#all i could think after midday was ‘blake is dead by now’

[softschofield]

on this day, the 6th of april, 103 years ago, two things happen - one that will echo down through history, and one that will be forgotten. one that brushes against millions of lives, one that no one but three and a little nameless, nothing village will ever notice. one that is blinding in its importance, cheered for and wept over and reviled; one that is small, silent, insignificant. two things happen, and history won’t remember one: a country enters the war to end all wars, and a meaningless boy dies in the countryside.

it’s friday. blake is going home on monday.

in the early hours of the morning, when the world is still icy and black and lit stark by flares, german boys sit huddled in their trenches, murmuring and laughing and thinking of home - softly, gently. officers walk down the lines and tap men quietly on the shoulder: let’s go. and silently, in the pre-dawn cold, they do.

at the same time, in the empty darkness before sunrise, an orderly wakes general erinmore. he lights a candle, sits up in bed, wraps a dressing gown around himself; the room is dusty and close and dim. “sir, the planes have spotted something over the new german lines. it’s regarding the second devons.”

and in the hours before dawn, erinmore sits at his desk, with a map sprawled before him, and listens. “can we send them a message?” “they cut the phone lines, sir” “can we send a cavalry runner?” “the land is impassable, sir” “do any of the officers have a son? a nephew? a brother?” “there is one, sir”

across the channel, scho’s wife wakes up to gentle honey light in their bedroom. blake’s mother wakes up alone to the sound of birdsong and sheep. both of them imagine the morning across the channel, the morning in france - what it looks and smells and feels like. wonder at whether the sun shines, wonder at whether the flowere are starting to bloom, if there are any flowers left at all.

blake’s mother checks off another day - three to go, and her boy will be home. she smiles at the thought, and with the smile comes tears. three days and he’ll be back in her arms, drinking tea at the kitchen table. three days. she gets out of bed to clean the house; she wants it to look nice for him. she’s still smiling. blake smiles, too, as they finish their breakfast and wander over to doze against their tree. three days. he pulls his helmet over his face, still smiling.

it’s morning when they set off. it’s still morning when he dies. and it’s still morning, not even midday, when schofield begins to inch across the ruined bridge.

that night, and into the cold, black, rainy morning of april 7th, while schofield lies unconscious upon the steps of a lockhouse, blake’s body lies before the felled orchard with the stars and the moon above him. a breeze stirs the leaves of the cherry trees and makes them rustle. they’re already beginning to brown and wilt. soon the stones will rot into the soil. the night feels empty, quiet, lonesome. the grasses on the hillside whisper. it’s peaceful. cold. forgotten. ghosts haunt the still, silent orchard.

the family that lived there is long gone. the little girl who was born there, whose doll was abandoned in the chaos, lies in the lowest drawer of a dresser, in a warm cellar where a fire crackles soft and golden. another orphan murmurs to her through the night.

the next morning, at six o’clock, a boy with shellholes for eyes stops an attack and leans against a lonely tree before the rising sun. it’s peaceful. quiet. empty. warm. blake’s mother wakes up smiling and checks another day off. and blake’s body begins to rot with the cherry stones.

every year, the ghosts live it again, tread the ground where the trenches and the ruins used to be. they don’t know the world has changed; they don’t know that world is dead, and that at the end of it they will die as well. again. over and over and over. till their hearts have been broken for the thousandth time. and then next year, they live it all again.

#1917 #mine #april 6th was yesterday for me but shhh #i was fucked up all day about it #but honestly? the way i lived it? quietly in love with life? the scho who came home from the war #and healed in the sunshine would have been proud #and i am living my life for scho and scho ONLY #♡ ♡ ♡ #i love u all happy 1917 day and to anyone who’s replied to my posts #or added things in the tags or reblogs or sent me an ask: i see you. i adore you. i love you so much #all i could think after midday was ‘blake is dead by now’ #and i was trying to play the film in my head so i could know whereabouts scho was throughout the day #and right now bc it’s midday on the 7th where i am #scho is walking back to the east surreys #and i love them. and i weep #and also - with the whole three days thing - the convoy boys would start fighting #the battle of arras in three days as well

[edgeofmyniall]

five part i- dear patience

storypage | taglist | playlist | thoughts

“ Dear Patience, if I pour my heart out, can you keep a promise? (mmhmm) 'cause the situation is like a mountain that's been weighing on my conscience, if I'm being honest.”

Ginger is sitting on her couch when Niall walks through the front door. He holds up the bagged take out and smiles at the sight of the flame-haired girl sitting cross-legged on the couch.

“Jeopardy again?” Niall shakes his head as he hands Ginger her burger and onion rings. She takes a sip of the dark soda before nodding.

“They have a dinosaur category,” Ginger presses play on the remote and the recorded episode; the couple was halfway through dinner before a contestant picked the extinct animal section.

“When was the first fossil discovered?” the white-haired man asks, and before a contestant buzzes in their answer, Ginger nearly screams: “1822!”

Niall looks at Ginger with amazement that she knew the answer. He knew she loved the Jurassic Park movies, but he never knew how deep the obsession went.

“I’m not obsessed; I just like them,” Ginger says, reading Niall’s mind.

“I didn’t say anything,” Niall smiles as he runs his fingers through his hair when lifting his hat off his head. His fingers touch Ginger’s bare shoulder as he stretches out. He’s afraid she’ll move, but she stays still zoned in on Jeporady completely dissociating from Niall.

“Mhmm.”

It was a few minutes before someone chose the dinosaurs again, and this time Ginger answered the question before Alex could finish.

“What dinosaur broke through the cell wall in Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom?”

“PACHYCEPHALOSAURUS,” Ginger yells at the television while bouncing. She smiles to herself when she knows she got the answer right.

“You’re such a dork,” Niall laughs, his voice booming over the TV.

“Shut your mouth, Horan. I’m trying to win,” Ginger says, and for a moment she feels grateful that it’s only her and Niall, and that Stella is in New York for work for the week. Niall promised Stella to look after Ginger, even though she was grown and protested, she’s thankful for this moment together. Just two friends hanging out.

At the end of the episode, Ginger counted her total correct answers and gave herself a small high five for getting all of them right. She turned to Niall and beamed with joy. She began to laugh, cupping her mouth to halt the laughter, but she failed.

“What‘s so funny, Gin?” Niall’s arms covered the top part of the couch; his body tense as he looked at Ginger glowing.

“I’m dino-winner!” Ginger let the laugh fill the room as Niall shook his head and rolled his eyes at the horrible pun.

“God, I’m in love with a weirdo,” Niall leans up to rest his arms on his knees. His eyes focus on the coffee table as he realizes the slip.

“What did you say?” Ginger asks, her laughter dead and a much-needed seriousness fell on her voice.

“Nothin’,” Niall shook his head, wanting to be anywhere but on the couch with Ginger.

“Don’t say that. Don’t you dare say that,” Ginger says quietly. She pulls her legs toward her chest and wraps her arms around her knees. She wants to be as far away from Niall as possible. A sudden sound of thunder rumbles outside and Niall looks over at Ginger. “Please don’t say it.” Ginger closes her eyes and begs.

“Say what? That I love you? Why is that so bad?” Niall asks, his baseball cap hiding his eyes. “Why?”

“You don’t get to say that to me,” Ginger swallows and looks anywhere but in Niall’s direction. The patter of heavy rain hits the roof of the house and Niall rolls his lips in as he takes in the truth.

“We can argue like a couple, hang out like we’re together, but saying words like we’re one is crossing the line. Got it. You know, Ginger, I loved you from the moment you walked through my door. You lit up the room. I like being around ya, makin’ ya laugh. Holdin’ you when you're sad.” Niall is shaking and Ginger listens intently, hoping this all ends.

“We kiss, and God, that was...somethin’. I want to hear you laugh and make horrible jokes and watch ya win against yourself at Jeopardy for the rest of my life, but me saying I’m in love with you is unrealistic.”

“I never said that,” Ginger quips.

“Yeah, ya didn’t have to. I want you in my life, Gin.”

“You do. But you’re with Stella, still. And you always will beYou’re never going to break up with her. So why do this? Why fall when I know I’m already dead when I hit the bottom?” Ginger asks.

“For the ride. So I can love you. Properly. Jesus, this is such a foreign concept to you.” Niall leans back into the couch and he shifts his hat. The silence drove Ginger insane.

“Yeah, it is. But it’s not like you’ve had the best track record either. Stella, Hailee…”

“Daniel…” Niall cuts Ginger off. His mention of John Doe cut deep. It was too far and he knew it. But he didn’t care.

“Get out.” Ginger whispers, her tears building. Niall stands and hovers over Ginger as if he was going to kiss her goodbye or apologize, but he straightens himself and walks towards the kitchen.

“I tell ya I love you and you kick me out. This is what I get for openin’ me mouth,” Niall says before closing the front door, walking out of the storm that is Ginger Blake and into the storm that covered the entirety of Los Angeles. Ginger throws the decorative pillow towards Niall’s path and she spends the rest of the night wiping her tears as she sleeps on the couch.

~~~

Ginger hears banging going around her. She opens her eyes to find the morning light creeping through the blinds in the living room. She sits up and rubs her sleep away before blinking the person in her kitchen into clarity.

Niall was pouring two bowls of cereal; his back was to Ginger’s and for a moment, she smiled. Then, the fight last night flooded her mind, confusing her all over again. Niall turned and stopped as he noticed Gingers sitting up wide awake.

“Mornin’,” Niall says as he walks over Ginger’s legs. He sits in his spot from last night and hands Ginger the bowl of colorful cereal. She turns her spoon over and tries to remember everything from last night. Niall, chewing his cereal, rubs Ginger’s wild hair down and huffs. He goes back to his breakfast.

“What are you doing?” Ginger asks, looking up at the man who she just kicked out hours ago. The thought of revoking Niall’s key privileges crosses her mind.

“Eating cereal. Then we’re going to my place.” Niall says between mouthfuls. He’s avoiding eye contact and Ginger knows she hurt his feelings so to keep the moment of peace, she takes a bite of cereal even though she’s not hungry, at least not in that way.

~~~~~

Ginger felt the warm rays of the sun through the glass door as Niall drove out of Los Angeles. Midday, it was already nearing eighty-six degrees. She wanted nothing more than to be inside with the air conditioning blowing on high. She watched as Niall packed her brown leather overnight bag full of mix-matched clothes, bathing suits, and her toiletries. He chuckled at the sight of her monogram on the side of the bag; he called her the epitome of a southern girl. Ginger didn’t know whether to laugh or get angry.

It was like Niall had completely forgotten the night before. The night where he let the three words, that Ginger most desperately wants to hear but fears the four syllables, slip. She wanted to crawl over him and kiss his soft skin, but the fear of the unknown with Niall, the thought of losing her best friend drove her to confusion.

The car ride is dull with the sound of the radio filling the silence. Ginger wants to talk- scream if she needs to, just to let Niall know she doesn’t know what in the cold hell she’s doing. You’re not supposed to fantasize and want someone else’s person. You’re not supposed to long for your friend, most importantly, your cousin’s boyfriend.

Niall sings along to the top hits as the drive lingers on. It’s when they approach a white gate that he stops making a sound. The beeping of the gate keys pulls Ginger into reality- something she’s desperately wanting to escape.

“Had to change the password last week. Some fans hacked it,” Niall scoffs, his voice sounding annoyed. “I love ‘em but sometimes…”

“What is it now?” Ginger asks as Niall shifts the car into park. He rubs his neck, which is turning red, from embarrassment. “Your birthday. I couldn’t think of anything else.” Ginger sits in the car dumbfounded as Niall grabs her bags and proceeds to walk into his white mansion.

~~~~

It was dark when Ginger finally decided that she had ignored Niall long enough. She spent the day lounging about the pool, reading, and catching up on her work. Niall would walk outside for a few moments, checking on Ginger, bringing her water or wine, but Ginger barely spoke to him. She made it known that she would be staying in the guest room and not with Niall.

Niall’s roommate and his girlfriend were on vacation somewhere in the mountains of Austria so it was only the two of them tonight.

Niall was finishing up dinner when Ginger walked into the kitchen wearing black yoga pants and an oversize tye-dye tee. Her hair was in a loose bun atop her head and her sun-kissed skin was glowing.

“Chicken kabobs with rice and brussels. Okay with you?” Niall asks as he pulls the brussels off the stove. Ginger peers over Niall’s shoulder, her chest touching his back and she nods when she sees the bacon inter-meshed with the vegetable.

Her hand cups Niall’s elbow and as she pulls herself down, her touches lingers. Niall turns his head and looks at their embrace before looking Ginger in the eyes.

“I’m sorry for being a bitch.” Ginger’s apology was out in the open and she gave Niall a small smile. His mouth folds into one of his cheeks and his teeth scrape his lip.

“Wouldn’t expect anything’ less,” Niall feels the swat of Ginger. The music changes on the speakers and Niall cups her hand to pull her close to his body. His arm wraps around her waist and he gingerly teases the girl in front of him to loop her freckled arms around the nape of his neck.

“Oh my God, it’s country,” Ginger says disgustedly.

“Most people from the south like country,” Niall laughs. “Trust me, it’s a good one.” The guitar plays as Ginger leans her head against Niall’s chest; she feels his heart beat faster as their embrace lingers on longer than normal. The song itself was one that couples would dance to at their wedding, but the words as the man sang them made Ginger feel as if it was her and Niall facing the world together.

“You make better than I was before,” floated through the speakers as Niall sang the lyrics to her and Ginger understood why Niall would want to dance to this song. They swayed their bodies around in a circle in the kitchen and it was like Niall and Ginger were the only people in the world.

When the song ends, Ginger stops swaying her feet and looks up at Niall. Their lips scrape against each other, the taste of affection driving them insane. The kiss deepens, their lips rolling against each other as their tongues fighting for dominance. Niall gently traces the curves of Ginger’s body absentmindedly as if he is the painter and Ginger was his canvas.

Ginger's heart is banging against its cage as her hand cup Niall’s neck. Niall feels his stomach knot up as he’s been kicked in it, and he has: Ginger is finally opening up. His fingers dig into her skin and pull her closer, making her feel the lump in Niall’s trousers. Ginger pulls away breathless and for once, Ginger is speechless.

“Wow,” Nial says huffing for air. He’s feeling as if he’s run a marathon. “ You okay?” Niall asks, the round of his knuckle pushing a tendril of her red curls out of the way, noticing Ginger’s concerned look on her face. She’s biting the same lip Niall just pulled with his own.

“I, um… I don’t know,” Ginger says before letting go of her own embrace. She looks around the kitchen for an excuse, remembering the food. “I’m not hungry,” Ginger says softly and leaves Niall standing in the kitchen wondering what the hell he did wrong.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

taglist:

@oyesmendes​ @thicksniall​ @kare38 @stayclose-holdsteady​ @halfpinthoran​ @dontgiveupthedayjob @klairelavarias @verorax

#niall #niall horan #niall fanfic #niall horan fanfic #niall horan fanfiction #niall au #1dff #heartbreak weather #friends to lovers

[skvaderarts]

Hello and Welcome to Apocrypha!

Chapter One: Contemplation

The Masterlist will be listed when I publish chapter 2 on Wednesday because there is nothing to list yet lol! It’s on my AO3  and my FF.N though.

Chapter One: Contemplation

Notes: Hello everyone! Notes are at the end today! It's great to have you back for book two! Let me know what you think and thanks for coming back!

"Love seeketh only self to please,

To bind another to its delight,

Joys in another's loss of ease,

And builds a Hell in Heaven's despite."

-William Blake

Chapter One:

One week later…

Rays of golden light traced a path between the leaves and branches of a great oak tree and showered comforting warmth down upon the pavement below as large puffy white clouds attempted to interrupt them. After a long and arduous week of storms and overcast skies, the warm embrace of the sun was akin to a well stoked fire in the middle of a cold blizzard: comfortable and reaffirming. For it to be the middle of August, it was uncharacteristically cool today, although that could be attributed to the fact that Fortuna was an island and as such it benefited from a constant coastal breeze. That was fortunate considering the manner in which at least half of the island's occupant's still dressed. It seemed that despite their recent reservations about the Order and their illicit activities, some of them still couldn't shake the habit and it was a constant point of conflict within the community. But regardless, the weather was positively idyllic.

It was almost enough to lule someone right off to sleep. Thankfully, V had not given into temptation just yet, as doing so while he was supposed to be watching the children at a public park would be dreadfully irresponsible. He was many things, but he liked to think that "negligent" wasn't one of them. That wasn't to say that the thought hadn't crossed his midday weary mind, however. He had been awake since the crack of dawn, awoken by accident by the sound of Nero and Nico preparing to leave for an impromptu trip to what remained of Redgrave City. The local military had made the decision to quarden off the area and allow several different groups ranging from scientists to government agencies to come study it. But they were still in the beginning phases of building a containment zone around the city. Considering the fact that it was near several other population centers, the prospect of keeping the general public out was basically impossible. This was a project that was going to be months, if not years, in the making, and there would be a reckoning at the end of it. Somehow he could just feel it.

V tilted his head slightly as he forced himself to sit up right and stop slouching over so far on the park bench, his hair practically blinding him. He had to at least pretend that he wasn't on the verge of passing over the border into dreamland. He had volunteered to take the children to the park so that Kyrie could have some much needed "me time" since every other adult had left for the day. She hadn't asked, but he could tell she needed it. Nero generally helped keep them busy when he was home, but that wasn't going to be the case today. They didn't exactly have a school to be at with everything in the city under repairs, so occupying the time of three young boys who seemed to be practically overflowing with energy was difficult to say the least. Kyle, Carlo, and Julio were a stark contrast to him at the moment. It had been just over a week since he had returned to the mortal realm, and although he felt much less weak than he once had and his injuries had long since healed (at an uncharacteristically accelerated pace, at that), he still found himself limited by a staggering lack of energy. It was as if no matter how much he slept, he never stopped being drowsy. Or was that an unintended consequence of his constant napping? Perhaps his newfound accelerated healing abilities had sapped him of his remaining strength? It was relatively hard to say, and he wasn't going to expend valuable mental energy dwelling on it. He had to make it home, after all.

Home…

What a strange concept.

For most of his life he'd be transient to no fault of his own, constantly moving from place to place, so the idea of having a permanent dwelling was almost totally foreign. He wasn't entirely sure he even wanted that. It wasn't something he'd put much thought into, to be honest. For the most part, he just took things one day at a time, especially right now. There was no undue pressure to do anything besides exist here and he liked that, but the absence of a set goal made him admittedly anxious for no particular reason. V exhaled slowly and shook his head at himself. He was one of those people who was incapable of relaxing, wasn't he? The young summoner took a moment to stretch, contemplating the possibility of standing up. Should he go back to the house? There wasn't anything pressing to do there except ruin Kyrie's otherwise serene quiet time with the abrupt and all to familiar sound of excited children. He could spare a few more minutes for her sake before he went back and did the same thing he was doing now but in a different spot: a whole lot of nothing. It was strange how finding out he was part demon killed the excitement of almost everything else around him. Things weren't going to get too much more impressive outside of that. V smirked, starting to understand why seemingly everyone else in his family had a predilection for combat, one that he was easing himself into in his own way. While he was no stranger to a battle himself, he was most certainly much pickier than the rest of his kindred. But, then again, he had good reason to be, all things considered.

As if possessed by a need to spread his wings to keep himself awake, Griffon suddenly materialized and fluttered around the space between him and the sparse playground equipment, unintentionally highlighting the stark contrast between himself and the brightly colored children's attractions. Although a mostly nature oriented space, there were still swings, slides, and climbing equipment to occupy the time of younger visitors. A recent edition as the city attempted to add more outside influences in a bid to reinvent itself, even if only a little. V shot his avian companion a slightly irked look as he flew over to him and perched on the back of the wrought iron park bench he currently occupied, his arms spread out along the back of it leaving only a small space for the demonic bird to claim for himself.

"Pipe down, hot stuff. We're in a park! No one can even see us down here!" Griffon said, flapping both his wings and his beak. He already knew that V was going to object.

V schoffed. Now that they were in a populated city that wasn't composed of demons and the husks of what used to be it's unlucky residents, he was more careful about when and where he allowed his familiars to roam free. Even if Griffon didn't speak, he wasn't the most inconspicuous bird in existence and Shadow was a dead giveaway more likely to send people feeling for their lives than anything else even if they didn't realize she was a demon. While he had no choice but to acknowledge that they were sentient beings with their own wants and desires, they all had to admit that much like discretion was the better part of valor, not drawing the attention of literally everyone on the island was the better part of not causing issues for everyone they lived with. He was privy to the fact that Nero had only recently gained the trust and cooperation of the locals after a lifetime of being ostracized. V himself turned curious and cautious heads alike when he ventured outside of the confines of their cozy home. While no one had said anything to him (at all, really), he was sure that allowing people to see that he possessed demonic helpers in a city that had been terrorized by demons for generations wasn't the greatest way to gain the trust of the locals. That being said, he couldn't say that he was particularly intimidated by the people who lived here, either. They seemed more afraid of him than anything else, and that wasn't too much better if he was being honest. He didn't really enjoy being feared unless it was by his enemies. V possessed enough unsure feelings about himself as it was. He didn't need total strangers to add to it.

"Still though," V said as he threw a cautionary but unconcerned glance in either direction," my previous point still stands. We're not in Redgrave City anymore. I'm asking you to try and be discrete. Nothing more."

"Sure thing, Dorthy. I'll keep it in mind." Griffon said sarcastically as he preened himself.

V closed his eyes for a moment, thinking. At the end of the day, he knew that Griffon wasn't going to be uncooperative. But, at the same time, he understood where his companions were coming from. While they had more or less free roam of the house, there was significantly more room out here for his airally inclined pet to really stretch out and get comfortable. It was a difficult temptation to refuse. And they could almost instantaneously convert back into tattoos. Was he being too stern about this? If there was no one around to see it, what harm could it do? Did they all just need a good flight?

He opened his eyes again, content to put the matter aside for now. There was no harm in it and no rush to come to a decision, but there was definite harm in indecision and stress. Why was coming to a park so stressful to him? Why did he have to overthink everything? Or was he even overthinking in the first place. Ah, there he went again, overthinking things. He needed a distraction…

The white haired man spared a glance at the children. They were as they had been moments ago, playing happily and running amok, causing a ruckus. In a way, he envied them. He'd never really been interested in the concept of physical activity as a child, his attention firmly rooted in literature even then. And he'd never really had the energy… or any friends to play with to speak of…

This was a terrible distraction. Revisiting his childhood was never a healthy idea.

Why did every thought process in his infinitely expanding mind lead down some unwanted or unfortunate path? What he wouldn't give to be able to space out and think nothing at all like a normal person. Was that some facet of his demonic blood; that he should always be on high alert even when at rest? Perhaps he just needed a hobby or some sort of task to complete so that his mind didn't have time to dwell on these types of things. While running from his problems had never been advisable (or worked very well) he needed to set them aside for another time and focus on something more engaging. Or maybe he needed professional help. Who knew?

V uncrossed his legs and leaned forward, propping his elbows up on his knees and resting his face in the palms of his hands. There honestly wasn't much to do on this island, but if he left town and went to the mainland that was a different story. He hadn't done that in the entire time he'd been living with Nero, and he'd never visited the town that the other half of his immediate family lived in. Capulet, was it? Wasn't that next to Enamel, the city that Magnolia dwelled in? And then there was that matter as well. He hadn't visited her yet like she'd asked of him before she'd departed after she'd left the hospital a week earlier. Perhaps he could visit her and browse the local vacancies while he was at it? After all, even though there was no urgent need to leave, looking never hurt. It was something to do at the very least. That had to count for something. And following up with Vergil about the cult was still on the table even if he wasn't entirely sure what to do about that situation just yet. Or if it was preferable. But it had never been about that in the first place. At some point he would have to talk to his father...

Yes, he would start with Magnolia. That seemed to be a favorable course of action given the circumstances. Griffon shook his head, repressing the urge to laugh at how indecisive V was being. While he didn't have a play for play book on what he was thinking since V wasn't talking to him specifically, it didn't take a mental giant to figure out that he was going back and forth over something. And he wasn't getting anywhere from what he could tell.

"I think we should head back now," V said as he stood up. He stretched as much as his eager to protest body would allow him to and gestured towards the children. They pouted as expected, but didn't protest. Throwing a fit wasn't going to earn them a return trip and they knew it. That wasn't a hypothesis they needed to test out. Griffon did a second lap around the playground while V waited for the children to join him before flying back over to dematerialize and rejoin with his master. The group then turned their attention to the path that led out of the park. Home wasn't more than three blocks from here, a fact that V was grateful for considering his continued lack of a cane and his current energy reserves. They would be there in no time at all and it was just past noon. They all had the whole day ahead of them.

-~-

Welcome back everyone! Just a few quick points! As always, I am happy to hear your comments and feedback! I decided to not stress myself out with an arbitrary work count minimum so the chapters will be a bit more organic this time around. That doesn't necessarily mean they will be longer or shorter, just that they will be however long they need to be to tell the story correctly. That being said, chapter two is longer than this one, so that's fun! I also want to give a special thank you to everyone who filled out the questionnaire for me at the end of the last book! At this time, it's closed, but it made a huge impact on how I arranged things in this book. The way this is going, I may very well just keep writing for this AU for the foreseeable future as we all seem to enjoy it. I even went out and purchased a new laptop just for this (I'm not rich, it's just a nice chromebook since I use Google Doc and my table is having a hard time) Wednesday and Friday between Noon and six pm CDT is still the publishing time. And thank you all very much for reading chapter one! See you back here on the 22nd of July! I hope my spelling was better this time around!

#Apocrypha #Soliloquy #SkvaderArts #Book Two #A03 #A03 Fic #Post DMC5 #Devil May Cry 5 #Post Devil May Cry 5 #V DMC #V Sparda #Vitale Sparda #Vitale DMC #Nero DMC #Nero Sparda #Vergil DMC #Vergil Sparda #Dante #Dante Sparda #Dante DMC #Nero #V #Vitale #Vergil #fanfiction #fic

[linctavia]

"Hands so bloody, tastes like honey" for our main girls make it HURT

Here you go my dear! I wrote this as a sequel to my last prompt fill, here. It got a little out of hand in terms of length but I hope you like it and it hurts you! (Post 5x11)

It was only midday and Niylah was already dealing with a third wave of injured soldiers. They had been coming in for hours and she was having a hard time keeping up. Wonkru had set up a makeshift medical tent on the outskirts of the battle but bodies, both dead and alive, were already spilling out the door. They were lying on thin mats, scraps of fabric, or in some cases just patchy bits of dry grass that dotted the sand. Jackson had been running around nonstop since the battle began, shouting directions, checking the soldiers, and attempting life saving surgery with whatever scarce tools they had managed to haul across the desert. He never slowed down to talk to her but she could tell he was worried about Nate, who had marched out with the first battalion. She could see it in the way his forehead creased and his eyes widened every time a new soldier limped into the tent. Luckily, he had too much on his hands to focus on it for long.

Niylah was fairly busy herself. She wasn’t performing any surgeries but she was kept on her feet changing bandages, running IV’s, and triaging the wounded for Jackson to deal with. But unlike the doctor, her mind apparently had plenty of room for worry. She went over the battle plans a thousand times, or at least what she knew of them. Octavia and her had hardly spoken much less discussed methods of attack. But still she considered all the ways their plan could miserably fail. She needed to know what was going on outside the walls of the tent so she whispered one word to every soldier in the condition to speak.

“Blodreina?”

The word was bitter in her mouth. She didn’t care about Blodreina. She needed to know if Octavia, the girl she had fallen in love with, was still alive. The news was good to start, Octavia had lead the charge with ferocity. Tales came back of her sword taking down row after row of unsuspecting Eligius soldiers. But then their side started taking heavy losses, more came back shot or severely burned and her question was only met with grave nods, meaning the girl was still alive.

“Niylah!” one of her fellow medics shouted, waving her to the door of the tent. Niylah carefully picked her way through the crowd of people and pushed through the flap.

She knew something had gone wrong as soon as she got outside. The air was hazy and billows of smoke rose up on the horizon. When she squinted she saw flames licking the trees far in the distance and the crackling of fire mingled with the usual sounds of battle. She ran the plans again in her head, searching for the one that dealt with fire, but her mind came up blank.

“Shit,” the medic, a former skaikru girl, muttered, “we better get ready.”

So they braced themselves for the flood of body. They laid out more cots, they prepped sterile bandages and anti-infective injections. They did everything they could to prepare for the tragedy they knew was headed their war. But the people never came. The flow of wounded that had been steady since the battle began had stopped altogether.

Niylah’s heart was beating in her throat and her vision blurred. The sound of shouts and gunfire in the distance were the only indication Wonkru hadn’t been completely annihilated. But she couldn’t make out any of the battle as the distance and smoke both worked to obscure the battle into a hellish cloud.

She stood staring at the chaos, unmoving. There was nothing she could do for the people in there, nothing except hope.

Then a wild eruption of movement and sound came over a dune of sand. A figure came running towards their tent at full speed, nearly tumbling on the loose terrain. It was a girl, ash streaked her face and blood covered the entire front side of her shirt.

“Help! Help!” her shouts were frantic. She was sprinting at a speed that meant she couldn’t be injured too gravely.

“It’s Blodreina.”

The words rung in her ears like a hammer slammed against the side of her face. Niylah crossed the distance between her and the girl in seconds.

“What is it? What happened?” Niylah had managed to keep her calm with over a hundred wounded patients but now she was practically screaming.

“Bomb. There was a bomb,” the girl stammered and her teeth chattered but she didn’t stop, “We saw it coming only a few seconds before it blew. It was coming right at him.”

“Him? What about Blodreina?” Niylah’s head was swimming. She needed to know what happened to Octavia not some man.

“She tried to push him out of the way. She-she wasn’t fast enough. It blew.”

The girl collapsed to the ground in a wreck of sobs. Niylah wanted nothing more than to join her but she couldn’t. Her feet took off before her brain and in seconds she was sprinting towards the battlefield.

She got closer and the smoke was thick. Ashy tears streamed down her cheeks and she coughed and choked on the thick smog. Even the smoke wasn’t as bad as the sights she knew it was obscuring. Moans, screams, and cries came from all around her. She tripped and nearly fell on a pile of what had to be bodies but she kept running.

“Octavia!” it was ridiculously foolish but she wasn’t thinking straight. Her shout hardly even left her mouth, the haze of smoke and screams drowned the words. But she kept shouting, fighting through the coughs.

The smoke was starting to clear and Niylah was worried she missed Octavia completely in the maze of gray and red. Maybe it was already too late. No, it couldn’t be. She would find her or she would die doing it. As she was about to make her way back into the thick of things something slammed against her leg. She yelped as she felt a hand wrap itself around her ankle. She fought the urge to kick it away. She knew she had to keep moving but training kicked in and she bent down to check the state of the wounded soldier.

At first all she could make out was a mass of dark clothes and thick red blood pooling around them. With a decent amount of effort, she rolled the body over and a deep rumbling groan came from the man. As he struggled she got a good look at his face for the first time and gasped.

“Bellamy?”

He tried to speak but his words came out as a gurgle of blood. His clothes hung in singed tatters that obscured most of his body but she could already see a variety of burns and lacerations covering his face and hands. He desperately tried to push himself up and his bloodshot eyes darted around like a cornered animal.

“Don’t you dare move,” she gently guided him back down and he winced in pain but still didn’t stop his struggle.

“O,” the single syllable was all he could muster, but it was enough. The soldier’s story came flooding back to her. Blodreina, the selfish tyrant, jumping headfirst into a bomb to shove a man out of the way. Bellamy was the man. She pushed him out of the way of the bomb. She tried to save him.

“I’ll be back, Bellamy, I promise. I’ll send someone for you,” guilt crushed Niylah as she pulled away from him but he only nodded gravely and pointed ahead.

She took off in a run once more, ignoring the burn that started in her lungs and spread through her whole body. Her mind raced with silent curses at Octavia. She had to throw herself in front of a bomb. She had to get herself fucking blown up. Because she needed to save her goddamn brother. For once she almost wished the ruthless Blodreina was more than just a mask. Because it was Octavia who wouldn’t let him die.

Octavia’s words from before they marched came back to Niylah. Only the good die young.

“Goddamnit Octavia Blake,” she whispered to herself, “Why do you pick now to realize how good you are?”

Her legs were weak as she trekked up a sloping hill. If it wasn’t for the adrenaline she would have collapsed long ago. The air was clearer at the top and from the high vantage point she could make out a huddle of bodies in the distance. It didn’t take long for her to reach them.

“Let me through,” Niylah shouldered her way through the crowd and the heart that had been hammering in her chest sunk into her boots.

There, lying in Indra’s arms, was Octavia. Her eyes were shut and her face completely covered in blood. Her armor was mostly intact but her pants were ripped to shreds and tangled with her tattered flesh and bits of shrapnel. One of her arms was bent at a hideous angle and she could barely make out the bone poking through flesh and leather.

Niylah fell to her knees next to Indra and dug through the first aid kit around her waist. She laid a hand on Octavia’s chest and was relieved to feel it moving up and down. The relief didn’t last long, her breathing was shallow and irregular and Niylah felt at least two broken ribs. Octavia was unconscious but she whimpered and writhed at the slightest touch. Niylah murmured false reassurances to unhearing ears.

Indra described the explosion as Niylah worked as fast as she could. She tried to stop the bleeding as best she could but Octavia was fading fast. Niylah felt tears threatening as she ran out of bandages and started to tear apart the cleanest bits of cloth she could find. Her hands were shaking from fear and exhaustion but she managed to get a tourniquet to cut off some of the worst bleeding. Not that it mattered, there was already a deadly amount of blood soaking into the ground beneath them. She needed to get back to medical and Jackson ASAP.

Based on the throng of people and their distance from the smoke, Octavia must have been carried away from the blast sight by the soldiers. They could carry her again but Niylah feared the trip would be the death of Octavia.

Indra looked at her expectantly, begging for a way to save the girl she loved like her own daughter. But there was nothing to do. She tried to look calm as she ordered them all to stay put but she was panicking and so were the soldiers.

Suddenly, a mechanical growl came from the smoke and everyone flinched and braced for the attack. But it didn’t come, instead the familiar shape of the rover rolled to a stop in front of them. The door swung open and Madi clambered down. She took one look at Octavia’s battered body and popped the back doors, shouting at the soldiers to load her in.

In other circumstances, Niylah would have found it ironic that the last person Octavia would want to see on the battlefield was the one coming to her rescue. But at the moment Niylah loved the little girl with her whole heart. In fact, if the love of her life wasn’t bleeding out she would have picked her up and spun her around.

Madi and Indra piled into the front seats while Niylah crouched in the back, attempting to stabilize Octavia once again. Niylah guided Madi to where Bellamy lay and then they were racing back to medical, the two Blakes lying side by side. Even unconscious the two seemed to gravitate towards each other, rolling and scooting across the floor until they were pressed shoulder to shoulder.

Octavia went under the knife as soon as she got to the tent. Even the most injured stood to make room for their Blodreina. The next few hours were a blur as Niylah raced to give Jackson anything and everything he needed to save her. More than once she was yelled at to keep it together. But how exactly was she supposed to keep it together?

Octavia’s heart stopped three times and Niylah was certain hers did the same.

An eternity later Octavia lay unconscious but alive on a cot. Bellamy was spread out next to her. He was in rough shape but Jackson was almost certain he would live. Octavia had taken most of the damage. Niylah sat on the opposite side of her, uselessly attempting to wipe the girl down with a wet cloth. Her face was nearly clear of blood but Niylah’s hands were soaked.

Octavia stirred beneath the cool fabric, they had give her the highest dose of drugs they could but the battle had not been kind to anyone and there wasn’t much to go around. If looks were any indication, the pain had to be hell. Bandages covered the majority of her body, hiding burns and bruises, and stiches crisscrossed under the gauze making her look like a poorly crafted rag doll. Her arm had been set but they would need a more permanent solution soon. They had to cut her clothes away from her burnt flesh and she was practically naked under the blanket.  

Niylah had hoped she would stay under longer but she was already tossing and turning.

“Niy…” Octavia’s eyelids fluttered as her throat cracked. A cough racked her chest and she cried out in pain.

“I’m here, ai niron, I’m here,” she leaned in close and Octavia’s big green eyes focused on her face. She felt her breathing steady, her worries soothed only slightly by the sound of her voice.

“You’re okay,” she brushed a hand against her cheek, accidentally smearing more blood on her recently cleaned face, “and, thanks to you, so is your brother.”

Her head whipped around as fast as her sore neck would allow. When she saw Bellamy asleep next to her the tears came. They trickled silently down her cheeks as her chest hurt too much to sob. Her battered hand reached out and her thin fingers wrapped around his.

“You saved him, my brave girl,” Niylah felt tears in her own eyes and she gently laced her fingers around Octavia’s other hand.

“And you saved me,” Octavia’s split lips cracked into the widest smile she could manage, “thank you.”

“No problem, lovely, just do me a favor and never do anything like that ever again.”

“Deal.”

They both knew Octavia was lying, she would do it again in a heartbeat. And if the moment comes again it’s obvious that she won’t hesitate to throw herself into danger. Niylah wanted to hate her for it, but she knew it was one of the reasons she loved her so much.

Instead of calling Octavia out on her bullshit she leaned down and kissed her as gently as she could. Octavia pushed back with as much force as she could muster. The kiss lasted only seconds before Octavia was out of breath and whining in pain. Her lips had tasted like blood, vomit, metal, sand, and smoke. But it was the sweetest kiss Niylah ever had.

#niytavia #octavia blake #niylah kom trikru #niylah x octavia #niytavia fic #mine #my fic #asked and answered #long post #reysxrose

[showmethedestiel]

Like I said; I don’t Like Hospitals

Chapter Sixteen

[Masterlist]

Summary:  You help Misha while he’s going through a hard time. The two of you quickly become friends, but will it lead to something more in such trying circumstances?

Words: 2,582

Pairing: Misha/Reader

Misha’s POV

Misha wakes to see the sun rising over the treetops out the window; through the cracked open curtains. The clock tells him it’s just after seven.

He groans and rolls over, eyes falling on your sleeping form beside him.

He smiles and kisses your cheek before he gets out of bed, getting dressed to go and wake the kids up.

Five hours later he’s sitting on a deck chair, looking over the crystalline water of the calm lake; the picture of serenity.

That is - of course - sans the squealing, splashing children a few hundred yards along the beach.

Misha hears a chuckle from the plastic chair beside him. He turns to your dad.

“Ah, children.” Is all he says.

Misha smiles. “What about you Tim, you ever miss having them?” He asks.

Tim smiles a little sadly. “Sometimes.” He says. “I’m just glad Y/N found someone so I could at least experience this again.” He looks fondly at West and Maison, making sloppy sandcastles from the too-wet sand.

Misha smiles proudly. There are a few minutes of silence before he speaks. “You wouldn’t be saying that if you had to drive them here.” He chuckles.

“Here’s to that.” Tim replies, raising his beer.

Your dad had caught a few Perch and a Trout, Misha had proudly caught a largemouth bass. West had found a freshwater crab – but Maison had lost it after it pinched her; much to her brother’s annoyance.

Tim brought sandwiches which were long-since eaten, and beers which he and Misha were slowly making their way through.

The lake itself was beautiful; teeming with wildlife, surrounded by a mostly rocky beach – aside from the small sandy alcove West and Maison were playing in. It was deep in the forest, so the shade had cooled the water – but it wasn’t freezing because of the scorching summer.

“Dad! Come look what we found!” West shouts, holding up a closed fist.

Misha grunts as he stands, having not moved from one spot in hours. “Watch my rod, would you?” He asks the man beside him.

Tim smiles. “When children call…”

Misha chuckles and makes his way over to the kids thirty yards down the beach. “What is it Westie?” He asks, crouching down.

West is holding a small, grey crustacean. “What is it dad?” He asks,

“I think it’s a dead crawfish West.” Misha replies, a look of mild disgust on his face. “I wouldn’t touch it.”

“No – it isn’t dead – it was moving a minute ago!” West insists, poking it with his other hand.

“Okay, well I think you might’ve killed it buddy.” Misha says, standing back up. “I think you should put it back in the water now.”

“Okay.” West replies obediently, running down to the shore.

Misha stays and watches for a moment longer before wandering back to Tim.

“He found a dead crawfish.” He explains, sitting down and picking up his fishing rod.

There’s no reply and Misha thinks Tim might have fallen asleep. But no, his eyes are open. There’s a content smile on his lips.

His head lolls unnaturally to the side and Misha suddenly feels a nauseating panic. “Tim?” He says loudly.

There’s no reply.

“Tim?” He repeats, alarmed, this time shaking the older man’s shoulder gently.

He checks for a pulse.

There isn’t one.

Shit.

While Misha’s impatiently waiting for the ambulance, nervously running a hand through his hair, he calls you.

“Hey Mish.” You answer.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry,” He replies, distressed.

“What? What is it?” You ask, frowning in confusion.

“It… It’s your dad.” Misha says, his voice pained.

You feel your heart constrict.

“What?” You ask, not wanting to hear the answer.

“I… I think he had a heart attack, there’s an ambulance on its way.”

You swallow thickly, head spinning. “W- what happened?” You manage to ask.

“I don’t know. I went over to see West and when I came back… He wasn’t breathing.”

“What hospital?” You ask, standing up and watching your mother’s confused, scared expression.

“Uh, Saint Josephs.” Misha replies and you walk to the door, gesturing for your mom to follow.

Once you’re in the hire car you put your cell on speakerphone.

“You’re on speaker.” You say as your tyres screech on the tarmac.

“Y/N, what’s happening?” Your mother asks fearfully.

You turn to face her, eyes scared. “It’s dad.” You whisper. “Misha thinks he had a heart attack.”

Your mom’s eyes go wide and she blinks a few times. “W-what?” She stammers.

“There’s an ambulance on its way.” You say, though a shaky voice.

You get to the hospital a few minutes after the ambulance does, and rush inside – finding Misha and the kids immediately.

He wraps his arms around you, and you tuck your head under his chin.

“What’s happening?” You ask unsteadily.

You hear Misha swallow. “It doesn’t look good.” He says; his voice rough.

You hear your mom make a strangled noise behind you, and you leave Misha’s arms to embrace her.

“It’s okay mom.” You say. “It’s okay.”

Misha watches sadly from a few feet away, wishing there was something he could do.

You’re standing outside room 337. The wooden door is shut, serving as a dam of reality; as long as he’s behind that closed door, this can’t be real.

“I’m sorry.” The doctor before you says, wearing practised controlled moroseness on his features. “There was nothing we could do.”

Your mom breaks down into your arms, sobbing damp patches into your shirt.

“Thank you.” You tell the doctor, who nods and walks away, leaving you to grieve.

A stout nurse bustles out of the next door down, pushing a cleaning trolley. “Excuse me.” She says, walking past your family. You watch her open the door, your face falls as the inevitability hits you.

It’s only a flash; an instant image of him – lying on the hospital bed, sleeping, he’s just sleeping. But he’s not; he’s sickly pale and flash-frozen still. That’s all you see, and that’s all it takes.

A tear falls down your face and suddenly they won’t stop falling.

Misha stands, unsure of what to do. West and Maison are by his legs, scared and unsure – but knowing something bad just happened.

“I’m gonna take the kids to the car – if that’s okay?” He says quietly, resting a hand on your back.

You just nod, clinging to your mother.

Back at your family home that night; you lie awake next to Misha – staring at the ceiling. He takes your hand in his and squeezes in an attempt at comfort.

You roll over, burying your head in his chest, breathing in his scent and curling away from the world. He strokes your back.

“How are you doing?” He asks softly.

You sigh. “I just can’t believe he’s really gone.” You hold Misha tighter. “I used to think he was invincible – when I was little. I lost that delusion when he got into a car accident. I was only fourteen. He was in hospital for almost a month until he was let out. He tore up his hands pretty good – couldn’t garden for weeks. Funny thing is; that was his biggest worry. He would grumble about it every day – but he didn’t seem to notice the fact he almost died. He never has been afraid of his own mortality; my dad.” You say softly. “And I suppose that’s a good thing. He got to see West and Maison – he died happy.” You muse. “I’m worried about my mom though.”

“She’ll be okay.” Misha says, “I think she’s where you get your resilience from.”

You chuckle. “That’s true.” After a moment you add, “Still though. They’ve been together since they were sixteen.”

Misha tenses slightly, his arms tightening around you.

“What is it?” You ask, tilting your head to look at him; there are tears in his eyes, which he’s trying to hide.

He closes his eyes, causing a tear to fall from one. “Nothing.” He shakes his head. “Just that I was that age when Vicki and I...”

Your face falls in understanding. “I’m sorry.” You squeeze his hand.

“Yeah.” He says softly, opening his eyes to look at you. “Me too.”

The funeral is on a Sunday – the day before you leave to go back to Washington. You and Misha had decided not to visit Misha’s mom – Rebecca – in favour of inviting her to yours.

The midday August sun is hot in the open, shadeless field. There is a small gathering of people milling around, jackets shed in the heat. Your dad’s parents had died a long time ago, as had his brother. His only other family was on the other side of the world – except you and Beth.

“Hey Y/N.” She says, embracing you.

She flew up yesterday after hearing the news of your father’s passing.

“Hey.” You reply, smiling sadly. “How are you doing?”

Beth nods, “Not too bad. It was a shock but… At least he was happy.”

“Yeah.” You agree. “He really was.”

You see some of your dad’s old friends – some you recognise, some you don’t.

Misha – unsurprisingly – gets on with them, and the group becomes less sombre and more reminiscent, the scent of autumn and wine in the breeze. It’s what he would have wanted.

When everyone has spoken and said their goodbyes, the casket is lowered into the ground and you help Beth carry over a full-moon maple. It was one of his favourite trees.

You bury the roots in the dry soil, patting the edges gently just as he’d taught you when you were little, bumbling around the garden and getting in his way.

“The tree which moves some to tears of joy is, in the eyes of others, only a green thing that stands in the way. Some see nature all ridicule and deformity... and some scarce see nature at all. But to the eyes of the man of imagination, nature is imagination itself.” You repeat his words, smoothing your fingers over the dirt.

Beth raises an eyebrow from beside you.

“William Blake.” You shrug. “Always stuck with me.”

Your sister decided to stay with your mom for a while – so she isn’t alone. Beth suggested selling the house – but your mother was steadfast.

“I wouldn’t let anyone touch his garden.” She protested vehemently. “Quite literally, over my dead body.”

So you, Misha, and the kids went back home, having only a few days before Misha’s mom comes to stay.

“You’re sure you’re okay with this?” He asks for the thousandth time since you got home.

You roll your eyes. “Yes Mish, I’m fine. I’m looking forward to it in fact! Maybe she’ll distract you from fussing over me.”

He sighs. “Okay, okay.” He says, ceasing his pacing to sit next to you on the couch. “Love you.” He smiles softly and you can’t help but smile too.

“Love you too, idiot.” You say fondly, leaning over to kiss him.

There’s a chorus of “Ewww” from West and Atticus at the doorway.

Misha pulls away, laughing. “It’s not ‘eww’ guys. You’ll see - someday.” He shakes his head softly. “Did you want something, or are you just here to gawk at my affection towards your mother?”

Misha seems to realise the mistake at the same time you do, and his eyes widen.

West however, didn’t seem to pick up on it, so intervenes before either of you can say anything. “It’s time to go get Phoebe.” He says, before running away with his friend.

You smile a little, unsure. “You called me their mom.” You tease, poking him softly.

Misha smiles sheepishly. “I mean you pretty much are…”

You shrug, “True.” Realising it is, in fact, true.

He breaks into a wide grin and returns to kissing you reverently.

Rebecca is a whirlwind. It’s the only way to describe her; a wild, unstoppable force.

She’s nice; she’s lovely – but she’s totally uncontrollable.

“West!” Misha says, exasperated, after the boy finished spewing a string of expletives. “Just… Tone it down a little, okay?”  

West grins evilly and runs out of the living room, giggling maniacally.

Rebecca is sitting quietly in the corner, but she catches your eye and smirks as Misha sits back down with a sigh, throwing an irritated glance at his mother.

“So.” She says. “Where are you from Y/N?” She smiles.

“Michigan.” You reply, “Did Misha mention we just got back from visiting my parents?”

“Yes, he did.” She says in a sympathetic tone. “I’m sorry to hear about your father, I’m sure he was a great man.”

You smile and drop your gaze. “That he was.”

There’s a comfortable silence before a log shifts in the open fire, bringing everyone back to the present. Misha gets up to sort it just as Maison wanders in, rubbing her sleepy eyes.

“Hey Mais, what are you doing up?” You ask.

“Couldn’t sleep. Want a bedtime story.” She says.

Misha is the only one who she’ll let read to her – you’ve learned.

He stands and walks over to pick her up, “Come on then.” He says, resting her on his hip. “What’ll it be tonight? Tintin, Asterix…” You hear him disappear up the stairs and turn your attention back to Rebecca, who’s watching you with a small smile.

You tilt your head in question.

“It’s nothing.” She shakes her head. “Just sometimes you remind me so much of Vicki.” She turns suddenly serious. “And I say that as the highest of compliments.”

You smile sadly. “Yeah, so I hear.” You nod, “Sometimes I wish I could’ve known her.”

Rebecca smiles. “I think you would have gotten along with her. Did you know she was an author? Among other things…”

You smile curiously. “I didn’t. Misha only tells me the occasional story, I don’t like to ask.”

She nods in understanding. “Well,” She leans in to tell her story. “When Misha told me about her first book – I didn’t quite know what to say. Take a guess at what it was about.”

You shrug. “I have no idea.”

“Threesomes.” She says simply, before bursting into laughter.

You grin, “You’re kidding,” You say incredulously.

Rebecca shakes her head. “I’m not. It was called… ‘The Threesome Handbook; A Practical Guide to Sleeping with Three’ – if I remember correctly.” She chuckles, taking a sip of her wine.

“That is honestly amazing.” You say. “I’ll have to read it sometime.”

Misha finishes the last of his wine and Rebecca yawns.

“I think I’ll go to bed now.” She says, putting her glass on the coffee table. “I’ll see you two in the morning. Goodnight.” She stands and walks out of the room, leaving you and Misha alone.

You lay your head on his lap and smile up at him. “Hi.” You say.

“Hey.” He replies, carding a hand through your hair. “We should go to bed too; it’s late.”

“Mm. In a minute.” You mumble, lifting a hand to stroke Misha’s two-day stubble.

He leans into the touch, smiling thoughtfully down at you. “I love you, you know.” He says softly.

“Yeah, I know. And I love you.” You grin. “Look at us.”

“We make quite the pair.” He smirks.

You sit up to kiss him softly, straddling his waist with your hands in his hair. He smiles against your lips and stands, suddenly, causing you to yelp in surprise and cling to him.

Misha chuckles and wraps his arms firmly around you. “Bed.” He says, grinning.

“Bed.” You agree, nodding.

A/N:  I'm so sorry for taking ages to update this - I've had like the UK equivalent of finals (and still do) but I have some time off, so I should be updating more regularly. I hope you guys are still enjoying this! -B

Chapter Seventeen

Tags:  @bowtiesarecool6288 @ abtmnt

#Supernatural RPF #fanfiction #misha collins #misha x reader #misha collins/reader #fluff #misha