Aiko’s bouncy stage. “Don’t make it weird.”

Aiko huffed, placing her hands onto her hips, staring at you with a sassy pout. “I've never made things weird.”

Luna jumped up, feeding off Aiko’s overexcited energy. “We can introduce ourselves as a group right? That’ll be so cool! Using our stage names too!”

“You don’t even have a stage name.” Heeyoung pointed out.

Luna thrust a hand at herself dramatically. “My name is so beautiful I need no stage name.”

“Girls! Get ready, they’ve just arrived.” Your manager said offhandedly, obviously not grasping the weight of the rest of your group getting to perform in front of the most famous band in the world.

You all jumped up, standing in a line in front of the door, a few metres back so as to not scare the poor boys.

The door clicked open and a bodyguard stepped inside. He looked around, then stepping forwards and aside, he cleared the way for the tall man behind him to enter.

Your brother smiled softly at you as the rest of the group filed inside slowly. You could hear Aiko practically buzzing when Jimin stepped inside.

“2! 3! Bangtan. Hello, we’re BTS!”

“We know.” Ji-Eun muttered and you had to bite your tongue to suppress a laugh.

You stepped forward, taking in a breath. “Hello! We are UT-Opia!”

At the end for UT-Opia, the other girls joined in so it came out as a chorus.

Your manager waved his hand as if this wasn’t necessary at all. It probably wasn’t, but it made you feel professional.

“Introduce yourselves girls. I’m sure the boys don’t need to.”

Ji-Eun raised her hand. “Manager, I’m sure I’ve told you, I don’t know BTS well at all.”

You giggled. Ji-Eun was ever blunt and honest. Your manager didn’t see this as a virtue though, and hung his face in his hands.

“It’s fine. Hi! I’m RM, rapper and leader of BTS.”

The following six members introduced themselves, to which Ji-Eun noticeably didn’t pay much attention to. Realising it was finally your turn, you took a deep breath, mustering your fleeting courage.

“I’m Y/n of UT-Opia. I'm the main vocalist and the leader.”

“I’m K.” Ji-Eun tried dismally to put any emotion into saying her stage name. “I'm the lead rapper and the oldest.”

“Hey! I’m Luna, lead dancer!” Luna accentuated the words ‘lead dancer’ with a flip of her dyed blonde hair.

“I’m Gem and I’m a main dancer.” Baram looked almost starstruck to be talking to BTS. She was normally overly confident and self certain, but right now she looked quite awed.

“I’m Cinnamon, it’s a stage name do not worry, and I’m a main dancer but I prefer the title of-”

Manager tapped his watch. Heeyoung smiled sympathetically at him, but regardless continued her speech. “I’m main dancer but I prefer the title of main rapper.” She looked down at her purple button up shirt and dark tracksuits that somehow looked fashionable. “I’m not as good at dancing as I am at styling.”

You could’ve sworn you heard Manager groan at her final wordings.

“I’m Aiko. I’m the youngest and I’m a sub vocal and also a dancer and sub rapper!”

Manager breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank goodness that’s over. Girls do you have a song you could perform, you know, to show what you can do? The boys can give some pointers or something.”

He looked down hurriedly at his watch. “I’m late to a meeting. Thank you BTS for coming. Please take care of them.”

As soon as the uptight man rushed from the room, Yoongi dropped onto the ground along with Jimin, and on the other end of the room, Heeyoung.

“Let’s get rid of the formalities, alright?” Yoongi asked.

You nodded. “Ji-Eun, their names are Namjoon, Seokjin, Hoseok, Yoongi, Taehyung and Jungkook, alright?”

She frowned. “I would’ve addressed them by their hair colours if I didn’t know.”

“But unnie-” You began.

Hoseok cut you off with a laugh. “Sorry Y/n for interrupting. Just K has such a lack of care. It’s quite honestly refreshing when everyone treats you like kings of some kind.”

“My name isn’t actually K.” Ji-Eun pointed out. “It’s Ji-Eun. Call me Ji.”

“I’m Baram.” Gem added.

You noticed the boy's eyes trail to Heeyoung. She didn’t comply.

“I’m just Cinnamon. It’s my birth name.”

“Her name is Heeyoung.” You said, grinning at her.

She rolled her eyes. “And the air of mystery is gone.”

“So what are you guys gonna perform?” Yoongi asked, eager to hear you sing.

You fiddled with your fingers. “We’re a mainly dance focused group, should we dance?”

“I want to hear you sing though.” Yoongi replied, not enforcing, but softly so he sounded as if he were reassuring you.

“Well.. I-” You begun.

Heeyoung leapt to her feet. “Well? Cmon! Let’s do that song!”

“Heeyoung and Aiko dragged you to your feet. “It’s a good song too!”

“I dunno.” You whispered.

Ji-Eun looked deep into your eyes. “There’s no harm in trying.”

And with that, you were in the middle of the room, a microphone in hand and the rest of your group spread around you.

Aiko pressed the player, turning on a quiet piano track you could remember sitting down and playing to record. It had been emotional by yourself, how would it be with people with you?

You took a deep breath.

No harm in trying.

Focusing on your voice instead of their reactions, you closed your eyes. As the words to your song left your lips, your mind wasn’t in the practice room. You were racing through all your bad memories.

And there was a light at the end of the foggy tunnel of pain.

A way out.

The last time Namjoon had heard you sing was before he went to audition for Bighit Entertainment. A long time ago. You had been just goofing around with him, he was rapping to the song and you were singing. He had showered you with compliments over your voice after that.

Would he still like your voice?

Your eyelids fluttered open. Ji-Eun, Heeyoung, Aiko and Baram were all moving rhythmically around you, moving with the music. Luna was dancing beside you in a smooth flowing form of actions. It wasn’t the normal hip hop or pop dancing she normally did. This was a more sorrow filled format. Her movements were lucid. She noticed you watching and made her way over to you. Her palm drew across your face, sliding your eyelids shut.

Only when you felt the moisture on her palm slide across your face did you realise you were crying. So much emotion was being poured into your voice that you hadn’t kept a tight enough lid on how you were acting physically.

You didn’t make the motion to wipe off your tears though.

The tears, the pain— they were part of your song.

Part of your life.

As the song drew to a close, your eyes opened again to see the astounded faces of the members of BTS. Yoongi’s eyes were wide and it seemed as if there was a slight sheen to them, a small amount of moisture. Hoseok, Jimin and Jin all looked amazed, and slightly guilty that you were crying. Jungkook and Taehyung were both blinking back tears. They had needed you a lot more than the others in your years of helping them with their mental health and hated seeing you upset.

The boys all had the same look of adoration and amazement plastered onto their faces. They were blown away by your voice, your emotion. By you.

Your brother was astounded though. A wave of emotions seemed to be rippling through his expressions all at once. It was a relief to hear your sweet voice once again, lifting and filling up the room as you sing your heart out. Pride overwhelmed him.

He was proud of you, of your voice. Of your emotions.

You fetched some drink bottles and took the chance to dry your eyes, handing a bottle to each member of your group.

“That was a really good song.” Yoongi noted. “The piano was superb as well. The lyrics.. they were really deep and heartfelt.

Aiko smiled. “That’s our Y/n writing and playing that song!”

Namjoon blinked slowly. “You wrote that song?”

“Y-yeah.” You gulped. Maybe he didn’t like it after all. “It’s not very good but-“

“Are you kidding me?” Namjoon yelped. “It was so good! The lyrics were so deep as Yoongi said! I can’t believe you’re such a good writer!”

You flushed a shade of crimson. “I-I-I thank you.”

“What is…” Yoongi’s voice trailed off. He peered at the moisture still in your reddened eyes. “Never mind.”

You flashed an okay-then smile at him and turned back to listen to how Hoseok and Jimin were critiquing their dancing— even though they would be the first to admit there was hardly anything to criticize. Jungkook began talking to you about some singing tips and you immersed yourself back into real life again. Pulling your mind out of your over active imagination.

-✥-

A nock came on your door when it was already late at night. In fact, if you stuck to your schedule you would already be in bed. But you found yourself sitting in your room, writing out lyrics to a song that you didn’t even need to write. You slowly opened the door, shutting off your light first so it looked as if you were about to go to bed, and not ignoring your schedule.

“Sorry Y/n. I know it’s a bit late.”

Yoongi stood in the hallway, shifting awkwardly, his eyes in contrast shon with a determination.

You felt your stomach fill with butterflies and you tried to quench the feeling. “No, it’s fine. What’s wrong?”

“Nothings wrong. I just...I wanted to ask a question.”

“Fire away.”

He shook his head slightly. “Well it’s not just a casual question. And I want to make sure I’m not invading your privacy. But it’s about the song you sung earlier.”

You felt your heart drop, blood running cold while simultaneously goosebumps spiked onto your skin.

“You seemed very emotional.. not even seemed. You cried and I really want to know why. I just feel that if I wait any longer to ask you, it’ll be too late. Now feels like the right time.”

Sighing, you knew he was right. You couldn’t hide your demons forever. Even though you had talked to your therapist a bit about the incident, you had never gone into depth about it with your parents. You had never even told Namjoon. Your brother had no idea that it had happened.

And it was time that he knew.

“Can you go get Namjoon? I’m not ready to tell the others yet.”

You were really close to Yoongi, the time that you had spent in their housing really grew you close to him. He had picked up on your main reason for being there almost the third time you had talked to him. He didn't mind that you were partially there just to help their mental health.

When you first moved in he hadn’t been at his best, stressed over the band’s popularity and success. His OCD was worse than ever.

More upset than the others, you were eager to help him get back on his feet. At first however, Yoongi was cold to you. He didn’t think he needed your help. He could fix it himself.

And he thought you were stuck up and arrogant to think that you could help him. After all, you were only 25 years old. Who were you to help him?

But slowly and surely with your help, he managed to get a hand on his health. He accepted that you could help him. It came to a time when he was happy to talk to you, and looked forward to it even.

Telling them was hard, but it felt freeing. Like a weight you had been carrying for the past eight years was lifted. As if you had been chained to your trauma and couldn’t get free, and now the locks were opened.

“You were attacked?” Namjoon almost yelled. You shushed him, nodding. Even though Yoongi had told the other boys not to enter the recording studio, you didn’t want to run any risks of them hearing regardless.

“The place is sound proofed Y/n, don’t worry.” Namjoon looked apologetic, as if by yelling he had upset you somehow. “But you were attacked? When was this?!”

“When I was seventeen…”

He immediately let out a cry. “You never told me? I could’ve helped you! Did the person ever get caught? Held accountable?”

You shook your head. “It wasn’t a person… it was three men.”

Namjoon swore loudly. “Multiple people? Attacking a fucking teenager? Who the fuck do they think they are? Who are they Y/n?”

You felt someone’s warm hand slip into yours, giving your own a tight reassuring squeeze. You noticed you were trembling slightly. It wasn’t from Namjoon raising his voice. It was from realising the weight of what had happened to you, that had suddenly come crashing down onto your mind.

You kept your gaze focused on Yoongi’s hand grasping yours, trying not to look at your astonished brother's face.

“I… I don’t know. They.. weren’t found.”

Namjoon let out a loud growl. “So the authorities can’t even do their job and find these degenerates? Fuck them.”

“N-Namjoon they’re trying their best! It’s not their fault…”

A wave of sympathy and guilt washed over his face. “It’s not your fault either Y/n! It’s those stupid bastards fault!”

You held your free hand up to quiet him. “Namjoon, I know it’s not my fault.”

His eyes narrowed, staring deep beyond your skin. “You’re so different Y/n… I shouldn’t have left you. You’ve changed so much from the little girl I left in Ilsan.”

You shook your head. “I changed at first after the attack. When I miscarried my child,”

You heard the boys intake of breath when they heard miscarriage. Namjoon didn’t know that you had been pregnant. YOUR PARENTS DIDN'T KNOW. How could you talk about this without crying? Without breaking down?

It was so hard to think about let alone talk to someone else about. But it was your brother. He had a right to know. And you wanted him to know.

“I-it really changed me. I thought.. maybe I was to blame for my child’s death. After all, I was the mother.. I was meant to take care of my baby. And I didn’t.”

“Y-your child..?” Namjoon whispered.

The present had faded into a fog. It was if you were standing in the dark, pure silence enveloping you. All you could hear was your thoughts, booming louder than you could control.

Your child.

Yoongi softly touched your arm. “Y/n? You were.. pregnant when you were attacked?”

You shook your head slowly. “The attack.. I got pregnant after..”

The words clicked inside Yoongi and Namjoon’s minds, sudden rage boiling through them.

The child you had carried inside you. The innocent victim of ruthless men, who you were just as bad as. It wasn’t the child’s fault. You had decided to keep it after you were found to be pregnant, hoping that you would be able to provide the child a life better than it’s conception.

You found out only months later that due to complications of your physical and mental health sustained after the attack— the poor infant had died before even reaching half term.

You had failed them.

“Y/n.. it’s not your fault.” Yoongi murmured. “You couldn’t stop them from attacking you, you weren’t to know… it’s in no way your fault. It’s so brave that you kept the baby...”

You shook your head, hands coming up to wipe tears from your eyes. “I was the mother! How could I fail my baby? It wasn’t their fault that their father was a c-criminal! It wasn’t their fault that they were conceived from an assault! They were innocent! T-There’s always a way to save someone!”

Namjoon grabbed your hands in his. “Y/n, it isn’t your fault. I’m really sorry you had to go through that, that you still feel guilt. You were so brave to try and give them a life anyway, even if it hurt you. You shouldn’t feel any guilt. It wasn’t your fault. Don’t blame yourself. I love you, Y/n. And I’m here for you.”

You sniffled softly, glad for your brother's presence.

He was right.

You knew that.

You had known that for years. But it took someone else saying that for you to finally realise it was true.

It wasn’t your fault.

“Do you feel alright to continue, Y/n?” Yoongi murmured, an empathetic expression washing over his face. “We can take a break if you want…”

“No.” You smiled slightly, Yoongi’s caring side more than enough to reassure that you were safe. “I’m alright.”

Taking a deep breath, you continued your story. “I-I got addicted to drugs. I was completely off the rails, trying my best to cope with something I couldn’t handle. It was destroying me from the inside out. Eating away at my physical health as well as my mental state. My-... our parents, found out a little while after. I didn’t last that long before they discovered what happened.”

“They knew?” Namjoon cried, his choice cracking. “Why did no one tell me? I should’ve known! I would’ve helped you!”

You shook your head, tears filling your eyes. “You don’t understand Namjoon! If I would’ve told you you would’ve left BTS! You would’ve come back home!”

“Well yes! Of course!” Namjoon replied.

“I couldn't let you give up your dreams for me! I couldn’t be responsible for ruining my brother's life! Not when our parents were already so shocked and upset to hear the news! Mum was always so supportive to both of us! She tried her best to make me happy and comfortable! But it got to the point where they couldn’t handle it anymore.. they sent me to rehab.”

“Rehab?” Yoongi asked, his voice quieter than usual.

You nodded. “It really helped me. The people there were so kind. It took me a while, but I finally recovered.”

Namjoon’s heart had been thumping in his chest for the past ten minutes. He couldn’t bear the thought that anyone had dared to hurt his little sister. By all accounts, to him she was perfect. He couldn’t fathom why anyone would want to hurt her.

“I should’ve been there for you! I’m your older brother and I didn’t even get to support you! I didn’t get the chance.”

You felt your heart shaking within you. “N-Namjoon? I have to tell you something else too.”

Namjoon and Yoongi looked at you, nervous for whatever you were going to say. You took a deep, shaky breath.

“You know the people you were in a rap group with back at Ilsan?”

Namjoon’s heart stopped.

“T-they were the ones who attacked me.”

Anger flared inside Namjoon’s eyes. “My former friends?! Attacked you?”

You nodded reluctantly.

His head fell into his hands. “I can’t believe this.”

“I’ll kill them.”

You both turned to Yoongi, whose jaw was set in determination. “I’ll kill them.” He repeated, his eyes focused solely on you.

Namjoon quickly jumped in. “Me too. Those sick bastards think they can get away with hurting my sister? I-I-”

“No.” You whispered. “I’m fine.”

“Fine?” Namjoon snapped. “I never knew that you were this hurt! How could you be fine?”

“Rehab really cleared my head.. I finally got a chance to step back and for the first time in possibly years, think about what I wanted.”

“Y/n…”

Yoongi’s soft eyes were focused solely on you, in a way that would normally cause your heart to do somersaults. But not right now. The tension in the room was thick, the atmosphere that of a depressing one.

“You’re a fighter.”

You hadn't expected this response. You had expected some form of criticism, for him to tell you on for subbumcing so easily to the quick way to no pain.

You get your heart squeezing. You had never talked in depth about your feelings to your parents, but right now you would be willing to open your heart to Yoongi.

“You’re one of the strongest people I’ve ever met. Sure, when you first got here I thought you were a snob, someone stuck up and ready to have the world handed to them simply for Namjoon’s achievements.”

Namjoon’s brow creased. “Watch how you talk about my sister hyung-”

“It’s alright.” You reassured him. “I trust his words mean no harm.”

Yoongi nodded instantly. “My views on you quickly changed. You cared for each of us, even if initially it was solely as a favour to Hitman Bang. And we began to care deeply for you. Because no matter what you’ve been through, no matter what tears you’ve shed and for what reasons, you always will mean so much to us. So much more than you can imagine.”

Yoongi wiped a tear from forming on the corner of his eye. He smiled sadly at you, regardless of the simplicity of the gesture, a wave of emotions spread through the one smile, rejuvenating and replenishing your drive, your focus.

“You deserve your happiness.”

You turned to the small voice.

He had spoken so much quieter than you had ever heard him speak before, the raw feelings in his voice transparent. “You deserve to be happy. You’ve been working so hard. You can’t just sacrifice your happiness for the benefit of others. I remember when we were growing up, you used to always make sure that I was okay if anything happened. Y/n, I’m your older brother. It’s okay to rely on me for support sometimes. You need me just as much as I need you. And that’s not a bad thing.”

You couldn’t hold yourself back any longer. You threw yourself against Namjoon’s chest, grabbing his back tightly, clasping him as if you could never let go.

“Y/n…”

You tried in vain to wipe your tears from your eyes, looking up at his strong face.

“It’s okay to cry. You don’t always have to smile. You’re still strong. And I’ll still love you anyway. You’re still my sister.”

You buried your face into his toned chest again. “N-Namjoon..I-I-I love you too.” You sniffled.

He gripped you tightly. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for you.”

“It’s not your fault, Namjoon. It’s only their fault. Please don’t feel guilty.”

Pulling away from you, he wiped the tears off your moist cheeks. “Okay Y/n. For you, anything.”

A small cough was interjected into the comfortable silence of the room, reminding you that Yoongi was still there. Both you and your brother turned to him. His eyes were soft and empathetic, as if he didn’t want to spoil the moment, but couldn't wait any longer.

“C-can I please talk to Y/n alone?”

Namjoon considered his hyung. While he didn’t really want to leave his sisters side, he knew that Yoongi wouldn’t ask it he wouldn’t take care of her. Namjoon knew he could trust him.

“Okay.” He relented. “Y/n, I love you. Just say if you need anything.”

On his way out he grabbed Yoongi’s shoulder bringing the older man against him.

“Make sure she’s okay. Don’t you dare hurt her.”

Yoongi nodded. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“I was in a dark place once. I wasn’t happy. It felt like the world was against me.”

Now that you were alone with Yoongi, he seemed a lot less cold, and a lot more caring. The off putting gaze he had on accident given you multiple times was replaced with soft eyes that seemed to drip honey.

“I got through it. And I’m heaps weaker than you. I don’t have the mental endurance that you have, nor the fighting spirit. If anyone can overcome this situation— it’s you.”

You wiped your eyes with your hands. It was so reassuring to have someone believe in you. To have someone who was backing you up.

“You know, I can’t believe how strong you are. To be able to recover from that in just years? And with only really your own strength? I really admire it. It’s amazing.”

You blushed slightly. “I didn’t really have much choice.”

He sighed, eyes scanning the door as if someone might burst in any second.

“Y/n… I shouldn’t be saying this. But I can’t hold onto my feelings any longer. I really like you.”

Your heart began racing and you could feel your skin begin to heat up.

Could Yoongi see how nervous you were?

You hoped he couldn’t.

“I-I-”

He grabbed your hand tightly, making your face flush.

“Y/n, you don’t have to answer me right now. I can wait as long as you need. I would wait forever for you.”

“Y-Yoongi I really like you too. I know I’m not always perfect but I-”

Yoongi’s body fell against yours, his arms wrapping around your frame. He stroked your hair slowly, burying his face in your shoulder.

“You don’t have to be perfect. Your flaws make you humans.” He pulled back slightly, playing with your hair as he looked right through you. “I believe you can overcome your flaws. They don’t make you a bad person. They make you you.”

You giggled slightly. It was weird to hear Yoongi so sweet. Normally he stayed away, his face in a resting serious face. You were so happy to see him smile.

“I’m so glad you like me back. I was so worried.”

“Me too…”

He pulled away one last time, his face weighted with a burden that hadn’t been obvious before. Or had you just not noticed.

“Y/n.. I know your past. So I think it’s time you found out mine.”

Your mouth opened slightly, eyes widening.

“Really? You trust me that much?”

He nodded, grinning. Then he frowned again. “Not all of it will be pretty. I-it might shock you a bit.”

You squeezed his hand that was still in yours. He blushed.

“I’m ready.”

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cakejots · 3 years

Text

Unstained, Chapter 2

After certain events that happened in the day, Chat Noir revealed to Ladybug that he knows who she is under the mask. Her reactions astounded him. After certain events that happened in the night, Ladybug unveiled to Chat Noir why she can’t do what he asked of her. His reactions astonished her.

Rating: T, Words: 6938. Chapters: 4/4

Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 4

Read on AO3

“So, are you going to take my Miraculous away?”

“I suppose.”

Chat immediately stiffened his relaxed posture and whipped his head to look at her, moon-eyed. “You—”

“But, if that’s supposed to happen, I wouldn’t be here talking to you as Ladybug, would I?” Ladybug finally faced him with a small smile hanging on her lips.

Seeing her smile, Chat felt even more perplexed than he already was. “What do you mean?”

“I know who you are, Adrien.”

Adrien didn’t think his day would get any crazier, but it just did. “C-come again?”

“Adrien, that’s you under that mask. Marinette, that’s me under this mask. And I’m not going to take away your Miraculous, silly,” Ladybug, Marinette, teased. She seemed to be genuinely enjoying his reactions to all these.

“Sorry, but this is a lot to take in, I need a moment.” Adrien pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes to internalise this new information that Ladybu—Marinette just dropped on him.

“Take all the time you need, Minou. We have time. But—”

“But we need to move if there’s an Akuma attack,” he recited.

“You know me so well, but patrols rarely have those, so you’re good.” Her attention was now back to the glittery sky above.

Silence, until…

“My lady? M-Marinette? Argh, I don’t even know which to use now! This is all so new to me,” he whined and pulled his hair while making distressed faces.

“You can use whichever you want Chaton, we are still the same person under the masks,” she giggled.

“I’ve got a few questions if you don’t mind?” He asked with hope in his eyes.

“Of course not, go ahead.”

He started to fidget. “How did you find out?”

“Well, it wasn’t like I actively sought out your identity or anything. It just happened, to the point I simply couldn’t ignore it any longer,” she stated.

Chat was looking at her curiously. But he was listening attentively and signalling for her to go on, and she did.

“Wow this is such a long list, where do I even begin?” She mused.

“Start from your earliest memories of it?” He suggested.

“That’s a good idea. Remember when there was a design competition for bowler hats and your father—”

Chat gagged.

“—got to decide which is the winning piece you’ll wear for your next photoshoot?” Ladybug raised an eyebrow.

Chat’s eyes widened with realisation and nodded. “It was the first time we fought Mr Pigeon.”

“Yeah. And Chat Noir was sneezing non-stop due to the allergies he had against feathers. Guess who I found that had the same allergies after we defeated the Akuma?”

Chat blushed.

“But it wasn’t enough of an evidence to give away that you’re Chat Noir. After all, plenty of people are allergic to feathers.” He nodded. “Next, was when as Chat Noir, you worked with Marinette to take down Evillustrator.”

“Oh! So that’s your secret mission. How did I expose myself? I’m pretty different in and out of the mask.”

“Indeed you are. Thing is, no one knew Marinette and Chat Noir worked together that night. Yet, Adrien-you approached Marinette-me and asked what I thought about Chat Noir.”

“Please tell me there’s no more of my reckless behaviour that could possibly scream Adrien Agreste is Chat Noir,” he grimaced.

“You’ll be surprised,” she winked. And he groaned.

“Those two might have been coincidences, but not this next one. Does ‘Tom Style: Booyah!’ remind you of anything?”

“Wow I really need to stop being so careless, who would have thought!” Chat was hiding his face behind his hands.

Ladybug started listing more. “There’s also that time where Jagged Stone tried being a baker on a reality show, and basically flashed my room full of Adrien’s photos on national TV. And you were acting all smug about it the next day, very Chat-like might I add. And our train ride to London, Chat Noir—”

“Okay, okay, I get it. I leave tons of clues, sheesh.”

It was quiet again and Ladybug went back to admiring the many glimmers that hung above. Ladybug sensed a change in the mood surrounding them and hoped that he wouldn’t ask what she thinks he’d ask.

“So, how long have you known?”

And there it was. “You know how long, Adrien,” as if pleading him to drop the questioning.

“Yeah, but do you know since when?”

“S-since the first year we got our Miraculouses,” she confirmed, hugging her knees.

“Is there a reason why you didn’t tell me in the first instance possible?” He asked gently.

“It’s not that I don’t trust you, Adrien. I do, I really do, but Master Fu said… he said our identities must remain a secret.” Ladybug tried to reason with him.

“I know you do, and I have no doubt about that. And Master Fu did say that, didn’t he? But you still knew about Rena Rouge and Carapace.”

“They were needed for our battles, and you knew about Queen Bee.” But her determination was wearing thin, and she knew she wasn’t making any sense.

“And so did you.”

Ladybug kept quiet and was looking at everything else but Chat.

“Marinette, if identities were so important, Master Fu would have made sure you didn’t know about Rena Rouge’s and Carapace’s, you know that.” Adrien's voice was really soft, the softest it has been the whole day. “Queen Bee was an unfortunate case that the whole of Paris knows.”

She still wasn’t looking at him.

“Marinette, is there something you’re hiding?” Chat shifted towards her.

And yet, she didn’t utter a single word.

“My lady?” He had begun to hold her as he witnessed her eyes welling up.

She wiped her tears with the back of her hands, but they continued falling.

He looked at her earnestly before he went ahead to wipe her tears with his thumb, mindful of his claws. Chat then placed a hand at the back of her head, and pulled her into his embrace, rubbing circles on her back. He figured that if she didn’t want to talk about it, the least he could do was calm her down.

“I-I’m guessing that you figured out my identity this afternoon? When y-you were almost akumatised?” She started.

Ladybug felt a nod at her shoulder, and she continued.

She heaved a deep sigh and wrapped her arms around him. “In… in another timeline, we knew each other’s identities in the first year we got our Miraculouses. And we were in love.”

Chat went rigid with his ministrations.

“I… I don’t really know the details, but it… it was our love that destroyed the world.”

He felt a vicious chill spread through his core. Chat pulled back to look at Ladybug, eyes conveying desperation that this where it stopped, that it couldn’t possibly get any worse than this.

Ladybug held his gaze for a while before looking up. “This moon above us, it’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

Chat didn’t know where this was going, but he looked up nonetheless. The moon was indeed very pretty, gleaming brightly against the clear blue-black sky that made sure all focus was on it.

“In that timeline, this very same moon was split into half," she paused. "By you. Akumatised you.”

Chat whipped his head back down to her, gaze wavering as a feeling of disorientation blanketed him.

Ladybug fiercely pulled him back into her embrace, instantly regretting the way she had delivered the news to him. “Do you see it now?” She wept. “The reason why I was so hesitant to reveal myself to you?" She gripped on him firmly, afraid that he'd run away.

Chat’s vision had turned blurry, and he squeezed her. “Then why did you reveal yourself now? If you knew this was going to happen.”

“I… I figure the reveal was going to happen sooner or later, and y-you were akumatised because of something entirely different. And honestly, I am so exhausted about everything.”

They basked in the silence together, sniffling and trying to stop their tears from flowing.

“So what are we going to do now?” Chat whispered.

“I really don’t know, I’m just glad that you didn’t get akumatised and I didn’t have to fight you.” She hugged him tighter than what he thought was possible.

Chat slowly pried himself away from her to look at her. With his hand at the back of her head, he pulled it forward and kissed her forehead. She froze.

“Adrien, what are you doing?”

“I love you.” Ladybug opened her mouth but he cut her to it. “You’re always thinking about others even while going through hell all by yourself. You’ve been through so much. I’m so sorry for not being there for you, and I thank you for sharing this with me, Marinette. I love you, so, so much. For being so brave, for being all that you are.”

Her tears flowed down her face like a river escaping a dam, comparable to the speed of her thoughts running through her mind. All the ‘could haves’ she might have experienced with Adrien if it wasn’t for her fears. And the possible devastation that may happen if she went ahead with what her alternate self did.

“Adrien, I don’t know if you know this, but I love you too, romantically. Ever since the first day we’ve met. But...”

To say that didn’t break his heart would have been the joke of the century, but…

“I understand Marinette,” he smiled weakly, “but please stop pushing me away. Even if not romantically, I want to be there for you every step of the way.”

“I’m doing fine Adrien...” She looked away.

Adrien felt disheartened. But he didn’t want to give up, not yet, never. He cupped her face to look at him.

“Marinette, you’ve been waiting all this time, haven’t you?” Marinette didn’t think Adrien’s voice could go even softer than before, but it did. “Since 3 years ago, for someone to save you from this helplessness, for someone to share this burden with you. Let me be that person for you.”

Marinette sometimes could perfectly explain what she saw in Chat. His desire to lighten up other people’s day, his unyielding trust in her, among many many others. But other times, she wasn’t able to, because it was indefinable. It’s just the way he was able to take her to places where no one else could. Maybe, it's time she finally let go of all the burdens she has had and shared them with someone, with her kitty.

“I’ll always be here, my lady.”

She raised her arms to hold his face in her hands—

“I am so sorry.”

—and pressed her lips onto his.

#mesfics #miraculous ladybug #fanfic #mlb fanfic #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #ladybug #chat noir #post chat blanc #hurt/comfort #unstained

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ineverlookavvay · 4 years

Text

I've hung my happiness upon what it all could be

Teenage Michael wants to tell Alex his secret, but it doesn't go as planned.

Fic prompt: “There’s something you should know…” - Day 2 of Michael Guerin Week 2020

read it on Ao3

“I’m gonna tell him.” Michael said it firmly, like they couldn’t argue. Max and Isobel stared at him with equal but opposing looks of anger.

“No you’re not,” Isobel said, taking a sip of her vitamin water. Michael swallowed the eye roll bursting to come out of him. They were all coping with things differently: Isobel was turning into the perfect wasp-y daughter her parents had always wanted her to be, Max was lining his life with rules, and Michael was trying desperately to find something to make himself feel good for even just a moment. And, some might argue, ruining his life in the process.

“You’re not,” Max affirmed, giving Michael one of his important, holier-than-thou looks. Like Michael couldn’t make this decision for himself, after all he’s already given up for them.

“It’s not your decision,” he insisted, “and I’ve already made up my mind. I’m just letting you know as a courtesy.”

“You can’t tell a human.” Isobel whispered the word human like it was a slur. “Especially now. We made this decision as a group, remember?”

“This isn’t some random guy, this is...it’s important.”

“Oh, it’s important? Michael, our own parents don’t know the truth. You know that keeping our true selves a secret is the most important thing. You know that.”

Michael sighed. “Yeah, I know.” He flexed his ruined hand, wincing at the pain of the stretch.

He wanted to tell Alex, every flash of pain in his damn hand felt like a reminder that he wanted to tell Alex, wanted to be honest about something in his life. They’d been drifting apart, Michael knew that, and he knew why, knew that it was his fault, his failings. Everything was going wrong—Michael didn’t have Max anymore, he didn’t have school, he didn’t have a future at all, and he had this guilt, this fear, sitting in his stomach all the time, not to mention his hand, and now it seemed like he didn’t have Alex either; he was going to just be another deadbeat cowboy without a future and with a regular booth at the bar, all the admittedly sparse love he thought he’d found would be gone. He couldn’t lose Alex, he needed that quiet, he needed to be able to feel the way he did when Alex looked at him, like he mattered.

What he needed was to close the widening distance, and he couldn’t very well tell the truth about why he’d been so distant, and angry, and lost. The less pressing truth—albeit maybe the bigger truth—would have to be enough, enough to prove that Michael cared, that he didn’t want a summer thing, that he couldn’t let go. He just needed someone to know him. And he wanted it to be Alex.

Plus, he’d been learning to play the guitar backwards, strumming with his mind, a pick floating in front of the strings as he felt out the chords with his right hand. The guitar he had in his possession was stolen, of course, which wouldn’t be great to lead with, but the trick was fun, and he thought once they got past the initial shock of it, Alex would like it. And Michael desperately needed something about himself for Alex to like.

“Do we need to remind you what happened when you lost control? You want to risk everything and for what?” Isobel was really growing into her adopted family, her tone straight out of Mrs. Evans’s playbook. “Some boy who’s too much of a secret to tell us his name? Who you won’t even talk to in a few months?”

Michael bit his tongue so hard he could taste blood.

Isobel’s phone rang and she got up to answer it, shooting Michael a parting look that he only forgave because it was her.

“She’s right, though,” Max said quietly. “You can’t tell him.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“What happens when he leaves for college?” Max pressed. “What happens when you move on and he still knows? Every scenario ends with us on a specimen table. You can’t tell him.”

Michael sagged as he stood, the weight of the conversation adding to everything else. It was all too much. “I know.” Max nodded, like that was it, done, decided; and Michael threw one last hail Mary pass to the wind. “What if it was Liz? Wouldn’t you want to tell her, if it would save you from losing her?”

Max frowned, and Michael could tell he’d fucked up, hit a nerve that was too deep, and that he should have left well alone. And it wasn’t the same, not at all, because Liz was gone and Alex wasn’t. Because Max could get up and go to work and live his life, and Michael could only see the edge of the cliff getting closer and closer.

“No.” Max said, firmly. “We can’t tell anyone. This is a family thing, Michael. It’s not a card you can play. It’s our lives.”

“Yeah.” There was no sense arguing, they would never understand what his life was, not when their own experience was so damn rosy, and they would never understand why he had to do this. Why he needed there to be something true in his life right now, something good. This hadn’t gone the way he wanted, but Max and Isobel never even had to know if he told Alex—Michael was sure that Alex wouldn’t tell anyone, wouldn’t betray him.

“You wanna stay for dinner?” Isobel asked, coming back over, her stance softening as she took in the tight shield of Michael’s body. “Mom’s making a casserole.”

“Nah, I’m good.” Michael shook his head and started backing up towards his truck. He hated feeling like a charity case, hated the look in both of their eyes, the one they’d developed to hide their pity, like Michael couldn’t still see through that. “Later.”

Inside the protection of his truck, Michael leaned his head back against the headrest and sighed. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but somehow he thought they’d understand, he thought they’d see how important this was, how close Michael was to drowning. Unwittingly, he’d gone from the black sheep to the clean-up crew, the person they would only listen to when something bad was happening, something they judged important, and every other moment he was just a disappointment, the hothead who fucked it all up. And he didn’t have to put up with that, not when there was still someone else out there who did want him around, who did give a fuck.

Michael put the truck into gear and drove towards the UFO Emporium. Alex was still working, which was good, since Michael was probably the only one of anyone who didn’t have a cell phone, and even if he did, there was such a high chance of Alex’s dad monitoring his cell phone that Michael would never have been able to call or text it anyway.

There wasn’t a line, there was never a line, and Michael stepped up to the window apprehensively. “Can you come by, later? I’ve got something to show you.”

Alex looked up quickly, reacting to Michael’s voice, and then looked around quickly, scanning like he thought someone would be watching. “Yeah, okay. I’m off at 7.”

Michael nodded and Alex looked so uneasy that he didn’t bother sticking around to talk, just walked back to his trunk and drove off to the small rectangle of land he was currently parking on, a sorry excuse for a home. Alex knew where to find him, though, and that gave it a sort of silver lining.

He waited, drinking a beer he’d been given by someone days ago and stashed in the truck, trying to calm his nerves. He had decided, it didn’t matter what Max and Isobel said—he was going to tell Alex, and it was going to close this chasm widening between them, and it was going to be worth it, and Michael would stay afloat.

Alex pulled up early enough that it was clear he’d come straight from work. Michael sat in the truck bed watching him approach. There was something off about Alex, something different, but Michael couldn’t put his finger on it, not when his mind was snarled with love and nerves and fear and anger and everything else. A big black tangle, that only Alex had ever been able to begin to unwind. He was going to tell him.

“So what’s up?” Alex said, rubbing his palm against the metal wall of the truck bed like he wasn’t sure he was going to jump up next to Michael. That wasn’t a good sign, even if he did eventually nod and climb up.

Michael took a deep breath and immediately hesitated, veering off from the direct words. “I’m teaching myself to play guitar again. Backwards, but still.”

Alex smiled, but there was something like intense sadness under it. “That’s great, Michael.”

Michael swallowed. That wasn’t exactly the reaction he was hoping for. He pulled the stolen guitar out from where it had been hiding under a blanket and lay the fretboard across his leg. “I want to show you, but—but there’s something you should know. Something you need to know, first.”

“Actually, I’ve got something to tell you, too,” Alex cut in, rubbing his thumb across the threads of his jeans, the nail catching occasionally. He wasn’t wearing nail polish, Michael realized with a start. Or eyeliner. All of his piercings were just empty holes.

“Let me go first,” Michael said, suddenly filled with an overwhelming sense of dread. He didn’t want to hear whatever Alex was going to tell him, not at all; he thought his survival might depend on not hearing it. “Alex, you know I trust you, and I want you to know I’m—“

“I’ve decided to enlist,” Alex said, looking away and then back to Michael, his face set defiantly. “We decided. Last night, that it would be the best thing for me.”

Michael blanched, all of the words he’d spent the afternoon deciding on rushing out of his head. He must have heard wrong. “What the fuck do you mean?” His voice sounded angrier than he meant it to, more desperate, and Alex sighed and looked back down at his hands. Then the rest of the sentence hit Michael. “Who the fuck is ‘we’?”

“My dad and I. It’s—I made the right decision for me right now.”

“Like hell you did.” Michael banged his fist against the truck bed, the metal sound reverberating through the guitar with a discordant twang. Alex winced, closing his eyes, and Michael immediately wanted to take the angry gesture back. “I’m sorry.” He put his hand gently on Alex’s leg and Alex didn’t look at him, but didn’t flinch away either. “But…you hate that shit. What about your music? What about getting out of here?”

“I am getting out of here,” Alex retorted.

“Not on your terms. Not like…” Michael paused to take a breath. It had occurred to him recently, that they could just leave, together—once Alex knew the truth, they could leave and protect each other, and Max could stay here and protect Isobel; it would be better for them to be spread out anyway. Michael hadn’t said it out loud yet, and certainly not to Alex, but he’d been harboring this fantasy deep inside him, and he could feel it slipping like water through his fingers now. “We could leave,” he said quietly, urgently. “Just hear me out and we can figure everything out, and you won’t have to—to fight in their wars.”

He could tell it wasn’t enough.

Alex scoffed, looking up at him again. “You’re talking about nothing, Michael.”

Michael could hear Max and Isobel’s words from earlier echoing in his bones, taunting him with how right they were. Michael felt stupid, like he’d been tricked into thinking this meant something, when Alex could just leave. Except, he didn’t think he’d really been tricked, he thought they were both drowning, both reaching out for something to keep them afloat. The issue was that thing for Michael was Alex, but for Alex, it wasn’t Michael.

“You don’t have to do this,” he said, pleading, but trying to make his voice sound certain. Michael had been so sure, so sure, that telling Alex was the right thing; so sure that they were something different, that this was the first time in his life he wouldn’t be left behind. He hated himself for thinking that, for getting his goddamn hopes up.

“Grow up, Guerin,” Alex said sharply. Then he sighed, and when he looked back up at Michael he looked sad, regretful. But not enough to change anything. “I should go.” He slid off of the truck and started walking back to his car.

“Alex! Wait!” Michael jumped down into the dirt, taking a few steps forward. He didn’t know if Alex wanted to be followed, and he couldn’t take more steps without the guarantee that he wouldn’t be running after someone who didn’t want to be chased. Alex turned around with his hand on the door of his car and smiled sadly at Michael, waiting for Michael to talk. He could still tell him, but it felt less like sharing a secret and more like throwing everything away for someone who didn’t even give enough of a shit to stay. “When do you leave?”

Alex shook his head. “Soon.”

Michael bit his lip, because he didn’t cry, and he didn’t show weakness, especially to someone who could hurt him. “Don’t leave without saying goodbye,” he said, eventually, and Alex nodded, still smiling that sad, tight smile.

Michael watched him drive away, walking back over to the truck. He’d have to let Max and Isobel know that he hadn’t said anything after all, even if he hated telling them they’d been right. He felt like such an idiot for believing anything other than what they’d known their entire lives—it was just the three of them, and no one else was ever going to know him like Max and Isobel. Michael just had to get used to that.

He slammed his fist against the side of the truck again, closing his eyes. Michael liked the noise it made when he hit the truck, the sympathetic echoing sound of the guitar, filled with the kind of chaos that was inside him. He picked up the guitar, considering it. He’d been so excited to show Alex the trick, and now it just felt stupid, trite and childish. He should be focused on getting himself out of Roswell, and not on what amounted to party tricks.

The thought hung heavily over him, and Michael was suddenly so fucking angry at everything—at Alex, at Max and Isobel, at the whole situation that left him here, alone, like always, but this time for the long run. He wrapped his fist around the fretboard and slammed the stupid stolen guitar against the metal of the truck. Sharp splintering noises that sounded like everything he couldn’t say, as the guitar turned into shards of wood and string, until there was nothing left in his hand, until all Michael was filled with was an empty kind of sadness.

He got back in the truck and drove to Max and Isobel’s house, pausing and then knocking on the door. Isobel answered, looking surprised.

“Everything okay?”

Michael ignored the question. “I didn’t tell him. I just—I wanted you to know that I didn’t do it.”

Isobel looked like she was going to gloat about winning the argument, then she seemed to take in Michael’s appearance, and pulled the door open wider instead. “What happened?”

Michael smiled widely, humorlessly. “You were right. It wasn’t what I thought it was.”

“Want to come in? Mom just served dessert.”

“No ‘I told you so, Michael’?”

She hesitated, then shook her head. “Not this time. Come inside?”

Part of Michael wanted to be anywhere else than inserting himself, unwanted, into their happy family, but the other part knew that anywhere else he would go tonight would end up being worse, would end with him hurt or arrested or blacked out. He probably still would end up there, but at least he could put that off for a few hours.

He nodded, and walked inside with Isobel, and wished that would be enough.

#mgweek20 #guerinweek20 #malex #roswell new mexico #rnm fic #my writing #michael guerin #alex manes #isobel evans #max evans #angst #they're all young and trying their best and still hurting each other #like the very beginning of the lost decade so idk if it counts

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therainbowwillow · 3 years

Text

https://therainbowwillow.tumblr.com/post/640901334281879552/therainbowwillow

Part 12. Yes. I will confidently state that this is part 12 of my “short” fanfic. GOD. WHY DO I DO THIS.

Premise/what’s up with everyone:

Hades heads for Olympus to bribe convince his brother, Zeus, to help him keep a hold on his kingdom. Thanatos heads for Olympus to get medical treatment for Hypnos’s concussion. Neither knows that the other is also going to be there. Orpheus sings and sings and sings. He tries to hide how disappointed he is by how awful he sounds. Smoke inhalation in Hadestown didn’t do him good. Eurydice and Hermes make sure he’s adequately drugged up enough not to notice the stab wound through his stomach. Hyacinthus is super excited to see his namesake flowers for the first time thanks to Orpheus’s springtime. Apollo resists going on any long spring walks after being shot through the ankle. Persephone cannot believe it’s really spring. Not too hot, not too cold, it’s a miracle! Dionysus enjoys getting drunk, but in the spring this time. Achilles and Patroclus wonder whether or not they’re going to be allowed to stay out of Hadestown.

Ps. My phone has decided to autocorrect ‘Orpheus’ to ‘AirPods’ now, rather than ‘Orange.’ This is not important, but I don’t think my phone likes his name very much.

———————————————

A week has passed since they’d arrived back home. Eurydice, for all the novelty the springtime has brought, hasn’t changed her routine since the day they’d arrived. Sitting beside her lover seems to her to be enough. The others spend most of their time enjoying the pleasantries of the world in bloom, but Eurydice had hardly leaves Orpheus’s bedside. Through the days, he sings and scribbles down notes.

The nights are harder. By sunset, she’s found, his pain medicine begins to wear off and Apollo gives him something stronger to sleep. Tonight, they’re trying to wean him off of the powerful medicine. His sleep has been restless already. Eurydice hasn’t closed her eyes.

She’s almost drifting into sleep when Orpheus wakes with a start. “Orpheus? You okay?”

His eyes well with tears. He clutches his chest and cries out, in fear or pain, Eurydice can’t tell. She considers running for Apollo, but she can’t bear to leave his side. “Orpheus, look at me.”

He won’t meet her eyes. Tears roll down his cheeks and he shakes with sobs. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

His lips move, but no sound comes out, save for his sobbing hiccups. She takes his hands. “Please look at me,” she pleads gently.

He tucks his head into his arms. “No... please...” he moans.

“Orpheus, can you tell me what’s wrong?” Much longer and she’ll have to leave him to wake Apollo.

She pulls him into her arms and lets him cry. “I... I wanna go home,” he whispers.

Her brow furrows. “You are home, lover.”

He shakes his head against her chest. “No... no.”

“This is home. You’re okay,” she reminds him.

He squeezes her hands, desperately. “No. No. No,” he repeats, over and over again. His tears soak Eurydice’s shirt.

“Can you tell me what’s happening?” She probes. He trembles against her and begins to cry harder. Eurydice lays him back in bed. He holds her wrists. “I’ll be right back. I won’t even leave the room,” she promises. He sinks against the pillows.

Eurydice finds a box of matches and strikes one. She holds it against her candle lantern. A little light might help her examine him. Orpheus lifts his head when the light touches his face. His lips part. He glances around, shivering with shock. “Orpheus?”

His breaths are quick and heavy. “E-Eurydice... I’m... I’m home,” he studders.

She sits at his side. “Yes. You’re home and I’m right here.”

“It... it was so dark,” he mumbles.

It dawns on her then. “It was dark! Did you think you were back... there?”

“I don’t know... it was just so dark...”

“I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t know.”

“I-it’s okay.” His voice breaks and he leans into her again.

“Is it better with the lantern?” He nods. “Okay. We’ll sleep with lights, Orpheus.”

He lays in her arms a moment, until she feels damp heat against her torso. She lays him back in bed at the sight of his blood.

His eyes widen. “Eurydice!” He begs.

She lifts his shirt to find his bandages soaked through. “It’s okay, love. You just put too much strain on it.” She presses his hand over the wound. “Keep pressure on it. Try not to move. I’m gonna go get bandages.”

“Okay,” he agrees. Eurydice finds a few rolls of bandages and returns to his side. She cuts away the bloodsoaked wrappings. “Eurydice,” he wimpers.

“Hang on, you’re okay.”

He squeezes her hand. “It hurts.”

“I know.” She unscrews the cap of a pill bottle and tips a flask of water against his lips. “Swallow.” He does. “Good. It’s okay, Orpheus. You’re fine.” She holds a wad of gauze against his stomach and pulls the blankets up around his shoulders.

He lays in silence until the bleeding stops. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.

“You don’t need to be sorry, my love. I’m sorry I didn’t light a candle sooner. We’ll keep the lights on, okay?”

He takes a deep breath. ��Okay.”

———————————————

Hermes stokes the fire. Another letter. And another. And another. The words light up as if they don’t want to be burnt. He tosses a handful of twigs over the papers. They all say the same thing: ‘Hermes, you’ve been summoned to Olympus. King Zeus asks for your immediate presence.’

He opens another, glances over the words and tosses it into the flames. Only another stack or two to go. He considers just tossing them all to burn without opening. Still, he opens another, afraid of missing details. ‘Lord Hermes,’ it reads. He recognizes the handwriting but cannot place his finger on whose it is. Not the usual messages, written by cupbearer Ganymede when Hermes himself is unavailable. The letter continues: ‘I understand your predicament and I believe I must inform you of our own on Olympus. Your summons are not those of common matters, as I’m sure you have determined. I fear, however, that you were not told of the severity of your situation. Hades arrived at the gates of Olympus yesterday.’

Hermes freezes. Hades. On Olympus. He’s calling Zeus to his aid. ‘My father, Zeus, wishes to keep you in the dark so he will have you in his grasp the moment you arrive. Though I am not permitted to say so, you must not abide by your summons alone. You will be Zeus’s to do with as he pleases. Hades’s case is against Orpheus first, but his arguments are unconvincing. He provides no contracts or legally-binding terms the boy was meant to follow. It is his case against you that worries your friends here on Olympus. You broke every major agreement in your terms in helping mortals flee the underworld and hiding a shade’s contract, as Eurydice’s pact is no where to be found.’

‘Regardless, I side with you, not the King of the Dead. You may have been foolish to break your terms, but Lord Hades attempted to end a life out of sheer selfish desire, after claiming Orpheus could leave unharmed. Your case is stronger. I await your arrival. Bring with you Apollo, Persephone and Dionysus as well as the poet, Orpheus and his lover. The others may accompany you if you wish. Remember, you have allies on Olympus, myself included. Regards, Athena, Goddess of Wisdom & War.’

Hermes sinks back against his chair. He curses under his breath. Zeus has sided with Hades. He knows others will follow. Still, he has support. Demeter, certainly, would do anything to disrupt Hades’s goals. Hera will likely side against her husband out of spite. Artemis will join Apollo, if she bothers to show up at all. Aphrodite might defend Orpheus for the purity of his love of Eurydice. Ares, however, for all of his arguments with his father, seems predicated to choose the powerful side. Zeus, the King of the Gods has prospects. Regardless, he hopes Orpheus will harbor more support than prosecution. With Athena on their side, they have a chance.

Another envelope catches his eye. It is addressed to his name, in perfectly formed capital letters. He wishes he could throw it into the fire. Hades’s handwriting. He tears it open.

‘Hermes, I regretfully inform you that you have broken terms 1.1-1.3 of your contract, which state: The return of mortal souls to the overworld by your hand is prohibited. The aid in the return of mortal souls to the overworld is prohibited. Aid is defined by giving directions, supplies, or tools to any individual, mortal or divine. You have also broken terms 2.4-2.7, which state: Copies of important shade contracts will be delivered to Olympus in a timely matter, without interference. Other terms you have broken include: 5.5, which states: Insighting the overthrowing of the hierarchy of the underworld is prohibited. 6.1, which states: All contact with traitors to the underworld is prohibited. 7.3, which states: Removal of goods from the underworld without permission is prohibited.’ Hermes rolls his eyes. Orpheus had been wearing Hadestown-issued clothing.

‘7.4, which states: Delivering goods to the underworld without permission is prohibited.’ They’d brought food and drink for Orpheus and Hyacinthus. ‘2.8-2.9, which state: Release of underworld prisoners by your hand is prohibited. Aid in the release of underworld prisoners is prohibited. 3.1, which states: The return of shades to the Styx by any purposeful means is prohibited.’ Apollo’s killing shot on their aggressor. The letter continues on: ‘3.8, which states: Agression against any individual under Lord Hades’s power is prohibited.’ More charges are listed. It seems Hades wants to use everything he has to argue his guilt.

‘Due to the aforementioned breaches of contract, your employment under Lord Hades has been permanently terminated. Lord Zeus has been granted jurisdiction to decide your punishment.’ Hermes sighs. The last man to recieve Zeus’s wrath thanks to Hades was Asclepius. The poor son of Apollo had been repeatedly struck by lightning until his heart stopped. He shudders at the thought. Even if he could take it, Orpheus most certainly couldn’t.

The letter finishes with the charges against Hermes’s son: Insighting revolution against Hades, freeing shades from the underworld, insighting riots causing property damage, manipulation against the king, and breaking the terms of a verbal agreement. Hermes almost laughs at how pathetic the accusations are. Entering Hadestown is no legal contract. Orpheus hadn’t had rules to break. His agreement was to leave without singing, which he hadn’t broken, according to Eurydice. If he’d sing in his cell, the terms had been nullified by his assumed death. Hades has nothing.

Nothing on Orpheus, that is. Hermes knows his own punishment will be brought against Orpheus, rather than himself. If Hades wants to hurt him, Hades knows Orpheus’s suffering is the way to do so, especially now. They have to win, for Orpheus’s sake.

#hadestown au #hadestown fanfic #hadestown #therainbowwrites #this is so off the walls it hardly counts as an AU anymore lol

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boxboysandotherwhump · 4 years

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Chapter 5 Paxton and Amal Series

Hey you guys.

Here is the next chapter of the Paxton and Amal series, in a written format this time.

@albino-whumpee amazing drawing had just inspired me so much that I couldn’t stop myself from starting the Chapter last night and finishing it up today.

So here we are. I hope you guys enjoy it nonetheless.

Tag list: @albino-whumpee @orchidscript @finder-of-rings please let me know if I forgot someone

CW: boxboy universe typical stuff, modern slavery, one character fainting and vomiting in the bathroom, mentioned past abuse, character talking negatively about their body, whumpee is forced to become caretaker, one very brief abelist comment coming up in a memory,

Night had found its way inside the small flat, where old floor boards creaked whisper silent around the curled up, young man on the orange sofa, as the old house settled unable to sleep just like him.

Paxton lay incredibly still, careful not to rustle the blankets and bother his masters, simultaneously overflowing with an all-enveloping warmth. Wrapped in softness he’d never known bevor and basking in the soft glow of the little night light his Master had plugged into one of the living room sockets. Its golden shimmer illuminated parts of the coffee colored walls, the self-build cat tree next to the door frame with the missing door, which had relieved Paxton tremendously, and fell on the plush striped carpet he would have been grateful to sleep on.

But bevor he could even have dared ask for such a privilege, his master had thrown a heap of blankets and pillows on the couch, a nearly apologetic look on his face.

“They’re not washed and probably smell a bit like me. I hope you don’t mind. If I had known that you- well- I would have definitely washed them. And bought a proper comforter. If those fleece blankets are not enough I can make you a warm water bottle. Just tell me if- ah- forget it.”

Paxton had just looked at him, as he had rushed into the small hallway and vanished into his room, leaving him confused and not daring to sit on the couch. It hadn’t felt like a trick, but his feet had stayed rooted to the spot on the ticklish soft carpet nonetheless.

Paxton still remembers the goosebumps that had spread over his entire body at the sound of boiling water from the kitchen and how he had forced himself to remain still. Spine straight and breathing as even as he could manage. He also remembers the little delighted sound that had escaped him as his master had shoved a warm pillow like thing into his hands, with warming cheeks. A warm water bottle as he had called it, with such genuine bafflement about Paxtons lack of knowledge that he couldn’t help but feel stupid.

That, however, hardly mattered now as he lay there, on a soft couch, soft blankets draped over him, his nose filled with the sweet smell of his new master, of Amal he tried to remember, (heat prickling in his cheeks at the intimacy of using masters name), and curling around the warm water bottle as if he’d die the moment he would let go of it.

Wishing, desperately, for this moment to never end Paxton fought against the ever growing heaviness of his eyes, creeping down his limbs and nestling warm under his ribs.

The sudden scrape of a door lets his eyes fly open.

When had he closed them?

Soft footfalls stumbled through the hallway, approaching the living room from the left.

It must be his master, then.

What could he want in the middle of the night?!

Paxton pulled the blankets up over his nose, cringing at their soft rustle, wide eyes fixed on the doorless doorframe.

The only reason for his old master to seek him out at night had been - A shiver wrecked his body accompanied by memories of merciless hands around his throat and canes breaking skin.

The scars on Paxtons hands began to itch as he pressed them closer to his trembling body, hiding them between the warm water bottle and his turning stomach. Knowing full well he would give them to his master, letting him do as he pleased. Would give his everything to him, at the first command.

He had to be good for him.

Would be good for him!

No matter how painful or scary it might be.

Ready to slip from the Couch onto the floor and kneel by master’s side, Paxtons eyes grew ever wider as Amal just staggered past the living room entrance, not even sparing him a glance.

If he craned his neck a bit, Paxton could see master fumbling with the bathroom door handle, finally prying it open and slipping inside.

Was it just him or had his master really swayed a little?

Face scrunched up in a frown?

No. It must have been the low shimmer of the night lamp playing tricks on him.

His master just needed to use the bathroom.

He wasn’t swaying. He wasn’t drunk and angry. He wouldn’t stop at Paxtons bed tonight and- No. Everything was fine. He was fine. His new master surely wouldn’t punish him without a reason. Surely. Hopefully. Please. Please don’t. Please just go to bed again. Please, please, please.

A loud thud, stopped his spiraling panic dead in its tracks.

He lifted his head gingerly from the pillow, straining his ears, trying to listen over his thundering heartbeat.

Barely audible shuffling sounded through the flats silence, followed by a heaving that turned Paxtons stomach in sympathy and fear alike as he bolted upright, feet hitting the carpet running.

He stopped short at the bathroom door, unsure how to proceed until a little whimper followed by more gurgling pushed him to knock. A nervous tap tap tap of scarred knuckles against white wood.

“M- Master? Are, are you alright?”

“Pax…? He- help-“

Cold raced up his arms at his master’s whine and he had the door wrenched open bevor he could think better of it. Wondering faintly, how a master’s voice could even sound so small, quivering miserably.

The sight of his master let his heart drop, heavy like a stone, forcing air out of his lungs in a shuddering exhale.

His master lay doubled over on the bathroom floor, underwear hastily pulled back up over his butt in a futile attempt to preserve at least a sliver of modesty and covered in vomit. Dry-heaving at Paxtons feet, hazy eyes fixed on the bile that had splattered the wall.

“Amal!”

Paxton held a water filled toothbrush cup to his masters trembling lips, faster than any of them could comprehend, cupping Amal’s head gently with his palm. Green unruly hair tickled Paxtons fingertips as Amal shuddered, pale face pressed against his chest.

It was then that Paxton realized, just how small his master was.

“Your legs. They’re… uhm… they’re getting all… all dirty.” Amal rasped out.

“I don’t mind.” a soft smile tugged at Paxtons lips, “I kneeled in my own vomit so often, I’m used to it.”

Amal’s lips twitched, at that, brows crumpling together and Paxton feared he would be sick again but shaking hands pushed him away instead and Amal propped himself up against the toilet seat.

“Thanks Pax. I-“, he swallowed around his burning throat. “I can handle the rest myself.”

Paxton wanted to protest at that, barely able to bite the words back that threatened to spill out but the last time he dared talk back to his master was forever etched into his face, an aching reminder to never ever do such a thing again.

So he just watched, wide eyed, as Amal pulled himself up, hands gripping the bathroom sink for dear life. Amal’s cheeks turned blotchy red as his legs shock eyes screwed shut bevor he took a tentative step and promptly slipped on the bile covered floor.

Paxton was up in an instant, catching him with a strength that surprised himself and sitting him down on the toilette seat.

“Kasi, stop fussing over me. I’m fine.” Grey irritated eyes stared up at him. Fever red face drawn into a pout.

Pain burst behind Paxtons eyes but he pushed it aside as best he could, focusing on his master instead. On the bashful smile curving master’s lips.

“That was close.”

“Please.” Paxtons voice was barely more than a shaky whisper. “Please would, would you let me help you, Sir?”

That’s what I’m for, after all.

Amal’s eyes lingered on him and Paxton shrunk under his master gaze, heart nearly bursting out of his chest.

“I- I know you told me to- that you would ha- handle this. I- I’m sorry I misspoke. It won’t happen again I promise I- “

“Hey no. It’s fine.” Amal sat up a bit straighter, face slowly returning to a healthier color. “Thank you for being there.”

Paxtons throat began to close up at Amal’s gentle smile.

“Could you get me some iced coffee from the fridge? It helps kick my circulation back into gear, when my stupid heart decides to act up. Again.” He huffed.

“Hey don’t worry? It’s looking worse than it is. Really.”

Eyeing the soiled floor warily Paxton hurried out of the room.

Face pressed into his hands and trying to muffle his groan, Amal allowed himself to wallow in his misery, until soft footfalls announced Paxtons return.

His face burned with humiliation as he gulped the coffee down, dizziness fading with every swig. He watched Paxton kneel on the floor, rug in hand and wiping up the mess he’d made.

Peeling himself out of his soiled night shirt, under Paxtons watchful eye, was an exercise in misery. Amal was incredibly glad his underwear had remained clean as he climbed into the shower, refusing – refusing - to take it off.

Grey disbelieving eyes wandered over Amals mastectomy scars, wincing in sympathy as he plucked the bath sponge from Paxtons hand and scrubbed over his chest, cleaning himself hastily.

A sudden self-conscious sigh escaped chapped lips. “What a night, hm?”

Paxton stopped whipping down his own leg with the cleaning rug. “What- uhm what had happened? Sir?”

Barking a little laugh, Amal leaned back against the tile wall, letting its cold seep into heated skin.

“Just my body trying to kill me again. Worthless thing.”

“You’re really reselling him, Boss?!” “Yeah my Tattoo artist needs someone to look after her sibling. Some worthless Crip, or something.”

Nails dug in scarred palms.

“Don’t say that.”

The unexpected volume of his own voice made Paxton flinch, letting it drop back into a whisper that didn’t lose any of its urgency. “Please don’t say something like that about yourself. You- you are an amazing person. The greatest master I ever had the privilege of meeting.”

An irritated huff escaped Amal, as he sat there half naked in his shower, washing the last bits of bile out of his hair, where he had landed face down in the testament off his own fragility, barley able to stand Paxtons adoring gaze.

Something stung in his throat, too deep for it to stem solely from vomiting all over the bathroom floor.

He felt the sudden urge to wrap himself in a towel, hide from those earnest eyes, which were trained solely on him.

Instead he turned his head studying a wandering water drop.

“How could you say that? You barley know me.”

For the first time in as long as he could remember Paxton wasn’t scared as he spoke:

“Because I know kindness when I see it.”

#Box Boy #box boys #boxboys #boxboy #box boy universe #box boy whump #box boy multiverse #whump #pet whump #caretaker whump #vomiting tw #sick whump #paxton and amal series #paxton and amal #paxton the box boy #amal and his really not so great night

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thenamesseven · 4 years

Text

Warnings: Mentions of blood, murder and swearing.

Word count: 4.3k

Despite the little struggle Chan had the other night when the two of you got incredibly closer, he had easily spent the night laying besides you while you slept peacefully, letting you cuddle up against his chest when you searched for warmth, it’s not something he could give you since he was dead but it was nothing a couple of more blankets couldn’t fix either.

The corner of his lips tilted up when you muttered something in your sleep, something you’ve done a couple of times during the whole night, and he couldn’t hold back the urge to reach down and brush some strands of your hair behind your ear so he could watch your entire face. Stunning, no matter how many hours he had spent watching you sleep tonight, Chan would never get tired of the view in front of him.

They were truly lucky for being found by you, no matter what the curse said or did, he knew his brothers were probably as happy to have found you as he was.

Right when he was about to lean down a press a kiss onto your forehead, somebody walked into his room without doing any previous knocking which obviously bothered Chan but, as soon as he remembered what happened with Jeonghan, he sat up, ready to defend you if he had to do it. The sudden movement obviously stirred you awake but you were far too tired to even open your eyes.

“Mhm, Chan?” You asked quietly, rubbing your eyes gently.

“Oh!” Chan rolled his eyes at the sound of the fake surprise in his brother’s, Hansol, voice. He probably had heard your heart beating before walking into his room “Didn’t expect to find you so cozy, am I interrupting something here?”

You frowned at the new voice but since none of the guys had noticed you were awake, you decided to stay still, facing Chan and keeping most of your figure hidden under his covers. The vampire besides you groaned and took his pillow to throw it at his brother “Shut up Hansol, she’s just getting some rest” You felt Chan shifting besides you, leaning back against the headboard still careful to not wake you up “What are you doing here anyways?”

“Brought food for your cute little companion over there” Hansol placed the tray Minghao had prepared for breakfast down onto Chan’s desk before sitting down too, not ready to leave “Jeonghan’s fine by the way”

“It’s not like care after what he did” Chan glanced down at you, one of his hands unconsciously toying with your hair.

Hansol sighed looking at the youngest brother, leaning back against his seat “It wasn’t him, you know it Chan” They both stayed quiet for a few seconds before the new brother decided to break the silence once again “How is she?”

“Good, she just needed some rest and calm, she actually went through a lot” Chan’s voice became a little quiet as he unconsciously moved closer to your warm body “Just thinking how he almost stole her away from us...Hansol...We can’t kill her, this is not her fault”

“Well she managed to survive the hardest ones, the journey to Seungcheol won’t be too difficult now” Hansol shrugged

“It will be, I had to bit her last night” Chan confessed, sounding so ashamed for his moment of weakness that it almost made you feel bad for helping him out “I thought I could fight it but it was just...And she just let me…”

“Naw, you two did actually get really close to each other, huh?” Hansol wiggled his eyebrows at Chan, making the younger feel really flustered. “Anyways, Seungcheol wants to have a talk with you so I came here to keep an eye on her” When Chan didn’t budge from the bed, you could imagine him watching his brother, making sure he wasn’t lying or playing any tricks on him “I promise bro, she’s gone through enough already after Jeonghan, I’m not here to make her suffer”

“Please Hansol, Minghao and I are actually trying to show her we’re not that bad” Chan’s voice sounded weak, almost as if he was truly scared of leaving you alone with somebody else that wasn’t him “Don’t make all our work go to waste”

“Nah, maybe I can even help out” He said, a smile pulling up his lips. He actually liked how cute and adorable Chan acted around you, it reminded him of the way he used to be when they were still human. “Seriously Chan, she’ll be fine”

When you felt his hand on your shoulder, shaking you awake as gently as you could, you opened your eyes slowly, mentally pleased at the lack of light, the killer headache was gone but you could feel it would be back as soon as you overdid yourself a little. The rest you’ve gotten with Chan had definitely helped and to your dismay, your hungry stomach growled at the scent of the pancakes Hansol had brought.

“Morning” Chan welcomed you with a soft smile, leaning back to give you some space before he stood up from the bed “I have to do some things but Hansol, my brother, brought you some breakfast and he will stay around to make sure you’re okay” Your eyes drifted to the guy sitting on the chair besides his desk and your heart almost skipped a beat when he winked your way.

Why everybody was incredibly handsome in this house?

Chan sighed, rolling his eyes a little when he heard your heart becoming all fluttering because of his brother before he shoot him one last glance his way as he climbed out of the bed. No matter how cold he had been, as soon as Chan moved away from your side, you felt this freezing sensation when he moved away from you. It probably was because he had been the only one giving you this safe sensation, this trusting feeling that nobody else had managed to make you feel in this house. You didn’t want to take the risk of being murdered again.

“Chan?”

At the sound of his name coming from your lips, Chan’s steps faltered and he stopped by the doorway to look at you. The pout on your lips and the way your eyes desperately told him to stay reminded him of a lost puppy who had just found their home, he knew you had felt relaxed and safe with him and Chan couldn’t be happiest about it but Seungcheol, the oldest brother, wanted to see him and he should listen to him for your own sake.

“I promise it will be alright” He said with a smile, fists clenching in his pockets since there wasn’t anything else in this life that he wanted more than coming back into bed with you “Hansol won’t lay a finger on you without permission, he’s good”

“We’re all good actually” Hansol insisted, eyes still on you, watching your interaction with Chan curiously and completely ignoring how his younger brother rolled his eyes at his insistence. “But yeah, I’m not here to torture you in any wicked way” He shrugged when your eyes drifted to him, the small smile on his face making his fangs poke out.

“I’ll be right back okay? Maybe we’ll get to hang out a little more later” He threw a shy smile your way once again before finally disappearing into the hall, leaving you absolutely alone with this stranger name Hansol.

Your eyes drifted to the older brother again just to catch him staring back at you. Some locks of his long hair had fallen, caressing his forehead and almost hiding his brown eyes. His lips were still slightly tilted upwards into a nice smile but his gaze were calculating, watching your every move as if he was trying to read you. What was he looking for? You didn’t know but oh well, since when you’ve known something about this guys?

“Here, we thought you would probably want some food” He was the first one to break the silence between the two of you, motioning to the tray of food with his head.

You still stayed in bed quietly, contemplating whether you should just stand up and approach him to eat something or stay in bed, safe under Chan’s covers. Your stomach betrayed you and the growl that escaped it made Hansol snort amused so trying your best to hide your embarrassment, you ended up escaping the comfort of the warm bed to head towards the only free chair left in the room.

You could feel his eyes scanning your body, the way the shirt’s hem got a little loose around your mid thigh and how it perfectly hid your figure from his eyes made him lick his lips unconciously, you were attractive, he wouldn’t deny that. Hansol didn’t know who had lent you that outfit but he mentally addressed him as an idiot for dressing you like that in a house full of starving vampires, Soonyoung was definitely going to freak out as soon as he saw you displaying such amount of skin.

“Who is Soonyoung and why is he going to freak out?” You asked, only realizing he had been thinking out loud when you watched the surprised expression on his face. You were sitting across him, a plate of steaming pancakes with whipped cream along a really hot coffee placed in front of you. Taking a mental note, you thought to yourself that you should thank Minghao whenever you two saw each other again for being so nice and cooking such delicious stuff for you.

“I thought you had read my mind for a moment there, I was starting to freak out myself” He admitted laughing softly, bringing a smile up your lips at his comment.

“Wait, a vampire getting freaked out because of a human? Fear my superpower of boring you to death with my humanness”

“What is that term? Did you just make it up?” He asked, elbows on the table as he leaned closer. The guys were true, you seemed to be fun to talk to when you weren’t busy deciding if you should trust them or not.

“I don’t know but it sounds like it exists”

Without having much to say, you went back to eating your breakfast, groaning satisfied when you tasted the pancakes with whipped cream. Hansol smirked watching you, they way you were enjoying the pancakes was absolutely hilarious, you honestly looked like a small kid eating sweets for the first time. You didn’t know what was so funny about you but you were enjoying your breakfast far too much to pay any attention to what Hansol might think of you, with both of your hands around the cup of coffee you blew onto it a few time before taking a small sip. The warm liquid was incredibly welcomed by your body and even though you’ve just drank a little, you could feel the caffeine awakening your senses.

“So who has been your favorite brother so far?” Hansol asked with a smirk “Oh wait, it is probably Chan, huh?” A quiet chuckle escaped his lips when he saw the way your cheeks turned pink really fast, he had been between Minghao and Chan but after seeing how cozy you looked cuddling with him in bed he knew the answer to his own question.

“He’s just nice” You admitted with a small shrug, eyes glued to the coffee.

“I’m glad you actually gave him a chance after what happened with Jeonghan” Hansol said, leaning back against his chair as he played with the rings on his fingers while you two talked “You could say Chan was one of the brothers who suffered the most after our lost...Only meeting you and getting a chance to at least become friends would let him redeem himself”

“After your lost?” Nobody had answered your question about what the curse was about yet and you somehow knew Hansol wouldn’t do it either, so you decided to try a different approach this time, something that could give you small details that could possibly help you out to complete the puzzle. But then, as soon as you asked, the images Minghao showed you the day he bit you came back flooding your mind. “I’m sorry about that” You winced internally, the sound of the painful screams still echoed in your head awfully well, it was as if the sound was engraved in your mind now, something you would never forget.

“I’m guessing Minghao showed you?” He asked looking at you, sighing when you nodded “That night we lost a lot. We were cursed, tricked and if it wasn’t enough we were forced to kill the persons that loved us the most” Hansol tensed up, unwanted memories flooding his mind “Not only we were betrayed but we also betrayed, she stole everything from us, she stole our happiness”

“Who is she?” You knew he was referring to the old woman you saw running out of the cabin, whispering things in a foreign language that you will never understand.

“But then you came around and freed us” Hansol totally ignored your question, he wasn’t ready to talk about that part “We had been locked up in those coffins for so long, starving, sleeping deprived and being just experiments those stupid scientists could work on” He muttered shaking his head “We owe you a big one (Y/N), you literally saved our lives”

“Funny how some people here kind of wants to kill me after that” You replied using sarcasm in all its glory, rolling your eyes a little as you leaned back against your chair.

“That is complicated to explain but I promise you-”

“Yeah, yeah, everyone keeps saying that” You were ready to explode and poor Hansol was going to be the one taking all the blame for everything that happened “All of you are good, none of you actually wants to kill me and oh! We really don’t want you to leave the house because you’re so special!” Scoffing you gently pushed your breakfast away not feeling hungry anymore. Frustration running through your veins as you kept ranting to him “But guess what Hansol? I’ve been hurt, tortured, tricked and used a bunch of times since I got here and all of those things happened on purpose, your brothers thought them through, they didn’t bite me, hypnotized me or used me unconsciously”

“But-”

“Your promises don’t mean shit, I trust one of you who actually seems to be a nice guy and then, hours after, I trust another one and I have him tying me up on a table before sucking almost every single drop of blood out of me” You cut him off again, not even giving him a chance to keep telling more lies and things you’ve already been told.

“We’re not doing it on purpose” Hansol shook his head, he was starting to feel the effects of the curse kick in along with his frustration and this was not good. He had promised Chan he wouldn’t harm you and he really didn’t want to but Hansol wanted to explain, to make you understand what was wrong with them.

“Fuck off Hansol, do not try to excuse them for being psycho murderers”

That did it. Enough was enough.

Hansol slammed his hand down onto Chan’s table so hard that it wouldn’t have surprised you if he had broken some bones, it was also a miracle that the wood hadn’t cracked under the force he used. You shut your mouth immediately, jumping slightly on your chair since you hadn’t expected to get such a reaction from him. With your heart pounding against your chest, you instantly looked down to your knees, hands fidgeting with the hem of the shirt the guys had lent you. Closing your eyes, you focused on the sound of his hard breathing not even daring to take a look at him since you knew what you would find would scare you.

“Do not talk about my family like that, specially when you don’t know what we went through”

Your head snapped up, eyes instantly meeting Hansol’s. Your breath got caught in your throat when you watched that his eyes, the ones that had been as brown as chocolate were now as red as strawberries, staring deep into yours, right into your soul. Your mouth opened to say something but not sounds came out of your throat which made Hansol smirk cockily, he knew that fear would make you submit to him, you were weak when they showed the monsters hiding inside of them but again, who wouldn’t be?

“I-I also went through a lot because of you guys” You said, wasting all of your confidence in that once sentence. You were truly terrified at the thought of Hansol ending up hurting you but you also couldn’t help but think how upset Chan would be knowing somebody he trusted ended up hurting you.

“Oh you did?” He pouted softly, mockingly, standing up from his chair. Before you could make an attempt of putting some space between you and him, Hansol moved at the speed of light and positioned himself in front of you. He turned your chair around to face him, both of his arms resting on the desk behind you to cage you in. “We went through more stuff (Y/N), the pain that torment us will never compare to the one you felt after meeting us”

“Nobody cares to enlighten me about it, you all talk but nobody explains, nobody tells me what is going on” You raised your hand to push him away so you could stand up too but Hansol was faster and grabbed your wrist before you could touch him. His touch was tight but not enough to hurt you.

“You want details (Y/N)?” The tone he used for the question made you, for a few seconds, consider you maybe didn’t want to know what had truly happened to them. You knew the more you knew, the deeper you would want to get in their story and that was exactly the opposite of what you had to do.

You couldn’t care about them, that was not going to happen.

Your thoughts were becoming confusing, you seemed to be more worried about their past and what was going on than on finding a way to escape this hell. You seemed more enamoured by the thought of gentle vampires such as Minghao or Chan, sexy ones like Jun or Mingyu than the thought of finally getting a date with a cute guy that was probably waiting for you out there, one that was human and didn’t like the taste of your blood.

It’s like you didn’t you know yourself anymore.

Despite him not getting an answer, Hansol took the silence as an invitation to speak, too riled up to stop himself now. He wouldn’t hurt you, at least not physically. “How would you feel if you murdered the person that you loved the most with your own hands (Y/N)?” He asked, pulling you up so your eyes would be almost at the same level as his “How would you feel if you saw yourself covered in their blood? If you keep hurting them while you ignored their begs and pleads for you to stop?” He raised both of his hands up and you winced thinking he would hit you but instead, he only cupped both of your cheeks strongly to keep your eyes on his as he spoke, you weren’t going to avoid eye contact, not this time “Imagine tasting their blood, imagine eating them alive even when deep down, you don’t want to” He kept pushing you, seeing the tears start filling your eyes only pushed Hansol to corner you more, to keep pressuring you “Imagine staring at their lifeless corpse on the floor, skin white and tainted with the blood you’ve drunk” His voice got louder, pain evident in his words “And imagine if everything had happened because of your own mother”

If your heart hadn’t stopped beating before, it definitely stopped now.

This dreading feeling, a pressure you couldn’t describe, invaded your chest when he stopped talking. Their mother? The old woman that locked them in the cabin had been their mother? Why would she do that? How would she do that to their own kids?

“How?” You asked looking into his red eyes, voice as low as a whisper.

“How? Because she was a stupid…..” Not even in this state of rage, Hansol couldn’t find the strength to insult his mother, even after all she did to him, after all she did to his family, Hansol couldn’t help but feel that they were also the ones to blame. If they hadn’t met those women, if they hadn’t sneaked out multiple nights and left her alone maybe she wouldn’t have done that “Jealousy, that’s what made her do this”

“And what does everything have to do with me Hansol? Why do you all want to kill me?” You asked, tears finally falling down your cheeks leaving wet trails on your skin “I didn’t even know you guys existed until I found you in that facility, I couldn’t have done anything to offend you, to hurt you”

Hansol took in a deep breath, his hold on your cheeks becoming softer as he stared into your eyes, his were still red but they didn’t look as cold as they did when you offended his family “We don’t want to kill you (Y/N), it’s all the fucking curse!” The loud volume he used again made you flinch in his arms what made Hansol snap out of the trance he had locked himself in.

In barely seconds, his eyes went back to brown and no trace or shade of red was found in his iris while his hands moved away from you as if your skin was burning him. Hansol looked lost for a second, as if he didn’t know what had happened in these last minutes.

“Did I hurt you?” His voice, full of worry, made more tears roll down your cheeks for some reason. You were even more confused than before and even though he had spilled some secrets you weren’t even sure of how to figure everything out “Oh God, please tell me I didn’t hurt you” He said rushing to you, tensing up when you stepped backwards to keep the distance between the two of you.

“You didn’t” You simply replied, making your way to Chan’s bed and sitting onto it, searching for the comfort that his blankets gave you “You don’t remember it though?”

“I tried not to let it control me, fuck I really tried but I screwed up” He sighed sitting on the chair that was further from the bed, willing to give you the space you really needed. “As soon as Chan comes back, I’ll go, it truly wasn’t my intention to-”

“You’re telling me you don’t remember when things like that happen?” You asked frowning, your confusion about your own feelings and thoughts only confusing you even more. What if the vampires you’ve met so far, the ones that had dared to hurt you weren’t the real versions of themselves? What if you had met the worst part of them?

“It’s not ourselves the ones that do those awful things, we’ve been trying to explain you that” Hansol replied staring down at his hands, playing with his rings. “You can tell we change as soon as our eyes turn red, it works like that” He explained “Eyes change and boom, we’re not in control anymore”

Well, fuck.

“But Jeonghan’s eyes were blue-”

“They were, his intentions were different but I can assure you that he deeply regrets what happened” Hansol added before you could finish your own sentence “His eyes changed when he drank your blood though, that’s when everything got out of control”

You nodded quietly, staring down at your little fingers fidgeting with the bed sheets. You needed to sort your head out, you needed some time to think about everything before getting deeper in their story, in their house. Something was definitely wrong but you still couldn’t understand what it was.

Sighing you laid down on the bed, closing your eyes once the headache came back. It probably was because you kept stressing too much but could you blame yourself? There was no way in hell you would be able to relax in this house, not after everything that’s happened.

“There is something I remember though” He said frowning, glancing your way as if there was something he couldn’t understand “What do you think about us? About our home?”

You frowned at the pronoun he used, he included you in the our and that was something you didn’t expect nor wanted. This wasn’t your home and you doubted it would ever be.

“Why?” It was the only thing you could say since you didn’t even know the answer to the question he threw your way.

“Because your light is grey”

His direct answer made your frown even bigger but before you could reply, Jihoon himself barged into the room breathless, scanning it like a madman until his eyes landed on you. Hansol immediately stood up, ready to get between his brother and you if it was needed to protect you but Jihoon didn’t even attempt to step your way. He only glanced at his brother and shook his head stressed, scared.

“It’s about Seokmin” He said panting, hand on his chest as if he had ran a mile “We need her, he needs her”

Despite you opening your mouth to complain about it, Jihoon reached out and grabbed your hand, pulling you out of Chan’s bed and out of the room before Hansol could even do something about it. The latter stayed behind though, frown still in his face as he thought about the conversation.

Funny how your light was now grey when it used to be as white as snow when you walked into their home.

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shitty-marvel-fan732 · 4 years

Text

"Don't Look at Me, I'm Sick!"

Author's Note:

So, I know no one will believe me but I've been working at this for a month 😂 I swear my intention was not at all COVID-19 related, but rather from a random prompt I found online somewhere! The prompt is bolded.

Pairing: Peter Parker x Female!Reader

Summary: Y/N has the flu, and who better to save her than a friendly, neighborhood Spiderman?

Warnings: None? I guess descriptions of the flu if that counts!

Word Count: 4,068, because I have no self-control 😂

A painful, chest heaving cough racked through my body, leaving my stomach muscles feeling sore and my chest burning. I flopped back into my cocoon of pillows and blankets with a sigh. Nothing like a bad case of the flu to remind me of just how hopelessly inadequate my non-existent abs were.

What had started as a small tickle in the back of my throat yesterday had mutated into a full-blown flu. Not just any flu either. No, this was the 'every symptom you could possibly think of, oh my god am I dying?' kind of flu. I felt like I’d been run over by a truck, and if my mom was any indication, it was a safe bet I looked it too. She’d poked her head in my doorway for a solid 10 seconds before dialing the school attendance line and informing them that I wouldn’t be there. She left for work not long after, shouting at me to keep drinking fluids and to take some Tylenol. Since then I’d been drifting in and out of consciousness all morning, waking only long enough to either cough or sneeze my guts out. If I didn’t know any better I’d swear I had the actual plague.

My phone had been buzzing on and off all morning, but in my fever-riddled, sleep deprived state, I elected to ignore it in favor of more sleep. The buzzing reached a fever pitch sometime in the mid-morning before it mercifully stopped. I sighed again, flopping over to my stomach and snuggling my sweaty head deeper into my pillow. I huddled the overwhelming number of blankets around my shivering form like a safety net as I idly wondered how far away the medicine cabinet could possibly be. Realistically, it was all of 6 feet away, but just the suggestion of having to move my body was enough to make my muscles feel like mush. I groaned, flopping uselessly around my bed as I internally weighed the pros and cons of getting up to grab some Tylenol.

I was so wrapped up in my mental battle that I didn't hear the distinct 'thwip!' coming from the fire escape outside my bedroom window. Normally I'd hear the sound no matter how loud the music was in my headphones or how fast asleep I was. I guess it was more of a feeling I got, a low hum of excitement deep in my belly that alerted me than a sound really, but regardless I was completely oblivious at the moment. I also missed the practiced, rhythmic taps on my window due to the sneezing fit that overtook me and the subsequent rush to rummage around my sheets for any non-crumpled tissues.

"Y/N?!"

A slightly panicked voice was the sound that finally broke me out of my illness induced haze. I yelped loudly and, reacting out of pure instinct, flung the first thing within reach at the intruder. Unfortunately for me the closest thing to me was a near-empty box of tissues, and based on the lack of thump that followed I don't think it even hit my intended target. It was hard to say for sure though because immediately after my feeble attack I dove deeper into my cocoon, covering myself completely with the mountain of blankets.

“What the FUCK!” I exclaimed. Though I wish that my voice sounded strong and threatening, the shock rippling through me coupled with the way my nasal passages were currently blocked and the muffling effect of the blankets covering my face made my fierce roar sound more like a surprised squeak.

"Whoa whoa whoa!" the voice placated quickly. "Y/N, it's just me!"

The familiar tenor tones of my intruder began to seep into my sick brain like a cloud of smoke. I frowned unconsciously as my mind worked in overtime to try and place the voice with a face. I winced for a moment, the sudden onset of thought enough to send a stabbing pain shooting behind my eyes and leave a throbbing, dull ache in its wake. My brain whirred on for an embarrassing amount of time before the recognition hit me like a truck.

"Peter?" I questioned humbly, peeking my eyes out from the blankets just enough to see. I blinked quickly and fought against the dizzying pain that overtook my brain against the onslaught of light.

Standing over near my opened bedroom window was my adorable, if sheepish looking, boyfriend. His face was wrought with a look of pure anxiety -- big brown eyes practically swimming with worry and normally sweet features all contorted downward. The messy brown curls I loved were stuck tight to his sweaty forehead, and he clutched his Spidey mask tightly in his right fist. He wasn't wearing his suit, so he must've thrown on only the mask before making his way over. Even in my post-panic/flu-induced fog I felt a touch of irritation at his recklessness.

"It's just me, sorry," he apologized breathlessly with one hand still outstretched appeasingly towards me. "I just...you weren't at school and you weren't answering your phone and I got worried."

Guilt flooded my already-churning stomach at his gentle admission. That explained the incessant buzzing of my phone this morning. Of course Peter was worried, the boy literally could not stop worrying over everything. And to be fair, he had much more reason to than most. I silently cursed myself for forgetting to text him and tell him I wouldn’t be at school. I opened my mouth to apologize just as another realization filtered into my brain.

I screeched.

Not a normal screech either. This was a gross, nasal-sounding cry of sheer terror that I could tell made Peter flinch from all the way across the room. I dove even more quickly into the mountain of blankets and pillows than I had back when I was pretty sure I was going to be murdered.

“What?! Y/N what’s wrong?” Peter exclaimed, clearly still a bit panicked over everything. I couldn’t hear him walking over, but I felt my bed dip under his weight as he near-instantly was at the edge of the mattress. The blankets shifted and I could tell he was attempting to pull back one of the many covers that I’d engulfed myself in. I huffed, twisting my body deeper into the tangle of sheets and rolled so away from my poor boyfriend that I almost fell off the bed entirely.

“Y/N?” Peter questioned, tone laced with concern and confusion.

“Don’t look at me!” I shouted. Or as close to shouting as I could muster through the scratchy, dry rasp that was my voice currently. “I'm sick!"

There was a long pause before Peter's sweet chuckle sounded outside the confines of my cocoon.

"Yeah I kinda figured that out," he laughed. I couldn't see his face, for obvious reasons, but I even so I could tell it held his wide, genuine smile. As if to punctuate my point further, another dizzying coughing spell came over me and bent over as I proceeded to cough all but my actual guts out.

"Oh, Y/N/N," Peter murmured sympathetically. I felt his hands rest on the blanket again as if he were going to pull it away and I jerked away from the contact once again. "Hey? Why are you hiding?"

"Because I'm sick," I grumbled defensively. "I don't want you to see me like this!"

Peter clicked his tongue in disbelief.

"Come on," he whined. "You know I couldn't care less about that!"

He could try all he wanted, but there was no way I was going to face him at the moment. I hadn't taken a good look at myself yet today, but I was certain I looked like a half-dead pile of garbage. I could feel the way my hair was matted and knotted from all the tossing and turning, my nose felt like it was on fire from all the snot pouring out of it, there was a dry spot on my chin that I was certain was leftover drool, and to top it all off I could practically feel the crushing weight of the bags from under my eyes. I crossed my arms petulantly from the confines of my blankets, not caring that he couldn't see my small act of stubbornness.

I heard Peter sigh from his place beside me, and the weight on the bed shifted until I could feel him sitting right next to me.

"Y/N, you know that I think you're the prettiest girl I've ever met, right?" he questioned softly from beside me. My face flushed wildly at the implication, although I don't think he would've been able to tell even if he could see my face due to the raging fever I was sure to have. Butterflies silently began to flutter in my tummy. I hummed in nonchalant agreement, unable to trust my voice at the moment.

"Well you are. You're the prettiest, funniest, smartest, cutest, and most stubborn girl I know", he replied firmly, putting unnecessary emphasis on the last bit. "And seeing you when you're sick isn't going to change any of that."

I grumbled lowly, silently feeling my resolve weaken but unwilling to concede just yet. Peter evidently took my silence to mean he was getting through to me and began talking once more.

"I was really worried you know?" he continued casually. "When you weren't at school today, I mean. I thought something bad might've happened..."

The same feeling of guilt from earlier came crawling back to me and began to weigh heavily within my already sore chest at his admission. His voice sounded like he was desperately trying to sound unaffected, but I could hear the remnants of the fear and panic he'd felt this morning. The guilt intensified and ran it's way up my body and rested into my eyes and throat, burning them with unshed tears begging to be let out.

I cautiously peeked out from the blankets, still covering everything but my eyes from Peter's vision. He smiled at the small victory -- that perfectly crooked and adorable smile that never failed to make my heart melt and my knees feel weak. I smiled back, although it quickly drooped into a frown when I realized he couldn't see it.

"I won't stay if you don't want me to," he stated plainly while looking down at his lap. "I mean, don't get me wrong, I want nothing more than to be here with you and take care of you -- actually that's not true I just want you to feel better, regardless-- but what I mean is I won't if you don't want me to."

I giggled lightly at his near-incoherent babbling, causing his eyes to snap back up to my blanket-covered face and his face to break out into another one of those smiles I loved so much. I sighed indecisively.

"You're sure you're not going to, like, freak out, right?" I questioned cautiously. Peter shook his head quickly, brown curls flying wildly around his face.

"Positive." he affirmed.

"And you swear that you aren't going to, like, take off running? Or, more likely, swinging?" I clarified. I was being purposely exaggerative, but underneath my sarcastic facade there was a part of me that was very much scared. Scared that Peter, the absolute best guy I knew and the person I relied most heavily on, would be disgusted with my illness-riddled self. Peter frowned, a look of genuine distress overtaking his features.

"I would never." he vowed incredulously. I searched his handsome face silently as I contemplated.

Finally, after several long moments of deliberation, I sighed in defeat and slowly pulled the blankets away from the rest of my face. Peter just looked on encouragingly as my dramatic ass took its time, a tiny proud smile playing on his lips.

"There's my pretty girl," he cooed soothingly as I finally detangled my upper body out of the mass of bedding. I shot him a look of pure annoyance which only seemed to fuel his glee further. He chuckled lightly, pulling my overheated and yet somehow still shivering form to his chest. I willingly allowed him to pull me into the comfort of his embrace, suddenly feeling too tired and weak to protest further.

Peter's arms were my favorite place to be. Hands down. I'd discovered long ago that his chest provided the perfect pillow: it was soft, yet firm, warm, but not too hot, and smelled like the perfect mixture of his body wash, laundry detergent, and his natural scent. Also not to be taken for granted was the way his strong arms instantly wound around me whenever we cuddled. Being in his arms never failed to make me feel safe and protected. I sighed contently, rubbing my tired and throbbing head deeper into his embrace. He rubbed small circles into my aching back, voice crooning in my ears with unintelligible words of affection.

"Still the prettiest girl I know," he declared fondly. I lifted my head just enough to look at his face, a display of near-herculean effort on my part, and shot him the most incredulous look I could muster.

"You're a dork," I grumbled lightly, tucking my fever-and-blush tinged red cheeks back into the comfort of his chest. I felt my makeshift pillow vibrate as a chuckle followed.

"Yeah. But I'm your dork," he replied cheekily. I hummed in agreement, too tired to argue back.

I dropped my head further into my own chest as I was unexpectedly hit with another wave of uncontrolled hacking. I could feel Peter's arms rubbing against my back as I did, and after all was said and done I winced at the rush of pain through my head, throat, and lungs. He tsked sympathetically before asking when the last time I took any pain meds was. Unable to find my voice I simply shook my head stubbornly.

I grumbled incoherently as Peter gently removed me from his arms, unhappy at the loss of contact. He chuckled once more before promising to return quickly as he strode out of my bedroom door. I groaned childishly before my body decided that now would be an awesome time to make me sneeze any and all phlegm that had built up in my nasal passageways.

I sneezed violently for what felt like hours -- by the end tears were streaming down my face and there weren't enough balled up tissues in my vicinity to stop the flow of snot running from my poor, sore nose. I plopped back onto the pillows, completely worn out and miserable.

Almost like he could sense my discomfort (and I'm sure if anyone could, it was him) Peter rushed back into my room, arms full. He placed a litany of items unceremoniously onto my comforter before silently handing me a glass of water and a few pills.

I gratefully accepted, sitting up slightly to take them. The cool water against my burning, scratchy throat felt simultaneously painful and relieving at once. Peter smiled encouragingly, taking the half empty glass back and placing it on my nightstand. Next he pulled out a damp washcloth and motioned for me to lean back once more. Curiosity overtaking me, I complied.

Ever the sweetest boy I knew, Peter began lightly wiping my overheated face with the cool cloth. I let out a moan of appreciation that I was certain was going to embarrass me later if Peter's reddened cheeks were any indication. Currently, however, I couldn't have cared less if I tried. The cooling feeling spreading across my sweaty, fever ravaged skin was almost hypnotic. I closed my eyes and leaned into the cloth as he methodically maneuvered it around my face.

"S-sorry if it's too cold," Peter's nervous voice interrupted my near-trance. I opened my eyes to see his adorable face very close to mine, expression full of concern. "I can stop now,"

"Why though?" I whined. "I was enjoying that!"

Peter's face turned bright red once more, face turning downwards briefly to hide his wide smile.

"I'm glad," he replied bashfully. "But you're kind of starting to really shiver, so I think we should stop for now,"

He tossed the rag expertly across the room, landing it neatly on the back of my chair without even really looking. I rolled my eyes.

"Show-off."

He just grinned.

“Okay, I also brought you more tissues, some cough drops, some cold medicine, your laptop, some new blankets...”.

Peter’s voice changed completely, dropping down to a more serious tone as he waved his hands over each item as he explained. I felt tears start to collect in my eyes, wholly touched at the sheer sweetness of his thoughtfulness. I was trying to come up with a response as the tears began to drop down my face in big, fat droplets when Peter took note of my emotional state. His eyes went wide with worry -- he instantly shuffled closer to me and wrapped scooped me up, blankets and all. His arms wound around my body tightly as he placed me on his lap and his cheek rested lightly against the crown of my head.

"Hey, hey," he soothed quietly. "You're okay, I'm here. What hurts sweet girl?"

I chuckled breathlessly at his response, thoroughly enamored with his protective concern for my well-being.

"I'm okay Petey, nothing hurts," I mumbled quickly. The throbbing of my head and ache in my chest immediately flared at my words, clearly enraged to have been downplayed like that. I grimaced.

"Okay that's a lie -- everything hurts," I amended begrudgingly. "But that's not why I'm crying."

He pulled his head back just enough to look me in the eyes, expression riddled with confusion.

“I just -- you’re so --,” I struggled to put the way I was feeling into words. Peter waited patiently, concern-filled eyes never leaving my face.

“I just love you,” I murmured finally, looking deeply into Peter’s eyes. “Like, a lot.”

His face softened immediately and his cheeks filled with the gorgeous pink blush that I adored as he gazed lovingly down at me. I felt time stop, the way it always seemed to when he looked at me like that. I held my breath, captivated by the proximity of my very handsome boyfriend and the feeling of his arms wound so tightly around me.

“I love you too,” he whispered softly, face bowing down towards my own until I could feel his breath fanning against my lips. I felt my brain short-circuit for the millionth time this morning, though this time it wasn’t fever-related. Peter’s face drifted closer and closer to my lips at what seemed like a glacial pace. Just as our lips were about to connect, a thought ran through my mind, clear as a bell, and I jerked backwards so suddenly I fell off Peter’s lap and into a heap on the floor.

“Oh my god! Y/N, are you okay?!”

Peter hurriedly picked me up and placed me gingerly back on my bed. I chuckled breathlessly, still a little dazed from the close encounter.

“What the hell was that?” he questioned incredulously.

“You can’t kiss me! You’ll get sick!”

Peter looked stunned.

“You -- you’ve got to be kidding me,” he groaned, body flopping backwards onto my bed momentarily before he sat back up and looked me straight in the face. “You’re joking, right?”

I crossed my arms stubbornly against my chest and stared defiently at him. He studied my expression for a beat before he sighed and flopped onto his back once more. I giggled at his frustration, and he sat up once more to shoot me an exasperated look. Then, his eyes lit up with a mischievous look and he grinned at me.

“You know, I haven’t been sick once since I got bit,” he mentioned nonchalantly. I raised an eyebrow, urging him to continue. “I don’t even think I can get sick anymore honestly.”

“Nice try Spiderling,” I rolled my eyes. “I’m not chancing it. Queens needs you.”

“Yeah but I need you,” he whined. “I can’t go a whole day without affection, I’ll die!”

I snorted.

“Nice try Tinkerbell,” I chuckled. Peter’s pout deepened. “Aww, don’t do that. You know it’s for your own good!”

Peter stuck out his bottom lip childishly.

“Alright, alright, you win,” he grumbled. “But cuddles are non-negotiable! I will literally die without them.”

I smiled widely at his response, scooching up to the head of the bed with him and allowing him to pull me into his chest once more. He fiddled with my laptop for a few moments and not long after I was drifting off on his shoulder as our favorite movie played. One of his hands was splayed across my back, trapping me against him (as if I’d ever want to move) and the other was tangled in the messy hair against my head. I was fading, falling into sleep steadily.

“Mmmmm Petey,” I breathed softly. “Love you.”

I couldn’t be sure, but I thought I felt him smile against my hair.

“I love you too sweet girl,” he whispered. I raised my head tentatively, eyes closed and lips searching his cheeks for their favorite spot. I felt Peter’s breath hitch, and his face dip down towards mine just slightly. “Thought you were worried about getting me sick.”

I set my mouth in a pout.

“But you said you can’t get sick, right?” I mumbled hopefully. Peter chuckled, the vibrations from his chest tickling my cheek.

"Thought you weren't gonna chance it?" he questioned breathlessly. "Q-queens needs me."

"I need you," I whined. He chuckled again, the deep timbre sending shivers down my spine.

"Well, I can't let you down now can I?" he whispered playfully before finally connecting his thin lips to mine.

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

The rest of my illness went by like an insane fever dream. Peter stuck by my side like glue the entire time, taking care of me like the sweet boy he is and spending the majority of the time entangled with me on my bed as we watched wayyy too much Netflix. The times he left were brief -- just long enough to convince my mom and his aunt that he was still sleeping back at his apartment.

I was finally back in school, feeling refreshed and eager to be out in the world once more. I walked over to Peter's locker, greeting him with a kiss on the cheek and waving hello to MJ and Ned. His ears and cheeks flushed pink at the display and I grinned with pride. Ned just smiled while MJ rolled her eyes fondly.

"Someone's glad to be back," she quipped dryly. I laughed, carding my fingers through Peter's as we all began to walk down the hall.

"I actually am," I replied cheerily. "I'm as surprised as you are."

As we walked Ned began filling me in on everything I'd missed while I was out. I listened to him chat excitedly about Flash's new car and the change in the Decathalon team's lineup with amusement, wholly happy to be back to my normal routine. My mood was broken suddenly as I felt the fine hairs on the back of Peter's arm stand straight up from the spot where our arms brushed together. I looked up at him anxiously, wondering what could be lurking in our midst that sent his senses off.

Peter looked as baffled as I did. His eyes scanned the halls furiously, searching for the source of the danger. The two of us slowed to a complete stop in the middle of the hall.

Ever perceptive, MJ eyed Peter and I suspiciously before bluntly asking what was wrong. Ned turned and looked on curiously after he finally noticed that no one was following him anymore. I glanced at Peter, unsure of what to say. He cleared his throat nervously.

"I dunno, I just got this really weird--"

He started to explain, but part way in he paused and let out the biggest sneeze I'd ever heard. And that's coming from a girl that just spent the last 4 days coughing and sneezing like it was her job. MJ and Ned chuckled knowingly as Peter just stared at me, utterly bewildered. I couldn't help but giggle at the incredulous look on his face before smiling sheepishly at my poor boyfriend.

"I did warn you!"

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