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hes-writer · 4 years

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Birthday

Summary: harry forgets y/n's birthday

Warnings: angst and fluff if you squint

Word Count: 2871 words

A/N: I’m tired. My head hurts (sucky ending ahead)

___

How silly was it to stare at a phone in anticipation for hours, waiting for it to buzz and light up with a simple banner stating ‘happy birthday!’ from your closest friends? It was a sad reality for Y/N. She was never very outspoken, often opting to keep to herself and speak only when she was comfortable. Friends were a touchy topic because she had lost so many in the past that she didn’t bother making new ones for the sake of not going through another fallen friendship.

What was the point of going through the cycle over and over again if Y/N knew the dreaded ending? She was better off saving herself from heartbreak and stick with the true friends she had.

For the past years, Y/N’s closest friends brought her joy and animated presents to celebrate her birthday. She appreciated them very much, declaring that they only had to give her greetings and she would be happy. They cared so much until they didn’t. Was it because of quarantine that they failed to realize what day it was? Were they busy with work? Were they finishing up a university project worth half of their marks? Did they forget? Y/N wondered what changed.

Having stability within herself was something that she always struggled with. As much as she tried to convince herself that she is important and that she’s worth it—Y/N knew that it was only a matter of time before all those reassurances blew up in her face.

Sometimes she feels as though she cared too much, expected too much and got nothing in return. It wasn’t a competition; really, it wasn’t. Y/N didn’t want to sound entitled but the fact that she remembered the important days and the special occasions, bringing gifts and cheery greetings only to have nothing but empty silence when the day was about her hurt more than a metal scooter to her ankle bone.

And for the sake of it, Y/N forced herself to understand that her friends didn’t remember. They were still her friends even if she hasn't spoken to them in a while. Their life didn’t revolve around her even if it felt like she dedicated too much of hers caring for them and making sure that they felt good about themselves. Y/N hated to see them sad, doubting themselves to the point where she had to step in—too irritated to bite her tongue because they didn’t deserve to be put down that way whether it was by their own thoughts or somebody else’s.

It was a completely different story with Harry. She and Harry have been together for three years and counting, sharing memories between the two; affection, intimacy and caressing touches imprinted on one another’s skin. He was the most amazing person Y/N had ever met; always pleasing others but knowing when to draw the line. He was both logical and affectionate, never letting his heart rule too heavy on his decisions but always using his head to think it through.

Recently, Y/N felt as if their relationship was taking a low. She wasn’t too concerned because it had happened before and a simple, meaningful talk was often what she and Harry needed to get back on the right track for a long-lasting relationship. The days were passing by continuously, sometimes even confusing her until she found something to look forward to. Her birthday.

—-

The rays battled through the blinds, blinding her with faint yellow sunshine yet Y/N could see the clouds covering the sky, indicating that it was cloudy and frankly, a little bit cold today.

She yawned, pressing her fists against her eye to knuckle on them, rubbing the sleep out before stretching them outwards. She expected to hit a body laying beside her, Harry, but she was met with open-air and a sudden chill enveloping her body despite the thick comforter laying on top of her.

Y/N pressed her palms on the mattress. The creases imprinting indents on her skin as she pushed herself up slightly in alarm. Sure enough, Harry’s side of the bed was empty, wrinkled with his movements from sleep but he was nowhere to be found. His usual humming habits didn’t echo from the bathroom, nor did his constant yelps of clothes falling off the rack reverberate from the walk-in closet. She concluded that maybe he was in the kitchen preparing a special breakfast in bed—waffles and freshly cut fruit were always her favourites.

Y/N smiled at the thought, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed, slipping her feet in her fuzzy slippers before dragging her legs to the bathroom to get ready for the day. Aside from a few work emails needing to be responded to, her day was essentially empty, hoping that her time would soon be filled with long-lasting memories.

Ten minutes later and a questionable frown on her face, Y/N entered the kitchen with a beating heart. The smell of breakfast food didn’t linger in the air as she had expected. In fact, there was nobody there. No one in the living room, nowhere. There was no note taped to the fridge, no gifts sitting on the counter, no cake cooling on the stove rack.

Y/N felt the corner of her mouth dip in disappointment, returning to the bedroom to switch her phone on.

A hole in her chest formed at the sight of an empty lock screen—no messages or calls needing to be tended to because no one had remembered her birthday. She tried not to think too much about it, maybe they were busy or forced by Harry to stay quiet because he had planned a surprise party later in the evening. Y/N sighed, tapping her thumbs to text him ‘where are you 🥺’.

The damage ripped her further apart at a notification showing pictures of ‘Today, 1 Year ago’. She contemplated whether to view them or not, aware that she was torturing herself for not getting the same amount of sentiment as the previous years.

‘meeting. I’ll call you x’ - Harry

Y/N swiped the message up, opting not to reply and wallowing in self-pity as she tried not to let her thoughts get the better of her. Today was supposed to be a happy day so why was she feeling so sad?

Wandering around Harry’s large house, Y/N couldn’t help but feel a cold blanket of loneliness draping over her shoulder. She wished that Harry was here to ease the ache quelling in her heart. All she wanted was to share sweet kisses with his soft lips, to feel his strong arms wrapped around her waist. Hearing his voice whispering dirty thoughts and compliments in her ear while she buried her face on the nape of his neck where his scent was the strongest. Maybe they would bake a cake in the kitchen. Flour dusting the air as Harry let his fingers wiggle to get it off of him. The finished product didn’t always look good but it tended to taste delicious. At least it was edible.

The daydreams in her head moved with the branches swaying outside the window, the fluffy white clouds moving westward as Y/N reeled in memories of her past birthday like a camera roll, creaking with each spin. The flickering blinking with forgotten remnants of happy flashbacks.

It was nearing four in the afternoon when Y/N decided to stop antsily waiting for the device to buzz in hopes of a message from Harry or anybody, really. The slight grief she felt washed over her mind, echoing that she wasn’t important enough to be remembered.

She didn’t want to feel like that anymore.

Y/N didn’t know what bothered her the most. Is it fair for her to expect Harry to remember her birthday? Was it a given? If he came home right now with a present on his left hand, balloons and flowers on his right with a sheepish smile inching up the lower half of his face—would Y/N still feel angry? Sad? Disappointed? All she wanted was him to remember on his own. Maybe then she’ll feel as though she was worth his time. It wasn’t even about the gifts or a celebration—just a simple acknowledgment that meant he cared for her.

She kept asking herself if she should feel sad. If she had the right to feel disappointed. It wasn’t like they made any plans. It wasn’t like he promised to do anything special with her. It felt more and more like a normal day instead of her birthday and Y/N’s heart twinged with realization.

If Harry ‘made it up to her’, was it overpowering guilt that would make him do it? Or because he genuinely forgot? Maybe both? Nonetheless, the hours passed by with barely anything productive being accomplished, having taken the day off for nothing. The device beside her vibrated once, a message from her aunt saying ‘happy birthday’ left a smile on her face. It wasn’t every day that Y/N received a text from her extended family-- she concluded that it was because her birthday was on the same day as her grandfather’s.

____

The sun sunk down beyond the horizon, darkness littering the streets that the light disappeared due to nighttime slowly cycling through the rest of the day. Y/N spent her time as she would any other day, except this time she baked a cake. A pity cake for her gloomy day. She was like a burnt cigarette crumpled on the ashtray, the last traces of orange hue fire spotting into black traces.

Y/N felt foolish wearing a party hat with a string that was way too short stretched around her head. The tightness tramping her that would probably cause slight indentations on her skin. It was nearing midnight when she decided to sing herself a happy birthday and made a wish.

The door unlocked, followed by keys rattling on a hardwood. The flame on her wax candle dancing with the gasp she released as Harry rounded the corner to the kitchen.

“Y/N, you in here?” He froze in place as his eyes caught up with the rest of his body. Harry’s fingers tightened around his phone before slipping it in his back pocket. His mouth parted open, throat closing up as he tried to swallow the lump that formed. The party hat sitting on her head almost took away from the severity of the situation.

He messed up. Really bad.

“Hey, Har,” Y/N greeted, crimping her lips to bare a small ghast to the candle. The flame disappeared in the blink of an eye. Harry’s heart hammered harder in his sternum, Y/N’s plunged to her churning stomach. “Where have you been?”

The tone of her voice was mundane. Harry was trying his best to decipher how she was feeling so that he can act accordingly and that was exactly why Y/N purposefully voided it of any susceptible sentiment.

“Y/N, I-I’m sorry,” He padded his feet closer to her, the kitchen island putting distance between them. She sat on the barstool, removing the hat from her head. She fixed her hair as Harry spoke. “I’m really sorry,”

Green eyes bore through her with a sincere expression, shooting daggers in her heart for staying quiet while Harry apologized profusely. The chocolate frosted cake drooped on the edges--she had a habit of smothering the layers with frosting before it fully cooled down-- just like the corners of her mouth.

“What are you sorry for?”

Harry blinked at her, resting his hands on the edge of the counter. “I forgot your birthday,”

Y/N nodded, “Yeah, you did.”

“Happy birthday, baby” His voice was tender, like a bowl of sweet, milk chocolate. Decadent and rich as it released the words she had been waiting to hear all day long. And frankly, it would’ve been enough to put a smile to her face, but the lack of content for the day embedded her in a mindset that not even Harry’s simple words could dig her out of. The amount of self-reflection she did today was a topic that she had tried to avoid for so long because it was too destructive--she never handled these thoughts well.

Y/N peered at the digital clock on the stove just as it switched to ‘00:01’. Harry followed her gaze, hitching a breath in his throat. She stared at him deeply, "Where were you?”

“Studio. I had a flow, couldn’t stop and I--,” He rambled on, nervously scratching the nape of his neck, fingers playing with the tiny curls. A part of Y/N couldn’t help but feel selfish for making this all about her (even if it was about her). Harry had other commitments besides her. He had a music career that depended on him writing songs. She knew how much it meant to him when a flow was just too good--lyrics spewing out of his mouth, melodies humming from the base of his throat. Harry wrote some of his best work in the middle of the night after dreaming about something that absolutely puzzled her to no end. Remorse spotted in her chest.

“It’s okay,” Y/N said slowly. “You were working hard. I get it,” Her hands reached out for his waist, his Gucci hoodie soft to the touch.

Harry hesitated, opening and closing his mouth, wondering if he should uncover the whole truth. His arms wrapped around her shoulders, his chin jutting on the crown of her head. A sudden breeze slipped up his back when she slid her warm palms under the fabric. “No, I wasn’t,”

“Hmm?”

He cleared his throat, leaning back far enough that he could maintain eye contact with her, “I wasn’t working hard. I was sleeping. I did write some tunes bu’ then I got knocked out for hours and didn’t wake up until eleven,”

“Oh,” Y/N let her hands dangle beside her, a rush of disappointment flooding her every being. She carefully sewed up her next response, “S’okay, you were tired,” And she was too. All she wanted was to cuddle up in their bed and he can make it up to her another day.

“It’s not okay!” Harry retorted. “I forgot about your birthday, left you all alone. I didn’t even text you,” He pounded his fist on the counter, way too close to the chocolate cake that had Y/N sneakily pulling the tray away from him but he caught her, “Didn’t get you a cake. Didn’t buy ya’ a present,”

“Harr--,” She tried to intervene in his monologue. Disappointment still weighed heavily in her chest. However, the sight of Harry fuming at his ability to remember reminded her that she didn’t enjoy seeing him blaming himself. As much as she wished to have this day play out differently, everything was already said and done.

“Stop that, Y/N! I was sleeping while you were blowing a candle out on your own. I was s’pposed to be there with you,”

Salty tears flooded her waterline, overwhelming emotions swamping her and saturating her mind, “No, no, no. Please don’t cry,” He rushed out, willing his legs to stand between hers from the distance he created. His thumb stuck out to pad a tear to her temple, “I’ll make it up to you. I swear it,”

Earlier, she contemplated if he would be acting out of guilt. Seeing the sincerity in his eyes and hearing the intensity of his voice asserting that he had messed up so badly that he reprimanded himself; there was no doubt in Y/N’s mind that Harry would do everything he can to make her feel better.

“Do you care about me?”

“‘Course, I do,” He cringed internally at his words, visibly shuddering as his actions surely emphasized the opposite. “Dunno how I forgot. It must’ve slipped my mind,” The groove in between his brows thickened, his cheek absentmindedly leaning towards her palm cupping his cheek. “I care about you a lot, Y/N.” He breathed through his nose, letting the scent of her fill his lungs.

“Do you love me?’

His lids snapped open, jaw tensing against her skin, “Loads. I love you so much,” He turned his head to kiss her palm, holding her wrist to press kisses on her fingers, her wrist, her forearm.

“I’m really sorry,” He rested his forehead against hers. Y/N tangled their fingers together as she held him close.

“You’re sorry?” She asked, the crest of her lips brushing over his plump ones. Harry nodded, keeping his eyes on hers.

“Very,”

Y/N let her eyes fall shut, peering closer to his cloudy lips and attaching his mouth to his. Her hands travelled to his broad shoulders, straightening her back to reach his height. Harry bent down in retaliation. They pulled away with a smacking sound, lips glistening from their intense kiss. “S’that mean I’m forgiven?” He mumbled, pressing a kiss on her head.

She scoffed, turning her attention on the cake, “Have you made it up to me yet?”

___

sucky ending, i know.

___

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#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles one shot #harry styles imagine #harry styles blurb #harry styles angst #harry styles drabble

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spaceskam · 3 years

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when you come home to me

Summary: Alex comes home for a few days and spends them in Michael’s bed.

Tags: bittersweet fluff, lost decade, implied sexual content

for the @malexremix here's a remix of @tkstrrand ‘s fic If the world was kind, he would stay.

ao3

Monday

Alex took a deep breath, hands squeezing the armrests of the airplane seat.

They’d just landed and he was just waiting for the clearance to get off the plane. Then he’d catch a cab to his dad’s house to pick up his car and he’d get to go home. He was crawling out of his skin with anticipation and nerves. He knew, logically, that he’d be welcomed back. But he always held a sliver of doubt. Alex was always just preparing himself to walk up to Michael’s airstream and find someone else in his bed.

He didn’t have insecurity around Michael’s bisexuality or anything. He wasn’t intimidated by the idea that Michael might choose to be with a woman because it’d be a simpler time while in Roswell. Honestly, anyone would be easier for Michael to date in Roswell. At least they’d be there full time.

Yet, he couldn’t shake his nerves. He’d gone too long without contact this time, he thinks. Three years. So much could happen in three years. Michael could’ve met someone and gotten married and had a kid and it would’ve been a socially acceptable timeline.

God, he really hoped he didn’t have a kid or a spouse.

The entire process of leaving the airport, watching a few of his fellow soldiers have a grand reunion with their family while he walked towards the doors alone, and riding home in a stuffy cab that smelled faintly of weed seemed to pass all too quickly and drag on painfully at the same time. He was as sure it’d taken his entire day as he was sure it’d been 15 minutes and he was about to fall on Michael’s doorsteps without the time to think of what to say.

The first sign things were going to go in his favor, though, was the fact that his dad’s house was empty. Alex knew his father knew when he was coming back to Roswell. Not that he deliberately went out to keep track of that date, but his dad always seemed to know everything that Alex did. Which would make sense considering his current CO was buddy-buddy with Jesse Manes. The fact that he wasn’t there, waiting to make it difficult for him to get to Michael’s, was a godsend.

Alex took a record-breaking run to his room. He grabbed his phone, his charger, a couple more items of clothing, and his keys and he was gone before his dad could even return.

Michael moved between Foster’s Ranch and the junkyard. He didn’t think about what it would mean if he was somewhere else. How would he find him if he wasn’t there?

Fortunately, he didn’t have to dwell on that disaster seeing as Michael’s truck was right where he left it in Sander’s junkyard. He took a breath and climbed out of his car at the same time Michael emerged from the door. He had to lean against the car as he got a good look at him.

He looked practically the same, maybe with a little more facial hair going on, but the shirt and the jeans were more of the same. Alex didn’t have to touch it to know how soft the fabric was from years of use. He didn’t have to feel Michael rub his stubbly cheek on parts of his body to know it’d leave a beard burn rash for a day or two after he left.

He wanted to feel it anyway.

“Alex,” Michael breathed, his eyes going a bit wide and his lips parting like he couldn’t quite believe it. That hurt more than Alex had the words for.

Alex pushed himself off the car and shoved his hands in his pockets, hoping to give his hands something to do while also keeping them to himself until Michael gave him the green light to do otherwise.

“Hey.”

Michael took each step down with his entire body weight, thud, thud, thud, like he didn’t know another way. It had Alex feeling nervous and excited and a billion other things.

“You’re back,” Michael said. Alex tried to smile, but it refused to find his face so he nodded and looked down.

“Temporarily.”

Michael was quiet for a moment, but he never stopped walking closer. He stopped just an arms-length away and Alex’s eyes trailed up him, trying to spot any difference. He didn’t really see any, only a few holes in his jeans that Alex longed to put his fingers through.

“How long?” Michael asked.

“‘Till Thursday,” Alex said, making that arms-length distance more like hands-width. Michael nodded slowly, his eyes betraying his thoughts and feelings. How that wasn’t enough, but he would accept it anyway. A twisted part of Alex basked in the fact that he was wanted at all.

Instinctually, Alex looked around the junkyard for any signs of life. Not that he was foolish enough to think that Sanders didn’t know something. More than once, he’d whistled for Michael like a dog instead of coming close enough to knock which Michael thought was hilarious and only happened “when you’re in my bed, Private, I think he’s got Spidey senses”. It was a little nerve-wracking, but Alex was able to convince himself that that didn’t mean Sanders knew it was him or knew what they were doing. There was reasonable doubt to be had. But. Still.

“Sanders is away, I’m looking after the yard for a while, no one’s around,” Michael whispered. Alex’s eyes drifted back to him and a smile finally found his face at the idea that they were completely alone. That meant he could convince Michael to stay in bed a little later in the morning. That meant he could get him to be a little louder. They could be a bit more comfortable in their own skin.

Michael moved until they were practically chest to chest, nearly stepping on Alex’s toes in the process. He wouldn’t have minded if he did, honestly. Michael reached up to grab his collar, tugging him in until they were nose to nose. He laughed softly, that tense knot of nervousness in his stomach exploding into pure excitement. For all the times he told himself he’d never come back to Roswell, this made it blatantly clear why he kept doing just that.

“Wanna go inside?” Michael murmured, tilting his head just enough to nudge his nose into Alex’s. Alex nodded quickly, feeling young and dumb and giddy for just a moment, and Michael smiled. God, he was beautiful.

Michael’s hand drifted from his collar down to his hand and he led the way into the airstream with Alex hot on his heels.

When the door closed, Alex started to unbutton his jacket. He expected frantic, desperate movement from both of them like usual, but Michael stopped and looked at him up and down for a moment. Alex grinned and slowed just a bit, just to tease. Michael rolled his eyes and leaned forward, his lips brushing Alex’s cheek in an experimental fashion. Something bigger than butterflies‒birds, maybe pterodactyls‒burst in his stomach at the small affection.

“Say ‘honey, I’m home’,” Michael asked against his cheek, voice quiet and unsure. Alex turned his head until they were nose to nose again and shucked off his jacket. It hit the floor and he didn’t give a shit about picking it up to fold it neatly.

Alex hooked his thumb into the hem of Michael’s jeans and tugged him in until they were pressed together from head to toe. He very much wanted to be pressed head to toe without their clothes between them. So he grabbed the belt buckle.

“Honey,” he said, breathy and not as sing-song as he was planning. Michael grinned anyway.

Alex yanked the belt out of the belt loops and Michael started to untuck Alex’s shirt, calloused fingers gliding over his stomach. Alex slowly started backing him further into the airstream towards the little bed that they’d made more happy memories in than Alex would ever tell anyone about. They were theirs. No one was allowed to taint them.

“I’m home.”

“You’ve been gone a while.”

Alex tried not to flinch at the simple statement, instead of letting his fingers trail over Michael’s skin. He had his ear against his heart and the soft, repetitive thud was soothing in more ways than he had the words for.

“I got a promotion, things have been kinda hectic,” Alex said, quiet and clinical in hopes Michael would drop the subject sooner rather than later, “We were traveling a lot.”

Alex managed a glance up at him and met his eyes, silently asking him to drop it if he could. That was an easier said request than done, but still. Michael rewarded him with a hand through his hair.

“Congrats,” Michael said dryly. Alex scooted a little closer, pressing up against his body in hopes that it’d subdue whatever was going on in his head. It was all he could do.

“Tell me about you,” Alex said, desperately changing the subject as he rested his head on Michael’s chest again. His heartbeat was a little louder, a little faster. Alex wanted to soothe that away somehow.

Michael’s arms wrapped around him.

“Isobel got married.”

“To Noah?” Alex asked, a smile tugging at his lips. He didn’t know the guy and he had mixed feelings about Isobel, but Michael loved her and he thought Noah was good for her and therefore Alex felt the same. “That’s great.”

“Mhm,” Michael agreed, craning his head down to search for a kiss. Alex moved to touch his face and deepened the kiss with ease.

This he could do. This he knew would make him relax. It always did. Maybe that was stupid and immature, but it felt good. It was an easy way to see Michael smile, to hear him laugh, to feel his skin turn red with adrenaline and excitement. And Alex knew he was the cause.

He liked being the cause of good things and so far making Michael feel nice was the only thing on that list.

Alex pulled him down into bed with him all over again, a silent promise to add a tally next to that one item on the list.

Tuesday

Alex slept in late for the first time in a long time, allowing himself to wallow in bed even after he knew there was no more going back to sleep.

He rolled and buried his face in the pillow before remembering that he wasn’t alone. A small smile found his face, still hidden away from the world in the comfort of the pillow and he reached out, feeling for Michael. However, the bed was empty and his smile was replaced with a pout. He lifted his head groggily and looked for Michael only to see him watching him from across the trailer.

“Come back to bed,” Alex whined, reaching out for him and forgetting himself for just a moment. He shouldn’t be whining and begging and using grabby hands towards anyone regardless of what they’ve done. Still. He did it. He quickly dropped his hand and evened his face once he remembered.

Michael seemed unphased by the slip-up, a big, warm smile on his face as he leaned against the counter. He was shirtless and had a pair of jeans on that were unbuttoned and hanging loose on his hips. Alex could follow the line of hair across his abdomen down to where it disappeared beneath his jeans. It made him feel warm all over again and he could feel himself forgetting his composure, wanting to just reach out and take.

“I will in a second,” Michael said softly.

Alex scrunched up his nose in distaste which got a huffed laugh out of Michael, but he quickly let it drop and he sat up. He reached across for where his bag was and pulled out a pair of clean boxers to put on and then threw on one of Michael’s shirts on top of it. It wasn’t as warm as the one he was wearing, probably, but it would simply have to do. And it really, really would do.

Michael came closer, finally, and sat beside him with two mix-matched mugs in his pretty hands. He handed one to Alex and adjusted himself to lean against the wall as Alex took a sip. He found himself staring into the cup almost too afraid to take another sip in case this was just something he made up in his head despite the warmth blooming in his gut at the taste.

“What?” Michael asked, taking a sip of what was most definitely coffee from the smell of it.

Alex turned his entire body to look at him, disbelief thrumming through his veins and a smile pulling at his lips.

“Since when do you drink herbal tea?” Alex asked, raising an eyebrow. He had at least one vivid memory of Michael choking and spitting it out when Alex had forced him to take just one sip.

And it turns out he didn’t and all of the disbelief in Alex’s system lit on fire into pure euphoria as Michael said he got it just for him. A small hope and faith that Alex wasn’t just fucking around with his feelings and dropping off the face of the Earth. Not just that, but spending his money on something for Alex. They didn’t really spend money on each other and this wasn’t necessarily expensive, and yet…

“Thank you,” Alex breathed, moving forward to kiss him again. Michael kissed him back and then took the mug from him to place on the counter beside his own. The taste of the coffee on Michael’s tongue definitely clashed with the tea, but Alex craved it.

The shirt he’d put on ended up on the floor and Michael grabbed his knees to pull him into his lap enough to lay him down. Alex felt high on him, on the idea that he bought him tea, on the fact that he wanted him to come back, expected him to come back. He held onto Michael’s back, tugging him in close and almost clawing at his back just to make sure this was real. That he was really here and they were really together if only for a moment in time.

“Ah,” Alex breathed, gripping him tighter as Michael’s teeth dug into the skin of his neck.

They seemed to have the same idea.

Wednesday

One day, when Alex had a house of his own, he was going to have an at-home library.

He didn’t have time for books much anymore, but the idea was still appealing and one day he wanted to have time for books. He wanted his walls to be lined with them, to have a full selection, to have the permanence of them. Michael, however, was already beating him at starting a collection.There wasn’t many in the grand scheme of things, but more than one should have in a living space so small, a stack of textbooks and non-fictional works on the table and a hidden pile shoved beneath the bed.

The whole thing had Alex feeling light and fluffy again despite the fact that Michael was working and Alex had to entertain himself this morning. It was just so cute. Alex took a shower and got dressed and when he got all ready for the day, he found himself staring at the stack. He carefully took the top one and started to thumb through it.

He objectively knew Michael was intelligent. He didn’t care what people said about mechanics, the shit was hard work and took more intelligence than he was sure anyone really knew. Even Alex really only knew how to change a tire. Michael, on the other hand, had built an entire engine.

Still, opening the old textbook to see it was flat-out mechanical engineering in the most clinical way was enough to make Alex feel warm with pride. All the highlights and notes in the margin felt so personal and the loose-leaf paper tucked into the practice problem pages screamed Michael Guerin. He was just so fucking smart. Alex liked him so much.

A few vocabulary words later‒and most notably a lot of notes on how to build a bigger, more powerful engine and an asterisk to remind him to compare to notes in his Rocket Propulsion textbook‒Alex found himself peeking behind the little curtain to see if he could spot Michael. And he did, seeing him wiping his hands as he spoke to a pretty woman who was probably a decade or so older than them. She was very clearly appreciative and Alex couldn’t help but snort a laugh.

Alex went back to the textbook, making himself comfortable in Michael’s bed. He had a secret, personal, debatably gross affinity for the way the blankets began to smell after they’d had sex a few times without washing them. It was gross, but they smelled a little musty and a little like Alex’s body wash and a little like Michael’s skin and a lot like they were a product of the two of them existing as one. He’d enjoyed the smell since the summer after high school when they were resigned to the bed of his truck with his sleeping bags. The idea of it pulsed in his veins.

He brought the blankets to his nose and kept reading.

“You’re dressed,” Michael noted when he came back inside. Alex managed to drop the blanket at the sound of the door opening in a casual motion, trying not to do anything distinctly weird. If Michael noticed he didn’t say anything, instead happily sitting on the bed in all of his sweaty, greasy glory and pulled Alex’s legs into his lap.

Alex glared at him and deeply buried the urge to see what his neck tasted like when he was this messy.

“It was getting cold,” he said simply as he put the book down.

“That’s what the blanket is for.”

“So, I was just meant to wait here for you, naked?” Alex teased, gravitating closer unintentionally. His eyes drifted to that spot on his tan neck, glistening with the heat of the day. A little bit of staring and he realized he left a mark.

Huh. That was a first.

“That was the plan, yeah,” Michael said. He grabbed Alex’s hand and held it tight.

Alex teased him and watched him closely, considering pulling him down and saying screw showers despite the fact that Michael desperately needed one before he put his hands anywhere sacred. Michael, however, noticed the book.

“Engineering,” Alex told him when he asked, “You’ve got lots of notes in here, you building something?”

Alex turned a few pages, that one reminding him to compare notes in his rocket science book unintentionally catching his eye again.

“Just cars,” Michael said, tone of voice a little more tense than it should be.

Alex met his eyes and stared at him. And for the first time in a long time when it came to Michael Guerin, Alex got that weird feeling in his gut that said he wasn’t telling the truth. Which would be ridiculous‒what the hell would there be to lie about?

Instead of letting himself sit with the idea, however, Alex tilted his head back and closed his eyes, shaking it out of his mind. They were having a good week. Alex was being paranoid for no goddamn reason. He rubbed his thumb over the back of Michael’s hand before shifting to lay his head on his shoulder. He didn’t smell like the sheets. He smelled like Michael. And Alex didn’t care that he was probably getting him dirty just by being near him.

“What’d you wanna do?”

“Can we just…” Alex said, breathing out as he considered the fact that Michael did actually have to bathe and that they did need to change the sheets after him sitting on them. He wasn’t quite ready to give up the potency yet. He could only have it for so long. “Can we just sit here for a bit?”

“Of course.”

Without meaning to, Alex dozed off. When he came to, the sheets were changed and smelled fresh, though still of Michael, and Michael was clean and tucked up against him. Alex was reminded by how much he liked clean Michael as well. He couldn’t tell if he liked him dirty or clean more.

It didn’t matter. Alex reached up to press his fingers against the mark that was much more visible when he wasn’t grimy and Michael, unconscious and endlessly sweet, moved closer.

He wondered how hard it would be to get Michael to cover him in marks, little reminders for just a few more days after he left. That was, however, extremely impractical and irresponsible given, well, everything about his job.

So instead he cuddled closer and held him and tried to memorize the way his body felt this close.

Thursday

“Do you remember the movie Cars?”

Alex blinked a few times as he registered the words coming out of Michael’s mouth. He was struggling to stay awake considering they’d spent the entire morning testing out the true meaning of stamina and destroying the concept of a post-coital recuperation period, hours dedicated to whiting out Alex’s mind from the inevitable departure that was coming closer with each passing moment. They were running out of time and Alex was much more content to not think about it or address it.

And Michael apparently wanted to talk about Cars.

“What?” Alex asked, lifting his head. Michael was laying in the opposite direction, his lips swollen and red and his hair a frizzy mess where it laid against Alex’s shin. His feet were on the wall to avoid being on the pillow.

“Cars, like the animated Disney movie?” Michael said.

“I-I mean, yeah, I remember Cars. Just, like, where did that come from?” Alex asked, huffing a laugh. He grabbed one of Michael's ankles and brought it to his chest, just needing to touch him.

“Remember when we watched it in Spanish senior year?” Michael continued. Alex nodded, watching him.

Michael seemed still a little dazed now that Alex’s eyes focused on him more. His fingers were playing with Alex’s leg hair and his eyes were half-lidded and the sun was shining even past the curtains, his tanned skin glowing. Alex had littered his skin in tiny red marks that he couldn’t ask for in return. He looked fucking godlike for a moment. Longer than a moment.

“Yeah, I remember we had a sub and she couldn’t figure out how the subtitles worked so we watched it in Spanish with French subtitles,” Alex said.

“You put your head down and your shirt rode up a little ‘cause of it. I sat there for, like, thirty minutes trying to figure out how to tell you that your shirt rode up and I could see, like, a millimeter of your boxers and an inch of your skin. It was nothing, really, but I remember feeling like it was the most scandalous thing I’d ever seen. And I stared at you the whole class period trying to work up the nerve to say something to you, anything, even if it was just saying I liked your shirt,” Michael rambled, his voice a little muffled against Alex’s leg. That didn’t stop Alex from feeling like his heart was going to jump out of his chest. “Anyway, if you could be in that universe, would you wanna be a living car or a living plane?”

Alex breathed a soft laugh, trying and failing to move past the part where he had just admitted something insanely sweet from a time months before they even really spoke one-on-one for the first time. Clearly, they needed to go at it like that more often. They didn’t tell stories like that. They didn’t talk about things that mattered.

To Alex, that mattered.

“Plane,” Alex whispered, slowly pushing himself to a sitting position and trying not to jostle Michael too much even if it felt awkward. Alex kissed his knee as he slowly took one of his legs back. “I like to fly.”

“You like to fly,” Michael repeated, soft like he was keeping it for himself. Alex smiled and slowly shifted one of his other legs away. Michael pouted adorably about it and Alex slowly made his way up his body.

“Yeah,” Alex said, fingers sliding over his thigh as he placed himself over Michael. The pout faded into something a lot more serene. “I did really well in flight school.”

“You have a pilot’s license?” Michael asked.

“Yeah. Air Force.”

“I’ve looked it up before, not everyone in the Air Force flies planes,” Michael said softly, reaching up to rake his fingers through his hair, “I didn’t know you did.”

“It’s a convenient thing to have and it was offered to us for free. So, you know, if we ever need to fly away, I can handle it,” Alex said. Michael stared at him for a moment. Maybe longer than a moment.

“Okay,” he said, pulling him down for a kiss.

It was languid and slow, the sun bearing down on them and making it hotter in the airstream than it already was from them alone. And Alex reveled in it. He wanted to soak in as much of this feeling in every way.

Because in twelve hours, he would be gone.

His flight was at five. He had to leave Michael by two so he could drop his car off at his dad’s and then he had to call a cab. And that would be it. He would be gone and he wouldn’t know when he would be back.

It was hard, leaving. Alex wanted so many things, all of them so out of reach, and his body ached for it. But he couldn’t have them. It wasn’t about what he wanted and, even though Michael seemed to want it too, Alex knew it was bad for them. It was messy and there were too many other players and it was best they stole this small time and didn’t make it harder than it had to be. They kept it physical and casual because it was what was best.

And yet.

Michael’s hand pressed to the base of his spine, a hot presence holding him close. He touched every inch of skin he could and he kissed him like it was important. Michael kept tea for him and put off work to be here. He hadn’t looked at his well-loved notebooks since Alex got here. His attention was on Alex. All of it. He was wanted here. Alex loved the way that felt.

He loved him.

It was almost torturous how something could be literally in his hands and simultaneously entirely out of reach. The silly game Alex played with himself, letting himself get all excited about going home because he wanted to see him while reminding himself that there was no guarantee that Michael was waiting. There was no promise made. Hell, they barely spoke about things unless they were trivial to make sure they didn’t make things worse.

And he loved him.

Alex didn’t have to ask if Michael was seeing other people when he was gone, he knew he was. He was handsome and smart and hardworking despite what he’d have others believe. He knew one day he’d come home and Michael wouldn’t be open to letting him in his bed. He’d find someone nice, someone cozy, someone safe. Someone who didn’t keep him waiting around. It was only a matter of time. It was stupid to care too much.

But Alex loved him.

They didn’t start another round this time, bodies too fraught and fried and tired to try. Instead, they kissed until the kissing stopped and they just held each other. The sun was shining on them, the clock was ticking, and Michael’s skin was sticking to his with sweat from how hot it was but neither of them was bold enough to move.

And Alex loves him.

Friday

Alex let out a shaky breath as he watched the clock tick to 1:45 AM.

He’d run out of time. Michael was laying on his back, sound asleep with his head leaning towards Alex. It hurt to look at him, but Alex mustered enough courage to touch his face carefully and push his hair back. He kissed his forehead and then his cheek, watching to make sure he didn’t stir, and then slowly got out of the bed that had been so nice to him these last few days.

Alex gathered his things quietly, putting on his shirt and his pants and his shoes. He grabbed his phone and his keys and held them tightly to muffle any excess noise. His heart felt like it was going to melt out of his chest as he looked at him. Apparently, all the touching didn’t help him feel ready to leave at all.

God, it hurt. It hurt so fucking bad.

Alex closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He didn’t tell Michael when his flight was or when he was leaving out of self-preservation. He didn’t trust himself to leave if Michael was awake. And yet it still felt like the hardest thing.

Beside Alex’s bag was a soft, worn black sweater. The sleeves and the neck were stretched out. It smelled like Michael. Alex found himself pulling it over his head despite it still feeling a little hot in the airstream. He wanted to keep something, just this one thing, just for a little while.

Quickly, to make himself feel less embarrassed about it, he opened one of Michael’s notebooks to leave a note. He had a million things to say. He settled on something simple.

Borrowed your sweater, it was cold hope that’s okay.

I’ll give it back next time I’m home

- AM

He started at it and swallowed, trying to make sure it was enough. Maybe he could smother it in tiny hearts or find something to make a kiss print with or something. Something that would let Michael know that he loved him even though that wasn’t an option. He couldn’t think of anything worthwhile, though, and instead just flipped it over.

I’ll be back, I promise

Alex took another deep breath and looked at Michael again, mentally saying fuck it as he leaned back down to kiss him on the cheek and breathe in the smell of his hair. It was intoxicating. He wanted to crawl back into bed with him. It was so much better than being out there, running special operations because he was talented. That’s what he was told. Talented. We need you, do you really need a vacation right now? You’re important. Your decryption is incredible and needed. Fine. Five days, but then you need to come back. Captain.

Five days.

“I’m going to come home,” Alex murmured, standing up straight. He swallowed the lump in his throat and found a tack in a small cup of screws and other pointy things, sticking the note where Michael would see it.

This wasn’t it. He was going to come back. Maybe Michael would be with someone more permanent by then and maybe this was the last time he’d get to kiss him. And that would be fair and Alex wouldn’t complain.

But maybe not. And maybe he’d have more of him in his future. More talks. More anecdotes about liking Alex.

More. They could have more one day. This wasn’t over.

Alex got in his car and drove.

#malex #malex fic #micahel guerin #alex manes #roswell new mexico #my fic #malexremix2021

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roiscrying · 3 years

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THE WAY I LOVED YOU - draco malfoy x hufflepuff reader

Inspired by/based on Taylor Swift’s the way i loved you

words: 2.1k

warnings: swearing??

Draco sat crossing his chest as he stared at the other boys in the room. For Muggle studies they had gotten to take a trip into the Muggle world and him, being the only Slytherin boy in the class, was paired up with Cedric and a Hufflepuff in his year who he had yet to bother to learn the name of. He understood the logic, as the Hufflepuffs were annoying, but they didn’t get on his nerves as much as the rest of the houses. That was except for Diggory, “You know Y/N is in the room right next to us” the other Hufflepuff spoke up, Draco shifted uncomfortably at the mention of the girl’s name. Her being of course, the reason he so strongly disliked being put in the same room as Diggory. Who really would want to room with the person their ex moved on from them with, especially when it was not just any ex, it was Y/N.

“Yes and”

“Would anyone really find out if we used that new spell to-”

“To listen to their conversation?”

“Exactly,”

“Justin I don’t know if that’s the brightest idea” Draco grunted in agreement,

“You just don’t want to hear Y/N talk about Cedric, Malfoy, someone jealous”

“No,” he responded a bit too quickly, “I just don’t want to get in trouble” the boy, Justin scoffed, “fine, do it, but i’m not taking the blame when you two geniuses get caught” he regretted the words almost as soon as they left his mouth but his pride stopped him from taking them back. With a quick mumble of words a mirror-like object appeared and hovered in the air, giving them access to see and listen to the room next door. you sat along with two other Hufflepuff girls, Susan Bones and Hannah Abott, who also happened to be your two closest friends. Your conversation was uninteresting for the boys for several minutes, discussing trivial topics and cracking inside jokes, so much so that Justin was about to end the spell when Susan piped up,

“Sooooo, what is it like dating Cedric” all three boys started intently listening.

~~~~~~~~~

You let out a soft laugh, a gentle blush reaching your cheeks,

“Well, he is sensible and so incredible-”

“Uhg I’m so Jealous” Susan groaned making you laugh again, a bigger smile spreading across your features,

Draco shifted uncomfortably in his seat, wanting nothing more than to just slap the growing grin off of Diggory’s face.

“He says everything I need to hear and it's like I couldn't ask for anything better” the girls in the room squealed and a pillow was thrown from Hannah hitting Susan in the face as she spoke up,

“What was your date like, tell me everythingggg”

“Well, he opened every door, and he kissed my hand and he said, ‘you look beautiful tonight’ and I felt perfectly fine” you paused taking a deep breath and looking tentatively towards the other girls,

The hesitance apparent in your voice and features caused Draco to sit up slightly, sure it was foolish to think she would miss him, but part of him still had hope that you missed him even half as much as he missed you.

“Well?” Hannah spoke up,

“What is it Y/N,”

“Uhg this is going to sound so stupid but if I’m honest, I miss screaming and fighting and kissing in the rain when it's 2 a.m. and I was cursing his name, when I was so so in love that I acted insane, that's the way I loved him” Susan let out a loud gasp which earned her another smack in the face with a pillow by Hannah,

“What was that” you remarked as soon as the girl had entered the common room and could no longer hear the two.

“What was what Y/N”

“You know what I am talking about”

“I don’t believe I do” you sighed incredulously,

“You just told someone that I was obsessed with you and wouldn’t leave you alone?” you scoffed shaking your head, “you are incredible” you spat

“Y/N, you’re being unreasonable, you know why I had to do that”

“Unreasonable Draco?” You laughed bitterly, “Don’t turn this on me Draco,”

“Why are you acting like this Y/N-”

“Why am I acting like this?” you shook your head again, “Do you even realize what you are saying? It’ ‘unreasonable '’ to be mad at my boyfriend for saying that I’m just some girl who is obsessed with you and won't leave you alone? Unbelievable. Actually, very believable. Nothing is ever your fault.”

“Y/N not now-”

“Not now Draco? Am I inconveniencing you?”

“Y/N that’s not what I meant-”

“What did you mean then?” The boy sputtered for answers as you turned on your heel and walked away, you weren't done with the conversation, but you knew he would follow, or at least you hoped he would, some strange part of you wanted to know that he cared enough about you to follow you.

“Y/N wait” you heard the boy running behind you and you picked up your pace until you reached the quad, immediately taking notice of the pouring rain that seemed to always accompany their arguments,

“I’m so sick and tired of this Draco” Y/N yelled as she turned to look at him, pulling your robes tighter over your body as she felt the rain instantly beginning to soak through your clothes.

“Y/N please” the boy begged,

“Draco why can't we be like everyone else, I’m tired of being your little secret”

“Y/N you know why,”

“But I don’t understand! I don’t care what people will say, that doesn’t mean anything!”

“Y/N I know this is new to you, but it's different when-” the words came out harsher than he intended,

“It’s different when what Draco? When you have a reputation to uphold? Draco this is what I mean, if I’m not worth ‘tainting’ your reputation or whatever the hell you think will happen then we shouldn’t be together at all”

“Y/N you don’t mean that”

“But I do. You’re really prioritizing what people think of you over me?” You let out a bitter laugh, “one great boyfriend” you remarked sarcastically, “I’m done with this bullshit, having to act like we’re something we’re not. You need to choose right now, your superficial reputation, or me” your voice had become hoarse from the amount you had been screaming. You felt her heart break as he stayed silent, closing her eyes as you felt tears slip out, “I guess I know your answer then” the sound of the rain was loud enough you didn’t hear him approaching and jumped slightly as you felt him gently take your hands into his,

“If you think for a second that I wouldn’t pick you-” the boy paused, “You are the best thing that's ever happened to me Y/N,”

“Then prove it,” you whispered and in an instant his hands were around her body closing the space between them and pressing his lips against hers. Your eyes stayed shut as you smiled softly returning the kiss only pulling away when your lungs burned and you needed to take a breath, “No more hiding?”

“No baby, all of Hogwarts will know you’re mine baby girl”

Draco let a small smirk appear on his face at your remark, raising an eyebrow at Cedric who had turned to the boy. His face had obviously dropped from it’s previous smirk.

“Shut it Susie-” With that the girls were silent again, now both listening intently to you pour your heart out,

“Uhg I’m so lost because Cedric, he respects my space and never makes me wait and he calls exactly when he says he will. He's close to my mother, and talks business with my father. He's charming and endearing and I'm comfortable”

“Butttt”

“Even breakin' down and coming undone, it was a roller-coaster kinda rush,” you let out another sigh “And I, I never knew I could feel that much, but that's the way I loved him” you jumped up so you were standing on your bed, leaning dramatically against the wall behind you, “It’s not that Cedric isn’t amazing and everything a girl could ever want, but it's just,” you sighed looking down at the girls who had moved to sit on the edge of your bed, “He can't see the smile I'm faking.”

“Oh Y/N,” Hannah spoke up sympathetically,

“But my heart's not breaking 'cause I'm not feeling anything at all. Draco was wild and crazy, just so frustrating,” you groaned flopping back down, your tone more wistful when you spoke up again , “intoxicating, complicated, he got away by some mistake” she trailed off

Over the past few days since the winter break ended Draco had been super distant, constantly avoiding you or making up excuses not to talk to you. It had been a few days by the time you finally were able to catch him alone. He was hunched over with his head in his hands in a corner of the library. You had just sat down when her eyes flicked over his arm and noticed something, you danced around the issue trying to make small talk with him but finally fed up with his short dismissive answers you decided just to address it,

“What is that Draco,” you snapped. You knew very well what it was, but nothing in you wanted to believe it was true.

“I-I,”

“I thought you were different Draco,”

“I-I, I had no choice”

“Bullshit” the words left your mouth before you could stop it, the feeling of betrayal too clear in your mind to let you think straight, “wasn’t it you who told me even in the most dire situations you always have a choice”

“Y/N I didn’t mean this”

“I really believed you Draco, I thought you loved me, you were using me weren’t you,”

“Y/N I was not, I never lied about anything I-”

“Oh really,”

“I never lied about my feelings for you Y/N, you’re the best thing that has ever happened to me”

“You really expect me to believe you Draco? When you have a dark mark on your arm”

“Y/N please” his voice broke. His words were true, he had no choice, and he cared more about you than anyone else in his life, he would do anything for you. But you wouldn’t listen to him,

“I don’t want to hear it Draco, we’re done” you said plainly, trying to ignore everything in your heart telling you to hear him out, to comfort him, to give him the benefit of the doubt.

You made a mistake, you knew it, but then there was Cedric, a sweet boy in your house who was nothing but kind towards you, he was perfect, but that was the problem. He was too perfect, you didn’t have the same fire and chemistry that came so easily with you and Draco, the conversations never flowed as smoothly, the kisses weren’t as passionate, you didn’t want to admit it, but he just was missing something, he wasn’t Draco. You had envisioned a life with Draco, you could see yourself walking down the aisle to him, there was something missing from Cedric where you could never let yourself daydream to that point. He was nice, a good guy but there was something missing.

Draco was broken after you broke up with him, he felt as if a piece of himself was missing, something he hadn’t realized he needed until you were there, and something he realized he hadn’t appreciated enough when you were there.

“And now, I miss our screaming and fighting and kisses in the rain when it's 2 a.m. and I was cursing his name, when I was so so in love that I acted insane, because that's the way I loved him”

“Breakin' down and coming undone,” Hannah spoke up earning a nod from you,

“It's that roller-coaster kinda rush,”

“I never knew I could feel that much, but that's the way I loved him”

“You should tell him,”

“He probably hates me now, I can’t believe I let myself-”

“You were shocked Y/N,”

“I just, Cedric is an amazing guy, he’s everything anyone could ever need, but he’s not what I want, or who.”

Cedric let out a heavy sigh and looked back towards Draco. He sat frozen, eyes showing some sort of disbelief and longing, as much as he hated it, he knew what had to be done.

“I think I’m going to break up with him” your voice spoke freezing everyone in both rooms, “I can’t keep leading him on like this, I don’t want to use him,”

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moiraineswife · 3 years

Text

Do No Harm - A Witsnah Fic

Guess who’s back...Back again. IT’S ME. Y’all didn’t think you had escaped my Witsnah content forever did you? Because you DIDN’T. I’m back with some Highly Indulgent Content. Pls enjoy.

Title: Do No Harm

Rating: M (for violence and cursing) Content warnings: blood and stabbing

Summary: Jasnah is dying and Wit goes a little bit feral as a treat. AKA: Wit realises he's in love with Jasnah via the power of terror. AKA: Wit discovers he can pine while in a relationship because he’s just That Dramatic.

Someone makes another attempt on Jasnah's life within her chamber of Urithiru. Wit realises he's willing to do whatever it takes to save her. Even if that means risking his own life.

Teaser:

Wit liked to think himself largely shock proof.

Not electrical shocks, of course, he was still working on that. But startling shocks, the jump scares of life, unexpected occurrences around every corner. Those he felt he was damn near immune to.

Jasnah Kholin stumbling from their shared chambers at sixteen minutes past three in the morning wearing nothing but her nightgown and a considerable amount of blood, gasping his name and seeming near unconsciousness? That did it.

Link: AO3

On a list of things Jasnah hated, assassins were definitely in the top five.

She felt that was reasonable. They had killed her father. They had killed her brother. They had attempted to kill her multiple times. They had threatened everyone she loved, at one time or another.

And they were also responsible for the large bolt currently protruding from her chest.

Jasnah had been asleep in her bed within Urithiru when the fabrial device cleverly hidden in the canopy had fired the projectile directly down into her body.

Ivory's split second warning had woken her and allowed her to shift aside. Not avoiding it, but it had meant that it hadn't plunged directly into her heart. He'd likely saved her life.

"Something is not, Jasnah." Ivory said, his voice more curt and clipped than usual. His way of expressing concern.

Dimly, using one of the corner posts of her bed to haul her to her feet, Jasnah recognised the same thing.

She had experience with having things stabbed into her. Which had only increased during recent years. Though the bolt embedded in her chest would prevent the Stormlight healing the direct wound, it should still have sealed the skin and muscle around it by this point. She shouldn't be losing this much blood.

The silk nightgown she wore was soaked in scarlet. Blood was still gushing from the wound in rather alarming torrents. The wheeze to her increasingly laboured breathing told her blood was slowly filling her lungs as well, so there was no internal healing either. Wonderful.

She had to get it out to give her body a chance to fix this.

Forming that rational thought was more difficult than it should have been.

Panic was starting to gather in the blackening edges of her vision, like a Highstorm threatened in the sudden gathering of clouds, and it was becoming harder and harder to push it back.

Trembling, legs bowing with fatigue, she grasped the bolt in her left hand and willed it to change, to become air, free, and fluid, and no longer fatal.

Nothing.

It didn't refuse her, as objects first had during the initial fumbling attempts to Soulcast them. No. It simply didn't exist to those senses that had become so attuned to the world around her.

That confirmed the fear that had been building within her, and did nothing to still her rising panic.

Stormlight thundered in her veins, a fill, raging Highstorm's worth. She was a Fourth Ideal Radiant, with more experience and knowledge of her powers than almost any other. She had survived shipwrecks, and battles. She was faster, and stronger than any human had a right to be, and had the power to warp the world to suit her whims.

Yet Jasnah felt utterly, gut-wrenchingly helpless in this moment.

She couldn't Soulcast. She couldn't heal. Her strength was fading with every pounding beat of her heart, trying to help, but only forcing more blood from her body.

Escaping to her safe point in Shadesmar was out of the question. She had lost the ability to so much as peer into that realm, she-

She was dying.

"Jasnah," Ivory barked, both out loud, and in her mind through their bond.

No. No. She was not going to go like this. Taken out by a single aluminium arrow. Alone in a blood drenched nightgown, cowering on the floor of her bedchamber. Helpless and terrified like that child locked in darkness.

She was not that child any more.

She was a Storming Knight Radiant. She would die defiant and fighting to her last breath. Or not at all. She would accept no other outcome

Parting, she wrapped a blood slick hand around the bolt and tried to wrench it free. Her body screamed in protest, but she ignored it. Pain and she were old allies in this fight called life.

"Jasnah you have not." Ivory said, standing beside her at his full height, something like anguish chiseled into his sharp features.

The fear in his voice nearly reduced her to That frightened animal of panic and raw, foolish instinct. She'd never heard such a tone from him before in all their time together. Where she was logical, Ivory was logic. Any emotion that slipped into his voice told of an extreme reaction.

What was worse was that he was right.

Her trembling muscles couldn't have pried a splinter from her finger, much less a thick bolt that had pierced her chest, the sharp point of which erupting between her shoulder blades.

She needed help. She needed- Wit. Wit was in the sitting area of their chambers, deep in his books when she'd left him to rest.

The cry of pain that would have issued from her bloodied lips was strangled by her flooding lungs as she lurched towards the door, pausing only to grab at a bundle of cloth on the floor and press it to her chest, in a futile attempt to stem the flow of blood.

It took several attempts to force the handle to turn. She would have cursed, if she'd had the breath for it. Black spots were starting to dance across her vision, though, so she had far bigger problems than an inability to unleash profanities at a door.

Agonisingly, inch- by- inch, spattering blood in a grisly breadcrumb trail behind her, Jasnah clawed her way down the passage that would take her to Wit. Her last hope.

The logical thing to do would have been to send Ivory to bring him to her. But she couldn't stand the thought of ordering him away and leaving her utterly alone. Not now. Not with the darkness crooning to her on all sides.

It was irrational, she knew. But was also deeply human. And she hadn't felt so terrifyingly, nakedly, human in a long time.

Wheezing, she dragged herself to the break in the wall that opened out into the study.

Her heart lurched painfully as her eyes fastened on the desk she'd left Wit at and found it empty.

If the storming man had gone wandering now and wasn't here when she needed him, and so she died, she'd spit into the Beyond until she could personally kill him and drag him there with her.

With the last bit of breath and strength she could summon she rasped his name into that awful, waiting silence.

Her body was failing her. She could feel it. Every muscle shaking as though she'd been exposed to a Winter Highstorm. Her legs were buckling. Her vision was fading.

Then movement.

A rippling shadow in the corner of her vision.

Wit, or an assassin, or the personification of death fabricated by her fragmented, dying mind, she didn't know.

Then she did.

Warm , strong arms wrapped around her and gently lowered her to the ground.

Wit. Without doubt. He was saying... Something? His voice seemed horribly distant, but she thought that he was seeking permission. She nodded to him, tried to tell him to do it, whoever it was, but ended up only tasting blood. Still, for the first time since the bolt had pierced her chest, she felt her heart calm, and steady.

Maybe that meant that she was dying. But if she did, she would die feeling strangely safe. And she would not die alone. That was strangely comforting. Wit was speaking to her again, but she was slipping away from him, like smoke drifting free of a Soulcast object.

The last thing she was aware of was Ivory's terrified scream shattering through her mind.

Then she was darkness once again.

***

Wit liked to think himself largely shock proof.

Not electrical shocks, of course, he was still working on that. But startling shocks, the jump scares of life, unexpected occurrences around every corner. Those he felt he was damn near immune to.

After all, he'd been alive for a very long time. In the same way fans of horror plays began to sense the tell-tale warning signs that something strange and frightening was looming.

The smart playwrites began avoiding the tried and tested tropes and clues in a bid to shock the frequent theatre-goer.

Unfortunately, the truly savvy horror aficionados were able to still identify the deliberate absence of tells as tells themselves. And so, the drama reward was, one way or the other, ruined before it was ever reached.

Wit had been attending the theatre of life for a very, very long time. The writers were trying their best to catch him out, but with so much experience under his belt, it was just really very difficult to do.

In the flicker between heartbeats he had to assess the situation, his assessment wasn't good.

Jasnah's normally deep tan skin had turned a worrying gray. Her eyes, usually so sharp and focussed, were glassy and glazed with pain and fear.

Most of the blood that should have been in her body seemed to be staining her nightgown instead.

And there was a thick, wicked bolt protruding from her chest. A quick pulse of burned Steel told him it was aluminium based, which was less than ideal.

He met Jasnah's gaze and recognised her legs were about to give way under her. Flaring his pewter, he launched himself towards her and pulled her to him.

Then he eased them both to the ground, giving her fascinating new things to bleed all over, such as his shirt, and the fluffy rug Navani had decorated the sitting area with.

She was growing cold already.

It took everything in him to ease her away from his warmth and lower her to the ground so he could take a look at the damage.

Flipping a simple hunting knife from his boot he split her dress down the front to expose the wound. She'd forgive him if she lived. And if she didn't, he'd see to it that he was appropriately punished on her behalf.

"That is not a good pattern." Design observed, pulsing with concern over his shoulder.

"No," Wit agreed tightly, feeling his hand tremble even as he streaked forward to probe the bolt.

The pain he knew doing so would cause burned warningly in his chest. The Dawnshard’s lingering influence had forged a connection between himself and all living things.

If he physically harmed them, the same damage would be reflected back to him on a far grander scale, naturally. It had become so ingrained within him now it was physically impossible for him to do it in most cases. Instincts reinforced over millennia took care of even the strongest pulses of anger and desires to inflict pain personally.

“Design, can you please find Lift, bring her here? Now." he said, with such grim finality in his tone that she didn't pause for one of her usual facetious comments before she left.

If he could get the bolt out himself the Stormlight he could sense pounding futile within her, like a trapped whitespine, should take care of the wound. If he couldn't... That was why Lift was coming.

"Jasnah, love," he whispered softly, hoping her permission, such as she was capable of giving in this state, might make this easier for him. "I need to remove this thing that's made its unfortunate home in your chest. I'm afraid that it's going to hurt."

She nodded, and he was sure her lips formed the words 'do it' before she choked on her own blood.

Fuck. He didn't have time to waste wondering whether he could do this. Or worrying about what would happen to him if he did. She was dying, and he couldn't let that happen.

Her body shuddered, and Ivory let at out an anguished cry as she lost consciousness in his arms.

Time stopped.

Reality blurred.

Something deep inside him became suddenly very dark and impossibly cold. It took him a moment to realise it was his heart.

That fickle, feeble thing, more scar than soul at this point. It had withered, like a once beautiful blossom that since lived devoid of light and warmth and air. Both lost to dust and decay.

Yet he felt it, now.

He felt it on this quiet, unremarkable day, as he held Jasnah Kholin in his arms and contemplated the weight of her death.

And he knew.

Whatever the cost to fix this, he would pay it. If he had to endure untold agonies, or shred another piece of his shattered soul, or rewrite the ending of worlds, or break an unbreakable contract, or pray to gods he'd renounced millennia ago...

He would do it. He would do it all.

Because, ah, sweet fool, he loved her. He loved this woman. He loved the breath and bones of her. The blood and soul. The logic and dreams. The wit and wonder. And the spit and bile of her, he loved that, too.

Without conscious thought, he wrapped a hand around the bolt in her chest, and pulled.

Once before he'd come close to death. True death. Not of the sort he'd described to Jannah as 'inconveniences’. That had been a permanent threat, a permanent end.

A Shard had managed to capture his essence, in his earlier years, when he’d been less careful, and more easily fooled. Then they had begun to methodically shred it, with no small amount of gloating glee.

Emotion by emotion, bit by bit, bloody chunk by bloody chunk, he'd been ruined.

In those horrifying moments, he'd felt sure he'd finally reached the last of his luck. He'd thought he was facing his end. And an end it would have been. One that would have been more final than even the Beyond. For if it had been completed, there would barely have been a memory left of him to echo through the Cosmere.

This was worse.

This was so much worse.

He had not known agony such as this in a long time.

None of the Investiture he held helped in the slightest. It was but a flickering candle flame before the hurricane of consequence that currently ravaged him.

Some time ago, he’d learned that the line between help and harm could be incredibly thin. And that blurring it would not always work in his favour.

A part of him was sure that he was dying. And a larger part was begging for that to simply make all of this stop. But another, sharper, harsher part was convinced that if this had been going to end him, it would already have done so.

The first time he had nearly been rent into oblivion, all that had saved him had been the Shard's determination to not only end him, but to do it with as much unnecessary pain and drama as possible.

Wit enjoyed overzealous theatrics, especially when they gave him an opportunity to escape with the final shred of himself intact. Barely.

From there, over long centuries, he had painfully rebuilt what had nearly been taken from him.

He'd been careful never to go near the flame that had nearly consumed him again. Until now. Until he'd throw himself into it for her.

She returned that favor beautifully.

For this time, all that saved him was her.

Her permission, in her final moments of lucidity, the trust she had given to him, in a way she had perhaps never given to anyone since she'd been a child. The faith she yielded to no God, she'd granted him in her deepest moment of vulnerability.

It had saved him.

It had given him an anchor of certainty to cling to in his agony. Her conviction that, no matter the pain, he meant her no harm. And never would.

That act of love from a woman who saw harm and assassination in every flickering shadow, but had managed to find safety and salvation in him. It had been enough to save him, and now he only had to hope, in the slightest, most distant corners of his soul that were still capable of doing that, that it had been enough to save her, too.

On his knees, muscles violently shaking in spite of his Stormlight and his Pewter, Wit forced his eyes open to find Jasnah on the floor in front of him, still as a corpse.

Blood still seeped from the wound, which was smaller than before, but still deadly. Her Stormlight had run out keeping her alive as long as it had and now...Now she was not breathing.

"No," he breathed, dragging his pain ravaged body closer to her. "No. We're not yet done here, Jasnah Kholin. Not by any stretch of even my imagination."

He breathed out, expelling all of his own remaining Stormlight in a shimmering cloud above her. Doubling over as the wave of nausea rolled over him, he clenched his fist and forced himself to lift his head so he could see her.

Breathe he willed her. I know you're too stubborn to die like this. Breathe damn you.

She did.

First a 'breath' to draw in his Stormlight, then a wheezing rasp as she forced air into her rapidly healing lungs.

Wit slumped down onto the furry carpet, dizzy with relief and with the consequences of his foolish decisions.

He listened to the rhythmic sounds of Jasnah's chest rising and falling. And strained his Tin until he could hear the pleasing accompaniment of her heart beating, strong and defiant, like her.

She really did make such sweet music.

He closed his eyes, and listened to the ragged sounds of her breathing. The life he had bought with his gamble, and his pain. Worth it. So absolutely, completely, undoubtedly worth it.

Her logic would have condemned that thinking. He’d bought her a few more decades of life with the potential sacrifice of millennia on his end? He could almost hear her voice telling him he was a Storms damned fool.

It just made him smile. Because she was breathing beside him. And her heart was still beating. And she was still here, and still his, and that was all that mattered to him in the whole fucking Cosmere at the moment.

This symphonious serenade was interrupted by a chaotic donor at the door. Hauling himself to his feet he answered it and found Lift.

"I have obtained the strange Edgedancer!" Design informed him helpfully, sounding very pleased with herself.

"I ain't strange," Lift insisted, barging into the room and heading for Jasnah, gliding across the floor, bagel in her left hand.

"It was a compliment," Wit told her tiredly, closing the door and turning to face the chaos of the room with a wince.

"It was a factual observation," Design corrected, sliding across the wall alongside him, “I took a survey to back it up."

"Design, please," Wit groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose.

He was neither drunk nor Invested enough to deal with that conversation right now.

Lift was crouched over Jasnah, examining the still healing wound. Aluminium injuries sometimes took longer to fully heal, even after the offending object had been removed. Lingering traces of the metal still caused problems with the Investiture healing. It was horrible stuff, truly.

"Damnation jester man," Lift said, whistling between her teeth, "What kind of freaky starvin' stuff have you two been doing in the bedroom? "she demanded, incredulous. "Pretty sure you're meant to stick it in her downstairs bits, not her chest. Figured you'd know that."

Regret. Yes, that was that feeling knocking against the inside of his skull like an insect trapped in a glass.

"I didn't stick it anywhere" he replied, with far less levity than he would ordinarily have mustered. It had not been a very levitous night.

"Yeah, I've heard that can happen." she said, tone half- knowledgeable, half -sympathetic.

In hindsight, he should have just let Jasnah bleed. The rug wasn't getting any less ruined. Unlike his sanity.

"If, could you please-"he began wearily, gesturing impatiently to Jasnah.

"Alright, alright," she said, sounding exasperated, as though he were being unreasonable in redirecting her attention to the woman slowly bleeding all over the floor.

Her power flared, and a moment later she said, proudly, "There, see, she's waking up already."

Wit stopped his pacing and knelt down by his queen once more, placing her head gently into his lap and stroking her hair back away from her face. Lift, for once wise, made no comment.

Jarrah stirred and groaned as he trailed his fingers gently through her hair and Ivory stood on her chest and minutely examined Lift's progress.

As her eyes opened and her vision clarified on him, those words were on his tongue.

Those foolish, damning words that had nearly gotten him killed tonight.

The sudden powerful rush of emotion that hit him as she looked at him nearly knocked them from his lips, like a High storm wall dislodging a boulder.

But he smothered them with a smile, and held them inside. He wasn’t totally sure why. It just didn’t feel quite right. Not now. Not like this.

She stiffly raised herself enough to survey the damage.

Then she pursed her lips and said, "Rather unnecessary treatment of my best nightgown, wouldn't you say?"

Wit choked on a laugh and pulled her close, resting his forehead against hers, keeping himself from covering her mouth with has only through millennia of cultivated restraint.

"Hello! You're welcome!" Lift’s loud, irritable voice burst in on the intimate moment, like a chull lumbering into a banquet and demanding to know where the sweets were.

Her arms spread indignantly wide to remind them she was still there and was responsible for Jasnah's current consciousness, she glared pointedly at both of them.

"Thank you, Lift." Jasnah said graciously, even as she gripped Wit's arm painfully to pull herself upright. “You may go to the kitchens if you wish. Tell them I approve the making of any dish you request."

A gleam of near feral glee flickered into her eyes at this and she squinted at Jasnah before clarifying, “The royal kitchens, right?”

Jasnah nodded, and Lift’s grin became absolutely and undoubtedly feral a moment before she saluted Jasnah, then shot off as fast as she could go.

"You may regret that," Wit said lightly, knowing only too well what kind of dish Lift was likely to order.

Jasnah, who probably had a shrewd idea too, allowed, “Perhaps. But it's a regret I'll deal with tomorrow. For now-" she began to rise with difficulty," My chambers must be investigated. The fabrial trap must be sent to my mother for examination. Then we must have the guards on duty interviewed, as well as any servants or maids who have had access to my quarters, and-"

" Jasnah," Wit interrupted quietly, one hand resting gently on her arm, drawing her back to him for a moment before she rose and drew away.

Some deep, instinctual part of him that he usually kept such an excellent hold on after all these centuries of civilised existence, it needed her. It needed her here with him for just a moment longer. He was not yet ready to let her go. Not when he’d come so close to never being able to hold her again so recently.

She obliged and turned back to face him, seeming to understand, though she too leashed those parts of herself as well.

Ever grateful, he dipped forwards and pressed a gentle kiss to her lips, tender and intimate, then rested his forehead against hers.

Again, his traitorous tongue almost told her, but instead he murmured sleepily, “I'm very glad you're not dead."

Her lips quirked into a faint smile at that, “You say the sweetest things," she deadpanned in that way of hers that he loved so well.

"I know," he sighed, with an appropriate and expected level of drama, "I spoil you so much."

She pulled back a little and studied him with a keen eye, “I feel I should be expressing to you, too, that I'm pleased you aren't dead,” she said with a slight frown.

"Only if you really mean it," he said, with mock seriousness.

She ignored that, except for a slight frown. Then she asked, blunt and direct as ever, "What happened?"

"You ate all of my Stormlight." he returned smoothly. Technically it was true. But it was so far from the full truth of what had passed between them that it felt more like a lie, somehow.

"How rude of me," Jasnah said quietly, pressing another soft kiss to his lips.

He could tell that she was not fully satisfied with that, however, and would likely return to it before long to tease further information from him. Damnable woman knew him too well.

"We have work to do," Jasnah said, getting to her feet with a poorly canceled wince and a wobble.

"Yes, we do," Wit agreed grimly, also rising and readying himself for a fight as he added, “We need to rest and recuperate and follow the advice of a healer on how best to recover."

Janak, as anticipated, didn't much like this suggestion.

She frowned slightly and said, “There will be time for rest and recovery later, Wit. There was an assassin in my personal chambers who made a very good attempt at killing me. I-"

"They did." Wit said very softly.

"What?"

"They did kill you," he murmured, meeting and holding her intense violet eyes as he spoke, seeing something shift within them a moment before she blinked and turned away, unable to hold his gaze and whatever she saw within it.

Unable to stop himself, he reached out and took her hand, gently twining his fingers with hers, as the Cosmere had tangled their fates.

"You died, Jasnah." he told her softly. " I watched you die."

They both let that statement echo, done and unchallenged in the silence that followed.

Then he squeezed her hand and said, "Please."

She studied him hard, considering his words, hisintent, then she sighed faintly and nodded, yielding to his good sense.

“Vey well." she agreed, “But I am not comfortable remaining here," She looked around at their quarters with a slight shiver.

Once her sanctuary, now it would forever be the place where she had died. She did not get overly attached to places, or things, in general. She was the least materialistic aristocrat he’d ever met. Yet this had been a place of safety, and refuge, and the violation of that would probably haunt her more than the injuries themselves, already swiftly on the road to being fully healed. Smooth skin spread over another scar that she would never forget, regardless of the lack of physical reminder.

As if to illustrate this point, she said, with a grim expression, "But in the morning, we find the bastards that did this."

"I've no objection to that whatsoever," he said smoothly, even though that was a lie.

Right now he never wanted her to go to work again. He wanted her to remain in his arms, safe, and whole, and unharmed.

He couldn't have that. He knew he couldn't have that. He shouldn’t want that. That was the point of this relationship. That they each had goals larger than one another, that they had always known and accepted that from the very beginning. It was what they had both wanted. A relationship beyond simple wants. A relationship of deep, nuanced understanding of two of the Cosmere’s most complex creatures.

And now...Well now he’d gone and fucked that right up, hadn’t he? He’d gone and fallen in love with her. Because of course he had. How could he not?

It had been centuries since someone had challenged him as surely as she challenged him. On every fundamental level of his existence, she met, and even exceeded him.

It was thrilling, and intoxicating.

And more than that. More than the challenge. More than her ability to go toe-to-toe with him and even come out on top. It was her understanding of him, her acceptance of who and what he was. Even as he understood and accepted her, and-

What an idiot. What an absolute, Adonalsium damned idiot he was.

He could not contain this woman. He could barely even keep up with her most days. He would never be allowed to hold her gently in his arms and keep her safe from the world. No. She would not permit that.

So he settled in the short term for pulling her into his arms now, one hand held about her waist while his other tangled in her long, black hair.

I love you. His heartbeat said, where it pounded against his ribs, pressed so close to her an irrational part of him thought she must feel it. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you.

It was not some impulse foolishness from a boy panicked with his first crush. No. He was old. Old and stupid. So much so that he'd walked this path before.

The woman in his arms was not a fleeting fantasy conjured up by a frantic, terrified mind. She was solid, and real, and warm. And every inch of him was in love with her.

Truly in love with her.

Not in love with that desperate moment. Not in love with the unattainable idea of her that she could never be. No. His idiotic, foolish, witless little heart loved her in all the way it was possible for one person to love another.

Fucked. That's what he was. Well and truly fucking fucked.

But he didn't tell her. Because he was not yet that stupid.

He just held her.

Held her and kissed her and cared for her, for the few hours in which she would allow him to do so.

He helped her out of her ruined gown. Wiped the blood and gore from her skin as she bathed. Braided her still damp hair. Helped her into a clean nightgown and a different bed.

Then he held her again as she finally managed to drift off in his arms. And as he did, he thanked whichever Shard, or God, or raw force in this world had let him save the woman he loved.

The woman he loved.

Oh fuck him, this was unlikely to end well at all.

He did it anyway.

#witsnah #jasnah kholin #hoid #stormlight archive #rhythm of war #post rhythm of war fic #jasnah fic #wit fic #witsnah fic #my fic #mine #there is MUCH DRAMA HERE #Wit manages to pine while in a relationship #what a dramatic doofus #text post tag #long post

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chews-erotically · 4 years

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Waxing Gibbous Pairing: Ezra + femNurse! Reader Rating: Hard M / 18+ ONLY

*Note: I dedicate this installment to the beautiful @ifimayhaveaword, who really made my day today with her lovely messages of support. People like you truly mean the world to me. I appreciate you more than you know.

* Warnings: Some minor angst/ miscommunication/ SMUT (m/f oral, fingering, hand job, spicy kisses) Can’t stop the smut train baybeeee choo choo motherfuckers * Summary: You process the events of the night before, and wonder about your place with Ezra and on the Green * Word Count: 3879 *Part ONE* *Part TWO* *Part THREE* *Part FOUR*

PART FIVE

You Awoke the next morning feeling as if it were some erotic fever dream. You stretched your arm out across the emptiness of the cot pushed beside yours. It was only when you moved to roll onto your back that the deep pang of soreness between your legs reminded you that, yes, what you’d wanted for months had actually happened, and you did indeed feel ruined. Ezra appeared to have left the tent in the early morning haze. You gazed upward at the ceiling of the tent, at the support beams that vaulted the cloth walls. Things were going to be different, that you knew. It did not make you any less apprehensive. He had told you he loved you. Or, more accurately, that he had love for you.

You could not forget the tenderness he’d shown you after you were attacked, but you were well aware that things said in the heat of passion were often a product of an intense moment and were not necessarily reflective of the truth. You chided yourself for ruminating; he’d been a nanosecond from coming inside of a warm body for the first time in undoubtedly several months. From your admittedly limited sexual experiences, proclamations of love and devotion and promises of ardent follow-through were often expressed in the heat of the moment, never to be mentioned again. You usually never saw them again.

This was different, of course, as you literally could not leave. You were both stranded, though you still kept up the pretense of harvesting in the event an opportunity to escape should present itself. The chance of this happening had begun to seem less and less likely- the heyday of the aurelac rush had long since come and gone, and the remaining groups of adventurers to the Green operated more or less on whispered rumors and folklore. The zipper of the tent pulled upward, and Ezra emerged. The flaps were quickly refastened, and he moved to whip his helmet off as you shyly pulled your worn blanket up to your neck. You had been wanton and vocal the night before, but in the light of the morning you felt fragile, unsure. Ezra looked to you, seemingly amused by your sudden modesty. The corner of his mouth tilted up, his warm brown eyes twinkled. The blond patch of hair, a rogue among it’s dark compatriots, stuck out wildly in response to the chaotic divestment of his helmet. He wasn’t even close to you and your heart started pounding. “Ah, good morning to you, Dove. I was hoping you would continue your slumber a bit longer. I have spent some time in the early light surveying the Green for signs of life and transport, not necessarily in that order, of course.” In the months since you’d first met him in the clearing on that fateful day, his arm had fully recovered thanks to your ministrations- all that remained was a cratered, puckering pink scar on the skin of his bicep. He wore a threadbare grey tee under his suit and this drew your eye to the wound. If something were to happen to you, if this did not pan out and you either died or escaped, were separated, would he remember you when he saw his scar? Would it be with fondness, or would it only remind him of how traumatic this all was? Why am I thinking like this? It was the fact that he had admitted, out loud, that he was looking for a way out, a way off of the Green. You knew that you would both die if you could not find a way to go, it was only logical. So why were you nursing this pang of melancholy that had emerged when you’d awoken to find his cot empty? You came back to yourself, and noted the concern etched on Ezra’s face as he contemplated you. “Have I said or done something to upset you, Dove? That has rendered you mute?” He moved across the floor of the tent with a lithe grace and perched on the edge of your cot, placing a hand on your knee. “Are you feeling alright?” You sighed, smiling softly when you felt his touch on you, warm and heavy. “Better than alright, Ez. I….can’t….I guess I’m still trying to wrap my head around what happened last night.” He creased his brow in contemplation and turned to face you fully. “I must admit, I myself did not envision such intimacy occurring between us in the manner it did. I…. fear I may have been a fair bit rougher than I meant to be at the outset. I need you to be truthful if I hurt you in any way.” You bit your lip, and your neck and face felt hot. Flashes of him caging you, filling you, his words, hot breath and hands, the way the cot had creaked like it was pleading for its life… “I….really loved everything about last night. It’s been a long time since I’ve been with anyone...like that. So honestly, I’m sore. But in a...good way?” He surged forward, framing your face with his hands. His voice left his plush lips in a hoarse whisper. His eyes held yours, hypnotic and deep. “Will you feel me with every step you take today? I’m going to watch you. I have never felt such intensity with anyone the way I felt it when we took our pleasure last night. I don’t want it to stop.” You were flushed, your ears buzzed. Your mind filled with static. How could he practically dismantle you in this way with only words? You realized your mouth was hanging open. You snapped it shut and swallowed audibly. Ezra’s clever tongue darted to wet his lips before squeezing your knee and standing. “Get dressed, Dove. We’ve a day ahead of us.”

It was another hot day in the Green, and you both resumed your digging, harvesting and cataloguing as if it were any other afternoon. For all intents and purposes, it was. Ezra waxed poetic about the juxtaposition of the beauty surrounding you beside the deadliness of the air, how the regular exchange of oxygen, hydrogen and carbon dioxide were perverted carbon copies of the vegetation you were both used to which processed and sustained an atmosphere more life-sustaining. You hummed at the appropriate moments, but your mind was on your conversation in the tent. What he had said to you seemed indicative of the fact that he intended to continue a physical relationship. It made you feel equal parts giddy and insecure. You frowned in thought. Snap the fuck out of it. You’re no delicate, blushing maiden. You know yourself. You’re seriously thinking like some incapable, dependent damsel the second you get some good dick?? Except you moved a certain way while crouching down and you winced, gasping softly. Ezra stopped mid-sentence and turned his gaze toward you, his eyes dark, his tongue once again flicking out to moisten his lips. “Are you injured, little Dove?” he asked, smiling softly. “Uh, no, not exactly. You know, what I told you before...I’m fine, really.” He sauntered over to you and held out his hand. You grasped it, and he pulled you to your feet so that your helmets were touching. “As cocky as I may have seemed at the outset in regards to the way I left my mark on you, do not think it is no little concern to me to see your movements impaired. My words were not meant to denote any sadistic pleasure taken in regards to your objective discomfort.” His hands were stroking gently up and down your arms as he spoke. You shrugged under his hands, a flash of annoyance crossing your features. “I’m really fine, Ez. I’m not some wilting flower that you’ve irreparably damaged with your Godlike virility. I promise you, my delicate, blushing womanhood will recover.” Ezra cocked an eyebrow in surprise. His hands stilled as he paused a beat before responding. “Now that is something I would not anticipate. The thought that for one moment I consider you anything less than an equal, in fact a superior to myself in several ways, not the least of which include cunning and resilience. It saddens me that you think that of me.” All at once you felt like a jerk. Damn this emotional lability, damn this stubborn pride. Ezra was genuinely concerned that you were in pain, and you were jumping at the opportunity to argue semantics and gender roles. On a toxic planet you were both stranded on, no less. You reached for his gloved hand, squeezing firmly. His hand squeezed back, equally firm. “I don’t know why I said that, Ezra. I don’t know what’s gotten into me. I sound like an asshole, I’m sorry.” You’ve gotten into me.

You were back in the tent after determining that the day's work had finished. It was quiet, Ezra ruminated. The tension had surely rebuilt itself over the course of the day, there was only so much harvesting, so much concentration on work that could be accomplished, before it came to this. The both of you, stripped to your thermals. You lay as you had countless times before, facing one another on your cots. Ezra swept his thumb lazily back and forth across your knuckles. You felt like you could drown in the depths of him. “I’m sorry again about what I said to you today. I don’t know why I said it. I didn’t mean it.” “Though you have nothing to apologize for, Dove, I will readily accept if it will still the turbulence within you. I meant what I said, and I have you to thank for every bit of happiness I doubted I’d ever feel in this Kevva-forsaken place. My arm, my livelihood. My life. If not for you I’d have faded forgotten like so many other poor, foolish dupes. My very survival is due to your strength and intellect.” You felt full to bursting at his words, overwhelmed by his sincerity. You couldn’t respond, so you propelled yourself forward and pressed your lips to his desperately. He stilled only momentarily, startled at your boldness, before he responded hungrily. Lips slid, teeth clashed. His tongue begged entry into your mouth, which you granted with a whimper. He tasted somehow sweet, wild. His breaths gasped into your mouth, you pushed your own back into him. Hands tangled in hair. You had yet to see him unclothed, you reached out and grasped his shirt in your needy fist. Ezra immediately took the hint and stripped it. You removed your own and his hands were at once on your breasts, large warm hands that enveloped each in turn, greedy and restless. He couldn’t touch enough of you at once. His hands moved to your waist, tearing at your pants. You helped him pull them off and fling them to the ground. You felt like you were radiating heat, you were a thermal detonator. Ezra pinched your nipple, applying slight pressure into the bud with his thumb nail. Your nerves sparked and sang, your ass arching off of your cot like you’d been hit by an electrical current. You gasped, your trembling hands moving to divest him of his pants. His hand shot down to still yours. You both paused, the only sound within the confines of your quarters were the loud gasps that echoed between you. “Is….is something wrong?” Ezra fought to still his breathing. “Sweet girl, I have not forgotten my rough congress with you the night before. I do not want to risk exacerbating your discomfort. You should recover, first, from our mutual enthusiasm.” You groaned in frustration. “I’ll be fine. Ezra, I promise you won’t break me.” You palmed him through his trousers, Kevva he was so hard. So hot. You swore you were salivating. Ezra stilled, breath held in an attempt to maintain his composure. “Please grant me this, at least for my own peace of mind. Just for tonight. Allow me, if I may, to indulge in an alternate form of intimacy, one which I’ve dreamed of sharing with you since your first trick with the Sater.” The last sentence was gritted out between clenched teeth. Your eyes wide, you bit your lip and barely finished a frenzied nod before Ezra was pinning your hands above your head and scraping his teeth against the juncture of your neck and shoulder. It was somehow different, more measured, if no less intense. You let a shiver run through your body as Ezra moved down to first one breast, then the other. He opened his mouth wide and covered the entirety of your nipple and sucked. You gasped, already overwhelmed. You felt as if you could lose your mind as he possessed you. Teeth scraped and teased, and he made sure the peak of your breast was properly slicked before repeating the motions on your other breast. You keened out into the cycled air of the tent as the wet surface of your skin cooled, warring with the sinful furnace of Ezra’s mouth on your other breast. He disengaged, intentions clear as he continued to kiss, lick, and nip down the length of your body. You were struck mute and trembling. You didn’t realize he had let go of your hands, and you were so mesmerized that you kept them stationary above your head. Ezra reached your drenched core and settled between your legs, pressing feather-light kisses to your inner thighs as you whimpered. He was going to kill you. He paused, and as you realized he was beginning to part your inner folds you started and reflexively started to close your legs. Ezra huffed, placing a searing palm against the inside of your knee in protest. “Don’t be shy, sweet girl. There is no shame here with me. I consider it a compliment of the highest order that you are blooming for me like this.” He moved to lay his head against the side of your thigh. He felt inches away from you. You could feel every warm exhale against your dripping sex, hypersensitive, attuned to every word and movement. “Look at you,” he crooned reverently. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen arousal so profound. Glistening like a jewel. Every blushing fold spread open and ready. The temple of this divine cunt fluttering and weeping for me.” You choked out a broken groan at his words and tilted your hips toward him desperately. Impossibly, you felt him closer, his breaths tiny explosions on your swollen core. He groaned back in response and dragged his fingers languidly through your slick. “.....smell so good…” Before you could register his words he darted forward and licked from your clenching hole up to your clit, his tongue wide and flat. Ezra ran his tongue back down to your base before repeating the motion twice more. It was a feeling so intense, sensation so overwhelming to you, that you could not speak, only throw your head back with eyes and mouth wide in a silent scream. Your hands hammered down to your sides and you tore at the sheets beneath you. “....taste so fucking good.” You gasped his name like a prayer. You were incapable of speech, your mind blank. Over the din of white noise between your ears, you heard Ezra speaking your name reverently. You forced your head up to meet his gaze. Your arousal was a wet sheen across his face, his eyes blown wide, hair wild. So beautiful. “You still with me, Dove?” You could only give him another desperate nod. You then watched, eyes wide and shocked, as Ezra opened his wicked mouth and let a strand of spittle drip down from his lips and roll down to coat your engorged clit. “Ezra...oh my fucking God,” You moaned. He could kill you in this moment, snuff your life like a wasted candle and you would thank him. When he next attached his mouth to you and began to tongue your fluttering cunt, you could not stop the noises that left your gasping mouth. You could not keep track of the groans, whimpers, screams, pleas that left you like an incantation. If you’d been able to form a coherent thought, you may have even supposed (correctly) that Ezra would be cataloguing every single one. When he moved his mouth back to your aching clit, he replaced his tongue with two thick fingers and entered you easily. He began a slow, deep pace while his tongue danced across and upon your bud. Your legs began to shake of their own accord, muscles jumping and fluttering. Ezra placed a hand across your stomach to steady you, murmuring low praises. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you. So good. Come for me sweetheart. Let go, release onto my tongue, spill your ecstasy into my mouth.” He resumed the labor of his fingers within your walls and latched his mouth to your bud and began sucking. The pressure in your belly, between your legs, through your limbs stretched tight and snapped, and you roared Ezra’s name into the void of the Green. You were shaking, you were flying apart, the world could be crumbling down around you, you did not care. I’m dying, you thought. You could not think beyond the white-hot, searing pleasure that sparked through and lit up every nerve ending. Ezra worked you through your explosive release, easing you down with slow licks and kisses as he greedily consumed every drop of his victory. He finally relented and crawled back up your shaking body. He kissed you wantonly, gasping into your mouth. You tasted your own arousal and release on his lips and tongue- it was intoxicating. He kissed you as if he would die if he stopped, his hands cradling your face. “Ezra,” you moaned, your breaths and heart rate finally beginning to slow. “Ezra, that was…..” You felt him smirk against your mouth. You gasped out a laugh and wound your arms around his shoulders. “Proud of yourself, are you?” You swore on your soul that he giggled. “While I must admit fault has never been found in my technique, I don’t believe I’ve ever had a response so….intense. You do wonders for my ego, Dovie.” He whispered, tucking his nose into your neck. You stroked his back, your limbs heavy and loose. You could have drifted away like this but for the hardness you felt against your hip. “Hey, Ez?” “Mmmfff.” “What about you?” To punctuate your point, your hand reached down to palm him through his trousers. Ezra’s demeanor immediately changed, lazy grin stilling as he gasped and groaned against you. “I believe I told you I wanted you in my mouth last night, Ezra. I still do.” “You don’t have to, sweet one. I wanted to take care of you tonight,” he gasped, even as he began to rock his hips into your open hand. “I want to take care of you, too,” You whispered against his mouth. You were startled by the desire flooding into you once again- Ezra had fully wrung you out, you should be exhausted. Instead, the flames of your lust were stoked once again as you rolled him onto his back and began to undo his pants. Ezra stared down at you, his breathing hitched and baited. His hands were fisted on either side of him, he looked almost scared to move. You revealed his swollen aching cock, red and weeping. He was so aroused the head of him was almost purple. You swore you could see his pronounced veins pulsating. Your felt your cunt clench, further shocking you. You realized your mouth was watering. “I need this divine cock in my mouth, Ezra. I want to watch you fall apart for me.” Ezra whined, hands clutching in desperation as yours were only a short time before. You flashed him a salacious grin and opened your mouth to spew your own string of saliva to cascade down the head of his cock. Ezra gasped, eyes wide. “Turnabout is fair play, Sir.” Shudders racked his body as you lowered your head, placing delicate kisses at the base of him before working your way up. Ezra quickly became a panting, groaning mess, knocking his head into the pillow. The cords of his neck stood out in stark relief as his hips canted upward in search of more of your mouth, more of anything. “Please, sweet girl,” he moaned, is voice thin and reedy, “Please. I need more….” You glanced up at him as your hand slowly pumped his length, considering, before once again leaning forward. Without preamble you opened your mouth and took him down as far as you could. The cries that erupted from him at your action could have awakened any floater within a 15-mile radius. You wanted to hear it again, so you dislodged him from your mouth before repeating your action. You clasped hour hands around the sizable part of him that did not fit, lacing your fingers together. You pressed your palms against the slick shaft and worked him slowly and steadily while the obscene, wet noises coming from your mouth reverberated throughout your quarters. Ezra was properly wrecked, sobbing and gasping, pleading for you to continue. “You're going to kill me,” he whined, and it caused a fresh flood of arousal to run down the insides of your thighs. He was so, so close. You could feel his cock twitch and swell impossibly. You raised your eyes to meet his, mouth popping off of him, strands of spit stretching like cables between your parted lips and his glistening head. Catching your breath, you wiped the back of your hand across your mouth. “Come in my mouth, Ezra.” Ezra could only whimper in response, hands buried in your hair as you sank back onto him. You bobbed your head once, twice, three times, and then he was painting your mouth and tongue with his seed. You struggled to swallow it all, it seemed neverending. Ezra sobbed, shouting half-formed words and unintelligible praises into the air. His hips twitched and rolled up rhythmically as you struggled to keep him captured within the confines of your mouth. You swallowed each spurt eagerly until Ezra tugged at your hair, hypersensitized, to pull you up his chest. His limbs trembled in aftershocks as his arms wrapped around you. His heart continued to hammer in his chest as you lay your head on him. You reached a hand up to cup his face. Ezra leaned into it, turning his head and placing a kiss to the palm of your hand. “You are magical, Dove. Transcendent. I do not deserve you.” You yawned and burrowed your head into the crook of his neck. You were suddenly exhausted. You stayed entwined on your cots, breaths slowing and steadying as you both found your slumber. Inhaling as you exhaled, you dreamed of escape, daring to hope against hope that there was a way to leave and make your way to something better. Something you both deserved.

#chews-erotically writes Ezra Ezra-Prospect

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aethelflaedladyofmercia · 4 years

Text

Time - Good Omens Fic

Goal was to write three fics for this weeks @bingokisses prompts. Well, I got two! The first is “Time” a Night At Crowley’s Flat/Pre-Body-Swap/Wing Grooming fic. It’s for the prompt “Wrist kisses” which I had twice on my card, the first paired with “Wing Grooming.” I’m going to do edits before I move this to AO3, so let me know if anything sounds off!

“So that’s it.” Crowley lounged against the wall, arms crossed. Not looking at Aziraphale. Not looking at anything.

“Yes. I pretend to be you, you pretend to be me. Hellfire. Holy water. We survive.”

It wasn’t easy, keeping his voice steady. Aziraphale mostly managed it by not looking at Crowley, not thinking to hard about it, acting as though the entire problem were simply some clever logic problem. Most certainly by not imagining what would happen if they failed.

“Don’t like it.”

“Come now,” he tried to smile. “Let’s not start over again. We’ve considered every angle. The plan works, and it’s our – our best chance.”

Crowley grunted as if regretting his promise already. “Not going to argue. Just. Don’t like it.” He’d been belligerent since the moment Aziraphale had suggested the swap, inspired by his own recent experience with discorporation. He’d expected Crowley to dislike the idea, but the demon had fought against it, tooth and nail, every step of the planning process.

Not that Aziraphale didn’t have his own doubts. He’d struggled to keep them at bay since stepping off the bus. Now he pressed his hands together, ordering them not to tremble, as the fear started to grow in his gut, building, pushing out into his limbs and his heart.

Choose your faces wisely – that was clear enough. But playing with Fyre could mean many things, only one of which Crowley was immune to. What if he’d missed something? What if there was more to it?

What if the prophecy wasn’t intended to save both of them?

He imagined Michael’s sword, blade aflame, swinging towards Crowley while he was bound to a chair—

It wasn’t a noise, just a sharp intake of breath as he pulled himself back to reality, but it was as loud as a scream in the silent room. Crowley’s head snapped around, eyes pinning the angel through his dark glasses. “What’s wrong?” he demanded.

“Nothing.” Oh, his voice didn’t sound certain at all, his eyes still burned in the imagined light of Heavenly swords. Aziraphale cleared his throat and tried again, but no words at all came out this time, just a strained squeak.

Heaven would see this coming, surely. They would suspect as soon as Crowley stepped into the flames. He needed to outsmart them, needed to think of the next step, and the next, a hundred moves ahead, but he didn’t have time…

“Angel.” Crowley’s voice was sharp, a whip crack cutting through the silent room, and Aziraphale cringed, huddling into himself instinctively. “Bless it, Aziraphale, if you’re having doubts too, we need to rethink this. There’s still time, we can – can take off, be out past the Oort Cloud before either side notices. I know plenty of stars they’d never think to look.”

“Crowley, no. We’ve been over this already.” His voice didn’t sound calm but at least it wasn’t breaking anymore. “We can’t hide forever, they’ll – they’ll find us eventually.”

“I’d rather they chase us across the galaxy than – than stand around waiting for them to grab us. At least we’d have a chance. At least we’d have time.”

Aziraphale wanted that. Time. More than anything, he wanted time to think, to plan, to prepare. To stand beside Crowley and not be afraid.

But that was the problem, wasn’t it? There was no future if they ran, no earth, no them, just this one terrifying moment, stretched on and on for eternity, poised forever at the last moment before the attack. Always waiting. Always afraid. He couldn’t take a life of this, he couldn’t even take one night of this.

He was so lost in his own thoughts – torn between wanting time and wanting it to be over – that he didn’t even notice Crowley’s approach until the hand landed on his shoulder. It wasn’t rough – it was the gentlest touch, barely felt through his jacket – but the suddenness of it startled Aziraphale, making him stumble away.

“Crowley! There’s no need – I’m – please—”

“You aren’t fine, don’t try to tell me you’re fine,” he spat. Then, in a lower voice, “Talk to me.”

It was too much. Already he’d nearly given in to the fear, but this – this moment of concern – it tugged at him, threatening to break his last thread of dignity, of control, and that was the only thing keeping him going right now.

“There’s nothing more to discuss.” He tugged at his waistcoat, trying to school his expression. “And if – if you’re just going to argue, I’d rather you left me in peace.”

“Aziraphale…” A warning.

“I mean it, Crowley.” He interrupted, fighting to keep his mind from shattering. “That’s enough. Go!”

Crowley spun away, with a noise halfway between a snort and a snarl, and stalked through the enormous revolving door, disappearing into the next room.

Leaving Aziraphale alone with his thoughts.

Crowley glared at his trembling plants, burying his fingers in leaves, tugging at them for any sign of weakness, of spots or yellowing, any imperfections. But he didn’t really see them.

His mind kept shifting, jumping between a bookshop in flames, a voice in a bar, and the sudden appearance of Aziraphale at the airbase. A hurricane of worry and relief and fear and longing with nothing remotely like calm at its center.

He wanted to run to Aziraphale. Override all his objections, drag him away. Haul him off this world, to the stars, to Andromeda, to the farthest corner of the universe, far from the beings that wanted to hurt them, had hurt them again and again for thousands of years.

It wasn’t the first time. He’d wanted to at the airbase, run up, grab Aziraphale by the lapels. Make sure he was unharmed, shout at him to stop taking foolish risks. The same at the church in 1941, the Bastille in 1793, again and again, across centuries of companionship –

Wanted to reach out, pull him close, promise that everything would work out.

But he didn’t. Couldn’t. Never could. Maybe never would.

He’d always blamed it on their sides, needing to stay apart to stay safe. But he didn’t have that excuse anymore, did he? And that’s all it was. An excuse.

It was Crowley’s nature to be cold and distant. Aloof. Project coolness and confidence so that no one could see what lay underneath, the shattered worthless wreck of demon. Keep them all at arm’s length, even the being he least wanted to push away, and where did that leave him?

Alone in his solarium, shredding the weakest leaves off a fig tree, on what could be the last night of his personal eternity.

Had he always been this way?

Crowley didn’t think so. There had been a time when he’d been open, inquisitive, carefree. Long ago, before the Fall, before six thousand years in Hell and on Earth, before he learned…everything.

He could never go back to that. You couldn’t unlearn the truth of the world, once you’d learned it.

One glance over his shoulder, back at the door. He could go back. Apologize. Open himself up to the one being he knew would never hurt him. Say the words that had sat on his tongue for countless centuries.

He could, but he wouldn’t. Not tonight. He needed time. Time to get his head on straight, to learn to be honest with himself, to know what it was he even wanted.

And time was the one thing he didn’t have.

Aziraphale rested his hand on the door frame, wishing he had the courage to step through.

It was his own fault, of course. He’d pushed Crowley away. As he always did. It was easier.

He didn’t belong here, among humans, beside a demon. Simple fact: he was an angel, and he belonged in Heaven. There was no place else an angel could exist and feel whole and happy.

That, he’d always told himself, was why he had this aching emptiness inside – because he was far from his home, corrupted by earthly influences. A degraded angel.

Heaven talked a great deal about love. Angels love Creation, they love the humans, they love God most of all; they love each other, and they love him. In spite of all his flaws, he was constantly reminded, they loved him.

And he believed it. For a long time, he believed, because not believing was dangerous, and painful, and terrifyingly. And because, well…because that’s what he believed love was. How was he supposed to think otherwise? It was the only thing he ever knew.

But six thousand years on Earth slowly eroded his ignorance. He saw humans develop friendships, saw them fall in love, saw them care for their children, their parents. Saw some become cruel, or manipulative, or negligent; saw others be loyal, and warm, and welcoming even to strangers.

He learned all the ways that love could be expressed. All the things that masqueraded as it. What it could look like. What it should look like.

And even then, he could keep pretending that he found that in the cold, distant praise of Heaven, but only so long as he could pretend he didn’t find it anywhere else. That he didn’t have a being in his life who always supported him, always stood by him, never made him feel flawed or broken, never abandoned him.

Even now, when it might mean destruction for both of them, still at his side.

In the face of that, how could he ever believe that Heaven loved him?

He pushed the thought away, back into the dark recesses of his mind, where he’d carefully hidden it from himself for longer than the lifetime of civilizations. It was still a dangerous thought, a dangerous word. A distraction.

It wasn’t the time for such things.

He had to put their survival before everything else. It meant staying here and facing their former sides head-on, not running away and waiting to be caught. It meant deceiving Heaven and Hell, not angering them from some foolish desire to fight or take revenge. And it meant facing the challenge with cool logical minds not clouded by any newly acknowledged emotions. It made sense.

The best thing he could do for himself, for Crowley, was to keep his distance tonight.

I need a new plant mister.

For ten minutes, Crowley had managed to keep himself focused on pruning the trees, silently clearing out some leaves or stems to make room for new growth. The emotions raged somewhere deep inside, but the surface was as calm as ever. But then he noticed the echeveria was a little dry, went to give it a bit of water, and realized the bottle was gone.

Hastur had destroyed his plant mister, and he needed a new one.

He could simply manifest one, he supposed, as easily as he’d created the pruning shears. But the ones at the corner shop were so cheap, it was easier to just grab one on the way to Aziraphale’s bookshop, and take a few moments to see what new sprouts had arrived, then stop over at the bakery for some coffee and one of those crispy pastries.

Except.

Except there wasn’t a bookshop anymore, was there?

Which meant he wouldn’t be heading over tomorrow, or the next day, or ever again.

No more surprise breakfasts before the first customers of the day. No more late nights sharing a dozen bottles of wine and arguing about philosophy. No more perusing the poetry section when Aziraphale wasn’t looking, or thumbing through the latest illustrated guides to botany or astronomy that always found their way onto the shelf beside his sofa.

No more secretive walks in the park to share secrets and feed ducks. No more shoddy pretenses for a weekend drive. No more weaving the Bentley through four lanes of traffic.

The world had ended, but only for him and Aziraphale.

It wasn’t fair.

After everything they’d done, everything they’d suffered to save the world, they still lost everything and it wasn’t fair!

The knot of emotions he’d been holding back broke free in a flash, flooding him faster than he could control it. With a shout he hurled the little plant at the wall, cracking the pot, spilling soil everywhere. Then he grabbed the aloe vera, the orchids, the antherium. One after the other, thrown against the wall, the floor, the window.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” He screamed, pulling over the umbrella tree, shredding all its leaves. “All of you! You worthless pieces of shit!” He kicked over a dragon tree. “You had your fucking chance! No more excuses, no more second chances.” A glass bowl full of air plants; he snatched it up and smashed it hard against the table, shards spinning off in every direction. “Make your fucking peace with the soil, because every one of you is—”

“Crowley!”

He spun around to find Aziraphale watching, wide-eyed, from the doorway.

Fuck.

Well. That’s the end of that, he supposed. After that sort of display, Aziraphale wouldn’t want anything to do with him ever again.

He clenched his fist, turning away, but that sent a sharp pain through his hand. Hissing, Crowley looked down to find a shard of glass, stuck in the side of his hand. Of course. Exactly what this day needed.

“Are you hurt?”

He shot a glare at the angel, suddenly beside him.

“Just a scratch. Leave me alone.”

Aziraphale’s hand landed lightly on his wrist, pulling the hand over for closer inspection. “You need to be more careful, Crowley.” He ran his thumb lightly up the side of Crowley’s palm and the little triangle of glass fell free.

“I’m not going to – to die from a little cut, Aziraphale.”

He’d meant it as a joke, of a sort, but Aziraphale’s hand tightened around his. “Don’t.” The angel’s thumb brushed across the cut, making it disappear in a small burst of healing. “You need to be more careful.”

“It’s a bit late for careful.” He tried to pull his hand away, but Aziraphale ignored it, bending over as if to inspect his palm for damage. “Look, Angel…”

“What a mess!” Aziraphale tutted. “An absolute disgrace.” But he hadn’t so much as glanced at the graveyard of ruined plants all over the floor. Instead, he was inspecting Crowley’s nails. “And you expect me to go out wearing these tomorrow?”

“You’re one to talk. I saw the state of your wings earlier. Have you groomed them this millennium?”

“Even if I hadn’t, it still wouldn’t compare to this – this—” He held up Crowley’s hand, nails caked with dirt, cracked, uneven. “I thought you took pride in your appearance.”

“I’ve been a bit busy.” Crowley snatched his hand back and tried to walk away.

“I don’t want an argument tonight.”

“Then stop trying to start one!” He took a deep breath. “If it bothers you that much, I’ll go take a shower. You wait in the kitchen, or wherever you want.” He glanced around at the mess he’d made. “Don’t bother cleaning. No point, is there?”

“Crowley, stop!”

“It was ‘go’ before, now you want me to stop? Make up your blasted mind.” But Crowley stood still, glaring at him. “What is it? What do you want?”

“I want to take care of those nails.”

“You what?” But Aziraphale’s face was dead serious, set in his most stubborn frown. “Look, you fussy bastard, this isn’t – we don’t have time for this!”

“You have somewhere else to be tonight?” But when his hands reached for Aziraphale’s again, the touch was strangely gentle. “Let me take care of these. Please.”

The demon groaned, but what was he supposed to do? Not say yes? “Fine. If you insist.”

Crowley stared at Aziraphale, sitting cross-legged on his bed. Between them was a bowl of warm water, an array of tiny torture implements, and a towel, which Aziraphalehad used to briskly brush the dirt from Crowley’s fingers. Now he held the demon’s right hand, turning it this way and that to inspect each nail in the light of his halo.

“That’s a little better,” Aziraphale murmured, picking up the clippers and starting to trim.

“You know, I can do this myself.”

“Can you? Really?” It was strange, having his hand held this way. Entirely in Aziraphale’s power, unable to move, yet it was only the lightest pressure, really. Firm, but gentle. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you chewed them.”

“Only when they break.”

“That isn’t funny. Look at this.” He lowered Crowley’s right hand and picked up the left, pinching the thumb between his fingers. “Just look!”

“Looks like a thumb.”

Another tsk, and Aziraphale set to clipping again, not trimming each nail as low as he could (as Crowley usually did), but instead quickly removing the sharp edges or cracked portions, leaving a few millimeters on each. When he was satisfied, he picked up an emery board. Crowley expected him to start scrubbing roughly, sandpapering his nails smooth. Instead, with a few quick delicate motions, he reshaped each nail into a perfect oval. Now and then, he paused to scrape underneath with the point of a nail file.

“What is this, anyway?” He held up the tip of the file, covered in hard flakes of black residue. “I thought it was soil, but it isn’t the right consistency.”

Crowley gulped. He remembered charging into a burning shop. Driving for almost an hour in a flaming car. Falling to the ground at the airbase more than once—

“Dunno,” he said weakly. “Could be – lots of things…”

Aziraphale’s hands hesitated over Crowley’s smallest finger, and he could see how the emery board trembled. Yeah, you’re cleaning the last of your bookshop out of my nails. How does that feel? Crowley wished he had something comforting to say, but he just felt hollow. The day had left him without anything to offer.

With a deep breath, Aziraphale steadied his grip and got back to work.

“Why?” Cowley found himself saying, as the angel moved back to his right hand. “Why are you wasting your time on this?” On me?

“Don’t be foolish. Time spent with you is never wasted.” Blue eyes flickered up again to catch his gaze before focusing on the nails once more. “Although I do wish you’d put a little effort into basic maintenance without my needing to nag you.”

“But—” He bit his words off, not knowing what to say. “Why?”

“Why? Why? You spend an hour every day on that ridiculous hair, not to mention weeks spent putting together your – your ‘new look’ every few years. I would think you’d agree that personal grooming is its own reward.”

“No, I…” He watched the long, thin board move back and forth. His fingers were curved slightly in Aziraphale’s grip, pinned in place by his thumb. “I just thought you’d want to be alone.”

Silence for the length of two fingers. “Why on Earth would you think that?”

His stomach was hard as a rock, twisting with emotions he couldn’t name. “I…I’ve been awful,” Crowley confessed. “All night long, since we got back, I argued, I snapped at you. Threw a tantrum. The other day, I shoved you against a wall. And…and this morning I called you stupid…I’d think you’d want to be as far from me as possible.”

“As I recall, you were the one who wanted to abandon me for the stars.”

“No…” But he had said that, hadn’t he? “I didn’t…I wouldn’t really…”

“Oh, hush.” Aziraphale frowned and moved to the last nail. “I’ve known you for six thousand years, Crowley, I’m well aware you have a temper. I have never held against you the things you said, or did, when you were angry.”

I have plenty of other people to ‘fraternize’ with. I don’t need you.

“Never?”

“Never.” Aziraphale put down the file and pressed Crowley’s hands between both of his. “I’m sorry I didn’t make that clear.”

He lowered Crowley’s hands into the bowl of warm water. Aziraphale had added some sort of soap, and it clung thickly to his fingers in a pleasant way.

“Still…I don’t like you to…to see me like that…”

“You’ve seen me at my worst,” Aziraphale reminded him. “Do you think less of me?”

His worst? Crowley couldn’t even imagine what that would mean. The embarrassing smile as he showed off his latest magic act or shouted encouragement at the actors in a play? The possessive gleam when he saw a priceless first edition, whether one of his own or one he was about to acquire? His incorruptible desire to see the good in absolutely everyone, even Gabriel, even Crowley?

“No,” he whispered as his heart surged anew. “No, I never have.”

Aziraphale nodded, watching Crowley’s hands as they soaked in the water. “It’s good, you know, to-to have a simple ritual in a time of stress. Something you can walk through, step by step. Unhindered by, ah, by emotions. Very calming.”

“I do feel a little better,” Crowley admitted.

“I expect you do. But…I meant for myself.” He lifted Crowley’s hands free of the water and gently patted them with the towel. “I’m…I’m…well, I’m rather convinced I’m going to let you down tomorrow. Not play my part well, or…or lose my nerve…or overlook some vital clue…”

Crowley felt the tremors in Aziraphale’s hands before he suddenly pulled away, fingers twisting in the towel, pressing it against his mouth. But he couldn’t hide the wave of emotion that overtook him before Crowley’s eyes.

“Angel!” Crowley grabbed his shoulders, newly manicured fingers feeling more sensitive against the fabric of his shirt. “Aziraphale look at me.” Slowly, the blue eyes came back into focus. “We don’t have to do this.”

“We do. Crowley, it’s the only way.” The towel crumpled further as he crushed it in his grip. “I – I – I won’t – I’ll find a way, I just need to – to buck up…”

“Are you scared?”

“What? No, I – I—”

“Because I am.” Crowley let go with one hand to pull his glasses free, toss them aside, then reached up to brush the back of Aziraphale’s hand. “Have been for…longer than I can remember, but then I lost you. Last night, and this morning, and then…the fire…” He swallowed. “And you know what? Each time it felt more real and more painful than before, and I don’t…I can’t…”

His gut heaved. The hollowness he’d felt after the fire opened again, threatening to devour him, permanently this time. “Aziraphale. I am more terrified right now than I’ve ever been in my life, and I don’t know how to stop it. So. If you’re scared…that’s fine.”

The towel fell, and Aziraphale took Crowley’s hand in both of his again, but this time clinging to it, clutching it, pressing Crowley’s fingers against his lips where the towel had been a moment before. Crowley reached with his free hand and…what? Touch his face? His hair? What was he supposed to do?

Before he could decide, Aziraphale seemed to blink his eyes clear and look again at Crowley’s nails. “Just a few hangnails to trim, and then we’re done.”

“Nh. Yeah.” He settled more comfortably. “Whatever you want.”

Aziraphale held Crowley’s hand, carefully massaging moisturizer across his palm, between his fingers, and into his nail beds. Memorizing the shape of them, the knobby knuckles, the veins on the back of his hands.

He’d wanted to do this once before, when the thoughts that needed to be hidden, even from himself, had threatened to overwhelm him. 1941. He’d longed to sit Crowley down and wash his feet, check them for burns and injury after his walk across hallowed ground. Let the activity distract his mind from the thoughts and emotions he couldn’t afford to acknowledge, and just be there, in the moment, caring for Crowley. Appreciating him. Holding him.

It was just as well he hadn’t attempted it back then; evidence tonight suggested it didn’t work.

He ran his thumbs across Crowley’s palm one last time, smoothing in the moisturizer, feeling the skin plump up, taking note of the calluses here and there just below the fingers. He didn’t want to let go.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley said, when his fingers had lingered perhaps a bit too long. He looked up to meet the demon’s golden eyes. They were soft tonight, and vulnerable, and filled with pain that tugged at his heart. But that pain seemed to be fading, replaced by…by one of the things Aziraphale was not supposed to be naming. What with the thunderous pounding of his heart in his chest and the blood in his ears, Aziraphale almost missed Crowley’s next words: “Thank you.”

Very suddenly, his heart went absolutely still.

“You…you’ve never…said thank you.”

“Grave oversight.” Crowley turned his hands over, running his thumb across his newly manicured nails. “This is…yeah, this is nice.”

“Ah. Well.” Aziraphale waved a hand, neatly teleporting his supplies into a different room. It was his usual method of cleaning up – eventually, things would wind up where they were supposed to be – but he realized alarmingly late that this now meant he and Crowley were simply sitting on a bed together. “I…I suppose I should thank you. For, ah, for indulging me—”

“Should I…return the favor?”

“Ah!” He snatched his hands against his chest, as if afraid Crowley would steal them entirely. Well. That wasn’t quite what he was afraid of. “Return? How – how would you – Crowley, my nails are – are already in tip-top shape, and you wouldn’t—”

“Your wings. Like I said,” Crowley went on, familiar sharp edge slipping into his tone, “absolute mess. You’re one to talk about grooming, carrying around two disasters like that.”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale was about to snap something else, but his eyes accidentally met the demon’s, and there was nothing mocking about them at all. Anxious, shy, almost waiting to be hurt. Did he always hide that expression behind his glasses?

“I, ah…I’ve never…how do we do this?”

Crowley’s eyes went wide. “Ngk. Unh. I mean. Sit there or…or maybe…lay down? On your stomach?”

“Ah, yes, I wouldn’t want to – to get tired, holding them up.” Aziraphale stretched out across the top of the duvet, resting his cheek on one of the pitch-black pillows, and extended his wings.

He could have sworn he heard a heavy breath – maybe a gasp, maybe a sigh. “Just as I thought. Look at this utter disgrace. When was the last time you preened?”

“Well, as I never walk around with them out—” Aziraphale was cut off by an impossibly gentle touch, two fingers brushing lightly across the leading edge of his wing. It felt…good, an electric shiver that ran down his wing and up his spine.

“Oh! S-sorry.” Crowley sounded embarrassed, which was something Aziraphale had never heard before. “I shouldn’t have…is this alright?”

“Yes. It’s…it’s very much alright.” He wrapped his arms around the pillow, feeling the need to brace himself, and stretched his left wing slightly. “Please, continue.”

The touch of Crowley’s palms against his wings was electrifying, yes, but also gentle, soothing. He carefully explored down the length of them, not stirring any feathers yet, just learning the ways they lay against each other, where they grew thick, where the flight feathers emerged. Aziraphale could feel the feathers that were out of place now – they snagged and tugged against Crowley’s hands, bunching in the wrong spots. Uncomfortable, the way sitting in a chair too long could be uncomfortable without even noticing.

“You’re lucky you didn’t need to fly,” Crowley remarked, scolding, as if it was an everyday risk, instead of something that hadn’t come up in five thousand years. His fingers now flicked around the shortest patch of Aziraphale’s coverts, just shy of the leading edge, finding one of the culprits. Manicured fingertips burrowed deep into white feathers, hot against the skin and muscle beneath, and with a few quick but gentle scratches twitched it back into position. “Does this hurt?”

“No…That feels…” Crowley traced the feather from base to tip, pushing the barbs back into the correct alignment. A few more strokes ensured it lay, flat and neat, alongside the rest.

“One down, dozens more to go. And that’s just this side. Hope you’re comfortable.”

He was, though. Aziraphale closed his eyes, sinking into the gentle rhythm as Crowley moved – feather by feather – across his wing, setting each to rights. He felt as though a burden were being lifted, the worry in his stomach slowly unknotting, bit by imperceptible bit, as if the world were fading away, leaving nothing but that touch.

By the time Crowley reached Aziraphale’s alula feathers, the pain in his gut was gone. As he worked his way back across the primary coverts towards the scapulars, Aziraphale began to forget what he’d been worried about. Then the warm fingers ran down the first of his flight feathers, and time stopped entirely.

Crowley had never imagined Aziraphale’s feathers could feel so different from his own, but they did, so soft and delicate he would have believed they were pieces of clouds if not for the warmth that emanated through them.

Was it because angel feathers were somehow more pure? Or was it simply a matter of familiarity – that his fingers had stopped even noticing the texture of his own wings?

He was nearly finished. Really, he was done already, but his hands still glided across coverts and primaries, feeling for anything out of place, any excuse to delay longer.

“Right there, please.” Aziraphale suddenly interrupted. “Just…just a little itch. Could you…?”

“Got it.” Crowley let his fingers sink in again, scratching gently at the base of a feather. “Here?”

Aziraphale just murmured in relief, a little sigh. Crowley had knelt beside him to better reach the wing, but now Aziraphale shifted, pressing their hips together. “This feels simply marvelous.”

“Y-yeah,” Crowley said, clearing his throat. “S’why you’re supposed to do it regularly.”

“I should have asked you to, years ago.”

Crowley smoothed the feathers back into place. He was finished. It was time. Time to switch and part ways, possibly forever.

He didn’t lift his fingers from the edge of Aziraphale’s wing.

“Would you have?” Crowley wondered, surprising himself to hear the words out loud. “Would you have let me, if I’d asked?”

Stirring, Aziraphale tucked his wings away, all that glorious heat vanishing to another plane. He rolled over and considered Crowley, but didn’t sit up yet. “I’m not sure. I…I would have wanted to. But…well…”

“And if I’d – I’d asked for other things?”

“I don’t know. Would you have asked? If I’d indicated my interest?”

Somewhere, the sun was rising. Somewhere, the day was starting. Time, never any time.

“I don’t know,” Crowley confessed, the words ripped from his soul. And then, not letting himself think, he fell forward, onto the pillows.

Aziraphale caught him, pulled him into an embrace. “I want to find out, Crowley. What we are. What we can be. I wish…I wish…”

Long fingers reached up to cradle Aziraphale’s cheek. “I know, Angel. I know. We’ll get our chance.”

Aziraphale nodded, though the tears in his eyes said he didn’t believe it. A brush of fingers on the back of Crowley’s hand, and Aziraphale turned to kiss his palm, his wrist. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I wasted our time. And now…”

“No, you didn’t waste anything.” He pulled Aziraphale roughly against his chest. “You hear me? Nothing. I’m…I’m glad for every moment we had.”

The angel didn’t respond, just sobbed, once, face pressed into Crowley’s shirt.

“Shhh. We’ll survive this. I swear it. And then we’ll have eternity to figure this out. Alright? You and me. And…and things will be different this time. I’ll be different.”

“Don’t you dare,” Aziraphale said, his arms locking behind Crowley, strong enough to break his spine. “Don’t you change a thing, Crowley. I don’t want anything to be different.”

“Really? You’re happy with how things were?”

“Oh, yes.” Aziraphale pushed back, just enough to meet Crowley’s gaze, eyes wide and wet and earnest. “So…so very happy, when we were together.”

“Well, then.” Crowley bent forward, resting his lips on the top of Aziraphale’s head. “That’s what we’ll do, yeah? Be together. Forever.”

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #ineffable husbands #Wings #crowley's flat #aziraphale and crowley #angst #good omens angst #emotional h/c #pre-body swap #night at crowley's flat #aziraphale #crowley #manicure #tumblr fic #my writing

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prrplwtch · 4 years

Note

not to be thirsty but your headcanons on how do you think the brothers would treat an mc who fucked all the brothers as well as simeon and solomon. would this be heaven or hell lmao

Lucifer

When Lucifer finds out about MC’s “adventures”, he acts completely indifferent – as though he already knew it was happening.

He did not, of course, but his pride does not let him act any other way.

On the inside, he’s angry and hurting. For Lucifer to enter a sexual or romantic relationship with someone requires a certain degree of trust, and he can’t help but feel that his trust was betrayed.

He’s also upset because he always wanted to be “special” to MC, someone she liked more than anyone else, so it’s rather hard to face the fact that he is one of the nine people she sleeps with on a regular basis.

Lucifer wants MC all to himself, of course he does, but, after finding out that she’s sleeping around, he won’t ask her to enter into a monogamous relationship with him. Lucifer is very proud, and this pride makes MC’s behavior seem like a betrayal.

A small part of his mind tells him that he’s not justified in feeling that way, after all, no promises were exchanged between him and MC, but he does not want to listen to reason.

Will pull away from MC and won’t sleep with them again. In part, because he hates sharing and in part because he’s afraid of falling for MC even more than he already did.

Mammon

When Mammon finds out that MC sleeps around, he’s completely crushed – he’d fallen hard and fast for MC and he was really hoping that she felt the same way about him.

Can’t help but feel that some of his brothers Levi are involved with MC to get back at him for something.

Of course, Mammon wants MC all to himself – he’s the avatar of greed, after all, and he is not used to sharing anything. Ever. Especially not something as precious as MC.

The revelation makes Mammon act pouty and sad, but he denies that anything is wrong – almost like he denies his feelings for MC.

He cannot get rid of the nagging feeling inside his chest that this was inevitable. After all, if he thinks about it logically, his relationship with MC was too good to be true. How could someone as special as her actually love a scumbag like him?

It will take him a while to gather up the courage to ask MC for an exclusive/monogamous relationship, since that involves having uncomfortable conversations where he has to admit his feelings.

Even if MC turns down the relationship, he won’t stop sleeping with her (if she wants to, of course). He does not have the self-control required to refuse her and he still has feelings for her.

Will likely act very needy/clingy during those sessions and be very loud while he and MC are going at it, because he wants his brothers to know that it’s with him that she has the best sex. Will also litter MC’s skin with love bites, in desperate attempt to mark her up as “his,” even if he knows that it’s not true.

Leviathan

Levi had never, in all millennia that he had been alive, felt as jealous as in the moment he found out that MC sleeps not only with him, but also with his brothers as well as Solomon and Simeon.

He lashes out – not at MC, of course – but alone in his room, letting his anger, frustration, jealousy and hurt take over him. It takes a while before he somewhat calms down, and when he does his room is almost in shambles.

Afterwards he feels sad and empty and a little bit stupid – how could he actually believe that someone as beautiful and as amazing as MC would actually fall in love with a gross otaku like him? It’s no wonder she’d been sleeping around – all the other men she’d been with are, no doubt, better than him.

Levi pulls away both from MC and his brothers – even though he and MC were not formally in a relationship, he cannot help but feel betrayed.

Levi will not ask MC to enter into a relationship with him – he can hardly get the images of her sleeping with the others out of his head. Besides, he thought they had something special and unique and that illusion was absolutely shattered by the discovery. It will be a while before Levi could trust people again.

Even though he would never sleep with MC after finding out she’d been sleeping around, his mind enjoys playing cruel jokes on him. Every night Levi is haunted by the dreams of MC, by the memory of her touch and the softness of her skin, by the way she tasted and by the delightful moans that left her lips when she was especially enjoying something he was doing.

In those dreams, he’d always touch her roughly, almost punishingly, the way he never did in life, hoping to convey the depth of his hurt. That did not help, of course, because those were just dreams, and when he opened his eyes, he was all alone in his bed.

Satan

Satan react quite calmly when the news of MC’s adventures reach him. That is not to say that he’s unaffected – he’s jealous of course, but Satan, more than anyone else, is willing to listen to reason.

He understands that he and MC were not actually in an exclusive relationship, and, hence, it’s unfair to expect her to be “loyal” to him. It obviously hurts his pride a little, but Satan’s willing to work through whatever feelings he has.

As calm and as reasonable as he tries to be, it’s still very hard to get over the fact that MC slept with Lucifer. Satan cannot help but think that Lucifer did it in part to get to him.

Still, Satan would ask MC to enter into a monogamous relationship with him. If MC agrees, Satan will be very happy and try his best to move on from thinking about all of her previous “adventures”.

He’d probably act somewhat possessive of MC around his brothers, and would take extra pleasure in littering MC’s skin with hickies and bites to show to his brothers – and everyone else in the Devildom – that she’s his.

Satan usually does not like to show off, but in this case, he’d relish in the feeling of being chosen over all his brothers, especially over Lucifer.

If MC refuses to enter monogamous relationship with him, Satan would inevitably pull away. How is he supposed to get over feeling jealous if MC gives him a new reason to be jealous every day? Besides, if she insists upon carrying on her affair with Lucifer…

Asmodeus

So whoever brought Asmo the word of MC’s adventures meant to tell him that MC had Asmo’s dream threesome with Solomon and Simeon and did not invite him? The audacity!

Other than being upset over being excluded from the said threesome, Asmo reacts pretty calmly to the news – after all, he’s the avatar of lust and understands better than anyone how fun it is to sleep around. Still, he’d probably feel better if next time MC was going to sleep with Solomon and Simeon, she invited him along.

After learning that MC had slept with all of his brothers, Asmo can only sigh. He understands completely why she’d go for Lucifer or Beel or Satan – in fact he’d try his luck with all three if he was not their brother – but for the life of him, Asmo cannot grasp why MC would want to sleep with that scumbag Mammon or with Levi, who does not shower nearly often enough.

The relationship between Asmo and MC hardly chance after the revelation – they still continue to sleep together and hang out with each other.

Asmo’s totally fine with MC having as many partners as she wants – after all, he has plenty – but only if he feels that he’s getting a sufficient amount of attention from MC. As soon as Asmo feels MC’s too preoccupied for him, he cannot help but be threatened.

But, so long as he gets all the attention and affection from MC that he wants, he does not if she has some fun on the side.

Beelzebub

When Beel finds out that MC sleeps with all his brothers and also with Solomon and Simeon, he’s a little taken aback. He knew about her involvement with Belphie – it was hard not to know when the two of them shared the room – but he did not think that he was one of nine rather than one of two.

He does not say anything to MC – he does not feel like he has the right to demand anything of her – but deep inside he’s unhappy and jealous. In his heart of hearts Beel knows that he wants MC all too himself – to never share her with anyone, not even with Belphie. But he tells himself that it’s unreasonable and foolish to expect that.

Beel also hates feeling jealous and is ashamed of himself for being that way, so he tries his best to control/suppress his emotions. Jealousy is an uncomfortable feeling for him and he thinks MC would not appreciate him acting upon it.

He definitely wants to ask her to enter into a relationship with him, but seeing her happy with the current arrangement stops him. After all, the only thing her ever really wanted was to make her happy.

Beel still loves MC, of course, so he spends as much time with her as he can. Even if it feels bitter-sweet, knowing that he’s not the only one whose love and companionship she desires.

Will still sleep with MC if she wants to sleep with him – he wishes he had the self-control and resolve to deny her, but he just loves her too much.

Belphegor

The fact that he’s not the only one MC sleeps with is hardly news for Belphie – but still, it’s one thing to share her just with Beel, and an entirely different thing to share her with the rest of his brothers. Especially when one of his brothers is Lucifer.

The thought of MC sleeping with Lucifer and then coming to Belphie’s own bed makes him feel a little disgusted.

Part of him cannot help but wonder if Lucifer had gotten involved with MC on purpose – after all, he’d spent millennia making Belphie’s life miserable, so what reason does he have to chance now.

Belphie will oscillate between acting cold and indifferent towards MC and acting pouty and whiny. Even though he’ll never actually explicitly tell MC what wrong. She’s a smart woman, she should figure it out.

Will talk to Beel, asking if Beel would like to suggest to MC that the three of them enter an exclusive relationship. When Beel seems reluctant, Belphie will take matters into his own hands.

If MC refuses to enter exclusive relationship with him, Belphie will be quite hurt, but he will not show it. After all, that would be too desperate, and he does not want to appear that way.

If MC refuses to enter monogamous relationship with him, but still wants to sleep with him, Belphie’s unlikely to refuse her, especially if she’s still involved with Lucifer. Belphie would derive some kind of twisted pleasure from having MC fall apart under his touch, from leaving bright marks of love bites on her skin for Lucifer all to see.

HC list | Fic list

#you are doing great mc #tell them all to pound sand #obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me satan #obey me leviathan #obey me asmodeus #Obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor

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lilfellasblog · 5 years

Text

Lights Out

Summary: Logan's job consisted of many important things critical to Thomas' life. There was no room for error. He cannot make mistakes.

Until he makes a big one.

A/N: If you liked this, please reblog. It is the only way to help this fic reach a wider audience. This is a Tumblr ask! Thank you to the anonymous asker who waited patiently for me to write this, and then continued to be patient because I was trying out the queuing thing on Tumblr and accidentally made it so this posted here the next day. WHOOPS!! Sorry anon! You’re amazing and so kind and I REALLY hope you enjoy this fic!! I decided that since Virgil is usually the one getting hurt and needing comfort in these fics (esp in mine LOL), I wanted to switch it up for you so you could have something unique! And I figured that the central conflict in this story would also make it a little more unique for you! I hope you enjoy!

TW: crying, insecurity, self-doubt, negative self-talk, power going out and being left in the dark, mention of panic attacks, very vague allusion to a probably unsympathetic Deceit. If I missed any let me know!

Word count: 1864

AO3 here!

Fic Masterlist here!

Logan was hunched over his desk, in a posture admittedly not the healthiest but he could hardly be bothered. Thomas had three projects with outside channels and he had to update his Sanders Sides web series soon, even with the deal with Marvel. That, on top of meetings with his company, planning a video schedule for the second channel, and managing household necessities and bills, and one might find Logan rather frazzled.

(Thankfully, Patton had helped take over grocery shopping, meal planning, and cooking, only corresponding with Logan on the budget. It was one less thing Logan had to worry about.)

His forehead and back were tense, his eyes were terribly dry, and his mind was racing. His hands were shaking as he jumped from one task to the other, adrenaline flooding his system. Normally, he wouldn’t get to this point. However, with how scheduling with his company and outside individuals and companies for meeting and filming had gone, he’d been on high alert for almost two weeks now. Logan desperately hoped that the schedule would come together and Thomas would get a small break from filming and meetings; he’s seen the strain it’s taken on his Host and on the other core Sides, and they were running ragged as well.

Logan checked over the schedule Adri had sent them and compared that against the rest of the crew’s schedule.

Yes! Finally! This can work, I just need to mark this down and-

Suddenly, panic sweeps through the mindscape along with shock. Logan quickly rose up into Thomas’ realm to see… nothing. It was completely dark. As his eyes slowly adjusted, he heard Virgil rattling off possibilities that would inevitably end in their demise, Roman declaring he’ll slay any intruder that dares threaten them while offering to serenade everyone, Thomas trying to calm him and Roman down while he looked on his phone to see what was going on, and Patton tripping over things in the dark while he tried to comfort Virgil.

Logan was frozen stock still, realizing instantly what had happened.

I forgot to have Thomas pay his electric bill. The website was taking too long to load, so we were going to work on it another time when the website wasn’t so slow. This is my fault. They are upset and panicking because I have failed in organizing Thomas.

His heart shattered as he listened to Patton lead Virgil through breathing exercises.

I have caused my boyfriend unnecessary distress due to my incompetence. Such a simple oversight on my part. A foolish oversight. One that would not have happened were it another Side.

Roman was checking the perimeter of the apartment for intruders, hand on his sword while he sang Make a Man Out of You under his breath. Normally, he’d be belting out songs at the top of his lungs, which only went to show his level of distress. Thomas was realizing what had happened and looked at Logan, with only the light from his cell phone screen to see.

Thomas, Virgil, Patton, and Roman deserve a better Logic. I am clearly incapable of managing the simplest things, and now we have had our power turned off. Food will begin to rot, and we just went grocery shopping. This has impacted the budget. The increased stress of not having electronics will be incredible, and the lack of air conditioning in the Florida summer may cause health concerns. This is my fault, and my fault alone. I am incompetent.

Logan sank out to his room to figure out how to survive until the power came back on. He didn’t hear Virgil calling his name.

/////

Logan had been staring at his desk morosely for a half hour, shoulders hitching and silent tears dripping down his stoic face as he observed the chaos his desk had become.

I cannot manage Thomas’ schedule. I cannot manage his bills. I cannot manage his household needs. I cannot focus to even begin to help Thomas manage while the power is out. What good am I? I am no good. I am useless. A useless, dysfunctional Side who only makes Thomas’ life more difficult. I make him unhappy. I make the others unhappy.

Logan’s felt his chest tighten and a painful lump form in his throat. His face began to crumple despite his best efforts. Just then, several tentative knocks sounded at his door.

“Come in Virgil,” he called, managing to keep his voice mostly calm.

Virgil opened the door and walked in slowly, assessing the situation. He knew Logan rarely got this upset over something, and to tread carefully.

“How’d you know it was me?” he asked lightly.

“Your knocks are tentative, compelled by your concern to make sure you’re not interrupting someone. Regardless of how upset you may be or your level of need, your first concern is always the convenience of others. It is admirable to a point, though foolish after that point.”

Virgil huffed out a laugh. “Thanks L.”

“You are welcome.”

Virgil’s face softened at Logan’s factual response and his complete overlook of sarcasm. That was always one thing that could calm Virgil; Logan wouldn’t keep anything from Virgil or misunderstand something he said. Logan took what Virgil said at face value and spoke to him in a direct manner. There was no guessing his intent or the “true” meaning of his words, no chance to get it wrong, no chance to accidentally upset him because he didn’t read between the lines correctly…

Virgil shook his head to clear those thoughts from his mind. There was no use dwelling on the past, and it wouldn’t help Logan now.

He cautiously walked closer to Logan. “I saw how fast you got out of there. Couldn’t see your face too well though. How are you holding up?”

“My spinal column is intact.”

“That’s not exactly what I meant.”

“I know, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. Talk to me babe.”

Virgil patiently stood next to Logan in silence for several minutes, letting Logan gather himself and his thoughts, breath still hitching with the occasional sniffle. Emotions did not come easily to Logan, so processing them and figuring out how to express them were two challenges that required his full attention without interruption. And as much as Virgil wanted to comfort his boyfriend already, if Logan felt he didn’t express his feelings properly or felt that something was unresolved, there would be no making him feel better.

Finally, just as Virgil’s anxiety began to grow, Logan spoke.

“My job encompasses many things. I am the language center of Thomas’ brain, I manage his work schedules, and I assist in the management of household chores. Notably, this includes ensuring bills are paid on time.”

Logan paused, and Virgil didn’t dare say a thing.

“If Thomas had a more functional Logic, he would not have forgotten to pay his electricity bill. We were in the process of paying it, but I decided that the website was taking too long, and therefore we would return to the task at another time. Not only did I fail to notate that in our budget, I also failed to set a reminder to check the website at a later date, and I did not remember to ensure we paid our bill.”

Logan’s voice began to wobble as he stiffened his back, attempting to control his expression. “As a result, Thomas’ health may be at risk, we may have to throw out food, which will impact our budget, there will be a late payment and reconnection fee which will also impact our budget, there is increased stress on all of you, you nearly had a panic attack, Thomas will have to work exclusively at the office, and his sleep will be disrupted.”

Logan choked back a sob, his voice coming out thick. Virgil felt his face growing hot and pressure building behind his eyes, threatening to make him cry. “I am an incompetent, useless, harmful Side. I do not perform my job adequately, and as a result you all now must suffer for it and attempt to successfully think of how to survive until power can be restored.”

Virgil waited a moment to see if Logan would continue, audible sobs choking off in Logan’s throat. When Logan didn’t continue, Virgil put a hand on the back of Logan’s chair.

“Can I give you a hug Lo?”

Logan sniffled and nodded as a sob finally escaped him. Virgil pulled Logan up out of his chair and had to catch his intellectual boyfriend as he collapsed into Virgil’s chest. Logan was letting out heart-wrenching sobs, self-hatred and grief echoing around the minimalist room. Virgil held onto Logan tightly, rubbing his back and swaying them, his own tears flowing down his face at hearing his boyfriend so anguished. They stood there for 10 minutes, until Logan’s sobs began to peter off.

The genius pulled back slightly. “M-my apologies, I did not mean-”

“If you apologize for needing to cry, I am going to physically fight you!”

Logan let out a watery laugh, which mended some of the cracks in Virgil’s heart. Virgil wiped away his own tear tracks, then reached up and gently swiped his thumb over his lover’s sharp features before returning his hands to Logan’s shoulders.

“Babe, how many times have you helped me come down from a panic attack?” Virgil asked rhetorically.

“Since I’ve known you, 867 times.”

Virgil was stunned into silence for a moment. “...holy shit. Okay, and how many times have you helped redirect the three of us so we could actually be useful for Thomas?”

Logan smiled wryly. “I believe that number is beyond my reach.”

“Smartass. How many times have you helped Roman refine a script?”

Logan frowned and tilted his head. “I’ve done so for every script, you know this.”

“I know. And how many times have you helped Patton work through and accept his feelings?”

Logan hummed in thought. “309 times.”

“Logan, we’ve all fucked up on our jobs and needed your help. You’ve managed to carry that, plus your own responsibilities, really fucking well. You’re allowed to fuck up every now and then. Let us help you for once. Please.”

Logan sighed in defeat, unable to resist the pleading look in Virgil’s eyes. “Very well.”

“Hey, L.”

“Yes, darling?”

Virgil stepped closer to Logan, their chests nearly touching. “You do so much for us. One mistake doesn’t make you a failure. It makes you human. And no one's mad at you. Not Thomas, not Roman, not Patton, not me.”

“Technically, I am a metaphysical human.”

“It makes you a metaphysical human. Come on, you’ve been working yourself to death lately. Let me take care of you for once. How does a back massage, some tea, and some cuddles sound?”

Logan smiled softly at Virgil, the smile meant only for his boyfriend. “I would love nothing more than to spend this evening with you.”

Virgil smiled back and kissed Logan, slow and sweet. He didn’t stop until he felt some of the tension melt from his boyfriend’s shoulders. And he didn’t stop taking care of Logan that night until he was asleep, fully relaxed, on Virgil’s chest.

#sanders sides #analogical #logan sanders #virgil sanders #fanfic #thomas sanders #roman sanders #patton sanders #deceit sanders #unsympathetic deceit #tw deceit #crying #kissing #fic #fanfiction

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lil-meow-meow-goes-rawr · 4 years

Text

Together

⚔︎ Previous Chapters: Trouble Brews, Illusions, Tragedy Strikes

⚔︎ Pairing: Jungkook x OC

⚔︎ Genre: Medieval Fantasy, Knight!Jungkook, Knight!Hoseok, Wizard!Yoongi, King!Namjoon, Prince!Taehyung, Prince!Jimin, Brothers!Yoonjin

⚔︎ Warnings: self-deprivation, self-blame, grieving, destruction

⚔︎ Rating: 13+

⚔︎ Synopsis: Finally reunited, the three unlikely friends make their back down the mountain in hopes of saving the kingdom from its impending doom

⚔︎ Word Count: 7.2K

⚔︎ A/N: This was meant to be a oneshot, yet here we are four chapters later. There is one chapter left. If anyone would like to be added to the tag list, leave a comment or send an ask and I’ll be happy to add you :)

⚔︎ Tag List: @ephemeralninon

⚔︎ Masterlist

A chill ran down my spine, though I doubted it was from the sharp night air. I had heard it. I know I had. Someone was there.

My breath caught in my throat as I strained to listen. It had been speaking. I was sure of it. The voice was frantic and unfiltered, spewing words I did not understand, yet it was there.

The voice came again.

I spun on my heels, searching the surrounding trees for a source to the noise. My ankle throbbed at the forced action, though I simply bit my lip against the pain. The ache was something I had quickly learned to disregard.

Still, there was nothing there. Perhaps I was imagining it all. Perhaps there had been no sound and the past several days of solitude were beginning to affect my head.

Blinking rapidly, I struggled to force my burning eyes to focus. Sleep was not a luxury I had been granted recently. Two days after the attack by the ogres, I woke to find Yoongi had disappeared. Left alone with a throbbing ankle and no idea how to navigate Blood Mountain, I was too afraid to sleep. Every tale that Taehyung had ever told, replayed in my head like a nightmare whenever I closed my eyes.

The reason behind Yoongi’s absence was clear. If I had been in his position, I would have disappeared long before he had. No one would want to be around the reason for their family’s death. Yet, if I had any inclination of not surviving Blood Mountain before, I was sure of it now.

Beating against my chest furiously, my heart raced as I forced my feet forward. The voice had returned. This time, I was sure I was not imagining it. Perhaps whoever was speaking would be able to help.

The chanting grew louder the further I ventured into the trees. The voice, I realized, was not one but many joined together. Their words slurred together, and the language was one I did not recognize.

It did not take long to find the source of the voices. I found them, nestled in a clearing, the ground torn away to create a trench in the earth. Uprooted trees lay tossed to the side, haphazardly thrown into a pile not far from the trench itself.

A strangled cry left my lips and I dropped to the ground once I caught sight of the creatures responsible. Spirits of all shapes and sizes manifested inside the trench. Most of them resembled people, though I saw a few animal-like creatures among them as well. These were the spirits which haunted the mountain. The people whose lives had been lost the night Blood Mountain earned its name. I fought to breathe as I looked down at the countless faces; knights, men, women and children, they were all there. Each frozen in the moments of their deaths. Torn clothes and charred faces did nothing to hide the anger rising among them.

In the center, a campfire burst to life followed by an excited uproar from the spirits.

They were dancing. Each of the spirits, though moving their bodies in different way, were all perfectly in sync.

Swallowing hard, I watched as they moved in tandem. Their heads swiveling in my direction, as if having been alerted to my presence.

“Oh no.”

One of the spirits stepped forward from the center of the group. His arm extended out in my direction.

The spirit looked familiar, though I did not understand how.

“The living,” the spirit’s voice rang out through the silent air, “one walks among us now.”

Cursing under my breath, I slipped away from the edge of the trench. How had they known I was there? It did not make sense, and yet, nothing on this mountain made sense. I had been a fool to follow the sounds of their chanting. If I had been but a bit wiser, I would have run the other direction, yet I had been hoping against all logic that I would find Yoongi among the voices. I was wrong.

“The living must be punished!” A cry rose up from amongst the crowd.

Cheering erupted in support of the statement.

I screamed when I felt a hand on my shoulder, another quickly slapping itself across my mouth to silence me.

Lips rested next to my ear and a quiet voice spoke, “You must truly be from the royal family. Only a royal could manage to make enemies quite as easily as you do.”

My eyes widened in shock as my head snapped around to find Yoongi kneeling beside me. “Where have you been? I have been looking everywhere for you!”

His eyes darkened. “I wanted to be alone.”

I froze, my own gaze dropping. Of course, he did. It had been a stupid question.

“Still, I could not simply leave you alone on Blood Mountain to fend for yourself. I have been following your movements to ensure your safety.”

Snapping my head up, I stared at him in shock, not sure whether to slap or hug him. Instead, I turned my attention back to the spirits who had begun to grow restless. “They know we’re here.”

“Spirits of the dead. The more powerful ones especially are incredibly perceptive. One should avoid crossing paths with them.”

I watched the wizard from the corner of my eye as he surveyed the scene below him. Something about him had changed. It did not take much for me to notice the spark in his eyes was gone. A part of him had died alongside his brother that day. Guilt weighed down on me like a crushing boulder. I was meant to be a leader for my people and yet all I seemed to be able to do was cause them pain.

“Quit staring. Did your mother not tell you it was an act of rudeness.”

I dropped my stare. “My apologies.”

Yoongi rolled his eyes. “We need to depart, before they begin searching for us.”

“There is no need.”

Yelping, I spun to find the same familiar spirit who had spoken earlier, standing directly behind us. Up close, I realized who he reminded me of. The sharp features, dark eyes and long nose; it was Hoseok. The spirit posed a scary resemblance to the knight.

Yoongi cursed under his breath. “We have not come looking for trouble. My friend simply became lost.”

“It does not matter to me how you wandered onto our sacred ground. All that matters, is that we now have two offerings, which is far better than only one.”

“Offerings?”

Yoongi shot me a cold stare, one that clearly told me to stay quiet.

In the bat of an eye, Yoongi and I were transported to the center of the crowd. Disoriented, I nearly fell into the wizard as I attempted to keep my feet beneath me.

Our arrival brought on an angry uproar. My breathing was jagged as I shifted my gaze among the many faces which sought revenge for the crimes committed against them.

“The crimes of those who spilled the blood of the innocent have long since cursed this mountain.” Hoseok’s look-a-like spirit shimmered into existence beside me. “Today, we shall right those wrongs and free ourselves from this prison! We have been granted not only a wizard whose magic will aid in our freedom, but a member of the royal family as well!”

Angry cries and jeering filled the air as the spirits began closing in around us. Though some spat their anger at Yoongi, most had their attention solely on me. For it was I who represented everything they despised. The royal family had been the cause of so many unfair deaths. Though I did not truly belong to the family, it appeared as though they did not care.

“How are we going to get out of this one?” I whispered to Yoongi who was standing limply beside me.

“Is there a reason to?”

I frowned. “Sorry?”

“Neither of us have anything to live for anymore. How long has it been since you left your kingdom to fight on their own? Do you truly think they have not lost the battle?”

I gawked at him, unsure of how to respond. “You aren’t suggesting-”

“It’s over, Emelyn. I fear it is time to give in.”

I froze. A part of me knew the wizard was right. It had been far too long. The battle would be long since over. There was no real need for me to continue on with this quest.

An all too familiar cry filled the air then, silencing the spirits and my own dark thoughts. Snapping my neck up, I peered into the dark sky. It couldn’t be, could it? Was he really here?

Yoongi turned to me as if in slow motion, shock written plainly across his face. “Was that…”

“A dragon?” An uncontrollable grin found its way onto my lips. “Perhaps it is not yet time to lose all hope.”

“Your friend,” Yoongi’s voice was quiet as his eyes grew wide in realization and his head fell back to search the night sky, “he’s here. The Phantom Knight.”

As if responding to his name, the dragon appeared overhead; its large wings covering nearly the entire expanse of the glade. Never once had I been so happy to see a creature that could very easily eat me for dinner.

The spirits were distracted, having turned to gawk at the massive creature in the sky. If Yoongi and I were looking for a chance to escape, this was it. Still, it would not be an easy task. We stood amongst a circle of angry spirits. Their attention may temporarily be on the dragon, but that would soon change if Yoongi and I were to take so much as a step in any direction. We had to try something though. It would be foolish to stand there and wait for fate to take the lead.

Grabbing the wizard’s hand, I brought my other hand up to my lips. He nodded in understanding yet gave me a questioning look, as if unsure of how I was going to get us out of the situation. I couldn’t answer him because I did not know myself. I was prepared to make it up as we went along.

Taking in a deep breath, I turned back toward the dragon. When he was almost directly overhead, I screamed. I screamed Jungkook’s name as loud as my voice would allow, pouring every inch of fear and desperation into it.

Yoongi yanked on my hand, attempting to draw my attention as I drew every eye in the glade to me.

As expected, I had also caught the attention of one very angry dragon. Its head shot down and its eyes locked on me. A gleam of recognition flashed across its eyes and I knew Jungkook was still in there, somewhere.

“Are you insane?” Yoongi bit out through clenched teeth. “You are going to get us both killed.”

I smiled lightly and nodded toward the sky.

Yoongi frowned in confusion as his eyes slowly traveled upward. I looked up in time to see the dragon fold his wings and dive.

Chaos ensued with the impending attack. The flames of the fire expanded, reaching nearly halfway up the trees still standing. Intense heat washed over us as the spirits began to scatter.

Yoongi drew me into his arms, turning his back toward the dragon in order to shield me from the incoming attack.

Seconds later, the dragon’s massive talons wrapped securely around both our bodies, lifting us into the sky and away from the vengeful spirits.

Yoongi didn’t say a word the entire flight. I had no way of knowing where the dragon was taking us, and it seemed as though Yoongi believed our doom to be set. I was still wrapped tightly in the wizard’s arms as the dragon’s talons had kept us from moving. It was strange, being so close to someone and yet feeling as though they were a million miles away.

I yelped in surprise when the dragon suddenly dove for the ground only to land lightly without ever placing any harm on either me or Yoongi.

Once the dragon released us from its hold, Yoongi rolled us both out of the way before leaping to his feet to stand over me protectively. I raised an eyebrow at his actions. One moment it was as if he hated me wholeheartedly, and the next he was ready to protect me from a creature ten times his own size.

Getting to my own feet, I cringed at the pain in my ankle as I laid a gentle hand on Yoongi’s shoulder. “It’s alright. If he wanted to hurt us, he would have done so by now.”

Yoongi’s expression was conflicted as he turned toward me. He was torn between feeling ecstatic to be near a real dragon and angry at me for managing to get us both into this mess.

“Trust me.”

“Why should I?”

His words stung yet I knew he had every right to be angry with me. Before I could answer, the dragon let out a low rumble that drew both our attentions.

I was surprised to find it staring in my direction, its eyes glued to my ankle. Swallowing hard, I took a step back. Having not been able to understand the expression in the creature’s eyes, I assumed the worst.

“He senses your wound,” Yoongi said, his voice filled with an awe that subdued all his fear, “you should allow him to approach.”

“Now you are the one who seems to have gone insane.”

Yoongi sighed tiredly. “Tell me, Emelyn. What was the plan after having the dragon fly us away? Just how did you plan on getting us both out of the nest alive?”

I pursed my lips as I took a tentative step forward. He was right of course. My plan had not extended past escaping the spirits. I fear I did not possess the same skills of strategy that my brother did.

The dragon cocked its head as it watched me slowly limp forward, its eyes remaining fixed on the swollen ankle.

Yoongi released a slow breath as he watched in pure fascination. “A dragon’s first instinct has always been to heal.”

I froze when the creature craned its neck back to rub the tip of its nose against the back scales.

“Even now, when faced with a creature that is not truly dragon nor man, the same need remains. His intentions are not to devour us, but to heal you.”

I bit my lip, praying as hard as I could that the wizard was right.

Bringing its head back around, the dragon produced a low rumbling sound in the back of its throat as it approached my ankle, its nose now covered in the oil from beneath its scales.

Hesitating, I hobbled back a few steps, just out of reach.

Yoongi appeared beside me then, slowly leading me forward once more. “It is alright, Emelyn. I can assure you this creature means you no harm. He is only attempting to help.” He breathed a small laugh. “I dare say his powers of healing may even surpass my own.”

Slowly, the dragon’s head rose, turning to stare out the cave entrance.

Confused, I followed its line of sight. My breath hitched and I quickly turned back to the creature. Sunrise.

Yoongi made a strangled noise behind me as the dragon suddenly shifted form. Moments later, the form of a young man replaced that of the dragon. My heart pounded wildly against my chest as he lowered his gaze to meet my own.

“Jungkook,” I breathed, relief washing over me as I took in his ruffled appearance. He looked to be as tired as the rest of us yet did not appear at all injured. For that reason alone, I felt the tears begin to build.

He offered me a soft smile. “Hello, milady.”

I choked out a small laugh. “You’re alright? Nothing is broken?”

Jungkook made a show of checking himself over before shaking his head. “All is well.”

Without stopping to think on my actions, I rushed forward wrapping my arms securely around him, my head burrowing into his neck. Tears stung my eyes as I felt him return the embrace, his arms looping around my waist. A part of me had begun to believe that I would never see him again. Yet against all odds, we had found each other once more.

Yoongi cleared his throat awkwardly behind me. I felt my cheeks heat up as Jungkook and I sprang apart.

“I’m guessing this is Jungkook?” Yoongi asked with a knowing smile before reaching out to tap Jungkook on the nose where the oil still remained. “You may want to finish what you started. I do not know for how much longer Emelyn will survive without your help.”

Jungkook frowned in confusion, dropping his gaze to glance over my body. “Are you hurt?”

“You do not know?” Yoongi asked. “The dragon certainly seemed to.”

“The dragon can sense things I cannot as a human.” Hooking his finger under my chin, Jungkook forced me to meet his piercing stare. “Milady, where are you injured?”

“It is nothing you should be concerning yourself over.”

Yoongi sighed tiredly. “She has been bitten by a basilisk. I fear she may not live for more than a few days more if it is not treated. You are her only hope now, Jungkook. If we were to attempt the journey back to my own house for the remedy, it may be too late.” Looking between the both of us, a soft smile appeared on his lips. “I shall grant you both a moments peace, though I would advise you to hurry. If we are to return to the kingdom in time to save it, we must act quickly.”

I shot my head around in shock. “You are going to help us?”

“I never said I wouldn’t.” With a polite nod of his head, Yoongi quietly left.

Swallowing hard, I turned back to Jungkook who remained exactly where he had been, simply staring at me. Waiting.

After a moment of tense silence, he spoke just one word. “Where?”

Sighing, I motioned down toward my ankle.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Jungkook dropped to his knees. True to his nature, he silently asked for consent before rolling the edge of my dress up to view the wound. A sharp intake of breath was all I heard before he was helping me down onto the ground beside him so he could extend the ankle. He worked in silence, using the oils on his nose to spread across the wound. I bit my lip to keep from making a sound as he worked, fighting the urge to scream at the sensation of fire against my skin.

“Why do you so desperately avoid the help of others?” Jungkook asked, his focus remaining firmly on the wound. “Do you wish to die so badly?”

“My own troubles seemed to be so small in comparison to what was happening around me. There were other things which required my attention more than a snake bite.”

“A snake bite that may very well have taken your life.”

Dropping my head back, I took to studying the formations of the stones above me. “Answer me truthfully, do I have a reason to live on? People have died because of me. For what reason should I be allowed to live when their life was so cruelly stripped away?”

Jungkook’s hands stilled as I spoke. I did not want to look down for I feared the expression on his face. He most likely thought me a fool.

“Every life is precious.”

“Which is why one should strive to never take the life of another.”

“Was it your intention?”

“No,”

“Then you have every right to live.”

Shocked, I brought my head back down to find him staring at me, his eyes filled with a sorrow I could not begin to understand.

“Emelyn, life is cruel. It continuously throws us into situations we were not prepared for. Some things are simply beyond our control.”

Tears sprang to my eyes as I fought to steady my erratic heartbeat. “I have caused deaths on this mountain, Jungkook. No amount of reason will ever correct my mistakes.”

“Blood mountain is a dangerous place. The creatures here are even more so. Whatever happened, it was not your fault.”

“You weren’t there,” I spat at him as the tears finally broke through my defenses to cascade down my cheeks, “it was I who led the ogres to their door. I was the one they were trying to protect because I could not protect myself. Yoongi is now suffering because of me.”

Reaching up, Jungkook gently cupped my cheek, running his thumb across my skin to wipe the tears away. “Accepting a death is never easy, and it will take time for Yoongi to heal from this. However, he is not the only one who will need to heal. You too, Emelyn, will need to find your peace with it.”

“I do not know if I can.”

He smiled softly. “You will, someday. For now, you simply must not let it consume you. Focus on the task that must be done and allow the healing to take its time.”

I bit my lip to keep from shedding a tear, dropping my gaze down to my foot only to gasp when I saw it. “It already looks better.”

“Being part dragon does have its advantages.”

“As I said before,” Yoongi said, shuffling back inside the entrance, “a dragon’s power of healing is far greater than anything I could ever hope to achieve.”

Jungkook smiled sheepishly. “You are the wizard who practices dragon magic?”

Yoongi pursed his lips. “Yes, that is me.”

Getting to his feet, Jungkook bowed slightly to the elder. “Are you able to help?”

“I will see what I can do.”

Jungkook looked down to me, a large grin painted across his features.

I easily returned the smile as I slowly began moving my ankle in small circles. The pain was nearly gone, and I had regained most of the movement. It was still stiff, yet that seemed such a minor inconvenience to what had been.

“If you are finished healing Emelyn, I suggest we begin the process of healing you as well.”

Jungkook suddenly looked worried, shifting from one foot to the other. Frowning, I watched as he nervously fidgeted with his fingers.

“Jungkook?” I asked softly, pushing myself to my feet. “Is everything alright?”

“You do wish to be free of your curse, do you not?” Yoongi questioned.

Jungkook hesitated. “I cannot be completely free of it. Not yet. I only wish for you to return my ability to control myself during the day. If I am to help Emelyn regain her kingdom, then I will need the powers granted to me by this curse.”

A soft smile played on Yoongi’s lips. “You truly are the most noble of the knights. I shall grant your request and leave your powers to you. However, once the powers of the dragon begin to take control, they will not be stopped for long. This will be nothing more than a temporary solution. I will need to remove your curse completely one day soon, or it will take hold of you.”

“What would happen if the dragon were to take control?” I asked, knowing I would not like the answer the wizard gave.

“Ultimately, the mind of the dragon would overpower that of the man, removing any sense of humanity remaining. The kingdom will lose the Phantom Knight either way. It is up to you whether you allow the Moon Dragon to live on.”

Jungkook set his jaw, a look of determination settling in his eyes. “The dragon must not live to take any more lives. I will win this battle for our kingdom, then the Moon Dragon must perish.”

I sucked in a sharp breath. There was something about the way he said it, as if he were prepared to sacrifice his life in order to save the kingdom. I had allowed one too many deaths already. I would not allow Jungkook to die as well.

Yoongi smiled softly, his eyes holding a sorrow that seemed to cut me like a knife. “It is no wonder the kingdom feels so safe under your watchful eye. I have only known one other person who would be willing to sacrifice so much for another.” Closing his eyes, the wizard took a deep breath before quietly mumbling a string of words I could not understand.

My breath hitched as the air around Yoongi began to glow a soft green. For the first time since I had met him, the wizard seemed to be completely at peace. His expression softened, the words came to a stop and he sank to the floor. Yoongi’s eyes remained closed as he simply sat there.

“Do you think he’s alright?” I asked Jungkook, my voice barely a whisper.

Jungkook tilted his head slightly as he watched the wizard. “I do not know.”

“Should we check?”

Before Jungkook could answer, he let out a loud gasp and dropped to his knees.

A strangled cry sounded from the back of throat as I dropped to the ground beside him. “What happened? Are you alright?”

Jungkook nodded slowly. “I think so, I ju-” with another gasp, he shot his hands up to clutch at his chest, his expression darkening painfully.

Looking back to the wizard, I found him to be completely encased in the soft glow. His expression showed no sign of disturbance.

Beside me, Jungkook latched onto my arm as he sucked in a sharp breath. “The dragon,” he gasped, “it’s fighting against the magic.”

I reached forward to steady him but Jungkook slapped my hand away.

“Don’t. I do not know how the dragon will react any further. You must stay back, Emelyn. For your own safety.”

I blew out a frustrated breath as I sat back. I hated sitting idly by, unable to help. Despite his tranquil nature, beads of sweat began forming on Yoongi’s forehead. He may not have been showing it, but he was working hard to drive the dragon back. Every few minutes, Jungkook’s grip on his tunic tightened as he fought through the pain. Yoongi had warned us this may be a difficult process, yet neither of us had expected anything quite like this.

It was quiet and peaceful, the way Yoongi’s magic worked. A far different experience than Ryia’s magic. When Ryia performed magic, there were often vast displays of red sparks which danced around the subject. I had been able to hear the magic at work, yet that was nothing like Yoongi. The wizard worked in complete silence. Besides the soft glow, there was no indication that his magic was at work. Thinking back to the battle with the trolls and the time spent inside the tunnel, there had never been a moment in which his magic caused a display of any kind.

Both men collapsed to the ground, yanking me from my thoughts. The glow around Yoongi faded quickly as they both fought to catch their breath. I wanted to ask if they were alright, to demand they tell me what had just transpired between them, yet I could not find the words to do so.

Blood dripped from the corner of Yoongi’s mouth where he had bitten it accidentally from the fall. He sat up slowly, bringing a hand to his head as he glanced around, disoriented.

Jungkook remained unmoving. Worriedly, I shook his shoulder to gain his attention. When he did not wake, I turned to Yoongi as the panic began to grow. “What is going on? Why is he not waking up?”

Yoongi closed his eyes tightly for a moment before letting out a slow, deep breath. “The dragon inside of him is strong. It was not an easy feat to bring it down. Jungkook’s will is strong, but the battle he just waged inside his own mind has taken its toll. I do not believe he will wake soon. For now, it is best to let him rest.”

“And you? You do not look much better than he does.”

Yoongi forced a smile. “I will be alright. Dragon magic is a powerful force. When choosing to wield it, the witch or wizard is consciously choosing to act on something that may very well consume them.”

“Why would you risk your own life like that?”

“For this very reason,” he said, motioning toward the sleeping knight. “Had I not been able to help, the dragon would have destroyed him. Helping those around me, that is all I have ever striven to do.”

“I stand by what I said, you know, back at your home. You are good man, Yoongi.” He attempted to deny my words, but I quickly stopped him. “You are one of the kindest souls I have ever had the pleasure of knowing. Not many would live their lives with the sole purpose of helping others. You do not deserve the fate handed you and I fear I am very much to blame for that.” Dropping my gaze, I began fiddling with my fingers, the words tumbling out of my mouth faster than I could fully process them. “Words cannot express the sorrow I feel for what I did to you and your brother. I truly am sorry, Yoongi. If I had not shown up outside your door, Seokjin may very well be alive right now. I did not mean for it to happen, and yet I will never be able to fix my mistake. All I am able to do is apologize and hope you will find it in your heart to forgive me.”

It was silent for a moment. I began preparing myself for the inevitable accusations, yet what came instead surprised me even more.

“Why would I need to forgive you when you have done nothing wrong?”

Snapping my head up, I stared at him with wide eyes. Had I heard him correctly? There was not a hint of anger in his voice. Instead, it was filled with a compassion I did not deserve.

He smiled kindly and gently took my hand in his. “Those ogres had been lurking outside the house for days before you arrived. They knew where we were and yet I did not move our location because I felt as if we were meant to be there, waiting for something important. I now realize, that important event was meeting you. We may not always like what fate has chosen our paths to be, but we must be ready to face whatever comes. We are in the heart of Blood Mountain, Emelyn. What happens here is not often within our control.”

“You do not blame me for what happened?”

Shaking his head lightly, he squeezed my hand. “And neither should you. What happened was not your fault.”

“You seem so calm about it all,” I choked out through the tears which threatened to fall, “how do you do it?”

“I miss Seokjin more with every passing second. He was the last remaining family I had, but he was more than that as well. He was my brother as well as my friend and mentor. Seokjin formed me into the person I am now, yet as much as I miss him, I know I cannot undo the past. Seokjin is gone and no amount of mourning will bring him back.”

“It seems there is much I have yet to learn in this life. People, love and life; it is all but lost on me.”

“No one ever fully understands any of this. It is why we are here together. For alone, this life would swallow us whole.”

“How did you become so wise?”

He breathed a small laugh, gently pulling his hand back. “I am not so wise. Most of what I know, I have learned from my brother.”

“You are modest.”

“I only live by what I know, which is that most people live their lives, striving for selfish gains. They strive only to please themselves. Yet that is not how we are meant to live. We are meant to put others first, to meet the needs of the ones around us.” He nodded toward Jungkook with a soft smile. “If I had not agreed to help this young man, he would not have lived to help you in your endeavor of saving your kingdom. Helping one person can inadvertently help so many more people.”

I stared at the wizard, unsure of what to say. He may not have thought himself wise, yet I had never heard words so profound. I knew plenty of people who had lived their entire lives placing others before themselves. That was the way in which Namjoon ruled the kingdom, yet even he could not match the selflessness that Yoongi had just shown me. Jimin was next in line to rule. Still, if I were forced into a marriage with Taehyung, I would become queen and the responsibilities that came with it would fall on my shoulders. I had to wonder; would I be able to rule so wisely? So selfless and caring? Would I even be a good queen?

Watching Yoongi care for Jungkook now, a man he had only met a few minutes ago, I knew. If I were to ever become ruler, Yoongi was who I wanted to be.

Jungkook woke a few hours later, just before sunset. Together, we worked to gather some provisions. Yoongi insisted on making a quick dinner for us all.

Jungkook remained restless, his gaze constantly drifting to the entrance of the cave. I could hardly get him to eat anything.

When I mentioned it to Yoongi, the wizard chuckled lightly. Shuffling around the small fire, he knelt before the knight. “Did I fail to mention, you will have total control of your own mind even with the transformation tonight?”

Jungkook’s eyes grew wide.

With a small hum, Yoongi nodded. “It will only last for the night, so I suggest you make the most of it.”

“What do you suggest we do?”

“The castle is nearly a three days ride from here and we don’t have so much as a single horse. By foot, it will take far too long. The castle could lie in total ruin by the time we reached it. It seems a nearly impossible task for any man, yet-”

“-not for a dragon.” Jungkook finished.

A sly smile graced Yoongi’s lips. “Not for a dragon.”

Bouncing his shoulders, Jungkook clapped excitedly.

I laughed at his joyous response, having never seen him look so happy.

“Do not celebrate just yet,” Yoongi reprimanded, though a smile of his own was visible, “we have yet to save the kingdom.”

For the first time since I had met him, Jungkook regarded the horizon with a gleam of hope in his eyes. The dread of the setting sun no longer sent a wave of panic crashing over him. For just a moment, he had been set free.

Getting to his feet, Jungkook padded over to the opening of the cave, his eyes glued to the setting sun. The corner of Yoongi’s mouth twitched up knowingly as he busied himself putting out the fire and gathering our things. With a tilt of my head, I turned back to Jungkook. His shoulders lightly rising and falling with each breath as he watched the sun set. Both men felt so at ease, so why was it I felt so anxious?

Just as the sun disappeared behind the trees, Jungkook turned to me with a large, excited grin. With an excited nose scrunch, he transformed back into the dragon. Something felt different about this change. Looking closely, I let out a soft gasp. His eyes, they were still his own. Jungkook was in complete control.

“Did you not believe me?” Yoongi chided, stepping up beside me.

I gaped at him, unsure of what to say.

“Shall we?” Yoongi asked, offering me his arm which I took after a moment. “The sooner we leave, the sooner we shall reach the castle. I do believe it is time we saved your kingdom.”

What had taken several days to journey up the mountain, only took a few hours to return upon the dragon’s back. Jungkook took pleasure in diving occasionally, only to hear me scream as Yoongi and I clung to his back for dear life. If dragons could laugh, I knew he would have been.

As we drew closer, I drew in a sharp breath at the sheer amount of destruction that had been caused. The land had all but been destroyed. Fields had been burnt down; homes and the underlying villages had all been pillaged and ransacked. Any sign of life had been sucked dry from the land. King Merek had not simply attacked the kingdom, he had devised an entire siege. Namjoon’s panic toward the impending attack all those days before, suddenly made sense. I had been too naïve to see it, yet the King had known.

Guilt weighed down on me, crushing the air out of my lungs as I watched the dead land pass beneath me. It was for this reason that Namjoon had insisted on the marriage. I saw that now, and yet it was too late.

“Jungkook,” Yoongi hissed suddenly, leaning forward as if to shield himself from view, “perhaps it is best that we land. There are those whom we must not alert our presence.”

Glancing down, I caught sight of what he meant. A line of King Merek’s knights patrolled the perimeter of the castle’s grounds, preventing anyone from leaving. They were attempting to starve them out. A lengthy tactic, yet an affective one. It had already been nearly eight days. I knew the kitchens were not fully stocked when I had left. If I knew anything about Jimin or Namjoon, it was that they always placed their people’s needs before their own. The moment they sensed any real threat of a siege, they would have sent as many of their people to the castle grounds as possible. They would not last for long, feeding such a large mass of people without first finding food.

Jungkook landed lightly amongst the carnage of houses just outside the castle’s view, while remaining out of view from the knights as well. With a soft rumble from his throat, Jungkook folded his wings against his back once Yoongi and I were safely on the ground.

“Your kingdom has been laid to siege.” Yoongi said, as if it were not obvious enough.

My heart pounded against my chest as I stared up at my home. With any luck, Namjoon and Jimin would both be inside, unharmed. Nelly, Hoseok, Alyse; were they alright? How many lives had already been sacrificed for my kingdom? How many more deaths must I atone for?

Jungkook nudged me lightly with the tip of his snout, a low rumbling emanating from him as if to ask what was wrong.

“If I were to presume, I would say our dear Lady Emelyn is once again taking the blame upon herself for the wreckage caused in the battle.” Yoongi said softly, as if reading Jungkook’s thoughts.

“Would I be so wrong if I were?” I asked, tears clouding my vision as I stared up at the castle.

“You cannot continue to blame yourself for the action of others.”

“And yet I know it to be my fault. The reason this fighting began, is because I refused to marry the son of King Merek. Fear kept me from protecting my kingdom, and now it lies in ruin.”

“Fear of what, may I ask?”

“The engagement.”

Jungkook snorted and settled down in the grass, his legs tucking up beneath him, much like a cat.

“Why would you be afraid of an engagement?” Yoongi asked, throwing a curious glance at the dragon.

Taking a deep breath, I clenched my fists at my side as I fought back the tears. “It is a fear which comes from memories of my past engagement to the Prince of the Vriven Kingdom.”

Yoongi gasped, realization dawning. “You were the maiden they held as ransom. It was you the prince nearly killed that night.”

“If Jimin had not arrived when he did, I would not be standing here today.”

“Strictly speaking, you’re sitting.”

Rolling my eyes, a small smile crept up my lips. “It was because of my own selfish fears that my kingdom was compromised. If I had only agreed to King Merek’s proposal, the kingdoms would still be at peace.”

“Would they?”

I scoffed. “You sound far too much like Hoseok.”

“Think about it reasonably, Emelyn. King Merek has attempted attacks on the Kim Kingdom a great many times before. The only thing that made this attack successful was the absence of the Phantom Knight.”

Behind him, Jungkook blew out a frustrated breath of steam.

Yoongi spun him so fast, the dragon shot his head up in alarm. “You are not to start now. It is no more your fault than it is Emelyn’s.”

I knew what the wizard was trying to do, and I was grateful to him. He was right after-all and though I doubted the weight of guilt would simply lift off my shoulders, I decided to push it to the back of my mind for now. I would face it later when I had a bit more time to think things through. For now, we had to focus on saving the kingdom.

My eyes scanned the surrounding area as Yoongi continued to berate Jungkook for doing the exact thing I had been guilty of. Of course, I did not blame the knight. He had been unable to control the dragon. By not arriving to the battle, he saved the kingdom from any further destruction. For that I was indebted to him.

I froze when my gaze fell on an approaching figure. Through clenched teeth, I hissed at the others to be quiet. “We have visitors.”

Yoongi cursed under his breath as he nearly tackled me to the ground. “We cannot allow them to see us.”

“How do you propose we do that? It will be nearly impossible with a fully-grown dragon beside us. Why do we have a dragon with us?” He groaned.

My eyes grew wide, ideas forming so quickly I could hardly keep up. “We have a dragon with us.”

“I just said that. Were you not listening?”

“No, listen. We have a dragon.”

Yoongi glanced at Jungkook before shrugging lightly. “I do not understand. How is this a good thing for our current situation.”

“You and I need to get inside the castle. There are a few things we need if we are to defeat King Merek’s army. To do that, we will need a distraction and what better distraction than the Moon Dragon himself?”

A sly smile crept up Yoongi’s lips. “I take it you have a plan.”

#The Phantom Knight #bts jungkook au #medieval!jungkook au #jungkook au #jungkook angst #bts au fanfic #bts au #bts angst #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #bts fic #bts fluff

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taterjoseph · 5 years

Text

Seeing Them After The Battle at Hogwarts

Seeing Them After the Battle

Harry: It was hard to see Hogwarts in shambles. Being a Slytherin, your years educated at Hogwarts were some of the hardest years you had to endure in your young life. With the ostracization from all of the other students, preferential treatment to other houses simply because they were not Slytherin, as well as the constant suspicion that you were up to no good, you hadn’t been exactly happy in any of the letters home to your parents. There were days when you often fantasized about seeing it razed to the ground, but now, not so much.

Harry Potter has defeated Voldemort.

It was a phrase that had been repeated many times, but had yet to sink in.

Not Tom Riddle.

Not He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

Not You-Know-Who.

Voldemort.

The man who had terrorized the wizarding world, the reason so many of your peers dislike you without cause was no more.

For so long, so much fear had been placed in that name that people were regarded as the bravest of the brave if they used it. One name held so much power that an entire country fell victim to its use, and now, that dark age in history was over. His name was whispered all over what used to be one of the safest places in Britain, guarded by a man that, despite his shortcomings, was one of the greatest wizards to ever live. With Dumbledore’s death, Hogwarts’ fate was seemingly sealed.

After hours of celebration, reunification, and weeping for those who were lost, the time had finally come for silence to take its position as the great finale.

At that moment, everything was real. People had actually died fighting for what they believed in. Friend, foe, ally, and enemy fought each other for something so fickle as a vision, an ideology. Bodies were lined up along the floors of the Great hall, their families knelt next to them, sounds of sorrow lost after so many hours of it.

That was how he found you, sitting at the foot of the stairs that led to the open floor of the hall. The four grand tables were absent, giving the room an empty feeling, despite the fact that it was often the most welcoming area in the entire school.

Neither of you spoke for a while, simply sitting and staring, watching as the world tried to make sense of it all. This war had separated families, turned parents against children, friends into foe, yet at that moment, it didn’t matter who was who, as they all formed one body. It was a body that represented a broken people, a people who had no one else to blame for the state of chaos that they were in.

“It’s been a while,” he whispered, his voice seemed hoarse from what was undoubtedly a long session of screaming at the tops of his lungs.

“Hmm,” you responded, scanning the room once more.

It had been a while. Yo hadn’t seen Harry since a bit of a disagreement caused the two of you to veer from the path that Fate likely had in store for you. You learned of Horcruxes, of soul fragments and constant danger. You heard of the possibility of dying for the “greater good” and becoming a martyr of the light. In the end, you could not involve yourself with such things, and that was Harry’s undoing. It resulted in a horrid fight and you hadn’t so much as said a word to him since your arrival to help those in need.

Instead of going off on a fool’s quest, you had decided that you wanted to do something that would allow you to help others in need, those who were harshly affected by the war, and that was how you became a healer. You were young and resourceful, and the ministry needed bodies, which made your age an irrelevant factor in your chosen career path. Treating spell damage was your current reality, and it saddened you so that so many would not be able to receive the help that they needed.

“This is going to sound dumb, so bear with me.’’ A scoff escaped you as you waited for him to speak. You wondered what it would be. Would it be an apology? Would it be some long-winded story about becoming a man and finding himself? Or would it be a session of, “I was right and you were wrong.” that would cause you to want to strangle him?

It wasn’t.

As you stared at him, a dumbfounded look on your face that displayed your obvious confusion at his gall, his nerve, his audacity. Those words, those seven simple words that shouldn’t have caused such anxiety to form into your belly. Those seven words that should have sent you into a rage that resulted in you hexing him with some of the nastiest jinxes that you could think of. At your lack of response, he asked a second time.

“Will you go to dinner with me?”

It was so casual, as if it were easy for him to ask, as if just months earlier, he hadn’t broken your heart.

Harry Potter was asking you on a date in the middle of the Great Hall.

Harry James Potter was asking you on a date whilst surrounded by mourning comrades.

Harry James bloody Potter was asking you on a date just hours after he had killed a shell of a man that haunted the people of Britain for several decades.

Harry James bloody fucking Potter was asking you on a date with a face full of dirt, debris, dried blood, and tear tracks from mourning the deaths of all who died for the greater good. They were tear tracks that said that every bit of abuse he ever endured as a child, petty argument with Ron, hospital stay, life-threatening injury, nightmares endured, and loneliness he felt was worth it. They were tear tracks that said Harry Potter was free.

And you couldn’t help but say yes.

Ron: You had to find him, had to make sure that he was okay. As your feet echoed through the great hall, you called his name, making sure to dodge the people who were also frantically searching for their loved ones.

“RON!” It was both terrifying and hilariously ironic. All the years you had known the gangly, freckled ginger Gryffindor, it had been easy to spot him in a crowd. You often joked that he was like a giant lamp post, that his hair was almost luminescent. Now, he was nowhere to be seen.

It wasn’t until you heard your name being called that you felt your heart start beating again. Turning sharply, you saw him on his feet, several redheads behind him signaling that he was with his family.

You hadn’t expected to see him happy, but you also hadn’t expected the brokenness that showed on his features as he walked towards you, swaying slightly. When he was far enough away from the group, you could see behind him, hands flying to your mouth as you saw what was clearly Fred lying immobile on the ground, surrounded by his loved ones.

Not Fred.

That was the only thing that echoed through your mind as you sat and watch him, praying that he would just jump up, laugh, and say that it was all a prank, just one joke that he and George had come up with to cheer the others up. Sadly, your prayers fell on deaf ears as George buried his face in his twin’s shirt and began to weep freely, likely more inconsolable than his mother.

When Ron’s arms encircled you, the relief that fell over you felt almost wrong. Here Fred was, gone, murdered in cold blood by what was more than likely some rogue Death Eater who you didn’t feel the least bit bad about hoping had met their end in a way most terrible.

Returning his embrace, you felt the first of what was likely many tears fall as you felt the warm wetness that could only be Ron’s sorrow slide down your neck. You didn’t know what to say, if there was anything to say, so you kept silent, tangling your hands in his orange locks, which had grown too long for your liking.

“You need a haircut,” you joked through your sobs, hearing him give out a laugh that was mixed with a sound that could only be described as both anger and relief. Leaning back and taking a look at him, you frowned, but kept your thoughts to yourself.

Whatever “top secret mission” he,Hermione, and Harry had been sent on by Dumbledore made all three of them look a bit worse for wear. They were too thin, the bags under their eyes had bags, their hair was long, matted, and dirty, and they smelled like the woods, and not in a good way. Having had heard rumors of what they had been through, you didn’t doubt the tales of what actually happened were ten times worse. Either way, he was there, he was safe and sound, and you couldn’t ask for anything more. Running your hands up and down his arms, you smiled, pulling him in for another hug, nothing having needed to be said.

Draco: It was hard watching how people were treating Draco and his family, whether they deserved it or not. The glares, the whispers, and the pointed fingers were obviously all logical reactions after everything that had happened, but you also knew that Draco was as much of a product of his environment as everyone else.

You were not foolish enough to believe that Draco didn’t want to become a Death Eater, but by the time he was actually given a real option of safety and survival outside of the life that he had lived, it was too late. He was in too deep and he needed to play it safe for as long as he could. You were thankful that Voldemort lost the war, not only because of the fate of the wizarding world, but because Draco would not have survived long if he hadn’t.

As you wandered around the castle grounds, the silence that always followed a great conflict enveloping the whole of the place you once called home, you ticked off in your head all the things that could go wrong if you were to approach him. People would look at you oddly, but you didn’t particularly care about any of that, it was obvious what side you had fought for. If anyone would doubt you, they didn’t know you, and you could care less what a stranger thought of you.

He could deny knowing you, put up a front to protect your reputation, something he was often known for doing in the years you had made your feelings for him known. It agitated you at times, even though you knew he meant well by doingit. Sighing, you went to the next scenario.

Draco Malfoy, who was likely in one of the most vulnerable stages in his life, could have changed a lot from the boy you fell in love with. The past year had turned him into a man and you weren’t entirely sure what kind of man that was. The constant thought had come through your mind since the two of you had last spoken, just weeks before the death of Albus Dumbledore. Did he even feel the same? Did he still love you?

Did he even like you?

Or there was the third option. The third option was one of the scariest options, mostly due to how much you yearned for it to happen. For over a year, pretty much since the week after you had last spoken with Draco, you dreamed of him being so relieved to see you, wrapping his wiry arms around your torso, his scent surrounding you as you gushed over how much you had missed him. He would tell you that everything was fine and you would smile because Draco loved you, and Draco’s love was good enough.

Shaking your head to clear your mind, you took a deep breath, realizing that you had managed to wander all the way to the Black Lake, a formerly beloved spot of yours, filled with memories of sitting with Draco, watching as the sun shone on his beautiful features, the world brightening with one of his rare smiles. Scoffing at how ridiculous you sounded, you picked up a stone, pulling your arm back and being met with the most disappointing plop as it immediately sank. A chuckle caught your attention, causing you to turn sharply, eyes scanning over the person that had been obviously watching you.

The first thing that touched your body was his scent. It was often how you were able to pick him out of the crowd, to follow his scent. Most would think that it was his hair, paler than any you had ever seen, but it was the smell that you were able to spot. You could follow it almost as if you were some kind of hunting dog and know exactly where he was.

He looked… well, he looked terrible, but that was to be expected. Whilst your family had decided to flee the country at the announcement that the feared dark lord was back from the dead, Draco and his family had stayed, even hosted the monster responsible for the carnage that had been unleashed on your fellow peers. You could only imagine how horrible having such a monster wandering your halls were like, and the reality of it all was likely much, much worse.

“It’s been a long time,” he said softly. His voice was scratchy, hoarse even, almost as if he had been screaming all week, which he likely had been doing. For some reason, it was fitting to his current predicament. It was the voice of a man who had made so many mistakes, he was unsure of how he would fix any of them, or even if he wanted to.

Nodding, you took a step closer to him, and another, and three more after that until the two of you were nearly touching chests. You didn’t reach out to touch him and he didn’t move from his spot. All was still and nothing was well.

”It has.” He frowned, almost as if he were expecting more from you. If you were honest, you were expecting more as well, but you didn't really know what you were expecting, or if it aligned with his wants. It was odd, you not knowing what to say. You always knew what to say, it was unlike you to even take part in awkward silence.

”Draco, I-” You felt your eyes widening as you looked up to see that he was a good few feet away from you, shoulders slumped and head bowed. It was so unlike him that you nearly had to do a double take. Clearing your throat, you offered him a smile when he turned back to look at you.

”If you're free tonight, I’ll be meeting with some students to talk some things out. You don't have to come, maybe we could have a cup of tea afterward?” His eyes narrowed at the mention of ”students”. You weren't familiar enough with your support group to call then your friends, though you could definitely see yourself becoming very… acquainted with them.

”Eight o’clock?” Blinking a few times, you processed his sentence in your head, breaking out into a grin.

”Eight O’Clock sounds lovely.”

And with that, he was gone.

Okay, if none of you knew, I'm a giant Potterhead. I love it, and I've always liked reading preferences and imagines for this fandom. I write Harry Potter fanfiction on FFN and my AO3(Im actuallynew to the site, I had a weird bias towards ffn). I just did Harry, Ron, and Draco for now to get my feelers out there, see how it does. I write for Harry, Hermione, Ron, Fred, George, Bill, Charlie, Ginny, Luna, Parvati, Padma, Seamus, Neville, Oliver, Draco, Blaise, Theo, Markus, Sirius, Remus, James, Lily, Marlene, Next Gen(Honestly, I can't think of anyone I DONT do, which... I should've started with that, but I've already typed this out so you're gonna look at it). I take requests as well, so I'm always open to receiving them.

#harry potter #harry potter preferences #harry potter x reader #ron weasley #ron weasly imagine #ron weasly x reader #draco malfoy #draco imagine #draco x reader #draco x oc #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy x you #draco malfoy x oc #harry potter x you #harry potter x oc

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rosegardentwilight · 5 years

Text

Steal My Heart Chapter 1

A03

Summary: Prince Plagg had waited for the day that he could meet his betrothed, but when he does, he is met with a different reaction than he expected. He becomes determined that despite her mistaken assumptions, he will woo and win the Princess's heart. Meanwhile, Prince Adrien finds himself thrust into an adventure after a brief encounter with a thief named Ladybug.

A.n.-

For TheNovelArtist.

Dedicated to: TheNovelArtist Happy Birthday, Alex!!!!!!!!!! This story is for you, I'm so thankful for our conversations and our friendship. Hope this next year is filled with laughter, joy and great company.

A.N.- So I might have gone a little overboard on this present, but I hope you all enjoy it anyway. This is technically a combination of 3 Au's (among others that I can think of) because my muses love to torture me. I hope you all enjoy. Updates will be once to twice weekly.

It wasn’t every day that you got to meet your future wife and Queen. Despite being told this arrangement had been in place since they were three, it didn’t make the prospect of seeing her for the first time any less frightening. What did her laugh sound like, was she as clumsy as he was when he came to dancing, what kind of Queen would she be for his kingdom. He was gifted a portrait of her when his parents told of the engagement at 15 years of age. Plagg found it curious that his request to visit with her was denied, but in the meantime, the painting had fueled so many questions. Until today, where he stood a couple of steps from the castle entrance. His future wife laid behind these walls. The second Plagg walked through the arch he was met with a plethora of sights and sounds very different from his kingdom in the mountains. These people seemed full of life and celebrating his arrival; he could only wish that their Princess held the same kind of excitement. By the time they reached the castle doors, he had decided quickly that his favorite thing about these people were how free they seemed. Children chased and played in the streets with their laughter lingering behind them. Women conversing at the well, one offered to water his men’s horses out of the goodness of her heart. Plagg wanted to visit the fair princess by himself, so he dismissed the knights traveling with him. His heart was beating wildly inside his chest climbing the stairs to the throne room. Would she be in there, how different would the three years make from when he received the painting? It barely registered that they announced his name and he hadn’t addressed the Queen adequately, a problem that he hoped a bow would fix.

“Your Majesty, I have awaited this day for a long time.” “As have I.” Plagg’s heart swelled, he thought he might die on the spot. The Queen of Luominen’s reputation preceded her, and if she was this joyous about their prospects together, then he doubted that little would stand in the way of the marriage. “Go and fetch Princess Tikki,” the Queen ordered a servant. Plagg couldn’t help but notice that the royal advisor turned and cringe. He didn’t, however, have much time to dwell on the fact, she would be here soon. What would he say when he saw her, first impressions were above all when it came like this. He wouldn’t want to be labeled a fool because of his lack of mastery of his tongue. He did come to woo after all. The time ticked by not being fragile with his patience. His heart rate increased with each passing moment, the anticipation building. Thoughts and questions swarmed his mind, and he couldn’t help but think this was taking too long. What if she was ill and couldn’t see him? Not that it mattered, he had set out to stay as long as he was welcomed to make the Princess more comfortable. The door creaked open, and Plagg couldn’t bring himself to turn fast enough. His heart sunk when he realized it was not his beloved. “Mother, you summoned me?” A calculated voice asked behind him once more. The second he spun and eyes landed on her; his chest leaped up into his throat. Plagg knew in that second that they should never use that painter again because he minimized the magnitude of the beauty before him.

“Look at him, reveling in the town’s celebration,” Tikki mumbled to herself, “like the whole thing was for him.”

“Is it not?” Tikki’s handmaiden asked as she finished gathering a new set of clothes.

“He doesn’t have to look too happy about it. This is nothing but a hostile takeover.” Her hand jolted the curtains back into place. “They see our kingdom is weak because of my father’s passing and want to pounce on the opportunity for their gain.” And now she was to meet her future husband and dreading every moment.

“He sure is handsome.”

Tikki turned to see Pollen at the window satisfying her own curiosity. “I bet he’s conceited,” she snorted, “and he’s not that handsome with his midnight hair and dashing smile.” Right on cue, Tikki watched him hand the reigns over to one of the servants, he flashed his charm and instantly rewarded with the servant turning away laughter on her lips. A flash of anger festered under her skin. Her future husband was a flirt, which only proved that this arranged marriage was nothing more than a means to an end, just as the kingdom was about to experience their biggest year of harvest. If her father were still alive, he wouldn’t have stood for such an offer. She barely had two months to grieve when her mother told her the news.

She was to be married off, form a union to save the kingdom, especially with the Schmetterling and Pavone kingdom that lay to the north starting to get restless. It would make sense that they would ally with someone to keep the prospect of war away with the strength in numbers. The logic behind their reasoning didn't change the fact that she wanted to marry for love.

"He is welcomed in my home, but if he thinks that I'll swoon over his presence, then he will live in a state of disappointment."

Pollen didn't respond, but rather, held up the dress to aid Tikki. It was not her place to say anything; she was just a servant after all. She could only hope that the Princess would keep an open mind about the interaction. She had friends that lived in the Tuho kingdom, and they seemed content in their life there. Pollen trusted them enough to know that if they weren't happy with Prince Plagg, then she would know about it.

A knock on the door gained both of their attention as moments later another servant stuck their head inside.

"A million pardons, your Highness, but the Queen requests your presence."

“And if I refuse?” She questioned with her eyebrow raised. She fully intended to follow her mother’s orders, but such a line of questioning would extend the period not in the Prince’s presence.

The servant stood there gaping at her words, and Tikki decided to take her out of the misery that was sure to be running through her head. "You can inform the Queen that I am on my way." Despite how much I detest this meeting, her mind added. She watched as the servant gave her a nod and disappeared as quickly as she came.

"Do you wish that I accompany you, your Highness?"

Tikki smiled towards Pollen; she couldn't have asked for a better handmaiden, she was loyal to a fault and one of the only people that she trusted completely. "There's no need for you to endure the same torture that is ahead of me. You can tend to me this evening, but until then, enjoy the rest of the day."

Pollen curtsied, "thank you, my Princess."

However, the second that her handmaiden left, her stomach started to knot in on itself. Tikki sighed, “let’s get this over with.” She made her way through the corridors that she knew like the back of her hand. In a matter of minutes, her feet had led her to the throne room. “Mother, you summoned me?”

"Yes, I did. May I introduce you to your betrothed, Prince Plagg of the Tuho nation." Tikki gritted her teeth trying to calm her heart; she hated to admit it, but the Prince was more handsome now that he stood before her. He stood about a head taller than her, his hair groomed back into a ponytail. He wore a charming smile that paired well with his vibrant green eyes. He was leaner than other men she had seen, but Tikki did not doubt that if they were put in a situation, that he would be able to protect both of them without any issues.

She cleared her head of the distracting thoughts that followed as she remembered him flirting with the servant girl. Even if it were too late to stop the union, she would drag her feet every step of the way.

She was breathtaking in every single way. The way that her dark hair cascaded over her shoulder, except for a small chunk tied up in a red ribbon. From that contrast, his eyes traveled to her striking blue eyes that captured his heart. Her lips looked kissable, and he wished nothing but to answer that call. The Princess wore a vibrant red gown that matched the ribbons in her hair and decorated with gold and black in various points along the dress. Plagg didn't know what it was about her, but she gave off this intoxicating air, he wanted to spend more time around her.

Plagg finally found the confidence to use his words and not look foolish, "My Lady, I have counted down the days until this meeting." He grabbed her hand, noticed her body stiffen, but raised her knuckles until they met his lips. The moment was brief and then slipped away as Princess Tikki took back her hand. So far this meeting wasn't going the way he expected at all, it was almost as if she wasn't delighted to see him.

The Queen cleared her throat, and Tikki knew what that meant. It was her cue that she was expected to respond in a way that would honor the kingdom. "I'm afraid that I had less notice of your arrival, but we welcome you to our home all the same." She bowed her head slightly to show him the respect of being a Prince even though he didn't deserve it for their blatant take over of her home. What worried her more was that her mother seemed all for this union.

"You are kind as you are beautiful; your people are lucky that they have such people in charge of their kingdom."

Tikki found herself taken back; it seemed like every time he opened his mouth another compliment for her poured out. He didn't know anything about her and how they ruled, and yet it was one of the first things that he mentioned. Her heart rate increased despite her anger towards the prospect of the union; he believed that she would be a great Queen. Tikki wouldn't let that go to her head; she would rise to the throne with grace and dignity with or without his approval because she loved her people and they loved her.

"And if I may be so bold, with our impending union, I look forward to my stay here so that I may get to know you the way that your people do. I know that we aren't well acquainted, but I hope that after some time, that you could learn to love me as your husband and your King."

Her cheeks heated under his stare, and she didn’t know how to react to his comment. She expected a smooth talker, but he sounded genuine with each one of his compliments. This didn’t make sense, if the marriage was already good as done, then why put so much effort in layering on the flattery. If he continued to act this way around her, it would be difficult to keep her defenses up. Especially when she had promises to keep, she could not fall for Prince Plagg. Tikki decided that she would not be so easily won over by cheap words; it was actions that matter.

"Excuse me; I must go." She retreated to the door and into the halls. Tikki did not doubt that her mother would be cross and have a word about the proper etiquette of a Princess, but at the moment, she didn't care. The whole experience of interacting with the Prince was overwhelming. She told herself it was because she was inexperienced, but now she knew better. To keep her word, she would have to watch the amount of time that she allowed to be around him, and never alone.

Once she reached the room, Tikki was grateful that Pollen wasn't there, although she doubted that would be the case for long. This world didn't allow her the privilege to be lost in her thoughts. True to form, not even a couple of minutes a knock echoed into her room.

What was he doing here? The Princess's actions made it very clear that she had no desire to see anyone, let alone him. Here he was standing in front of her door instead of lounging around in his room or exploring the grounds. This castle would be expanded to part of his Kingdom after the marriage was complete.

"Who is it?"

He heard her call through the door causing his nerves to tighten in his stomach. "It's me, Princess. I was hoping that you could open the door?" He was worried about the way that she ran away from the throne room. If he did anything to offend her, he would offer an apology on the spot. This couldn't be easy for her, but if she refused his help, then his hands were tied.

"I'd rather it remained closed. I'm sorry for my behavior, but I'm feeling under the weather. I prefer to be left alone."

Plagg's fists curled by his side, how was he supposed to get to know her if she kept herself locked in her room during his visit? He would feel more sympathetic if he believed that she was honest, but it was much more likely that he insulted her somewhere in their conversation. "Would you do me the honor of escorting me around the kingdom tomorrow?" Plagg found that the air sucked out of his lungs as he waited for an answer. He needed a splash of hope, anything that he could cling to.

"Tomorrow morning."

His heart flipped in his chest at the answer sending his mind among the clouds. She agreed, and that was all that mattered. Plagg placed his hand on the door, "until then, My Lady."

“Why so glum, Marinette? I scouted this tavern out myself; you have your pick of men not paying attention.” Alya gestured to their surroundings, but Marinette continued to stew over her drink. "What, not enough of a challenge for you?"

"It's not that; I only want to take from those who can afford to give a little. There would be no point to take from someone as needy so that we can buy medicine for your younger sisters."

"Well hello there, who is tall, blonde and handsome?"

Marinette would usually roll her eyes at Alya's flirty nature, but the second that she laid eyes on him, she couldn't tear her eyes away. Although the cloak covered most of his clothes, she could still see signs of wealth on his person. Her eyes narrowed in on her mark; he was perfect.

He had traveled a weeks' journey so he would have the opportunity to see Prince Plagg and his new Queen. However, he was protective of his childhood friend and came to see what the people thought of the royal family. He knew that Plagg would do the same for him, and besides he welcomed the distraction, it meant he didn't have to dwell on the decisions that he had to make once he returned home. His fingers were just as busy as his thoughts fiddling with a small black bag on the table in front of him.

“You look like you have too much on your mind for a place like this."

A dark-haired girl managed to bring him out of his thoughts. She was rather beautiful, piercing blue eyes and a kind smile. It made him question what she was doing in a tavern like this.

"I could say the same of you," he offered with a smile doing his best to be polite with the beautiful stranger.

"You could, but I have frequented this lovely establishment many times, whereas, this is your first."

Adrien winced, "Is it that obvious?" He had tried to blend in the best he could, and she could spot the difference almost immediately. For him to gain the information that he wanted, he needed to keep a low profile so they would answer honestly.

"I'm a great listener, you know."

"I'm sorry?"

"For whatever is on your mind," she continued. "Does it have to do with the contents of that bag?"

"My father requires something of me that I do not agree with. I am fearful of how he would react if I defy him." Adrien planned to be vague about his problems because the last thing he needed was for her to realize that a Prince sat before her. She didn't need to be troubled by his love life; it would only paint him as weak. There were certain things expected of him after all. He pushed the bag down into his pocket, so his reminder would be out of sight.

"I say that if you feel that strongly about it, then you should discuss the matter with your father. If he loves you, then I'm sure he would support you." Guilt panged through her as she leaned back on her hands on the bench. She lightly tapped her finger against the wood, her tell to Alya which pocket it was in. He seemed like a gentleman with problems of his own. The second her eyes landed on his hand; the feeling evaporated, it was the crest of the Schmetterling kingdom. Only those of royal blood would own such a ring; he wouldn't miss whatever was in that bag, he could replace it, especially if he was the Prince after all. She had to keep Alya's sick sisters in mind.

"Thank you for your generous advice, but I'm afraid that it's not that easy."

From behind the stranger, Alya gave her signal that the swap was complete. There was no going back now. "Well, I wish that you find the answer that you are looking for." She had to get out of there quickly; if he realized what had happened, then she would be caught.

"My burden is lighter just by our meeting," He flashed a boyish smiled.

Marinette bit her lip; she shouldn't feel guilty over what she had done, the poor sap would realize that she was nothing more than bad news soon enough. "I'm sorry," she blurted out before she could stop herself. Marinette's internal panic settled in and if she didn't explain her apology, then she might as well shout out that she had robbed him as well. "I must go." Her voice was shaky at best, but her best bet was to remove herself as quickly as possible and not to look back. Her emotions took over by the time she had reached the door, and she turned to give him one last glance. “I truly am sorry,” she whispered to herself before she slipped out the door. Adrien reached into his pocket and pulled out the bag that he had been fiddling with all night now that his company had disappeared. His blood froze when he saw the color; this wasn’t his bag. The color was all wrong; his stuff had been in a black one not red. When he dumped its contents on the table, his reward was a bunch of small rocks. His mother’s jewelry and ring, it was gone. The laugh from a nearby server caught his attention. “Kissed by Ladybug, I see.” His pulse raced as the room began to spin. “I beg your pardon?” His mother’s jewelry, he needed that otherwise, his father may as well have his head. She shrugged, “you’ve been robbed, mate,” she stated before turning back to her table. Adrien jumped up to his feet, “Why hasn’t anything been done about this?” Swift justice is what the thief deserved. He followed as she pointed to a wanted poster hung on the wall. It was incomplete at best with the main feature being the eyes. “By the time most people realize they’ve been robbed, they have talked to multiple women. That’s as close of a picture that we have of her.” His fingers sprawled on the parchment, allowing his gaze linger longer than it should, he only talked to one person tonight, the girl that approached him. She knew he had the jewelry, but so could anyone watching them interact. “I’m sorry.” Her words rang through his ears. He had thought it strange for her to apologize with such sincerity, especially after their meeting... It was her! Or at the very least she was caught up in the web of lies and manipulation that this Ladybug weaved. A warmth welled up in his chest. He needed to save her; whatever this thief held over her, he could help in some way; he was a Prince after all. “I need to find her,” He rushed back to collect his things, threw a couple of coins that weren’t stolen on the table to pay for the drinks and information and practically ran out the door.

"The honor should be yours," Alya tossed the bag in her direction. "You sweet talked that guy in circles. If I were just watching you two, I'd say you two were in love." Her teasing knew no bounds.

"Isn't that the point?" Marinette shot back. "He wasn't my type; he'd much prefer royal blood." The words left a bitter taste on her tongue. Even if they did have a special connection, there were only so many things that a Prince would want with a thief, and none of it would benefit her. She was left with the memories of their interaction and made a vow to herself that it wouldn't be a distraction. The bag was passed back between friends. "You should take it; it's for your sisters. Besides, I might have compromised myself; he hasn't seen you though so that it will be safer with you."

Alya cocked an eyebrow, "What do you mean compromised yourself?"

"The way he was looking at me, I think he realized who I was."

"And you didn't abort? How could you do something so foolish?"

"It was my call. Your sisters are important!" They had been friends for as long as she could remember, she wasn't willing to abort for a half-thought out instinct.

"So is my best friend; I'm not willing to watch you die in the quad!"

"Hey!"

The voice caused the two to stop their argument instantly as Marinette recognized the voice immediately; it was him. She whipped her head to her accomplice, "run; I'll distract him. Get help for your sisters."

"But what about?"

"That's an order, Alya." Marinette flipped up her cloak and darted off between the city's corridors.

Adrien had spent the last twenty minutes scouring the city. He vaguely remembered visits of when he was a boy, but nothing that stuck to his memory vividly. He had almost given up when he rounded the corner. In the shadows, he witnessed two girls arguing, one adorned in a red cloak. His gut jerked, she must be Ladybug, and if not, we would simply apologize for his behavior. “Hey!” At his shouts, the two girls turned and eyed his direction then bolted. Adrien’s feet tripped into a run. He couldn’t lose her, that meant he would lose the last thing that he owned that tied him to his dead mother. It only motivated him to run faster. He dashed down a corridor following his instinct if he could cut her off before she made it too far. As luck would have it, his shortcut put him hot on her heels. He reached out and grabbed hold of her forcing the cloaked figure to turn. He had done what no one in several kingdoms had caught Ladybug. The second he saw the familiar eyes his blood turned to ice. “It’s you!” Her captor stumbled back a few steps eyes blown wide. Marinette knew it was her best chance to escape into the night, but she couldn’t will herself to move. After all these years she had finally been caught. She knew she risked it with every theft, but she never imagined the sunshine Prince would be the one to catch her. “Where is it?” He grabbed hold of part of her cloak, making it impossible to run off. “I can help you escape from Ladybug.” “I don’t need any saving, especially not from myself.” She didn’t give him any explanation; it wasn’t as if he would understand anyway, he was a Prince. “You’re—you’re Ladybug?” Her smirk grew before she performed a mockery of a bow. “In the flesh, your Highness.” Her eyes memorized the look of shock befalling it. “And I don’t know where your precious jewelry is, probably on its way to a buyer.” Marinette was taken back when her body was pushed against the wall eliminating any space between their bodies his emerald eyes piercing through her and a knife against her throat. “Give me one good reason that I shouldn’t turn you in right now. It would be satisfying to see you at the gallows in the morning.” “If you do, you’ll never see your precious bag again.” “And I’m supposed to trust that you’re telling the truth?” He scoffed. “You don’t have a choice. I’m your only connection to it,” Marinette glowered as neither of them would remove their heated gaze because they knew, the one who won this gained control. The knife was lifted from her neck allowing to gasp for her breath that she didn’t realize she was holding. “Follow me,” he gripped her arm firmly enough to discourage escape, but not tight enough to hurt. “We leave at first light.” He was either a genius or a fool, and only time would tell.

#miraculous ladybug #miraculousladybug #miraculousfanfic #miraculousladybugfanfiction #cheesecake #plagg x tikki #adrienette #adrien x marinette #human kwami au

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ravenwritesstuff · 5 years

Text

Wandering Hearts (26/?)

Fandom: Frozen AU. Set after shipwreck but before coronation day. 17th Century.

Pairing: Kristanna (Kristoff/Anna)

Rating: M (honestly if I have to explain to you what lemons are you are too young for this)

A/N: Don’t ask me what it took me to write this. Just don’t. PROOF YOU HATE YOURSELF

[ part one] [ part two ] [ part three ] [ part four ] [ part five ] [ part six ] [ part seven ] [ part eight ] [ part nine ] [ part ten ] [ part eleven ] [ part twelve ] [ part thirteen ] [ part fourteen ] [ part fifteen ] [ part sixteen ] [ part seventeen ] [ part eighteen ] [ part nineteen ] [ part twenty ] [ part twenty-one ] [ part twenty-one ] [ part twenty-two ] [ part twenty-three ] [ part twenty-four ] [ part twenty-five ] [ part twenty-six ] [ part twenty-seven ]

She recalls that first day in the woods where he had pulled her from her attackers. She is still unsure where the act had taken place, doesn’t remember the distance he carried her in his arms to his cabin as she had faded in and out of consciousness, but she does remember the look in his eye when he had first happened upon her.

She had nearly given up - too broken and in pain to struggle - by the time he appeared. She had thought that that was her end: alone, unloved, and forgotten. She hadn’t known how wrong she had been.

It is unclear still how he had found her, how he had happened across the horrible act and further been compelled to intervene, but she had seen something then that she had not understood. Perhaps it had been the pain, the abuse she had endured, the logic of her mind trying to fit an impossibility into the matrix of her reality - but she had known he had been different. No matter how she dredges her mind she cannot quite place what changed just as she cannot place now what about him is different as he walks out the door.

She fights to focus.

There is so much she cannot remember, hadn’t thought important, that had been pushed to the side with more immediate questions but here - now - she sees the fault in her ways.

There was something there.

That wild thing she has come to know playing in his gaze that makes it impossible for her to ignore the inference of his warnings.

She does not know him, not truly, and he not her.

She thinks of all that has gone unsaid between them, all the questions left unasked, and she wonders if any of this would be different if these things had been spoken before.

She wonders if she has done the right thing by staying, by loving him.

For all she does not know of him she knows even less about love, but still she does not doubt her feelings. Not this time. Not anymore. She does not need to know the facts and dates to understand a heart like she understands his, he hers. Maybe, just maybe, this is all bigger than both of them. Maybe, just maybe, he feels for her what she does for him - which is why he must know it is insanity to stay behind and wait.

He had saved her in those woods all those months ago: afraid, alone, and nearly spent. She will not leave him to the same fate without her.

The air is too thick to move quickly, too hard to breathe to be sensible, and she stumbles after him. Pushing open the door alone is a herculean task and she finds what awaits her requires no less effort.

The mist is all encompassing. She is unable to keep his pace beneath the strange supernatural weight in the air, and he is out of sight. She had failed to grab a lantern to brighten the night and dares not go back for fear of wasting her strength. All that lights her path is the moon filtered through the bare trees refracting in the fog - creating ghosts.

She tries to call after him but the air swallows the sound. She stumbles after his footprints instead, step after step, never once considering that she should have heeded his warning and not followed. Whatever was done was done for her error and she would not let him pay the price alone.

She recalls the last time she had ventured out in this crushing blackness, of what she had seen. Her mind had rejected it then, called it fantasy - lunacy, but she knows better now. She knows the truth. He had told her.

That is why she goes after him now.

If monsters are real as he said she will not let him face one alone - especially not if she had unwittingly brought it upon them.

Her head spins from shortness of breath. The vice around her entire frame squeezes that might tighter with each step, but she dares not stop. She presses forward, concentrating in the misty dark to find the trial. So focused is she, so oppressive the forces around her, that she hardly realizes when she has stumbled upon her destination.

It is not the same clearing where she had found him before. No. This one is is wider, more thickly guarded with rough brush and low hanging branches that grab at her now with bare, wicked fingers. She stumbles, the world's weight upon her and catches her hand on the rough bark of the surrounding trees and just watches.

It is dim, everything she sees is only in dark shadows and faint highlights, but she can see enough. The two figure circle each other - one as tall and broad as a house, the other more near the size of a man but cut from a very different shape. His shoulders are too broad, hands like boulders with ridges and sharp edges in unexpected places, but she thinks she also catches sight of the familiar in slivers of moonlight. He holds a sword, gold hair washed silver, and from the pained yet proud stance she would know him anywhere.

It is Bjarg.

His opponent is not so familiar. The figure is enormous, near four times that of Bjarg, the moonlight bouncing from his skin as if made of snow and ice. It's enormous back hunched and hulking. The head of it rounded with imposing jowls and spikes protruding from what she can only describe as it's spine and shoulders. Stout, powerful legs carry it's massive frame lumbering in counterpoint to his smaller, but by no means small figure.

She can hardly make out anything more distinct than shape and motion, head swimming as her breath rattles in her chest, but her heart stutters as the monster swings it enormous arm. It nearly catches Bjarg who manages to jump clear with agility that says he is not under this same cumbersome air - or somehow has the strength to fight through it. Which she cannot say, she can barely gasp, as he swings his sword against his attacker.

The arc of the blade is sloppy, errant, and much unlike the usual precision she has seen in his fighting. She has not seen him fight with a sword before but she is not foolish enough to think that it because he is not proficient. He is not well and whatever tactic he thought might prevail in this moment is quickly proved useless.

After only the third lunging strike from his opponent, Bjarg is swept off of his feet. She can hear the air gush from his lungs even if she cannot hear his impact cushioned in the thick snow. She also does not hear her scream - is not sure she does - is not sure it would matter. The monster takes a step closer, raises a giant fist above Bjarg as he struggles to stand and -

There was a time where she stood in doorways, knocked, and waited. There was a time she stared at closed windows and wondered why they couldn’t be opened. There was a time she hovered in the wings, too afraid to move. There was a time she was different but she has no time to wonder just what her older self would do in this moment.

She has no time at all.

Her hands scramble, shaking with cold while her nerves blaze, to come up with something - anything. Her movements still feel weighted, cumbersome, but that does not stop her. Even as she struggles for breath, even as her hands dig into the mid-calf bank of snow for something - anything - until scarred hands grip what she is sure is a rock.

There is no thought - only action.

With every bit of strength she can find she hurls the egg sized stone towards Bjarg’s attacker with a grunt. It sails through the air as she watches the monster loom over Bjarg’s fallen form and each second catches in her throat. She cannot look away - cannot move - cannot think until -

Her projectile hits its mark.

The weapon seems even more pathetically small as she watches it sink into the shoulder of the monster instead of bouncing off - as if the creature is so porous it absorbs the things levied against it without feeling. If it had not felt the attack then - she can barely finish a thought. Her body moves before her brain can follow anything through to completion as she steps from her hidden place into the clearing.

The monster turns.

She does not know, probably can never be certain, if it turns because of her assault or her approach. In the end, she supposes, it does not matter.

It sees her either way.

What had already once seemed impossibly huge now grew to astronomical proportions. The figure towers in shadows, massive and practically glowing where the moonlight strikes it except for its eyes. She hadn’t noticed before just how small and dark its eyes were, black as coal recessed deep in its distended head. Those eyes, however, follow her like a bead on a target.

They see her.

It’s enormous jaw drops and from it emits as sound unlike anything she has ever heard. It is a roar, but instead of just a noise she also feels it. It knocks her back with its power and force. She stumbles, feet catching on something, and she tumbles back into the snow.

Her arms flail, legs kick, fighting to stand in the deep snow but it only exhausts her. She can barely move in this terrifying heaviness that constrains her movements in ways she cannot understand. Her best attempts to stand are thwarted by mingled exhaustion and terror as the creature turns from Bjarg and steps towards her.

She hadn’t meant for this to happen.

When she had run she had not understood where she was going. She had not thought of ships or foreign destination or practicalities. She had not thought of weeks or months or years. She had not considered others, or feelings, or love. She had only left the best way she knew how.

She hadn’t known that Bjarg could fail her.

Never once had she seen him bested. Never once had he not come back to her, revived if not worse for wear. Never once had she truly doubted his ability to protect her, until now.

She thought she had been alone those years as a child when her parents had doted on her sister. She thought she had been alone standing at her parent’s graves with a kingdom watching with no one beside her. She thought she had been alone when she heard those words: then leave. She thought she had been alone when she ran, when those men attacked her, took things from her that were not theirs to take - but no.

She had never been as truly alone as she is in this moment.

In the palace she had been taught myth and legend. She learned of Balder being killed by mistletoe, of Fenrir devouring Odin, of Ragnarok. She had been taught of dragur, jötunn, and nisse. She thought she knew of monsters. She thought she understood.

Nothing she had learned prepared her for this - for the end.

The monster takes another step.

She remembers her mother, her father. They had always been kind, but far away - distracted. Between the duties of the crown and the training of Elsa to wear it after them there had been little time for her. She understood. She hadn’t pushed or fought. She knew her privileges, her rights, and she had waited. She had - but now she wonders for what?

For what had she waited?

She has been silent her entire life.

There have been so many times she could have spoken - so many things now she wishes she had said -

Another step, one more and it would be upon her.

Bjarg!

She know this is the end, but she will not go as a spark snuffed in the dark. Heavy limbs search in the dark for anything she can find, burying into the snow in daft hope to stay her impending doom. She hadn’t time upon exit to search the chest, to take up a weapon as he had. For that she now sorely laments.

She remembers when she broke her mother’s hand mirror. She had been nine. It had shattered on the floor. She remembers looking at a hundred versions of herself in the shards. Some were small, some were large, but they were all her. She thinks that maybe, just maybe, that this is the best way to think of herself.

She is not one whole picture, but instead a combination of fractals. She is small, she is big, she is warped, she is clear, she is less, more, bright, dim, visible, unseen, but she is still herself. Before and after anything else. She is her own person and nothing can change that.

If she is to die - if he is - then at least she dies knowing that all the strange fractured pieces of her life come have come together into some strange whole.

Her muscles cramp from the foreign pressures in the air, the familiar cold of the snow. This is the moment, she realizes, that she has been running from as much as she has been running toward. This is the moment where she ends, but she is not alone. She has not been alone since she found him.

If they have run out of time - then at least they have run out together.

The monster does not even bother to reach for her. It just lifts it food, edges bright as silver in the night, and she will be crushed in instants.

Something flickers in the back of her mind. She has seen this kind of silver before - but she was in the palace. Elsa is there. They are children. There is a snowman in the grand hall and she is flying - soaring - laughing - and then she is back. There is nothing but the present and a striking sense that if she does not keep fighting the next moments then that this is all she has.

She struggles, brain choking for lack of air, but then she feels it.

Something dark and sharp digs into her thigh and she remembers.

She does not know what good a small dagger can do against her impending foe, but she will not stop fighting. She does not know how.

Her stiff, numb hand fights to find her pocket. She fights against seams and folds and fabric and curses beneath her breath.

Her mother cursed once. Just once. That is where she learned it. She had been commanded under no uncertain terms to never repeat the phrase. She hadn’t, until now. She thinks that her mother, give the circumstances, would forgive her.

Or would she?

Anna is not sure she can even give her the benefit of that doubt.

If she was Elsa….

Her numb fingers catch around something substantial. The weight of metal and bone fit her palm and give her focus and purpose. This is her only chance - and it is not much of one. She can hardly breathe, the shadow of a foot twice her length is about to crash upon her frame, and this is all she has.

She rips the dagger from its hidden place in her skirt pockets and thrusts it up above her chest. It takes every ounce of her strength to do so. She gasps, word closing in on the edges and she cannot see anything now, but she does not stop. She does not withdraw. Her arm trembles at the feeble weight of it weapon and waits for her final moments.

She and Elsa had learned a game once when they were children. They sang and danced in circles and fell on the ground. She tries to remember it now. She tries to remember the exact curve of her mother’s smile - the strength of her father’s brow.

It all fades.

All she can see is him.

All she can recall are his eyes.

This is where her story ends, their story ends.

But at least they had fought.

At least they had tried.

Unlike her sister.

She uses the last of her strength to force open her eyes - to realize her end - but all she sees is a light. A burst. An impossibility. A light that radiates down from her hand, into her arm, and illuminates her entire body and she has felt this before -

But all thought is gone.

She is gone.

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#wandering hearts #frozen #kristanna #i don't even know how to tag this at this point #honestly if you start at the beginning you know what you are in for #i make no apologies

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whatscallion · 5 years

Text

rise: ch. viii

//- A Medieval AU based on some Marvel parallels that follows Natalia Romanova in her rise to divinity.

Chapter Summary: The God Widow’s hunt continues as the threads of The Order’s web fall prey to her wiles in an effort to rid the Free World of the ingrained corruption.

Chapter Word Count: 1,428

Previous Chapters: Prologue - One - Two - Three - Four - Five - Six - Seven

Tagging: @cptsteven @blackberrywidow ( message / ask to get tagged! )

It had not been so easy. There had been an underlying understanding that to rid the world of this slithering regime, all one needed to do was cut the head off the snake. But in the brilliant absence of St. Johann, more false idols prevailed. The vacuum of his absence demanded to be filled in one way or another, through cunning cowardice or violent upheaval. The cathedrals fell away, splintered from The Order yet still bearing its brand and colors. Each piece of stained glass now glistened in a farce wrapped in lies, layered one on top of the other. An unfortunate turn unforeseen, yet surprise was absent as light was shed upon a fierce opportunity none could pass up. The weak defeated one another in pitiful attempts to grasp at slivers if elusive power, allowing the twisted branches of a forged tree to become diseased in their own right.

And yet none dare think of Saint Johann’s demise and the newborn legend surrounding it. There had been low murmurings, as if speaking any louder would bring the wrath down upon the gossipers. God had taken form, tearing down the walls and claiming blasphemy upon the thin shoulders of a once revered leader. In His anger, fire ignited to purge Rifthelm of The Order’s own beating heart. A lie cleansed, only to leave a charred scar upon the fabric of history, ash smeared in relevant chaos. Beneath the dull veneer of day to day existence, a scramble occurred in the wake of perceived devastation.

The God Widow grew quiet, and most thought she burned to cinder as a foolish martyr for a cause larger than the followers. The new bishops would learn their folly in forced ignorance, for the God Widow survived. In the following months, it was learned that her initial efforts, though monumental, did not allow her peace. The fated destiny bestowed upon strong shoulders was left unfulfilled, searing mirth into veins of granite. Johann had reached many, and these contingencies were not of his doing.

But like all infestations, there had to be a lethal retribution in retaliation.

The land surrounding Gothamite proved to be barely suitable for subtle trap, though the contrast between moonlight and lack thereof remained its only redeeming quality. Though the obscure objective was fundamental at best, it was always so easy to watch as those proclaiming to be better than most fell for it so willingly. Intricacies were hidden within the quiet details throughout every aspect, even the casual fire burning away. It was meant to be seen as a mistake - bait, even. In the darkness of the midnight land, a beacon of light drew the attention of those willing to seek out those who were not welcome. A crude tent was propped up just beyond the halo of light the burning embers offered, complete with a bored equestrian beast beside it. The scene was set, and all that was needed now was the action to work as a brilliant catalyst.

They weren’t as silent as they had thought, the frozen leaves crunching beneath soft snow with each hurried step they had taken. It was a beginner’s mistake, and one they would pay dearly for. Four men wearing the fortuned colors of The Order maneuvered through the ghostlike trees, pupils wide to soak in as much of the ambient light as possible. Borders of Gothamite were covertly and routinely surveyed to maintain the recruitment of newcomers to the shambles of an agency fallen from grace and power. Their combined arrogance by simply upholding a banner was enough to create a sloppy relic of a streamlined and efficient past. If there was one thing the God Widow could find favorable in the The Order, it was it’s creation of absolute and nearly otherworldly killers. There was rarely a sect in this world that could compare, yet little ambition held her in finding such places. There were bigger and far more prevailing things upon the horizon, beckoning her attention further.

Four men, cloaked and cowled as if they were His own gift to the world. Momentarily, Natalia found herself curious of what was passed through the bastardized bloodlines and skillsets. By this display alone, they were surely as pathetic as even the most lowly of rejects. In that instant, a pang in her heart nearly stole her breath away, the image of Matthias crossing her mind. It was a vivid painting, one that put weight upon the letter nestled within her coat. Such minute anguish would be channeled in precise and combustive moments, acting as necessary fuel in order to remain as determined as ever.

They moved in closer to the small camp, unaware of the danger lurking overhead. The horse - perceived as granite in color in the lack of brilliant hues - gave a bored sway of its head, barely granting them any mind as it returned back to gnawing on the metal bar in its mouth. Peace and tranquility exuded from the small site, yet it wouldn’t last.

Four men. Four arrows. One release.

This was child’s play, the bow lowering as the men fell. Obsidian blurred the edges of their silhouettes against the untouched snow, the crimson of their blood unseen until morning light. Silence was no longer necessary as the renowned God Widow sank into the snow from her perch among the brittle treetops. Three men remained still in their haphazard slumber on cold snow. One was left alive intentionally, though it wouldn’t be for long. Though her expertise lie with the brandished steel of a sword, there was no doubting her proficiency in nearly anything within her grasp, capable of turning everything into a suitable weapon, be it knife or arrow.

“You wear blasphemous colors,” she spoke dully, coming upon the lone survivor before crouching over him. The arrow protruded crudely from his chest, her hand now grasping the shaft to garner his attention in full with the lightning of pain shooting through him. “Do you know who it is that made you fall?”

“Y-Yes. Th-Th God W-Widow,” he stammered, voice thick with his own blood. His answer brought no change in her stony expression, save for the tightening of her grip upon the arrow. Fear overtook him.

“The Order is in Gothamite, is it not?” In the shadows, he was painted a coward in harsh brushstrokes, and Natalia was thoroughly unimpressed. This was not a man worthy to follow even the most twisted of beliefs.

He nodded in response to her question, the idea of brandishing his stiletto miles from any amount of coherent thought or logic.

“Curious. I may have to do something about that. Might I get the name of the vulture leading this particular cathedral? I’ve a need to finish what I’ve started.” The dark and dulcet tones of the fire-haired woman conveyed nonchalance, as if this was simply another deed in another day without the weakness of sympathy. This poison was infecting good men, and she was meant to eradicate at the expense of their own lives. It was a means to an end, and she would bring the entire web of lies down with her if necessary.

“M-M-...” The boy was struggling, which served to test her patience enough to begin a slow twist of the arrow in order to pull his attention back to her with a pained shriek. A curl of her lips brought a defined angle in the ethereal lighting. “C-Cardinal Z-Zemo.”

The name was familiar enough to give her all the information she needed. One of the prominent followers beneath the deceased Saint Johann, known for his relentless determination. It was laughable to her, at least, that he sought out Gothamite, of all places, to begin his own small regime. Truly, she wanted to balk at his choice of venue, as well as the pitiful scouts he had sent out. Their deaths would surely signal her coming, and retribution would fall upon the Cardinal swiftly.

The God Widow leaned down further, her small form huddled over the dying man so her whisper held more weight in its intimacy in his last moments.

“Give Johann my regards,” she purred, brandishing her teeth in a smile almost too broad for her face before pulling the arrow from the man’s chest without mercy. A handful of seconds was all he was afforded in his short life, lips barely forming around a cry for his mother before he was simply no more.

The wrath she’d used in Rifthelm was stoked once more, directed now at the grittiness of Gothamite and its inhabitants.

#black widow #natasha romanoff #avalon #medieval au #fic series #mine

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mattness · 5 years

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Space Dementia

Sorry for the long wait! Another chapter of fanfic “Space Dementia” is here!

Chapter VIII.

Jennifer snorted, looking at his own reflection in the mirror: she wore to a meeting with Robert short white dress that perfectly emphasized her figure. Jen scolded herself for what she wanted to show herself in the best possible way. She thought many times what to wear and the options are constantly changing from the simple (jeans and tee) to the most sophisticated (the dress with some jewelry). In the end, Wright stopped at a light close-fitting dress with sleeves. The girl put make-up eyelashes and highlighted her lips with red lipstick, and her hair slightly curled.

Something inside suggested that Robert is unlikely to pay attention to her appearance. Still this meeting even a date really can't be called. Who makes dates in broad daylight? Jennifer put on black heels and several times twisted in front of the mirror. Now she was ready. Taking beige bag, Wright came out of the house. The weather was perfect. The sun shone high in the sky, and a pleasant warm wind refreshed thoughts. Birds sang loudly, lifting mood. Jen covered a short distance to the station, where another tram. The orange-and-white train slowed down, and she immediately sat down on an empty seat. Outside the window of the tram swept the streets of the city. Multi-colored cars replaced each other, people hurried about their business, despite the fact that today was a day off. The girl again began to compare the metropolis and Derry, where on Sunday, on the streets there was no one to meet, while going to the grocery store. Everyone's left Derry for other cities in Maine for the weekend. Finally the train stopped at the desired station, and from there to the restaurant was on the doorstep. The girl jumped out of the train and walked quickly to the restaurant, a sign which even in the light of day was shining brightly. Jen sighed and walked into the room, gaze searching for Grey. Noticing the familiar frown on your face, snub nose buried in the screen of the phone, she resolutely went to the table. "Hi", said Jen, and Robert immediately got distracted from the phone. He carefully examined her appearance, smiling and rising. Unlike her, Grey looked too simple. Long black jacket, under which was a white t-shirt, and blue jeans. Wright was surprised that he wasn't in the perfect expensive suit. Although she didn't doubt that the clothes on him certainly from well-known brands that not everyone can afford. "You look great, Jen", said the man, and politely helped her sit down, gallantly pushing out her chair. The girl smiled sheepishly. He put the phone in his jeans pocket and put his hands in the lock on the table, continuing to look at Jennifer. She felt like every second blushed all the more from studying the green eyes opposite. "When are you leaving?" first of all asked Wright, touching her hair. "Tomorrow. Flight at five in the morning", quietly said Robert, taking the menu and studying the list of dishes. "If you want and if you get up, you can come to the airport and walk me. I wouldn't mind." "I guess I can't", the girl confessed honestly. "Where are you going?" "To Pennsylvania. First to Philadelphia, and then to other cities by car." Jen smiled sadly, suddenly remembering how she lived in Philadelphia until fifteen years of age. Moving from his hometown to another very much influenced her future life. Robert carefully examined the face of Jennifer, which displayed all the emotions and feelings that she was experiencing at the moment. Blue eyes couldn't stay on one thing. Memories about Philadelphia he immediately saw, now knowing, as girl lived, as only came in this world. "In Philadelphia so beautiful", she said quietly, and too, took menu. "I know. I have a house there." "So you're coming home?" "Not really." They don't talked about Robert's trip again. At dinner she decided to tell him a little about yourself, and Grey listened with pleasure all that already knew. It was interesting because some of the details Jen didn't say. But he knew everything. All people did so to create a good impression of themselves, hiding their own flaws and shortcomings. And Robert never understood the meaning of this secrecy. Because no matter how much he watched people who began to spend more time together, and then also began to live together, all these shortcomings gradually surfaced. For some reason, they immediately found out the relationship, quarreled, thinking that they no longer trust each other. After the stories of Jen, followed by a logical question that Grey didn't know what to say. His story always had to invent. This time Robert Grey was a rich orphan with living parents who left him to fend for himself when he was seven years old. He left to live with his grandmother, which can be evaluated as "fabulously rich". A woman in her life earned a lot of money working in a large company, the name of which he didn't even bother to come up with. In general, it didn't really matter in the twenty-first century. It was worth someone to say that you are the owner of a large company and go to Aston Martin'e, as all around immediately became so sociable and friendly. It always has been. People for him were too hypocritical, and that's why he never wanted to make friends. The absence of these same friends, he explained to Jen that few trusts. So now he almost no one not spoke about his able. The girl smiled, remembering that as soon as they met, he immediately blabbed about it. "I only told you because you're different." Robert noticed how Jennifer's face changed, once again flushed, and her heart skipped a beat. She quickly understood what he meant. Grey found himself happier than ever. Everything followed his evil plan. True, at first the plan didn't include falling in love girl every time they met, and it was manifested more and more. To his same happiness, she was too modest and not come around until nor on that, except timid kissing. Now that he had to get out of New York as quickly as possible, Rob was sure that all the feelings that had been born in her would soon pass. She'll forget about him again, try to switch to work or her friends, because his departure will cause her only pain. Oh, yeah, and the pain she felt right now, though not so clearly. But Robert could smell it scent. Finally, they finished their meal, and Robert paid for the meal. He went to the exit of the restaurant with Jen, but suddenly on the TV screen, which was located under the ceiling of the bar, the news began. Grey frowned, hearing the announcer move from political to criminal news. Jennifer noticed that, too. "To the number of missing people added three more. Also recently, police found a corpse at the corner of Water and Pearl-street”, the announcer reported in a serious tone. "The identity is not yet established. We only know he's a man of 40-55 years without a certain residence." The girl frowned, remembering what the man who had attacked her looked like, and Robert, meanwhile, was well aware of how bad his affairs were. A little more — and the cops will still be able to find his carefully concealed trace, but Grey didn't want to be behind bars for the third time. In prison there was nothing useful and good, only vital time is wasted. "Okay, let's go", Robert hurried, holding out Jen's beige bag. "Don't listen bad news." Jen nodded and went outside with him. Robert offered to take his hand, and the brunette gently squeezed his palm. They headed along the road, deciding to go to the nearest Park. The weather is still held good that could not fail to please Jennifer. "By the way, you didn't say where you came from to the hotel in Orono", Robert suddenly remembered, when they were walking slowly along the green alley of the park. "From Derry. My father and I moved there as soon as I graduated from Columbia", the girl said with a sad sigh. "To be honest, I didn't want to go back there." "Why? Nice town", Grey smiled. "You been there?" surprised brunette. "I have, more than once." A couple sat on a free bench near the pond. Jen watched as the ducks swam away from the shore, away from the people. "You don't like it there, I take it", the man chuckled, placing his hand on the back of the bench behind the girl, who shook her head in response. "Why?" "In the ten years I spent in New York, I got used to the rhythm of the big city. I'm used to nobody knowing anybody here. Nobody cares about you and your problems, because they're just your problems. They don't touch anyone, and no one weaves about you stupid gossip", explained Jennifer, tired sigh and decided to arrange her head on the shoulder of Robert. "Derry's too small. Everyone knows each other. And the atmosphere there is very ... repulsive." Grey found himself chuckling again as he looked at her. "What? I'm only giving my opinion, and I don't mind if you like Derry. I'll just never understand it. I can't understand my father wanted to move there." "You bought a house in Derry?" "No. It belonged to my grandmother, whom I visited every summer." Suddenly Robert remembered one of the years he had spent there. Of course, he was there many times and not only in the form of an ordinary rich orphan boy, but also in the form of a clown. For a century, he posed as the dancing clown Pennywise and stole the foolish children, feeding on their fears and flesh. But then he got tired of this circus, it was worth once to get caught by police. The guards didn't manage to keep him locked up for long. He quickly ran away and continued to frighten the children. He couldn't get close to one little girl who was always hanging around with her grandmother. Only once he did get a chance. She was swinging on the swing and happened to notice where he was standing. He mentally began to call her, wanting her to come closer. But the little one wasn't a fool and ran to ask permission from her old woman before going to the clown. Then Pennywise was seriously angry and decided to attack someone else, leaving this ungrateful in peace. Only now, sitting next to Jennifer, Robert realized that this little girl was her. How couldn't he have guessed? Why didn't he go back to her childhood memories? After all, he had studied her too superficially, which now infuriated him a little. Grey tried to keep his emotions under control, just squeezing his fingers on the back of the bench harder. Now he seemed to be beginning to realize the reason why something inside him was drawn to her. It was just a long-forgotten hunger that he felt for Jen in her childhood. But Robert didn't realize how wrong he was. * * * The clock stopped at four in the evening, and Jennifer suggested to Grey walk to the waterfront, where there was a beautiful view of the city and the sunset. The man nodded silently in response, and they slowly headed in the right direction. Jen carefully walked on the pavement, afraid to stumble and break the delicate heels. The sun hate blinded eyes, and because of this had to squint. She looked at Grey walking beside her, who was already wearing sunglasses on the bridge of his nose. He was clearly better prepared for the walk than she was. "Where do you go after Pennsylvania?" Wright asked, picking up the bag, which was already heavy to carry on her shoulder. The embankment was only a few meters away, so the couple moved to a walking step. Jennifer breathed fresh air into her lungs. On the embankment lovers, families, dog breeders and athletes also walked. Through the crowns of green trees penetrated the sun's rays, the wind blew pleasantly in the face and relaxed. "I haven't decided yet", Robert shrugged back, glancing at her. "Do you want to meet again?" She smiled sheepishly, walking slowly to the railing. Jennifer leaned on them, peering into the distance. Of course, Wright wanted to see Grey again. She still felt indebted to him. Maybe something could come out of it. Jen hoped Robert felt the same way. The sun gradually began to sink below the horizon, painting the whole sky in red shades. Numerous skyscrapers of New York reflected the sunset rays, making the landscape more impressive. Jennifer watched the sun with fascination, as did Robert, who stopped beside her. He glanced briefly at her hand. Without thinking, the man confidently covered Wright's hand. The girl smiled, feeling like such a minor action on the body a wave of pleasant chills. "I'm going to miss you, Robert", Jennifer suddenly confessed after a few seconds of silence. "Me, too", wasn't very convincing, making Grey mentally cursed. "You'll not notice how time flies, and we'll meet again." The brunette sadly smiled, fully turning to him. Robert, still clutching her hand in his, leaned toward Jen's face. He covered her plump lips with a gentle kiss, and a pleasant cherry taste suddenly gave in his mouth. The girl responded to the kiss, feeling dizzy from blissful oblivion. Robert heard vulgar thoughts have already begun to visit drugged mind Jennifer. Her other hand touched his neck, and it's a fleeting touch of pleasure seared his skin. He didn't understand why the little kiss had caused a storm of emotions inside him. Why he didn't want to stop? He was beginning to dislike it. Robert seemed to lose control of his mind, so he reluctantly pulled away from Jen, who sighed in frustration. Grey was surprised to see the pupils of the blue eyes widen and the view become blurred. Her red lips parted in a pleased smile, and Robert smiled back. Jennifer suddenly burst out laughing, which caused gray's true bewilderment. "You imprinted my lipstick", continuing to laugh, she said, and immediately began to rummage through the bag in search of pack of wet wipes. Robert watched as the brunette fished out a napkin and began to wipe the red marks around his mouth. She did it with such care that for a moment the man felt uneasy. Somewhere deep within awake long-sleeping conscience, and begged to be left alive creature, standing across him. However, Robert quickly calmed it down, not wanting to obey a fleeting impulse. As soon as the sun finally disappeared behind the horizon, Grey decided to take Jennifer to the hotel. He took off his glasses from the bridge of his nose and put them in his pocket while the girl was on the phone with a friend who suddenly called. Jen tried to get off as quickly as possible, because that same friend was ruining the whole date. Robert burst out laughing when Wright finally put the phone in her bag and smiled guiltily. "Never give me peace", the girl snorted, taking his hand. "I thought you told them all about me, going for a walk with me and all", Grey grinned, noticing how she had blushed once again that evening. "Yes, of course... I'm pretty brief tall about everything, and it's very upsetting them. But since it's only my life, I don't have to answer to them for every action I take." He burst out laughing again, and for the next half hour they chose not to talk about Jen's friends. The girl was happy to tell stories from the University, told about something that suddenly came to mind that Robert was not bored. Grey listened carefully, sometimes noticing the strange glint in her blue eyes. The man looked with interest and thought that he was right: inside Jennifer Wright slept something bad and, in a sense, the devil. Robert didn't notice how quickly they approached the building where the hotel was located. Jennifer looked at the entrance and turned to the man. "Thank you for today's meeting", Wright smiled and thanked him. "I wouldn't mind repeating it", Robert said and took a step to her. "Only when you return", the girl said, looking down in embarrassment. Grey reached for her kiss again, but Jennifer put her hand to his lips at the last moment. The man raised his eyebrows in surprise, not understanding what was wrong. Did he do something wrong? After all, judging by the thoughts of little Jenni for the whole day, everything was going just like clockwork, and another kiss was to finally appease her. "I don't want to get you dirty", Wright explained, and Robert just snorted in discontent. She put her arms around his neck, pressing her whole body against him and inhaling the pleasant aroma of expensive cologne. Grey was taken aback, but then lowered the hands on fragile waist. The girl sighed, feeling like every minute was becoming increasingly difficult to break away from the person who so suddenly appeared in her life. She drew back reluctantly and smiled tightly, pursing her lips. "Bye", Jen said goodbye, letting go of his hand and starting to climb the steps to the hotel. "See you around, Jennifer", left behind Robert, watching as she had already disappeared behind the revolving glass doors. * * * The girl tried to immerse himself in work after Robert flew out from New York. He didn't promise to call or write her, so Jen didn't expect any continuation of their nascent feelings. On the other hand, it was better for her. Maybe for him, too. Now, already working for the second month in a women's magazine, Jennifer still tried to keep the bar high to get a promotion and a good recommendation. Mrs. Johnson praised and appreciated her dedication. The days passed one after another, and Jen looked with surprise at Katie, who brought a note from her boss. Unwrapping the crumpled piece of paper, she smiled: Mrs. Johnson strongly recommended that Wright take a two-week vacation. The brunette agreed with pleasure, because the desire to go to his father recently became huge. They hadn't seen each other long enough, and Jennifer missed them too much. As soon as the vacation began, the girl immediately Packed a small suitcase and warned her friends, took tickets for the first flight to Bangor. The plane cut through the broad wings of the veil of clouds, which hid the city States. The girl hoped that the good weather will continue until the end of the flight. She wanted to come to Derry and find the sun in the clouds or in the cloudless sky. Wright sighed and put in her earphones, closing her eyes and sinking into a light slumber. Sleep was not long in coming… * * * ...She was once again in the middle of the hospital corridor with many doors that were locked. This time there was a light everywhere, and there was a working noise: the footsteps of doctors, the squeak of hospital equipment and a lot of talk. A strange excitement with the experiences of the possessed girl, and eye was dimmed with tears. The feeling that Jen was losing touch with a loved one painfully squeezed everything inside to the smallest size. She's heart was bleeding. The headache made her grab hair and literally scream. Jennifer didn't understand. She didn't understand what was happening around her, where she was, and why she felt so terrible. The brunette squatted down in the middle of the corridor, wanting to fall through the ground so that no one could see her. Jen has to get out of here before it's too late. "Miss Wright, are you all right?"the doctor's stern voice was heard, and the girl rose to her feet. "How is he?" it came out of her mouth, though Jen had no idea who it was. "Will live. We support his condition", assured the doctor in round glasses, occasionally looking into his clipboard that he held in his hands. The girl nodded and sat down on a bench near the wall. She again grabbed his head, trying to figure out how to get out of this nightmare. Feelings overwhelmed her. Now wanted to run away from herself, but nothing can be done. The body during sleep didn't obey, and feet became wadded. Jennifer tried to catch her breath until she heard the sound of someone's measured steps. They were approaching her, and the man who had appeared in the corridor stopped in front of her. "Jennifer", a familiar voice called softly. That voice, thought the girl and looked up. In front of her on his haunches sat Robert Grey, who sadly smiled. He looked good as usual: black trousers and a dark blue shirt with a tie. It was as if he had come straight from the office of his own company at Jen's first call. "I don't understand anything", the brunette finally managed to voice her thoughts, immediately falling into a strong embrace. "What's going on here?" "I know this is hard for you to accept", Grey said, stroking her back. "Everything will be fine." Jennifer frowned, still not understanding what was happening at the moment. She stared in surprise at the man, whose eyes suddenly turned bright orange. Strange white spots began to appear on his face. Brown hair began to get red shade on the lips Robert had a wild smile. In the hospital corridor the lights suddenly went out and was replaced by red. That ominous red again! With one sharp jerk, Grey forced Jen to her feet. "I don't understand", the brunette repeated. "Should you? I just want to play with you, Jenni", the man said, and red stripes of stage makeup began to appear on his face. It made him look ten times crazier. "To play?!" Jennifer was puzzled, trying to escape, but Robert's hands, on the fingers of which appeared sharp long claws, plunged directly into her skin. An unbearable pain gripped her whole body, blood ran down her arms, and the girl only clenched her teeth, still desperately trying to give a logical explanation for what was happening. Grey pulled her to him and breathed in the smell of Jen's mixed feelings. That's not what he needs. She didn't feel fear. She was trying to explain. Damn girl! "My sweet", the man continued, leaning over the brunette's face, "I want to eat you so much." Instead of a fear, Jennifer was embarrassed. Cheeks reddened, and excitement pleasant waves began to disperse around her body. Robert felt it, and now he don't know what the hell he did wrong. Why did the admission of his true intentions cause her such a strange reaction? What's wrong with this crazy woman? Did the long absence of relationship with the opposite sex so affect her? Grey cursed and pulled her to him, biting her lips with a passionate kiss. The girl groaned under the pressure and only Robert dutifully replied. The feeling of being sucked out of her life force began to constrain every movement. Warm blood filled her mouth and a thin stream began to flow down the chin. She felt he was killing her. Ruthlessly tearing from the inside out, causing terrible pain. Jennifer wanted to push him away, but she didn't have the strength. The pain was mixed with excitement, giving the whole thing some masochistic effect. Never before had the girl experienced such. Something broke inside and a loud siren filled the corridor. "What did you just do to me?!" cried from the horror of Jen, looking at Robert, who was now for some reason, the image of a clown. "I showed you what will happen to you. Very soon." He laughed out loud in the hospital corridor. The girl watched in horror behind him until, until he disappeared. Wiping the blood from her chin, Jen ran to find a way out. But there was no way out. * * * Jennifer woke up from her own dream, screaming. Cold perspiration stood on her face, and her hands trembled treacherously. The flight attendant that was so close in time, had already stretched her a glass of water and a sedative pill. Without thinking, Jen drank the medicine, draining the glass completely. "You're all right, miss?" the stewardess asked anxiously. "Probably", the brunette answered, wiping the sweat from her forehead. "I was afraid you wouldn't wake up. But, fortunately, all went well", tried to encourage the employee of the aircraft. "We'll be landing in fifteen minutes, so fasten your seat belt and try to relax." The girl nodded and complied. Glancing out the window, Jen could see the outline of Bangor through the clouds. She frowned, trying not to attach any importance to the stupid dream. But it was so real that familiar taste left on the lips and in the mouth it was filled with blood. Jen licked her lips, instantly remembering kissing with Robert. God, did she miss him so much? No way! Obviously something is wrong with him, but the girl could not understand what. Why did this asshole continue to sit in her head even after almost a month since their last meeting? Jen couldn't explain it. Maybe a vacation in Derry and spending time with his father will help to forget him completely? Jennifer really hoped that talking to dad would help distract her.

#space dementia #fanfiction #fanfic #my fanfic #jennifer x robert #jenniwise #Jennifer Wright #Megan Fox #bill skarsgard #pennywise #pennywise x reader #romantic #love #My character

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elementalwriter67 · 6 years

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The Void Chapter Four

Pairing: Jason Todd x reader

Word count: 3465

Chapter one, two, three

Summary: The Void is a hellish place filled with screams that echoed throughout the place at all the hours of the night, and where pain is a very close friend. You’ve spent your entire life in the Void, having been there since you were ten and you’ve just recently gotten a new cellmate… Who’s a little more hopeful than you are that either of you are going to make it out of this place alive. Though you have to admit that maybe his hope is rubbing off on you because you slowly find yourself hoping that the two of you do get out of here.

You jerked awake sitting up straight eyes wide and heart racing as you looked around the room. Why was the alarm going off? Jason hadn’t tried to escape, had he? Oh please don’t be because Jason had tried to escape. You thought to yourself as you looked over at Jason to see him standing in front of the door the flashing red light illuminating him and as far as you could tell he wasn’t the one trying to escape. Moving you sat on the edge of the bed and stood up clenching your teeth as you walked up to him, shoving him out of the way.

“Hey!” Jason shouted but you ignored him. Reaching up you covered your ears, the shrieking of the alarm was worse next to the door and it certainly wasn’t helped by the nurses and the guards screaming. You squinted as you stared out into the hallway trying to figure out what was going on, usually, the alarm didn’t go off unless someone was trying to escape or if someone had accidentally tripped it. Sometimes the guards liked to do it for fun because it riled up the more unstable patients and they thought that was just the funniest thing in the world. Judging by the guard's reactions though that wasn’t the case meaning that someone was trying to escape which would not end well for them. After a couple of minutes, and after the nurses had cleared out leaving only the guards the alarm itself shut off but the lights continued to flash.

“What’s going on?” Jason asked as you lowered your hands from your ears and you glanced at him. He was standing behind you peering out of the window over your shoulder and you shifted closer to the door the hair on the back of your neck standing on end as you looked back out the window.

“My guess someone’s trying to escape, bold of them.” You told him as you listened to the guards shouting for the person to stand down and to get back in their cell. To which the person promptly shouted something back that you couldn’t quite make out but whatever they shouted made the guards tense up.

“Do you think they’ll manage to escape?” Jason asked and you shook your head. The guards already had their fingers on the triggers, there was no way that this person was making it out alive. At most, they would probably make it a few feet down the hallway before they finally shot them.

“I doubt it.” You said but you didn’t walk away from the door continuing to watch the guards see what they would do. Looking across the hallway you saw other prisoners doing the same thing. Despite everyone here knowing that there was no way, they would be able to escape you all still found this incredibly exciting to watch. Even you couldn’t deny the fact that there was a drop of hope blooming in your chest that the person would be able to escape. Foolish you knew and yet that little drop of hope was there despite you desperately trying to beat it into submission with logic.

“Surrender now and we won’t shoot!” A guard shouted and a couple of guards shifted forward ready to grab the person if they charged them.

“Never! Take one more step and I slit this nurse's fucking throat!” The prisoner shouted and your eyes widened and you shifted pressing the side of your face against the window as you desperately tried to get a view of the prisoner. This was new. No one had ever taken a hostage before not even you which was saying something. However you knew that taking a hostage wasn’t a guarantee here that they would let you walk away, they would probably just shoot the hostage. Then again you had never seen them shoot a nurse or a doctor but you wouldn’t put it past them especially if the nurse or doctor was no longer important or if Dr. Roberts had said for them to do it.

“Let the nurse go and we won’t shoot you!” The guard shouted in response but they didn’t take a step forward.

“This is new.” You muttered as you continued to try to get a glimpse of the person and the nurse.

“What taking a hostage to escape that’s what I would do,” Jason commented and you rolled your eyes.

“Then you would fail, they’re still going to shoot that person for trying to escape.” You said and Jason’s brow furrowed as he looked down at you and then back out the window trying to see what was going on as well.

“I thought you said that they don’t always shoot the person trying to escape.” He said and you nodded, grimacing slightly.

“They don’t but more often than not they do, depends on whether Dr. Roberts wants to keep them around for experiments.” You told him, after all, it was the one reason you were still alive, for whatever reason Dr. Roberts insisted that you not be shot when you tried to escape everyone else however was fair game.

“Permission to shoot sir?” You heard a guard say into his com and the hope that had formed in your chest died out and you were not in the least bit surprised.

“I said stay back! Come any closer and I kill her! I mean it! I’ll-” The person was cut off by a loud bang that left your ears ringing and the next thing you saw was the nurse pushing her way through all of the guards a terrified look on her face, and beads of blood on her neck. Taking a step back you looked up at Jason your face expressionless.

“I told you, no one escapes from here. So those dreams of escaping that you have, lock them away and throw away the key. It’ll make a lot of things easier for both of us but more importantly for you.” You stated. Turning away from his shocked expression you walked back over to your bed and sat down. Hopefully, this little demonstration would be enough for him to stop thinking that it was a possibility to escape from here, though you doubted it would. Jason seemed like the type of person who is stubborn enough to try even when there was no hope of succeeding. Which meant you were screwed. Pulling your legs up you tucked them underneath you as you sat back leaning against the wall closing your eyes.

~A few days later~

‘It’s dark. Why is it so dark in here? They never turn off the lights why is it dark?’ You thought to yourself as you slowly started to come to the world around you dark and hazy sounding in your ears. Vaguely you could hear what sounded like people talking but you couldn’t make out what they were saying and distantly part of you recognized that it wasn’t good that you couldn’t really hear but mainly you were focused on why it was so dark in your cell. They never shut the lights off in here, never, the constant lights were a part of the never-ending torture so why were they suddenly off? You went to sit up but you couldn’t and that’s when you felt them, hands. There were so many hands all of them touching you, holding you down, pinning you to the mattress underneath you to the point where you couldn’t move. Panic and fear shot through the fog surrounding you and instantly you started struggling to try desperately to get away from the hands to get the people to stop touching you but the hands held on tighter. Then you felt them starting to move as you boy stilled against your will. The hands were moving, stroking, touching, petting, tugging, squeezing, pulling, forcing you to move into different positions. Bile burned the back of your throat as disgust and fear twisted your stomach painfully. Desperately you were willing your body to move to fight back as the hands continued to touch and grope but you couldn’t move. Your body wouldn’t move, why wouldn’t it move? Why wouldn’t it fight back? Why couldn’t you fight?!

“No! No, no, no, no! NO! STOP IT! STOP IT! STOP-” thank god your voice still worked “-LET GO OF ME, DON’T TOUCH ME! STOP IT! STOP! STOP IT! LET GO OF ME! NO, NO, NO! LET GO OF ME! Don't TOUCH ME! Don't TOUCH ME! LET GO! LET GO!”

“(Y/N)!!!”

You jumped awake with an ear piercing scream as you sat bolt upright. Jason jumped back from where he had crouched next to you, nearly avoiding you headbutting him in the process, he fell on to his ass. He watched you sit there your eyes wide and chest heaving. Hair clung to your forehead and neck in sweaty strands and your shirt stuck to your back and front in a way that looked clearly uncomfortable. Your hands were clenching your blanket tight enough that your knuckles matched the whiteness of your face and Jason stayed on the floor for a couple more seconds honestly a little worried that you might throw up on him. However when you made no move to look away from the wall in front of you, and when you didn’t relax in the slightest Jason decided that you had had enough time to decide if you were going to throw up or not. Slowly and carefully Jason moved forward making sure that he was still in your line of sight as he did. He knew what he got like after a nightmare, he was liable to attack anything that moved near him and he had a feeling you were pretty much the same way.

“(Y/N), are you… are you ok?” He asked as he adopted the same tone that he used when he was talking to people he had rescued, calm and non-threatening. You didn’t even blink as he sat down on the edge of the bed in front of you, careful not to sit on your hand which was still clenching the blanket. Sitting right in front of you Jason could see the slight sheen to your eyes and the slight shake of your hands. He felt his heart do this weird clenching thing as he watched you, it was clear that whatever your nightmare had been it hadn’t been pretty and he honestly felt bad for you.

“(Y/N), can you hear me? Are you with me right now? Blink once for no and two for yes.” Jason kept up the calm and caring tone as he watched you hoping that the simple task of blinking would be enough for you to communicate with him. You blinked once and Jason mentally cringed as he shifted a little bit closer, you didn’t move away from him which Jason took as a bad sign. Just because you could understand what he was saying didn’t mean that you were fully there and he knew that if you were fully there you would have moved away from him.

“Ok, (Y/N) I’m going to take your hand now alright? Is that ok? Can I take your hand? Blink once for no and twice for yes.” He asked you and he waited for several long seconds for your response. Clearly, you were struggling right now to remain in the slightest bit coherent to the world around you. Jason felt a wave a relief wash through him when you blinked twice and carefully Jason grabbed the hand in front of him. He made sure to make no quick or sudden movements as he carefully uncurled each one of your fingers and then slowly raised your hand up off the blanket. Your hand almost instantly curled back into the fist, but he didn’t try to uncurl your hand as he brought it forward towards his chest.

“(Y/N), what I’m going to do now is place your fists against my chest, ok? And all I want you to do is focus on the rise and fall of my chest and then try to match my breathing ok? Can you do that for me?” He asked and the pain of having your fingernails digging into your palm must have brought some clarity to your head because while it still took several seconds for you to answer it was much quicker than before. Moving your hand the rest of the way Jason pressed your fist against his chest, keeping an easily breakable grip on your wrist to hold your fist in place so that way you could feel the steady, calming, rise and fall of his chest. Jason breathed in through his nose for four seconds, held it for seven, and then breathed out for eight. He continued doing this, watching you as he did prepare to pull you back if you started falling over some sort of edge, for several minutes until eventually, you started doing it to and slowly bit by bit the tension in your body started to drain away. Your hand uncurled to rest flat against his chest to better feel the rise and fall of his chest and your eyes started to gain more clarity as you blinked a couple of times than before he knew what was happening your hand was curling up again and fisting his shirt as your shoulders started shaking.

Jason stared at you in shock the sight of tears flowing freely down your cheeks having caused him to stop breathing calmly. It wasn’t long after the tears started though that you were pulling your knees up to your chest and wrapping an arm around them, your other hand still gripping tightly to Jason’s shirt. He stared at you not knowing fully what to do, instinct told him to reach out and hug you that all you need now was a hug, someone to hold on to as you cried. Logic told him that if he tried that he was liable to get his head bitten off. In the end, instinct won and Jason was pulling you into a hug before either of you could come to your senses. For a few tense seconds, you stopped crying and Jason thought for sure this was when he would get his throat ripped out but then you were crying full force now silent sobs shaking your whole body as you uncurled yourself slightly in order to wrap your arms tightly around Jason and to bury your face into his chest.

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s alright (Y/N), it’s alright, it was just a nightmare. Whatever it was about it can’t hurt you now, it’s alright, you’re safe, you’re awake now, you’re awake.” Jason reassured you as he gently rocked the two of you back and forth while at the same time rubbing your back being mindful of the bandages in the middle of your shoulder blades.

“It’s ok, everything is going to be ok, you’re fine, you’re safe, you’re awake now, it was just a nightmare,” Jason reassured you with empty promises but still you latched onto them grateful for the attempt and the reassurance they brought no matter how empty they were. The two of you stayed like that for a very long time you silently sobbing and shaking into Jason’s chest and Jason gently rocking the two of you back and forth in an attempt to calm you down. Eventually, though your sobs pettered off until you were simply shaking in his arms you made no attempt to leave not at first anyway. At first, you stayed right where you were until the shaking died down enough where it didn’t feel like you would fall apart without someone holding you. You pushed away from Jason and he let you go without resistance, dropping his arms to his sides and his hands to his lap as he watched you making sure you weren’t about to break down again. When you didn’t he moved back from you so that he was sitting closer to your feet which you had stretched out while you wiped the remaining tears from your eyes.

“Thank you.” You sounded hoarse despite the fact that you hadn’t made a sound while you were crying.

“Not a problem.” He said as he gave you a small reassuring smile biting back the question that he wanted to ask.

“Sorry… about your shirt.” You said as you gestured to the giant wet stain on the front of his shirt that you were pretty sure was a mixture of tears and snot. Jason looked down at his shirt and shrugged, there was really nothing that he could do about it and honestly, this wouldn’t be the first time his shirt was covered in snot and tears.

“Eh, it’s fine, it’ll dry, how are you feeling?” He asked and you looked away from him, wrapping your arms around your middle as you looked down at your lap. You were silent for a moment before looking back up at him.

“Like I just cried my eyes out on a strangers chest.” You responded causing him to smile at you in mild amusement, your sarcasm was back that was a good sign. At least he hoped it was a good sign anyways. The two of you fell into an awkward silence neither of you knowing what to say or what to do but both of you feeling like you had to do something until eventually you sighed and looked down at your lap.

“...Thank you.” Your voice was barely above a whisper as you stared at your lap squeezing your fingers tightly as you refused to look up at him. Jason stared at you for a couple of seconds shocked that you had actually thanked him for what he did, he had been expecting you to tell him to get off your bed or get away from you or something but no instead you had actually thanked him and for a moment he was at a loss of words.

“I… um… you’re welcome, though it was no problem really I know how bad nightmares can get sometimes.” He confessed and you nodded not looking up from your lap. With that Jason went to stand up and move back to his bed when you spoke up.

“Why did you do it?” You asked him and there was a beat of silence before you spoke up again, “Help me I mean… why did you… why did you help me?” You asked him your voice suddenly firm as you looked up at him scrutiny in your gaze as you watched his reaction to your question. Jason looked at you both in surprise at the question and like he had known that you would ask him that.

“Why wouldn’t I? You were clearly in distress, you clearly needed to wake up from the nightmare that you were in, and clearly you needed help doing that so I decided to help you there’s no big reason, I was just doing what I wish someone had done for me when I had mine.” He confessed with a shrug doing his best not to make the moment overly mushy figuring that was more likely to shut you down than to encourage you to talk and trust him. You stared at him for a few seconds shocked by his words before you looked away looking back down at your lap as Jason walked back over to his bed and sat down.

“Thank you.” That was all you could think to say as you curled up hugging your knees to your chest and looking away from him as you leaned against the wall.

It didn’t take a genius to figure out that you had never actually experienced human kindness before so the fact that you had all but been smacked in the face with it was both shocking and confusing especially since you had done nothing to deserve his kindness. Then again Jason’s entire personality confused you. He came in here talking about how he was going to break everyone out of here, and treating you with general human kindness despite the fact that ninety percent of the time you ignored him. Then when you did talk to him you snapped at him and did your best to put him down. And yet he still helped you a couple of minutes ago and he still talked about getting you out with the rest of the people and at this point, you couldn’t tell if he was just stubborn or stupid or both. Sighing you laid your head against the wall and closed your eyes in hopes of salvaging some sort of sleep.

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