#and i get it at first glance he’s a prick for no discernible reason | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

delimeful · 3 years

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or set your teeth against my throat (2)

warnings: illness, mild emeto, bad decisions, miscommunication, short panic attack/flashback

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As the night turned to dawn and then day, Roman didn’t stop running.

He couldn’t stop, even as his pace grew more and more sluggish, his path erratic. Every time he thought about pausing, finding a good campsite and finally letting himself take a breath, it was as though phantom sensations grasped at his skin or tore at his throat.

He kept moving.

It was stupid, probably, being driven forward by fear like a mindless animal. … It was definitely stupid. Still, after ages spent trapped in one form, the full moon’s pull on the wolf in him was irresistible.

For the first time in ages, he worried about the possibility of coming astray of a human settlement once the moon was overhead. Normally, Virgil was the one who dedicated himself to making sure their pack’s turning ground was far from any stab-happy humans, always double and even triple-checking.

In his current state, Roman could barely discern a single natural scent around him, let alone any human scents he should avoid. He kept feeling eyes on him, silent watchers, but the distinction between reality and his own terrified delusions was growing thinner.

When the sun finally sank below the horizon, Roman allowed himself to collapse on a soft patch of earth under a shielding copse of saplings. He had some hope, however shallow, that by wearing himself out, his wolf would spend the night curled up somewhere, settled into a sleep heavy enough to erase the pounding headache settled deep in his skull.

He’d been a fool to let himself hope.

His memories while fully-turned were foggy as usual, but the emotions were clear: he’d spent his entire night on the move. His wolf had been howling long, agonized calls into the dark around him, desperately searching for the other members of his small pack. Desperately waiting for a response that would never come.

To top it all off, when he woke up human-shaped in the early hours of dawn, his headache had only grown worse.

His only turn of fortune was that his wolf hadn’t traveled back the way he’d come, driven away by some immutable sense of danger. He could at least be grateful he wouldn’t have to make up for any lost progress, even if his body was weak and trembling from being pushed past the brink of exhaustion.

The further he got from those bloodsuckers, the better.

His vision blurred slightly with each step. It was seeming more and more likely that he was growing feverish, though it was hard to tell with nobody else around to ask. He kept pressing a hand to his forehead and neck, trying to gauge his temperature, but his hands were warm, too.

He’d complained about his packmates’ terrible circulation and icy fingers before, but there was very little he wouldn’t do for them now… Just the phantom memory of Virgil’s cool hand on his head, voice sharp but touch unbearably gentle, was enough to make tears prick his eyes.

He took a deep breath, forcing himself up on shaky legs. There was no way he could give up now, feverish or not. What would his packmates advise?

“For survival, shelter and water are most important,” he mumbled to himself, wincing at the poor imitation. He cleared some of the raspiness from his throat, imagining Logan’s face when he really got into sharing his newest bit of knowledge. “Running water is preferable to still water, which can carry illnesses, and for larger rivers there is also the potential to find freshwater food sources, like salmon, catfish, bass, um… pike, trout… cod?” He frowned, losing the careful enunciation. “Wait, is salmon freshwater?”

Logan could have listed more off, Roman was sure, but the effort helped cheer him nonetheless. He spent the next few hours winding his way through the forest, attempting every so often to sniff the air for damp soil with little success.

His ears still worked fine, however, and so when he caught the first distant trickle of rushing water, he wasted no time in following the sound. It was no river, but the stream was plenty to help quench the dryness in the back of his throat.

“Go upstream,” he could imagine Virgil demanding, “make yourself harder to track. Wolves aren’t the only ones out there with good noses.”

“The water is so cold, though,” he complained to himself even as he began sloshing through it. “I have squishy human flesh, I’m going to freeze to death.”

Here was where Logan would point out his exaggeration, and Virgil would snap something snarky to distract him from the chill.

The burbling of the water was a poor substitute.

Once his feet grew truly chilled, he waded back out, mimicking Virgil’s voice to caution himself against the more slippery-looking rocks. He probably looked a little silly, holding both parts of a conversation, but it wasn’t as though anyone was around to see.

“Cut me some slack,” he muttered to nobody, allowing the comfort of his wolf form to slide back into place as the day turned to a chilly evening and he lay to rest. “I’m maybe-possibly-feverish, I deserve good things.”

He slept fitfully, and when he woke, there was a gray coat draped over him, and a small pile of walnuts and blackberries sat at his side, the nuts already shelled and the berries freshly washed.

The incredibly suspicious nature of their appearance only stopped Roman from eating them for about five minutes, and four of those five minutes were dedicated to imagining all the reasons Virgil would list to not eat them.

“Sorry, Virge,” he said through a mouthful of fruity deliciousness.

There didn’t seem to be anyone around, and no matter how he buried his face in the coat lining, his nose was too stuffed to pick up anything. It was an extraordinarily soft coat, though, and he felt awfully cold. It was hard for even him to imagine what harm could be done with a coat.

“I’m accepting this Possibly Evil Coat, but only for a little while, so don’t get any ideas!”

The woods were quiet in response to his declaration, and he sniffed daintily before climbing to his feet, internally bemoaning the way the world swayed slightly as he moved.

Couldn’t he just sleep here a bit longer…?

He imagined the unimpressed looks his packmates would give him. Imaginary Virgil in particular wouldn’t stand for sitting around when there was every possibility he was still being hunted.

“For all you know, that vamp was just a sick mind trick, and they’ve been toying with you this whole time!” Virgil would say, jumping to the worst-possible scenario that Roman always stalwartly tried to ignore. He shuddered, glancing around himself.

“You are not helping my mood, mister,” he muttered to Imaginary Virgil as he tromped through the underbrush with much less elegant grace than usual.

The little mystery offerings from the morning had helped stave off his plummeting energy levels, but they weren’t enough. It was only midday when the lightheadedness and the chills shuddering through him became too much, and he found himself collapsed on the ground between one blink and the next.

He was contemplating the benefits of simply remaining facedown on the dirt for a while when a cool hand wrapped around his wrist, carefully tugging him onto his back.

Roman blinked at the face above him, the blurry features slowly resolving themselves into the shape of the vampire who had freed him only nights before. The fear that shot through him didn’t make him any more lucid, and Roman bared his teeth in a snarl that was probably much less fearsome on a human face.

“Told you so,” Imaginary Virgil said, instead of doing anything helpful like tearing a vampire’s throat out. Roman missed Real Virgil.

The vampire was talking, a low, constant noise meant to soothe as he shifted an arm around Roman’s shoulders, lifting him to his feet. The blood rushed to his head, vision going black-- the next thing he knew, he was inside a small cabin, swaddled in blankets, the hearth crackling merrily feet away.

… What had he been worrying about? He couldn’t remember.

A chill shuddered through him. He was still so cold, even as sweat drenched the cloth around him, and he complained relentlessly.

His packmates tolerated his sickbed whining as graciously they always did, though for some reason they were more hesitant than normal to hold him close when he called for them. They seemed to be taking his care in shifts, as there was only ever one person in view, and sometimes he woke up completely alone.

(Strange, since they normally all piled up together when one of them got sick. They probably just needed to prioritize hunting or checking their territory boundaries or something. Roman wasn’t that sick.)

When they were there, Roman rambled and bickered with them nonstop, through shudders and chattering teeth, telling old stories and adding new twists to distract from the sickness ravaging him, only pausing when they pressed coriander seeds or wormwood to his lips.

(That was a little strange. Logan knew mint worked better for Roman’s nausea. Maybe they were out?)

Time passed in a haze, marked only by the frequent offers of fresh water and stale rations. Eventually, he was able to even measure out his healing progress by how often he could keep the aforementioned nutrients down.

(One of them was busy hunting, but somehow there was never any fresh kill.)

He knew his fever had finally, properly broken when he reached out for the one who had been taking care of him all this time, and registered that their skin was icy-cold.

Roman jerked back and then instantly regretted it as every nerve in his body protested severely.

“Ah, careful!” warned the vampire, who was at least smart enough to stay out of immediate biting range. His hands fluttered around as though he was attempting to bat away the dark spots that were currently dotting Roman’s vision.

Unbidden, a rough growl tore from him. He had a heartbeat to feel vindicated at the vamp’s flinch before his breath caught in his throat, kicking off an uncontrollable coughing fit.

Each wheeze brought less and less air, and when he caught the vampire shuffling closer, it suddenly felt like he had no air at all. He hunched over his knees, shifting his hands to cover his neck pathetically, as though the motion could protect him.

“Back off,” he snapped, cursing himself when the words came out as barely more than a choked whisper. How many times had he said some variation on the phrase in the past few weeks? He should have learned by now that it never worked.

When he glanced up, though, he found the vampire had practically teleported all the way across the room. The sight of the vamp peering at Roman worriedly from the furthest corner was odd enough to yank his mind out of the half-formed flashback.

He took a deep breath, trying to remember the grounding exercises Virgil always ran through. His wrists were light, his knees didn’t ache; he wasn’t chained down. There was soft fabric around him, and warmth in the air; it was a far cry from cold cement platforms in lifeless forts.

There was a vampire here, but his eyes weren’t red, and he didn’t wear a cruel smile like a second skin. Roman might still be a prisoner, but he wasn’t there anymore.

Instead, his current location was… a curiously cozy cabin?

Roman blinked. It was a single room, a bit sparse in decor but containing a small coal stove, stocked pantry, and a cheerily roaring fireplace. He was sitting on the solitary bed, a nest of blankets creased around him.

He turned his blank gaze back to the vampire. For a moment, the only noise in the room was the low crackle-pop of burning wood.

“Are you okay?” the vampire finally asked, brow creased with what looked like genuine concern. “You’ve been really burning up, and fevers like that can take a lot out of you. At least,” a pause, “as fire as I know.”

Any and all snappy responses (both literal and metaphorical) flew instantly from Roman’s mind. He groaned and slumped over dramatically, ignoring the way his vision swam slightly at the movement. “Augh, that was terrible!”

The vampire grinned, his smile somehow dorky even with the visible fangs. “You don’t have to tell me twice: I’m a fast burner!”

“Are you sure?” Roman asked. “Because this is the worst thing you’ve done to me yet, and I’m including the mind games, apparent abduction, and imprisonment.”

“Flameous last words,” the vamp said, and then the rest of Roman’s statement seemed to catch up with him. He drooped like a wilting flower. “You’re not imprisoned here! And I’m not trying to... mess with you, or anything.”

Roman gave him an unimpressed look. “Just so we’re on the same page, that’s a yes on you abducting me, correct?”

“I mean, yeah, just a little bit,” the vampire admitted, “but I meant it in a helpful way! I wasn’t going to bother you at first, I promise, but then you got sick, and I could tell how feverish you were just looking at you, and--,”

“Wait,” said Roman, his brain slowly churning through the implications of that sentence, “you were just going to follow me without me knowing, the entire way--,” home, he didn’t say, because the mere thought of accidentally leading a coven of vicious vampires to his vulnerable packmates made his stomach turn, and then he was leaning over and being violently ill in the bucket beside his bed.

A cold weight settled against the back of his neck, soothing against his overheated skin for the few seconds it took him to realize what-- or rather, who it was. He jerked away with a halfhearted snarl, probably looking rightly pathetic.

“I’m sorry,” the vampire said mournfully, stopping him short. “I wasn’t trying to upset you, I just-- I knew it was my fault. If I’d gotten the key sooner, or been braver, you wouldn’t have been out in the cold for so long, you might not have caught sick at all. It wouldn’t be right for me to abandon you.”

“Abandon me?” Roman spluttered. What did this guy think he was, some lost pup? “I can take care of myself just fine alone, thank you very much! I have absolutely no need for suspicious sanguinous stalkers on my tail.”

For emphasis, he shoved the blankets off of himself, swung his legs over the edge of the bed, and stood up in preparation to leave.

One blink later, he was facedown on the floor, his body numb yet his nose stinging from the impact. “Ow.”

The vampire offered him a hand up. “Autumn is my favorite season, but that certainly didn’t seem like a very nice fall.”

“Must you kick a man while he’s down?” Roman bemoaned, ignoring the proffered hand in favor of pushing himself up.

His traitorous legs wobbled under him, and he ended up collapsing back into a seated position on the bed, right where he’d started. He felt a wave of familiar despair wash over him. The sickness had sapped every ounce of strength from him; whatever villainous plans lay ahead, he had no chance of foiling them.

… Maybe he could still foil some of them.

Roman met the vampire’s gaze as solidly as he could. “No matter how adeptly you try to play the kindly stranger role, I’m not going to fall for it.” I’m not going to lead you to my family. “You may as well cut your losses and do whatever it is you’re planning to do to me.”

He waved a dismissive hand for emphasis, as if it didn’t matter to him. As if the mere idea of getting so close to freedom and then dying (alone, far from his pack, without them ever even knowing what happened to him) wasn’t enough to make him feel like there were roots tangling in his lungs and weeds clogging his throat.

The vampire nodded slowly, a troubled look on his face. “In that case…”

He moved closer, and Roman focused very intently on not flinching, no matter how badly he wanted to, or how hard his body was already shaking. The vampire reached out--

“My name is Patton,” he said, very carefully offering his hand at the midpoint between them, “and what I want is for you to stay right here in this house until you’re healed, and then you can go wherever you want to go, and I’ll make an oath not to follow.”

“What?” Roman blurted, staring at Patton’s hand with blatant confusion. “You-- I-- What?”

“I really don’t want to hurt you, kiddo.” Roman stiffened, because that was a classic villain line setup if he’d ever heard one, but-- “So, once you’re healed, whatever you need me to do to prove it, I’ll do it.”

Roman’s increasing headache had nothing to do with his fever and everything to do with the oxymoron that was a philanthropist bloodsucker.

What was the right option? He couldn’t get away, but he couldn’t trust that this bizarre hospitality would last, either. Perhaps the best course of action here was inaction-- lulling the vampire into a false sense of security by pretending to be sick even as he grew healthy enough to escape?

Roman could act. He was good at it, and the bar for his illness had been set quite convincingly with his earlier faceplant. He let his muscles go lax, slumping over slightly to give off the impression of conceding without actually ever agreeing to Patton’s proposed plan.

“If you’re so intent on me trusting you, you can start by telling me where I am,” he sniffed, graciously not mentioning the abduction thing again.

Patton brightened, letting his offered hand drop without comment. “This is an aidhouse! It’s part of a system recently set up in this division of the kingdom for common good and to prevent spread of disease.”

That explained the insulated, if somewhat bare, interior. Roman raised a curious eyebrow. “And they’ll let just anyone use it?”

“That’s the principle behind it, yep! Normally, with non-plague cases, an apothecary apprentice would stop by to check in and offer guidance, but I told them I had it apothecovered!”

The puns were apparently a permanent fixture in the guy’s repertoire. Logan would be in agony. Roman ignored the pang in his chest at the thought, leaning further back against the pillow mound. “Yes, you wouldn’t want some poor apprentice to stick around long enough to find out there’s a lone vampire in their midst, would you?”

Dial it back, he could imagine Virgil hissing, as though the emo had any room to talk about unnecessary vitriol.

“Well, no,” Patton admitted, his smile turning a little strained. “But I turned them away because I already have all the experience I need! I worked as a full-time doctor before-- um, before...”

The smile turned full-on tremulous, and Roman was seized by a strange panic at the sight of it. He sprawled over the bed haughtily, the way he always did when demanding attention from his workaholic packmates.

“If you’re such a skilled doctor, then I’m sure you won’t have any problems running me through your treatments so far?” Roman challenged, inspecting his nails. It wasn’t a pointless query, either; some common human treatments were toxic to werewolves.

“Oh!” Patton said, voice still a little choked up. “Of course, let me see…”

The brink-of-tears quality to his words faded as he began to recount everything Roman had missed in his feverish haze. Patton’s exposition was nothing like Logan’s, cheerful rambling and jokes thrown in where Logan preferred efficient lists and muttered tangents.

Roman found himself drifting off to the sound regardless.

It seemed that pretending to trust Patton wouldn’t be as hard as he’d thought.

#sanders sides #ts roman #ts patton #werewolf au #vampire au #my writing #osytamt #or set your teeth against my throat #writing #fantasy au #hurt/comfort #bthb

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tiaragqueen · 4 years

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Can I get a #10 for Hidan from Naruto Shippuden on prompt #1?

Hector

✂ Pairing: Yandere! Hidan x Reader

✂ Word Count: 1k+

✂ Trigger Warnings: Confinement, possessiveness, mention of kidnapping, murder, death

[Edited]

***

This is the first time I wrote for him, so forgive me if he sounds… iffy. I had a good time with this, surprisingly.

10. “If you don’t stop saying such hurtful things, I might just be tempted to cut those lies out of you…”

If you like my writing, please support me on ko-fi!

“Don't matter what you do, don't matter what you say. I'm lyin' here with you. And baby, I can't stay.” - Mad At You [Why Don’t We]

Hidan was a jerk, always had, and always would be. You didn’t need to know him personally to realize that he was the most abhorrent bastard you’d had the misfortune to meet. He was arrogant, loudmouthed, sadistic, and amoral. And despite his willingness to use ‘Jashin’ as insults, his devotion to him wasn’t something to be ridiculed of. You almost thought he lived for that obscure god due to his sadism towards his opponents as a part of the ceremony.

And yet, strangely enough, he’d seemed to take an interest in you, too. You didn’t know how it was possible or why it happened – you remembered punching him when he, a random stranger, catcalled you – but here you were; sitting in a locked cabin miles away from civilization. The bastard didn’t even bother to furnish it, or at least, stock the food supplies. You always had to beg first, otherwise, he’d have no problem ignoring your basic needs like it was nobody’s business. It was hell living in there, especially when he dropped by. Thankfully, the visits were rather rare. His ‘occupation’ required him to travel somewhere far, after all.

You couldn’t complain, though. It was slightly nice to have some time alone, to regain your sanity from his exasperating presence. There was always this deep, yearning murderous intent every time he opened his mouth, and you weren’t even a ninja.

Today was one of those ‘bad days’, unfortunately.

“Oi, bitch!” The sound of the door being kicked open didn’t faze you anymore as you lazily peered towards the culprit. Hidan stood proudly on the threshold, lips stretched into that everlasting smirk. The scythe hung over his naked shoulder, droplets of blood dripping from the blade. Purple eyes roamed around the house before they landed on your quiet person, staring back at him with matching intensity. “The hell are you doing there, sitting like a fucking mouse? Come and greet your boyfriend, will ya?”

“Like hell,” you hissed. “I’d never deign to consider you as my boyfriend, not even a fucking friend.”

His smirk expanded, and there was nothing you’d love more than to grace him with another smack on the face. “How feisty…” A predatory glint flashed on his irises as Hidan wetted his lips. “And you kept asking me why I’m so goddamn obsessed with you.”

You narrowed your eyes in return, watching him approached you with deliberate steps. His shadow soon engulfed you in its rib-crushing embrace, his stature only emphasizing the effect. But you weren’t afraid, no. Why should you fear him when he hadn’t given you enough reason to? You knew he was strong, you knew about him being a rogue ninja. Heck, you even knew about his affiliation with the infamous Akatsuki. But so far, he hadn’t hurt you aside from some manhandling. Then again, he did appear like an abrasive guy at first glance, anyway.

If he wanted to harm you, surely he could’ve done that from a long time ago, right? You’d been treating him like he was dirt, unworthy of your attention, and he only seemed to enjoy it instead. Was his masochism extended to bad attitudes too? Or have you been underestimating him all this time? He didn’t look like a man who regularly exercised self-control, though.

“The hell do you want, Hidan?” you inquired after a long period of staring contest. He was trying to intimidate you, but you were able to discern triumph from his eyes. It wasn’t anything new, and yet, you sensed another reason entirely. What was he so smug about?

He smirked as if he’d been waiting for you to shoot that question to him. “Your family…” At the mention of your loved ones, you began to tense. What happened to them? How did he even know about them? You didn’t remember ever telling him. “Those annoying bastards have been searching for you, you know?”

“No shit.” you huffed, ignoring the annoyance that pricked your skin at his abrasive nicknames for them. “It’s time for me to pack my bags now.”

“Not so fast, baby.” He immediately grabbed your wrist before you were able to get up from the floor. “I’m not done yet.”

Scowling, you attempted to pry his hand. The frustration grew when he chose to block your blood flow instead. “What are you getting on? Be straightforward, will you?!”

“Heh, getting aggressive now, aren’t we?” he sneered, squeezing your wrist as though wanting to provoke you even further. You wondered if you’d feel guilty if you managed to murder him somehow. “Well, long story short, I killed them. Can’t have them find your annoying ass, can they?”

Just like that, all strength left your body and you ceased struggling. “What…?”

“You heard me.” His eyes dilated in blatant sadism over your abrupt change of attitude. “Or should I spell it out for you?”

No, he didn’t need to. His gleeful – almost childish – expression and the blood that kept staining the floorboard were enough proof for you. But you couldn’t… you refused to accept it. And yet, at the same time, you didn’t want to verify his information. You knew the offer hung in the air like the iron curtain that separated your strength from his. It lied somewhere within his snobbish words, begging you to accept it just so he could prove to you how horribly weak you were. How pathetic you were in his grasp. How helpless you’d be if he ever grew bored of you and decided to slash your neck with that gleaming scythe.

“You… you bastard!” you growled, leaping towards him like a rabid dog desiring to rip his skin to bloody pieces. “You son of a bitch! Why did you do that?! I hate you! I wish you’ll die instead! You…!”

“If you don’t stop saying such hurtful things, I might just be tempted to cut those lies out of you…”

It wasn’t his words that stopped you. No, it was the cold iron that poked your chest, right where the heart was located on. Hidan watched you wilted against his chest with a bored stare before simpering.

“What’s wrong? Scared of a small blade?” he inquired sardonically. You had no chance to respond when he abruptly shoved his tongue down your throat, one hand gripping your hair until you cried a little. As quickly as the kiss started, he withdrew and licked his lips again. “As always, you never disappointed me, don’t cha?”

#yandere scenario #yandere imagine #yandere anime #anime yandere #yandere anime au #anime yandere au #yandere oneshot #yandere naruto imagine #yandere naruto scenario #naruto yandere #yandere naruto #Yandere hidan #Yandere hidan x reader #yandere request #request #Anon

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narrans · 4 years

Text

One Shot | September Prompts

TWENTY-SIX | Yikes

Heart pounding. Breath shallow and heaving. It was too hot and also too cold. Images flashed like sparks of lightening in a shrouded sky. Each image presented itself for only a moment, but dealt terrible, fearsome blows riddled with the terrible images from captivity. Sounds of screams and sobs clawing through the air in the dead of night. Chest tightening. It was getting harder to breathe. The feeling of being seized and lifted into the air rushed through every nerve, every fiber of being. A quick, sharp pain followed by being plunged into darkness. A bright light of a silhouetted figure, but not the one from before. Then darkness again.

She sat bolt upright in her bed, drenched in a cold sweat. Her breathing was ragged. Her heart felt like it was going to burst. Her entire body vibrated with clenching anxiety. It created a terrible tension in her chest and roaring in her ears. Violet glanced around the room. She wasn’t there anymore. She wasn’t with those terrible humans. She was at the Shelter. She was safe. Violet repeated these things over and over in her mind as she brought her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms… arm… around them.

It was a strange sensation, having just the one arm. There were moments she could have sworn it was there. Other times, it felt like it was pinching or tingling. Other times, there was nothing. Violet didn’t mind the pain, or the pinching and tingling sensations. It was the lack of feeling that scared her. Not that worrying or feeling scared could do anything for her except resign her to the bed. There was little point in worrying or being afraid. When everything in the outside world was out to get them, fear and worry were only hindrances – not that she could stop herself from feeling, despite her best efforts. The humans could do what they wanted when they wanted. She had been there, experienced it first-hand. She knew there was nothing she could do. So, what was the point?

At least, that was what she thought when she arrived at the Shelter. Violet was always acutely aware that there was nothing she could do, but that didn’t stop her from admiring the ones who tried.

Violet admired any of the borrowers when they went out into the big rooms of the house, especially if the encountered a human. Perci was one of them. Since Violet was currently staying with Perci and had gone along a few times just to watch her borrow. A few times, Perci was in plain view darting across the counter when one of the so called “team members” walked in. Though Perci was never seen for very long, barely a glimpse, just the thought of being spotted spontaneously like that sent chills down Violet’s spine. Violet didn’t know what was worse, being seen spontaneously or going out deliberately to visit the humans.

This was one of the reasons she admired Roman and Remus. The twins were always ducking in and out between the walled-in world of the borrowers and the big human rooms. They would speak with the human known as Thomas freely. In fact, they would talk with any one of the team members if they happened to cross paths. Their blend of being with their own kind and the humans was staggering, not to mention their fearless ability to speak without stuttering.

One borrower never seemed to be afraid of the humans – the one called Hickory. Violet had met Hickory seven times now, and always when Violet needed to go visit the human, Ali. Hickory had been on Ali’s shoulder when Violet first met her and actually ran down Ali’s arm to greet her. Hickory seemed unabashed in Ali’s presence, being alright with being carried or held by her human counterpart as well as having long, drawn-out conversations with her. Hickory even dared to tell the human Ali what to do, and Ali listened.

Seeing Hickory’s fearlessness in Ali’s presence was unnerving but reassuring in some strange way. Violet knew if Hickory said or did the wrong thing, it would take only an instant for Ali to punish the borrower. It would be effortless from a human’s perspective to crush Hickory between her fingers. Nothing like this ever happened, of course, but Hickory watched it happen enough to know it was possible. Since coming to the Shelter, Violet began to understand that Ali wasn’t like the humans Violet was with before coming to the Shelter. Not that it made Violet trust Ali whole-heartedly, but it was reassuring. Violet knew she could never be brave enough to speak to a human the way Hickory did, and she accepted compliance with the humans. It was the easiest course of action. It was safe – something she hadn’t felt in a long time.

Violet managed to relax her tensed shoulders. She brought her legs away from her chest and laid her hand over the bandages on her arm. There was a meeting with Ali today. They were becoming less frequent, thankfully. Ali mentioned at their last check-up that if everything seemed all right with her that Violet wouldn’t need to come back unless something was bothering her. The prospects of not needing to go and see the human were exciting. However, it meant that if Violet needed or wanted something from the human, she would need the courage to do it herself. Violet heard the rustle of covers nearby as Perci rolled over onto her other side.

Violet remembered that Perci said she wasn’t really good with kids but was one of the few borrowers able to commit to bringing Violet by Ali’s room for check-ups. Violet feared she would most likely need to find someone else to stay with or, at the very least, become more independent. Violet sighed silently and elected to get ready for the day. She pulled the small curtain by her bed and undressed quietly. Her clothes alternated between her sleep ware and the oversized shirt, belt, and tied pants. She hadn’t had a chance to make a poncho and, frankly, she wasn’t keen on working on everything one-handed. It was still a little cold, so Violet pulled one of the smaller scraps of fabric off of her bed and wrapped it around her shoulders with tremendous difficulty.

Violet slipped into her shoes and peered outside of the door to the long, insulated corridors of the wall hallways. It was impossible to tell time from inside the walls. She remembered her father had used a technique where he could touch the bricks of their home and guess the hour of day within an hour. Violet had never managed to figure out the trick. He always said it was because the bricks were heated by the sun and the warmer the bricks were, the more likely it was later in the day; but, it was winter now. Even if her father were there, he would have a difficult time discerning the hour.

Violet closed her eyes and listened to the sounds of the house. There were natural sounds of the house. Even without humans or borrowers walking about, floorboards would groan and creak with the natural settling of the house. The sound of the heating unit humming. The occasional dripping water pipe. If Violet concentrated hard enough, she could hear sounds from down the hall of the younger children waking their parents. The thought of families brought a melancholy smile to her lips, but only for a moment. Family. Violet glanced over her shoulder at the now stirring Perci. [Breakfast] thought Violet. She walked to the pantry and glanced through what was available. There was still some granola from two mornings ago.

There was a slight problem. It was in a Ziplock bag. Violet, after one month, had regained some of her strength, but opening a bag was still a challenge, especially one handed. [Independent. I need to do this] Violet thought with mild determination. She grabbed one side and tried to tuck it under her stump and pull. Unfortunately, the bandages were a little too slick to gain enough grip. Frustrated, Violet gripped one side with her teeth and one with her hand and pulled. Her fingers shook but the bag would not budge. Violet felt tears of frustration pricking the sides of her eyes. She managed to survive only to be confounded by a bag. A few other ideas came to mind, despite her stamina fading quickly, when she heard her name.

“Vi? What are you…” Persi had just roused herself to see Violet struggling with opening the bag. “Oh, here. Let me help you.” Violet clenched her jaw in frustration and moved away reluctantly, folding her arm across her chest and playing with the bandage around her stump. Perci yawned, stretched, and pulled the bag open.

“Would you get a couple bowls?” asked Perci. Violet nodded and pulled two bottle caps from under the wash bin, her hand shaking slightly as she placed them on the counter with her wavering strength. “Thanks.” Perci smiled and scooped some granola into the bowls.

“Do you want a spoon?” Perci asked. Violet shook her head as she pulled her bowl closer to her on the counter and began eating. Perci eyed her for a moment, evaluating her demeaner, before beginning to pick at her own breakfast. “Sleep well?” asked Perci. Violet paused mid-bite before nodding slowly. Perci, living with Violet under her care for just about a month now, had finally begun to pick up on some of Violet’s nuances since she still had not uttered a single word since she arrived at the Shelter.

“Bad dreams?” muttered Perci thoughtfully. Violet nodded slower than before. Combing her fingers through her hair and scratching her scalp, Perci nodded and offered an open arm hug for Violet, who accepted with a slight hesitancy. “It’s okay sweetie. We all get them from time to time. It’ll get better. You’ve only just arrived after all. You just need a little more time.” Perci’s words were true but offered little comfort in the moment. After a thoughtful embrace, Violet pulled away, offering a small smile in thanks, and retreated with her bowl to her bed.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Perci knew her prompt would go unanswered, but it was worth a shot. Violet hadn’t spoken once since she arrived, and it wasn’t likely she was going to start soon. As expected, Violet shook her head and averted her eyes. They finished their breakfast in silence. Afterward breakfast and a quick change of shirt, Perci gathered her borrowing bag, her hook, and her razor blade dagger.

“I have a few things I want to go and grab. You have your meeting with Ali today, but that isn’t until later. Do you feel up to coming with me? Or would you rather stay back and hold down the fort?” asked Perci, hands on her borrowing belt where her hook was latched. Violet, still staring at the remaining granola in her bowl, shook her head. “Okay. I’ll be back. Just remember the house rules. No going outside the house. Stay out of dangerous areas. You can go on a walk as long as you don’t go too far and remember to put a sticker on the bed to let me know you’re out.” With a final nod, Perci opened the door and headed toward the kitchen. Violet was left alone once again.

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

Perci had barely been gone for twenty minutes when Violet decided to go on a walk. She had a lot on her mind and it was making her feel sick to her stomach. She would be seeing the human again today. She might need to find someone else to stay with if Perci wanted her own room back again. Adding to the fact that she had only one functional arm and needed to become more independent, Violet, putting it lightly, was overwhelmed. Violet placed her favorite sticker, a glittering butterfly, onto her bed before leaving.

For the most part, Violet wasn’t sure where she was heading. She picked a direction and began wandering through the halls. Her eyes mindlessly passed over the insulated walls and load bearing walls. There were a few others out and about for the day. Their smiles turned to slight confusion as they passed Violet, not that she noticed. Violet followed the twists and turns of the house, following the makeshift constructed staircases up and down and glimpsing into different rooms as she passed. There were a few times she had to squeeze through some of the cuts in the wall, obviously made by borrowers’ hands.

It wasn’t until she came across a dead end that she realized she was horribly lost and far away from her room. A nervousness settled in her core, more nervous than her thoughts made her. Where was she? She hadn’t left the house, which was the one positive thing about her situation. She was, however, unsure if this was a dangerous area and she was definitely far from her room.

Violet tried to retrace her steps. She took a few lefts, a few rights, and squeezed through a few tight areas. Nothing looked familiar. Violet could hear a few loud creaks above her. She was under the floorboards of one of the human rooms, but she couldn’t tell which one. Her heart began to pound. No one was in sight. Where was she? How was she going to get back? She didn’t even have a grappling hook. She scolded herself relentlessly and chose another path which looked familiar. Violet felt her breath quickening as she rounded another corner. Her mind raced faster and faster. Was it just her? Or was it getting darker?

What Violet didn’t know was she had ventured into one of the dangerous parts under the floorboards. Had her mind not been racing, she would have noticed the signs Roman and Remus placed on some of the beams along the walls. She couldn’t read well, but Violet knew enough to sound out the word “Dangerous. Keep Out.” Under the floorboards were still being renovated and planned out since the humans traversed the areas. Some areas of floor which the team members didn’t enter frequently like the closet had already been turned into large living spaces. The main areas, however, were still being evaluated by Roman and Remus, though Violet couldn’t have known this at the time.

Violet, heart throbbing painfully and breath wheezing, sprinted down one corridor and up the next, trying to find a way out of the labyrinth she had gotten herself into. Then, a misstep. She had gotten too close to the edge of the wall where part of the board was chipped and decayed. Though she hardly weighed the same as a paper weight, the decayed floor beneath her chipped. The sensation of weightlessness seized her as she slipped and began to fall. A voiceless cry escaped Violet as she plummeted into darkness. Thankfully, she only fell a foot or two when she hit solid ground. Misfortune, sadly, followed immediately afterward as the ground beneath her sloped steeply. Pain shot up her legs as she began tumbling down the slope, plunging her further into darkness. She tried desperately to grab at the ground to slow her descent, but to no avail.

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

Violet wasn’t sure what happened immediately after her fall, but she was certain it wasn’t good. She was immersed in darkness, but at least her eyes had adjusted slightly. There were specks of light around the space. One of the specks being the hole where she tumbled through. There were two specks nearby along what looked like a rough, brick wall and three a fair distance away. She pushed herself up, feeling a dull throbbing in her shoulders. A wave of cold air rushed over her, making her body shiver violently. This wasn’t good. Violet stood shakily. Nothing seemed to be broken.

The chilled air smelled damp and old, slightly stale and stagnant. The ground was slightly slick, though Violet couldn’t tell if it was mud or something growing like moss or algae. It was unsettling. But what was more unsettling was the faint skittering sound from the darkness above her head. Violet remembered from her time in her home with her family that skittering could be one of a few things, none of them particularly pleasant. Violet glanced about nervously. She couldn’t make it back up the slippery slope. She could barely see the ground beneath her feet. Her eyes were still adjusting, but Violet knew she could not remain in one place for too long. She began walking cautiously toward the light at the opposite end when her arm brushed against something. It was tough. It was sticky. It was not a good sign.

There was suddenly a sound of rapid skittering approaching her. Spiders. Violet felt panic seize her throat. She could no longer hesitate. Taking a leap of faith, Violet began sprinting for the crack of light. The same, sickening feeling rested in the back of her throat as she willed her legs to move faster and faster. The primary hindrance was uneven ground. Adrenaline coursed through her body as she barely managed to dodge the slick spots and depressions in the ground. The light was so close. It was maybe six feet away now. That warm, inviting glow signifying a perceived safety was so close. Her luck, however, could only last for so long. One single misstep was all it took, much like the step that plunged her into this place, to trip over her feet and tumble into a thick patch of webs. Violet tried to stagger to her feet, but now, looking back for the first time, she could see eight beady eyes approaching her rapidly.

Violet felt her body shaking, unwilling to obey her orders to move, to get away. A massive spider, come to snag its entangled prey, crept forward, its long legs plucking away at the web without being stuck. Violet could see the hairs on its wicked face. She wanted to cry from the panic and pain coursing through her; yet, even now, she could not will a single scream. She clenched her eyes shut as she shook in her boots.

Then, there was a streak of light followed by the sound of a sickening crunch. There was no pain ripping through her body. No piercing stab. Violet opened her eyes to see a figure standing, back to her, on top of the spider. The spider’s legs, twitching slightly, curled in on themselves as the figure yanked a pin being used as a sword from the spider’s head. The figure exhaled before wiping the pin along the edge of their hooded poncho. Violet felt her jaw slacken in surprise as the figure turned and faced her.

The figure was a man, mid to late twenties, with dark brown hair which fell in a mess to his shoulders and over his eyes. He had a bag at his side and a dim lightbulb was attached to a belt at his hip, illuminating his different colored eyes and a faded scar across his left eye. He was an inch or so taller than her and, even beneath his poncho, Violet could see he was lean but not unhealthily so.

“What are you doing down here? Don’t you know how dangerous it is?” His raspy voice crackled and hissed as though he hadn’t used it in quite some time. The stern look he gave her made Violet pale further. Upon seeing her condition, his features softened slightly. He sighed and glanced around quickly to see if there were any other enemies nearby before looking back to Violet. “What happened to you? You a resident here?” He shook his head and placed the pin back through a piece of fabric on his side. “Whatever. Doesn’t matter. Let’s get out of here. Can you walk?” He stepped off of the spider’s curled carcass and held out an arm for Violet to take. She hesitated only for a moment before reaching out and taking his hand. Effortlessly, he pulled her to her feet and began walking briskly to the illuminated crack in the brick.

Violet followed behind her mysterious savior through the crack in the walls, trailing as fast as her still shaking legs would allow. A wave of heat rushed past the moment she squeezed through the cramped space. They were standing on a ledge at least teen feet high. Violet gazed at the ground below, awestruck, and stopped in her tracks. It looked like the night sky. Christmas lights lined the ground and structures resembling houses. It was a city of light. It was breathtaking. The other borrower hesitated, waiting for Violet, until she pattered behind him. He led her across the beams of the ceiling, then veered to the right. He led her to another ledge on the opposite side of the room where she was surprised to see a walled in area made of cardboard and cloth. The borrower pulled the curtain to the side, revealing a bedroll and a few other nick-knacks as well as a curtained crevasse in the wall for what she guessed was food storage, before gesturing for her to sit on a pile of cloth.

“Do you want some water or something?” he asked. Violet nodded as she sat. The borrower handed her a plastic thimble full of water.

“Not much of a talker?” he asked, taking a seat on his bed. Violet shook her head, seeing only now in the stationary light that she was a muddy, cobwebbed mess. The scrap of cloth around her shoulders was caked with mud. He nodded and retrieved a wet cloth, handing it to her. “Here. For your face.” Violet took the cloth gratefully and wiped began wiping the mud from her cheeks. His mis-matched eyes, now finally seeing her in a better light, widened slightly.

“You’re one of the kids they brought in, aren’t you.” His question seemed more like a statement than anything. Violet nodded again. “Yikes… Sorry to hear that.” There was a pause as he took a seat again on the edge of his bed.

“How’d you end up down here then? Shouldn’t you be on one of the upper floors with, I don’t know, someone who’s looking after you? Someone is looking after you, right?” he asked. Violet nodded shamefully. Who knew how long she had been gone. What was Perci going to say about her disappearance? What would the human think if she missed her meeting? Violet felt tears beginning to burn the corners of her eyes.

“Wha… oh gosh… don’t cry. I didn’t.” The borrower hissed some sort of curse word under his breath as he acknowledge his questions were making the girl upset.

“Okay. So, someone is looking after you, right? I mean, you’re okay?” he asked, his tone softening. Violet nodded after wiping her eyes with the sleeve on her good arm. This information put his mind at ease.

“Okay… okay, good to know,” he muttered. His keen eyes, seemingly far more adjusted to the dim light than Violet’s eyes, picked up some scrapes on her legs and face. “You’re bleeding a bit. Do you want me to help you with that?” Violet hadn’t noticed the slight stinging sensation in her knees and along her temple. She nodded and smiled weakly. He retrieved a small matchbox and slid it open, removing a part of a tube with the letters “sporin” on it and some thin strips of gauze. To better evaluate her injuries, Violet reached her hand from under the blanket and untied the knot, letting the blanket fall to the ground.

Violet watched as the man’s step toward her faltered as he spotted her missing arm. He inhaled sharply, wincing and clenching his jaw repeatedly, before hissing another curse under his breath and closing the distance and kneeling in front of her. He worked quickly and quietly. He didn’t know much about medicine, but simple scrapes and bruises he could manage.

“I’m Jay by the way,” he murmured after wrapping her knee. Violet glanced from his working hands to his eyes. There was something sad gleaming in them as he said his name. He taped the edge of the bandage, his hands now moving much slower as he secured the adhesive strip. “You don’t have to tell me your name. I get it. I also get this whole… not talking thing.” Violet was taken aback. He understood? She reached over and played with the ends of the bandages on her stump. He looked like he was in one piece. He was able to take out a spider with no issues at the very least. How could he know what she was going through? Then again… Violet watched as Jay stood and returned his supplies to their respective areas. He was probably here before her. He was certainly a little older. He had probably seen more than she was giving him credit for. Jay stretched before turning back to Violet. “Feel like heading back?” asked Jay. Violet smiled lightly and nodded. “Well, come on. Let’s get you to the others.”

The journey back was not eventful. Jay seemed to know these darker passages like the back of his hand. He kept his light on, from what Violet guessed, to make sure she could follow along with ease. Jay guided them along the beams, up some precarious nails which formed a very steep ladder, and up onto one of the floor joists. Violet, though still a bit weary and sore, managed to keep up with Jay until they reached the opening between the basement and the first floor. If they went to the ground into the so-called city of Christmas lights, there would have been a long, winding staircase they could have climbed or, if it was functional, a pulley system which would take them to the first floor. The route they had gone, however, had no such luxury. Since Jay lived in a nook just below the first floor and just above the basement, he had to make his own way up to the first floor, mostly to visit Logan, Virgil, and Patton and to bring supplies from the kitchen back to his home.

Jay turned off his light by removing the battery and placing the components back in his bag. Then, he removed his hook from his belt and spun it around his shoulders before launching it into the air. It was an elegant art and something Jay silently prided himself in. The hook latched into the wood, not that Jay was surprised. He glanced at Violet, suddenly realizing there was a slight predicament with going this route – she would need to climb the rope.

“Do you know how to climb a rope?” he asked after giving the rope a tug to secure it further. Violet glanced at the rope, then down to the bandages surrounding her arm. Before the incident and before she was captured, she was the best climber among her siblings. Now? She was still regaining her strength and she hadn’t tried climbing with only one arm. Her averted gaze and bashful, embarrassed silence gave the answer.

“Okay. Do you want me to go up first and help you? Or steady the rope so you can get up?” asked Jay. Violet looked to him and then glanced up before holding up one finger. “The first?” Violet nodded. That was all Jay needed before pulling himself up onto the hook, using several techniques he learned when he was growing up, and lifted himself onto the ledge.

“Okay. I’m ready when you are,” said Jay. Violet nodded, nervousness creeping into her mind. Her palm, slightly sweaty, was not conducive to climbing effectively. She grabbed the rope between her fingers. It was slick under her touch. She grabbed as high as she could and tried to pull her torso up higher, but she couldn’t secure her legs fast enough. Violet slid back down the rope. It happened twice, four times, six times. It was on the seventh try that Jay elected to intervene.

“Hey, just grab the rope and let your legs do the work. Your arms shouldn’t be the thing that lifts you. Make sense?” Violet glanced from Jay back to the rope, insides knotting and nerves fraying. Her father usually used his arms and, as a result, Violet usually used her arms and stabilized the rope with her feet. Violet didn’t have time to shake her head before Jay slid down the rope and stood in front of her.

“Okay. I know two different ways. The wrap and the pinch.” Jay spent the next few minutes demonstrating two different climbing techniques he learned when he began borrowing. He showed that he could balance himself using one arm while keeping the rope pinched with his feet. They seemed simple enough, and Jay seemed to be exercising his patience, a trait he hadn’t needed in a while. It had been a while since Violet had a borrowing related lesson, especially one tailored to her. It took a few more tries, but the effort was worth the approving, half-grin Jay gave when Violet reached the top.

A sense of pride washed over Violet. This was the first time she had done something really and truly on her own after her injury without assistance. Violet glanced about once Jay climbed to the top and secured his hook. She knew this hallway.

“Anything looking familiar?” asked Jay, stepping up to her side. Violet’s lips turned into a subtle smile as she nodded, still feeling pleased with her climb. “Cool. Lead the way.” Violet began walking down the hallway, Jay at her side, back toward her room. As they approached, Violet could hear quick footsteps and hurried conversations, and she was the topic.

“I went out to go to the kitchen. She left the sticker, so she went on a walk. Are you sure you haven’t seen her?” Violet heard Perci’s voice, usually calm and collected but now a touch frantic.

“It’ll be okay. She couldn’t have gotten far. She knows not to leave the house, so she has to be here.” It sounded like Roman, or Remus, one of the two. Jay and Violet rounded the final corner to see a dozen borrowers gathered together, seemingly called in a search effort. Perci scanned the crowd and caught a glimpse of Violet standing by the edge.

“Violet!” she exclaimed, negotiating her way through the crowd to where Violet and Jay were standing. Everyone’s eyes turned to them. Jay shifted uncomfortably at seeing the crowd staring in his direction, but fought the urge to turn and walk away to avoid their gazes. “What happened to you? Where have you been?” Perci began giving Violet a quick once-over, examining her newly bandaged legs and forehead. Violet’s head spun as Perci walked circles around her.

“She’s… uh… she’s alright,” said Jay. “She fell into the crawl space. Just a few bumps and scrapes. Nothing serious.”

“Yikes,” muttered Roman as he approached. “I thought we roped off that area. We’ll have to go back through.” Perci grasped Violet’s shoulders which kept her from looking away.

“You could’ve been seriously hurt, Vi.” Perci’s partial scolding overflowed with concern. Violet nodded bashfully. Perci frowned but pulled Violet in for a hug anyway. “Thank you,” Perci said, directing her statement at Jay. He gave a partial salute.

“Sure. Glad to help. And Violet,” Jay made sure Violet looked at him. “Take care of yourself.” With that, Jay turned on his heel and headed away back toward his home. Violet had to admit she was a bit sad seeing him leave. Was he always off on his own? He didn’t seem unfriendly, even if he didn’t like a crowd. He seemed really nice actually. He took the time to teach her something new, and now Violet began to wonder if there were other things he could teach her. A spark of determination ignited and was catching fast. Violet could only hope she was up for the challenge.

#g/t #sanders sides #infinitesimal!sides #janus sanders #borrower #violet #fanfic #borrowers #accident #spider #silent #silence #courage #live for you #try

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notapaladin · 3 years

Text

turning saints into the sea

I wanted to write possessive Teo mixed with someone going (about Acatl) “he’s a priest!” “he’s a HOT priest!” and so this fell out. Enjoy!

also on AO3

Three young noblemen lounged around a single palace courtyard, dressed in far too much finery for the half-hearted ball game they’d just been playing. That game was over now; the sun had risen high in the sky, and it was far too hot to exert themselves in such a way. It was almost too hot to move; even their conversation had a lazy, drowsy drawl to it.

Finally, one of them—Ocelocueitl was his name, the third son of one of Huitzilxochtin’s noble brothers—broke the latest spell of silence. “Guess who I saw yesterday?”

“...Who?” Mopouhqui lifted his head. He’d been spinning the ball between his palms, idly tracing the designs incised in the surface, but this was much more interesting.

“Teomitl’s priest, the one that’s supposed to be tutoring him in the magic of living blood.” They were allowed to address him familiarly; they were his cousins, after all. Ocelocueitl had never gotten along with him, but there was a distinct tinge of smugness in his voice now. It suggested he’d come into valuable gossip, and the other two were intrigued.

“...Teomitl has a priest?” That was Xohueyac, who rarely bothered to pay attention to anything that wasn’t the ball game or a pretty girl.

Ocelocueitl nodded. “Mm-hmm.”

Mopouhqui, not to be left out, added, “Acatl, High Priest of Mictlantecuhtli.” And if he sounded a little wistful, his cousins weren’t surprised. Mopouhqui was not known for great discernment, and it had been some time since there had been a High Priest notable for more than magical prowess or political connections.

Xohueyac muttered, “What a shame.” And then, bright red, he stammered, “I mean—that’s what my sister says…”

Mopouhqui reached over to pat him nearly sympathetically on the shoulder. It was ruined by his lascivious grin. “That’s what we all say. He’s a pretty man!”

“Do you think him and Teo are...“ Ocelocueitl trailed off with a few hand gestures that would probably make a priest of Xochipilli blush. It definitely made Xohueyac blush, and he hunkered down in his seat before it could be remarked upon.

Mopouhqui smirked. “Well, if he’s not, I will!...or hell, even if he is.” He shrugged, careless of the blasphemy he was suggesting. “Man like that breaks his vows once, he might do it again.”

Xohueyac spluttered, “He’s a priest!”

“...And he’s far too attractive for it to be at all fair.” Mopouhqui nodded sagely. Of course he was right, but that didn’t make it a good idea to say. The gods were always listening, and even if they weren’t, there was their cousin to consider.

“Teomitl got to him first.” At least someone there was displaying basic self-preservation skills, though Ocelocueitl was still wearing a smirk that would get him punched in the teeth by the man in question.

Mopouhqui raised an eyebrow. “So?”

Xohueyac shook his head. “Wow, you really don’t want to get the chance to die in battle.” He might not have known until this afternoon that the handsome High Priest for the Dead was Teomitl’s tutor, but now that he did...well. He wasn’t stupid. Teomitl had never been inclined to share.

Mopouhqui scoffed, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Ocelocueitl’s smirk only grew. “Means Teomitl is—“

Xohueyac saw movement, froze, and waved a frantic hand. Maybe if they were all very, very quiet, the man wouldn’t notice them or their conversation. “Coming this way! Shut up!”

Mopouhqui did not shut up. In fact, he raised his hand in a jaunty, cheerful wave. “Hey, Teomitl!”

Xohueyac groaned. This was going to be painful.

Teomitl was going to have a good day. He’d already decided on it, and nothing would rattle his mood. Nothing. After all, it was one of the days of the week set aside for his lessons with Acatl. The man was always honest and never flattering, at least not without good cause; it made the occasional words of sincere praise lodge ever deeper in Teomitl’s heart. You’ve done well, he’d said at their last lesson, and that had been enough to make Teomitl blush all on his own, but then he’d smiled. Smiled! At him! It had turned Acatl from merely handsome to radiant, and Teomitl had had to make an excuse to leave just so he wouldn’t say or do anything stupid. Mihmatini had seen through the real reason for his visit in a heartbeat. She’d gone so far as to giggle at him, which hadn’t helped.

He sighed at the memory. At least I can see him. Talk to him. Maybe I can get more of those smiles, even if...even if I can’t… He shook his head to clear it. Gods, he was a fool.

Someone called his name. He swiveled around to see a trio of his most indolent cousins waving at him and grimaced as he checked himself midstride. He should have pretended he didn’t hear them. Ah, well, too late now. “...What do you want?”

Ocelocueitl was grinning in a way that made him long to erase the look from his face. Preferably with a fist. “What’s with the glare? We just want to talk to our favorite cousin.”

Teomitl’s eyes narrowed. Ocelocueitl never wanted to talk to him. They hadn’t been friends since a childhood sparring match had ended with sprained limbs on both sides. “I don’t really have time—“

If his cousin been a hound, his ears would have pricked up. “Where are you off to?”

“...Lessons,” he said stiffly. “In the magic of living blood.” His heart skipped a beat at the thought. He ignored it. In front of his family members, he couldn’t afford be distracted or to show weakness; they’d pounce on it like jaguars, and their idea of teasing too often hid knives.

Mopouhqui muttered, “Lucky you.”

Against his better judgement, he frowned at his cousin. “Hm?” He’s never displayed an interest in magic before.

Ocelocueitl buffed his nails on his tunic and shot him a sideways glance. “I was just telling them I saw your priest yesterday.”

His ears went hot. He prayed desperately he wasn’t blushing, but he knew the gods weren’t listening. “Acatl-tzin’s not my—“

“Suuure. But you’ve been holding out on us!” Ocelocueitl actually had the nerve to smack Teomitl’s shoulder, as though they were friends.

Ah, now he was on firmer mental ground. Fury. He wrenched himself away, glaring at all three of them—even Xohueyac, who was clearly trying to blend into the ground lest he become a target. “I beg your pardon?”

Mopouhqui, not so easily deterred, came up on his other side and knuckled companionably at his arm. “You told everyone all about his magic and how smart he was, but you didn’t tell us he looked like that.”

Now he knew he was blushing. “I don’t see how his looks are any of your concern,” he snapped, even as the part of him not plotting how best to dispose of the bodies piped up with Well, at least someone in Tenochtitlan has working eyes and excellent taste. He snarled at that mental voice until it retreated; it was one thing to have a cousin who was properly appreciative of Acatl’s looks, and another for the man to be appreciating it in that tone of voice. Nobody was allowed to use that tone about his Acatl.

Mopouhqui grinned at him. “But he’s so handsome, don’t you think? Even at his age? Bet he made all the girls in his calpulli swoon when he was younger!”

The images marched through his mind—Acatl younger, less careworn, not yet sworn to the gods, surrounded by laughing peasant girls and smiling at their flirtations. Acatl flirting back. He sucked in a hard breath. “It’s hardly—“

Ocelocueitl snickered. “Oh, definitely not just the girls.” Teomitl froze, but he was safe—his cousin had apparently meant Mopouhqui, who didn’t look in the least fazed by it. Bastard. Teomitl hoped he came down with boils.

The worst part was that now he was picturing it, and it was too easy. Acatl had studied in the boys’ calmecac, after all, and Teomitl knew perfectly well what happened there out of sight of the teachers. Acatl was beautiful now and couldn’t possibly have been less so in his school days; it was impossible that he hadn’t had admirers. Impossible to think that there hadn’t been flustered boys trying to impress him, trying to press gifts and favors upon him. He felt his face go warm at the certain knowledge that he would have been one of those flustered boys. That he was one of those boys now, far past the point where Acatl might have been free to look back at him the same way—if it had ever even been a possibility in the first place.

He turned to go. This conversation was too dangerous. “I can’t listen to this; I’ll be late.”

Mopouhqui hummed thoughtfully. “For your magic lessons. With Acatl-tzin.”

“...Yes.”

“And that’s all you’re learning from him?”

The insinuation made his teeth grind, and for a moment all he could do was draw in a long breath. “What else are you suggesting I learn from the High Priest of Mictlantecuhtli?” The man sworn to Lord Death. The man who wears Mictlan’s power like a cloak. The man who would never in a thousand years do what I know you’re thinking about.

Mopouhqui started smirking again. “I’d love for him to teach me something else—“

No, came the white-hot flash of rage through his mind. He’s mine.

At least those words settled it. Teomitl was definitely going to kill his cousin. He lunged with the intention of getting him in a headlock, but he’d already taken too many steps out of arm’s reach and Mopouhqui was faster than he looked; it was annoyingly difficult to grab him. He’d almost managed it—Mopouhqui had made the mistake of dodging in a direction that put him near Xohueyac, who’d obligingly stuck a foot out to trip him—when a voice stopped him.

He loved that voice. He desperately did not want to hear it now.

“Teomitl?”

Acatl was gazing at the tableau in front of him with an expression that said, quite clearly, that he was not going to ask for answers because he did not want to know. When Teomitl backed away from Mopouhqui and slowly unclenched his fists, it changed into the faintest of faint smiles. He wanted to collapse with relief.

Then Acatl said, “There you are,” as though nothing was out of the ordinary, and he felt himself flush hot all over.

“Acatl-tzin...” he began, unsure of how to end it. I was defending your honor. They were disrespecting you. They were saying that you—that we—

“I was looking everywhere for you.” There was a crease between Acatl’s brows, but—thank the gods—he didn’t sound annoyed. Teomitl felt himself start to relax.

And then Mopouhqui scrambled to his feet, dusted himself off, and strode over to Acatl beaming like an old friend. “Oh, so you’re Teomitl’s priest! I’m his cousin Mopouhqui; it’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Acatl-tzin!”

Though Acatl crossed his arms defensively and looked visibly taken aback as the man stepped into his personal space without so much as a by-your-leave, he didn’t back down. “Is it?”

“Mmm. Teomitl’s told us so much about you.” There was more than a suggestion of a leer in Mopouhqui’s tone. Teomitl’s fists clenched hard enough for his nails to bite into his palms; when his cousin’s gaze flicked back towards him, it took all his willpower not to lunge for his throat.

“He—he has?” Acatl sounded like he wasn’t sure whether this pleased him or not.

Mopouhqui made a nauseatingly self-satisfied humming sound and swept his gaze slowly and pointedly over Acatl’s form. “But he left something out.”

And then he set a hand on Acatl’s forearm, and Acatl blinked at him. “Gnh.”

Teomitl saw red. How dare you. How dare you, you don’t touch him—he is mine—

“We weren’t expecting the new High Priest for the Dead to be so young and vigorous, you see.” There was another quick glance at Teomitl, but then those fingers slowly trailed up Acatl’s arm to the crook of his elbow; Acatl twitched in surprise but didn’t pull away, even when Mopouhqui leaned in to murmur, “Our previous one was ancient when the Empire was born. But you, my lord…”

Enough. Acatl was clearly flustered, clearly unsure of himself, and—just as clearly—wasn’t about to risk starting a fight in the palace in front of his student. Teomitl had no such compunctions. His idiot cousin was too preoccupied with gazing into Acatl’s eyes and so didn’t notice his approach, but he definitely noticed when Teomitl lashed out, grabbed one of his dangling earrings, and twisted. Hard. “He is busy.”

Mopouhqui yelped. Ocelocueitl and Xohueyac started cackling. Acatl was staring at him—he could feel the weight of his gaze—but he refused to look. His attention was on Mopouhqui, whose single working thought had finally settled on the realization that he’d made a dangerous enemy. Teomitl channeled all his rage into his eyes; he could feel them itching, feel the slow rising tide of the ahuitzotls’ song in his mind, feel how easy it would be to reach out and end it—

It was almost a relief when Mopouhqui dropped his gaze and he had to step back. Good. Go, and know that you’ve been beaten.

He wiped his hand pointedly on his cloak and turned to Acatl, who was watching him with the most carefully blank expression he’d ever seen. It made his heart sink like a stone, but he took a deep breath and forced himself to relax anyway. “Come on, Acatl-tzin. I’ve been looking forward to today.” And I’m not going to let this pup ruin it, he thought viciously.

Even if I’m afraid he might already have.

They didn’t talk until they reached his courtyard. Teomitl didn’t know what to say. I’m sorry about my cousin didn’t cover the scope of it; besides, it would be ridiculous of him to make a big deal out of it if Acatl wasn’t. I didn’t mean to rise to his bait would be an outright lie; if Acatl hadn’t been there, he would cheerfully have made Mopouhqui bleed for his insolence. And yet to tell the truth—I’m not sorry, you’re mine, he should never have touched you—was unthinkable.

When they stopped by the shade of the pool, Acatl broke the silence. “Teomitl…”

He couldn’t look at him. His face was already warm; if he looked at him, it would surely burst into flames. “What?” he snapped, and regretted his tone immediately.

His wonderful, rational, level-headed teacher only sighed, shaking his head. “What has that tree ever done to deserve a look like that?”

Teomitl swallowed and turned to look at him; at the very least, if he could maintain eye contact it would show his sincerity. For a split second he even managed it. “Nothing. I’m fine.” Drop it. Gods, drop it. Please.

Acatl did not drop it. Acatl, in fact, met his gaze with a searching one of his own that said he knew damn well there was a problem here. “No, you’re not. You looked as though you were about to murder that cousin of yours—”

“He was flirting with you,” he ground out, and clamped his mouth shut before he could say anything else incriminating.

Acatl flushed, but he didn’t look upset. At least, not at that. “I...I realized that. What I can’t figure out is why. I mean, look at me—“

As if I ever stop. “I do. I look at you all the time.” He made himself smile, made himself sound careless, because the alternative was to start screaming. “Mopouhqui is a fool with no sense of boundaries, but he has eyes. You’re not an unattractive man, Acatl-tzin.” Understatement of the age.

Now Acatl looked even more flustered, and Teomitl cursed himself. He’d revealed too much. “I—if you say so. But he...hmm.” He trailed off, dropping his gaze to the ground thoughtfully.

The smart thing would be to change the topic; he really had been looking forward to his lesson, and he ought to go and bring out his worship-thorns and grass balls and writing implements. But that pensive, worried look on Acatl’s face pinched his heart, so instead he took a step closer and asked, “...What?”

Acatl was quiet for a long moment. “He kept looking back at you,” he said finally. “Checking your reaction. He was flirting with me, but he was trying to provoke you.”

He growled at the memory. Oh yes, he’d noticed those looks. Mopouhqui had no doubt thought he was being sly. “He thought I was—“ Learning what I want from you, which is far more than I should be. Panting after you like a dog in heat. Trying to lay a claim to you, as though I have the right.

Acatl’s head came up like a hunting hound. “Hm?”

He swallowed back his words. “...Nothing.” It sounded steady enough, but he couldn’t—couldn’t—lie and maintain eye contact, not to Acatl, so he dropped his gaze to the water and hoped Acatl only thought he was embarrassed over having been so easily angered in public. He could feel his ears burning.

“You looked like you wanted to break his hand when he touched me.” Acatl did not sound fooled, but instead of his usual dry, unimpressed tone it was almost...soft. Gentle.

It made something in Teomitl’s chest twinge hard, and he lifted his head automatically to meet warm brown eyes. Ah yes, that twinge was definitely his heart skipping a beat. “You noticed that?”

“I notice everything you do.” It was said simply enough, but there was a faint tinge of color in Acatl’s cheeks, and the little frown that was his constant companion was nowhere to be seen. It wasn’t a smile—which was probably a good thing, Teomitl didn’t think he could survive a smile right now—but Teomitl had quite clearly threatened a man over him and he was looking at him in a way that suggested he actually approved. And as he watched, those eyes softened further.

Oh gods. Teomitl felt sure that, in defiance of all biological laws, his heart had flown up into his throat and stuck there. Don’t say that, he thought frantically. Don’t say that you notice me, don’t ask me if I’m fine, and for the Duality’s sake don’t look at me like that. If you do, I swear I’ll— “It really wasn’t like that,” he blurted out. “Or—I mean—it was just—he put his hand on you and I…” His fists clenched until he forced them open, knowing there were no battles to fight here. Air. He needed air. He took a breath and let it out, feeling his still-stuck heart hammer against the walls of its cage.

And then, of course, it got worse. Acatl’s brows knit as he frowned at him, as though he was a puzzle that couldn’t be solved. Or as though it had been, but the answer wasn’t something he was prepared to believe. “...Were you—were you jealous?”

He opened his mouth. He closed his mouth. There was nothing he could say, no speech he could mount in his defense. I am. I am. He was bold enough to touch you, to smile at you, and I wanted to tear him limb from limb for it.

No, he wanted to tear himself limb from limb; he’d spent so long trying to keep his feelings hidden, and here they were written on his traitorous face and proclaimed in his every reckless action. When Acatl drew in a long breath, he had to close his eyes, sure in the knowledge that he could not face the disgust in his teacher’s gaze—or worse, the distance. The disappointment. The polite rejection that said I’m sorry, Teomitl, but you know I don’t feel the same way.

Acatl let out a sigh. Teomitl, still afraid to move, froze even further at the first touch of his hand on his arm. “Teomitl. Look at me, please.”

He opened his eyes and looked. He could do nothing else, not when the fingertips resting gently on his skin sent lightning racing through his chest. Not when the man had said please.

Acatl kissed him.

The first brush of lips against his own was sweet, tentative, as though he was afraid Teomitl would be scared away, but then Teomitl’s lips parted and Acatl grew bolder, the hand on his arm sliding in to his elbow and the curve of his waist to pull him in closer. There was a noise—from him or Acatl, he couldn’t tell—but it didn’t matter when all it took was a half-turn to press their bodies together, to let his hands rest at Acatl’s shoulders and to melt in pleasure when Acatl’s arms went around him. He’d been kissed before—a fumbling, awkward encounter with a distant cousin—but it couldn’t compare to this. He felt like melted wax, like melted rubber, and all he could do was sigh when they pulled away.

“Acatl-tzin,” he murmured through his smile. I love you.

Acatl was smiling too. One hand came up to trace the line of his jaw, so gently that it almost tickled. “Teomitl.” His voice was the softest thing Teomitl had ever heard. “You never need to be jealous of me with anyone. Who else could I care for but you? Who else would I allow into my life, into my heart?”

Teomitl drew in a breath, heart racing. “I…”

He was too slow. The hand at his jaw fell; as Acatl averted his eyes, his words took on a bitter edge. “But gods, I was so determined never to tell you…”

A thin sliver of ice seemed to have lodged itself in his chest. “...Why not?”

Acatl bit his lip; he seemed to be hunting for the right words, but they were slow in coming. Finally he huffed, “I—you’re my student. I’m responsible for you in some way; to take advantage of that...I…”

Really? Really?! He leaned in and kissed Acatl again, brief and hard; when he broke away, they were both breathing raggedly. But Acatl still looked shaken, and it nettled him. Glowering, he took a deliberate step backwards out of his loose hold. “I’ve been to war,” he snapped. “I’m no green boy.”

“I know.” Acatl grimaced and looked away again, even as he traced his own lips with a shaking hand. “But I thought you’d be—you’d reject me—and you’re my sister’s age—“ He cut himself off, turning red. “Gods. Mihmatini is going to kill me.”

He made a face. Right. Of course he’d have to tell her, and even the knowledge that she’d probably be happy for them wasn’t enough to make the idea less than cripplingly awkward on his end. He had no illusions that she’d go any easier on her older brother; in his admittedly limited experience, family never did. Maybe he could convince Acatl to wait until his wedding night to share the details, where with any luck she’d be in too good a mood to tease them about it.

Acatl was still talking, and unfortunately seemed to have settled on a much faster timetable. “I know you’ll say I’m a fool, but...but I can’t keep this secret from her. Especially not if you’re still planning to court her!” He hesitated. “I don’t mind if you are. But I really think she should know.”

Even knowing the reaction was stupid didn’t stop his face from growing hot as he muttered, “She does. Or suspects, at least. There were...hand gestures.” He waved a hand in a rough approximation. The actual ones used had been explicit enough to make him choke, and he was morbidly curious to know how she’d learned them. It was another thing best saved for his wedding night.

This clearly took a moment to sink in; when it did, Acatl turned slowly red. “...I don’t want details, do I.”

He met Acatl’s gaze steadily, voice lowering. “You do not.” This time, he was the one moving slowly and carefully; as he set his hands at Acatl’s waist, Acatl was trembling. It tore at his heart. I have to reassure him. I have to make him see. “The important thing is that you wouldn’t be upsetting her. She’ll be more than glad to know that you’re mine.”

Acatl sucked in a breath. “Yours?”

“Yes,” Teomitl closed the distance between them. Their mouths met in a biting kiss, one that made Acatl gasp and return it with equal fervor. There was a moment where Acatl didn’t seem sure of what to do with his hands, but then sharp nails were digging into Teomitl’s shoulderblades and he moaned into Acatl’s mouth. Acatl nearly growled, nails raking down his back and catching in the folds of his cloak; when Teomitl dug his fingers into his hips, it got a bone-deep shudder in response. But it wasn’t enough; he needed more, needed to see Acatl fall apart in his arms.

And so he pulled away and scraped his teeth over Acatl’s pulse, reveling at the man’s helpless gasp. “This is what I wanted to do in front of him,” he breathed. “This, over and over—I wanted to mark you as mine.”

“Oh, gods,” Acatl panted; his fingers were digging into the back of Teomitl’s neck hard enough to hurt, hard enough to make him wonder what would happen if he grew his hair out—would Acatl pull it instead? Gods, he hoped so. But now there was only flesh and muscle, and when he muffled himself by mouthing down Acatl’s throat to his collarbone the man’s whole body trembled.

He hummed into the thin skin. Yes. This is what I want. “Mmm…”

Pressed together as close as they were, it was impossible to miss how much they were both enjoying it. Acatl was hot and hard and absolutely perfect in his arms; when he pulled away, Teomitl made a sound he would never admit was a whine. Acatl’s eyes were hazy with desire, though, and the breathless pleasure in his voice made him shiver. “...I don’t think either of us can be expected to focus on lessons today.”

Teomitl’s breath hitched at the sheer possibility of it all. I could...gods, I could…

He could. His room was right there. He gave Acatl’s ass a lingering squeeze, smirking when the man gasped. “Come inside,” he whispered. “Let’s learn something else instead. Together.”

For a moment there was silence, and he prayed he hadn’t overstepped—but then Acatl breathed, “Gods, yes.”

They went inside.

It was a very, very thorough lesson indeed.

#obsidian and blood #acatl #teomitl #teocatl #paladin writes stuff

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haikyuu-scenarios-drabbles · 5 years

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anonymous asked: i love your soulmate aus!! they're the best i've ever read! you put in every detail in ur writings & i love it so much! i feel that i can improve my english when im reading ur writings? does this make sense? can i have a soulmate au for tsukishima kei? it can be anything! i'm willing to wait'

well let me just say this ask absolutely warmed my freaking heart. I am so so happy that you feeling like you can improve your english with my writings 😁 thank you for waiting!!

Here is a soulmate!au where you share pain with your soulmate, hope you enjoy 💖

You vaguely remembered the feelings against your hands and forearms when you were younger, but it was much softer back then and far less noticeable. You didn’t think much of them until they ramped up in intensity during high school and you became fixated on figuring out just exactly what your soulmate was up to that was inflicting such strange injuries. You could never quite figure it out until you happened to watch one of your high school’s volleyball matches and connected the way you were feeling with what your eyes could see. It started to make sense; every receive, spike, and block—you felt.

Though it was almost impossible to match up the feelings with what any of the players were doing. It took a while before you were completely convinced that none of the players on your high school’s team were your soulmate. And while attending games painfully reminded you constantly that your soulmate was somewhere else, you wanted to learn about the game for their sake. I mean—you had been smart enough to at least figure out some aspect about them, might as well use that information to learn about something they seemingly enjoyed. Other than the volleyball related injuries, they didn’t inflict much else on you.

You’d also been able to discern that whoever they were was a middle blocker. It became apparent to you when you noticed the players in that position getting their fingers jammed, as you often dealt with, as a result of some nasty spikes. You watched the players at your school tape up their fingers and soon started doing the same to alleviate the pain; garnering weird looks when you passed any of the volleyball club members in the hallway.

It was really just a nuisance at this point, something you had learned to live with—honestly, you’d be worried if the feelings suddenly disappeared. On several occasions, there were exceptionally painful jams that had you biting back a yelp of pain and cursing whoever the universe had tethered to you for playing this near finger-breaking game.

The injuries were almost exclusively reserved for after school, seldom beforehand, and normally the worst times were during tournaments. If the frequency of injuries suddenly skyrocketed, you figured it was a pretty safe bet that whoever was at a tournament. If you could, you usually tried to keep your own injuries to a minimum so they could play to their best ability. It was the least you could do to give them a break from the endless minor wounds you received from your own clumsiness.

Tsukki, on the other hand, while what he inflicted on you was concentrated around volleyball; had to deal with your small scrapes and burns constantly. “I swear, they’re the clumsiest person on the planet,” he muttered to Yamaguchi upon wincing at yet another scrape on his knee from your doing. His kneepads always rubbed the wounds uncomfortably and he’d forgotten to bring his usual supply of band-aids he carried with him for this particular reason.

“They’re probably not a big fan of your volleyball playing either,” Yamaguchi nodded to his currently taped fingers.

He scoffed. “Well at least I don’t have two left feet.”

Something he had noticed, however, was since high school; the number of scrapes on his palms substantially declined. As if whoever you were had picked up on the fact he needed his hands and were trying to be helpful in that regard. He also noticed he rarely got a new injury during games. Like you purposefully stayed as still as possible for his sake, as if to not inflict anything fresh while he was in the process of hurting you. He couldn’t be sure; but that seemed too coincidental to be an accident. He had the feeling you were observant of his own injuries, ones that occurred at similar times after school or during tournaments and were mindful of them.

He hated to admit that he appreciated that.

Since you started University, you hadn’t been able to attend enough matches yet to determine if any of the volleyball players were possibly your soulmate. You did have the brief thought to get more involved with the team to make it easier, but strangely the terrifying idea that your soulmate was on the team, scared you away. It had almost taken you a year and a half in high school to determine they weren’t on that team, but now that you had the possibilities narrowed down to middle blockers, you figured it wouldn’t take you as long to get a definite answer or not.

Yet, strangely, for all your thinking and observing over the years—you never thought to look at the team that your University was playing. Because why would you?

You were no stranger to the chanting and cheering of the crowd accompanied by the intermittent sound of a volleyball being hit and spiked. The constant sensation of your palms stinging and arms feeling like they were going to be torn off pushed to the back of your thoughts as you focused on the players you had already determined as the middle blockers in the last game you went to when you abruptly cried out in pain.

Blinding, excruciating agony shot through your middle and ring finger. You clutched your hand hissing, “Fuck!”

Sitting beside you, your roommate, who didn’t know the reason why you were obsessed with volleyball, glanced over in confusion. “What’s wrong?” You tried shooing them away, but tears were pricking at your eyes as your fingers throbbed. “What happened?” They prompted again. You couldn’t collect your thoughts; your mind was reeling—the ball had been on your school’s side of the court. It had been your school attacking, which meant the only possible culprit for your currently aching fingers was someone on the opposing team.

“Hey look,” your roommate said. “Some kid on the other team is hurt.”

Your head whipped upwards, almost smacking your friend in the chin with it. Down on the court, the towering blonde of a middle blocker with glasses on the opposing team was standing on the sideline cradling his hand. The same one you were. You thought you might topple out of your chair in shock; you hadn’t by any means had any intention of actually finding your soulmate today.

But—fuck, as much as your head was swimming with this new information; the main thing on your mind was the unbearable pain coursing through your hand. How could he stand to inflict this kind of hurt willingly on himself? And for that matter, knowingly inflict it on his soulmate too!

“Your hand!” Your friend gasped, dragging you back to the reality that your soulmate was right in front of you. They tenderly took your hand into yours to inspect it. “What did you—” their gaze followed yours that was currently fixated on the blonde middle blocker and they put the pieces together. “Holy shit.” You yelped when they gripped your hand a little too hard in excitement. “This is why you wanted to come to all the volleyball games?”

“I—ugh,” you huffed. “Yeah. I figured out a while ago that they played. But jesus,” you sucked in a breath to try and deal with the pain. “This is one of the worst jams they’ve ever gotten.”

Your eyes trailed him exiting the gym, presumably to first aid who would take a closer look at his fingers and probably tape them up properly. There was a part of you that hoped he’d be benched for the rest of the match so you, and he, wouldn’t get hurt any further. You vaguely wondered if you should follow suit since you now had the same injury, but balked at the idea of meeting him that way.

“So…you’re going to introduce yourself, right? I mean, you know exactly who he is now. And when are you going to get another chance?”

Your heart seized up with anxiety. “Um, how would I even do that?” You turned to your friend. “’Hi how are your fingers? Oh yeah, mine too, thanks by the way!’”

They just narrowed their eyes at you and stuck out their tongue. “Oh, come on. You can’t just let him slip through your fingers!”

You held up your handed with the jammed fingers bent in an unnatural direction. “I don’t think I could catch him if I tried,” you joked, a smirk gracing your lips.

“That was terrible.”

Now it was your turn to stick your tongue out.

The middle blocker didn’t come back until the end of the final set and wasn’t put back in; much to you, and your fingers, relief. When the match ended, your friend hauled you up from your seat and dragged you towards the exit by your uninjured hand. Stumbling behind them, you tried to protest, “I have no idea what to even say! I’ll figure out another way, please let go!”

“Nope. No running away.”

“Oh my god, you soulmate freak, for the love of—” your foot slipped on the stairs and before you knew it, the world was tumbling around you and without thinking you threw your hands out in front of you to catch yourself. You’d tried to train that tendency out of you, to limit the number of scrapes you inflicted on his palms, but your instincts took over without letting your brain catch up. Pain almost worse than the initial injury shot up your arm and this time you couldn’t hold back the yell that lifted from your throat. One that was met by a similar one from down the hall.

Tsukki didn’t expect to hear a match to his cry of pain when his fingers felt like they were getting re-jammed. He jerked up in surprise to survey the crowd in the hallway, his attention grabbed by someone’s head popping up near the staircase and looking around in confusion.

Your eyes meet and immediately he knows that you also know, if your expression is anything to go by. He doesn’t move, letting the flow of the crowd break around him, wondering if you’re going to approach him.

You don’t. You’re frozen in fear. He clearly knows who—or rather, what the two of you are and is allowing you to make the first move. Even though you’ve thought about what you would say for years now, your throat feels tight and you know any attempt at words would be futile. It doesn’t get any better when he starts to move towards you.

He towers above you, even if this wasn’t the situation, he would be intimidating. The first words out of his mouth are, “So you’re the klutz I’m always patching up my knees for.”

You’re taken aback by his provoking tone at first, but then retort, “Oh, please, Mr. I jam my fingers every other fucking day.” Then you shake your hand in his direction. “Thanks for this!”

He chuckles, and you’re unable to tell if its in a mocking way or a harmlessly amused one. “Shouldn’t you probably go to first aid? They patched me up quite nicely.” He holds up his bandaged hand.

While Tsukishima Kei was exuding the pinnacle of aloofness to you, he couldn’t help the nerves roiling beneath the surface. While he’d become quite aware of his confrontational behavior in high school and mainly limited it to Kageyama and Hinata; when he was feeling out of his element it was easy to resort to it. Though he was fascinated that you didn’t seem to be fazed.

“A genius suggestion,” you snorted, waving your injured hand haphazardly. “Except for the fact I don’t know where it is.”

“Do I need to spell it out for you?”

You blinked.

Tsukki withheld his groan. You weren’t making this easy. “Would you like me to take you?”

You just stared.

“Oh, um, sure—thank you…?” You prompted.

He inclined his head towards the direction of first aid. “It’s Tsukishima Kei.” He then looked at you expectantly for your name.

You gave it to him.

#tsukishima kei x reader #tsukishima x reader #tsukki x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #tsukishima kei scenario #tsukki scenario #haikyuu #soulmate!au #tsukki soulmate!au

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angstymarshmallow · 5 years

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part four: “nothing left for us here.” (cal lowell x mc)

[a little note: I still haven’t come up with a name for my series. But I’m playing around with one or two names. In any case, I’ve mentioned before that this part is pretty long - but it’s after two in the morning and I want to post it before I give it another second thought. If you read it - than you! If you leave a comment, bless you! ]

[words counted: 11191] Yup 11.1k, I haven’t written this much for a series chapteer in foreverrrr.

[summary: when trouble brews on the horizon for Cal and Wren (MC) as a werewolf alpha threatens their pack’s safety - Cal must make a decision to protect them. Because after all, the pack must always come first].

[part one, part two, part three]

His biological clock ticks down the hours, minutes and seconds before his eyes fly open. He can never sleep past it. Not since adulthood came knocking at his door. The blood of the wolf thrums inside his vein. It demands him to rouse awake – always close to the highest peak of dawn.

Today is of course no different.

The beast inside him stirs with a keen sense of awareness. His nerves can’t sit still. Move. Move. He’s too wired up from last night and his urge to burn the lingering stress, outweighs his desire to stay in bed.

Still, Cal forces himself to take a second. He appreciates being home again – he appreciates the sense of security and stability that comes a long with it. And the comfort of coming home to someone.

He breathes deeply, letting his lungs fill with the allure of clean sheets and the slight musky scent from the clothes they discarded in a hurry last night. Rolling over, he nearly collides into the warm body nestled beside him but halts his free arm just in time. He keeps the rest of himself steady - barely a hair length away.

When she doesn’t stir, Cal utters a small sigh of relief.

The last thing he wants is to devoid her of anymore sleep than necessary. Sometimes, she hardly gets any – her job keeps her up more often than is. But more than that, his reasons are purely selfish for keeping her bed. It’s in moments like these – when everything is still, that makes waking up first worth it.

Cal props himself up on one elbow to study her.

His lover. His best friend. His mate.

Wren exemplifies all of these qualities and more. It’s exhilarating, terrifying and wonderful all at once to find someone he wants to spend more than a few precious moments with. Ever since they’ve met – it’s been one moment leading into another. Now that he’s had a taste of this, he doesn’t think he can go back to being alone again.

Cal’s brow creases at the thought.

He isn’t afraid. He should be, but he isn’t. For one, she isn’t the most reliable person. There’s been a few close calls of her coming home – battered and bruised. But it’s the nature of her job. For another, hey haven’t known each other for very long and as his mate there are certain responsibilities that comes along with the newfound territory. Not to mention they argue almost as much as they make-up, but in spite of all this – in spite of all the reasons he can think of – he’s still not afraid.

None of these reasons, plausible or not change how he feels. Deep within him, there’s a sense of peace and a surge of unadultered joy in knowing it’s her.

Before Cal is able to stop himself, his fingers stretch the rest of the distance between them and he weaves them through the softness of her hair. Lightly, his forefingers rub between its finer strands of earthy brown.

She stirs slightly from the motion; nuzzling further into her pillow with a half-hearted smile flitting across her face.

Something in his chest flutters.

He never gets tired of the view. He tucks a few of them behind her ear.

Taking another few seconds to admire her asleep, he drops a kiss to her brow and then slips out of bed. He rubs his eyes before they are drawn to the window, where the telltale signs of a new day have already begun. Sunlight seeps through their curtains, casting a dazzling gleam across his pillow as he swings his legs out of the way.

Cal stretches a second time, his muscles bunching as he rolls his shoulders back to release tension. Standing, he hunts for a pair of fresh clothes.

But clothes don’t matter, they never do for mornings like this – because mornings like this are made for running with the sun beating down his back. They are made to chase away the cold air from the night before and run until sweat beads across every inch of his skin. They are made for feeling the earth beneath his feet and for his paws to dig into the soil as he basks in its sunny disposition.

Twisting his chestnut hair into a loose bun, Cal fishes for a pair of shorts before he ventures downstairs and then out the door. His mind acts on memory as a roadmap for the best place to burn off his pent-up energy surfaces.

Within seconds, he takes off. A light jog is more than adequate for now. He deeply inhales the finer smells in the air, the taste of sunshine on his skin. His eyes linger on different sections of his neighborhood, searching for anything remotely off. Anything unfamiliar. After last night, he can’t be too careful. He can never be too careful again so long as another alpha threatens his territory.

By the time he steps off the main path leading into the woods, less than a half an hour has passed. He rolls his shoulders back again, does a few last-minute stretches before checking for his usual spots.

He ducks his head low after ignoring the first bush. It isn’t until he’s able to find a rosebush large enough to obscure most of his body that he stops inside his tracks. Thorns prick his skin as he makes quick work of shedding his clothes and abandoning his shoes. He doesn’t care; those bruises always heal fast– at least, far faster than the ones from last night anyway. He’s still feeling some of the pain, despite most of his body already undergoing his extensive healing process; with only jarred edges of scars to mark the only shred of evidence left behind.

But there’s still an ache in his body that reminds him he’s gone through hell.

Carefully, he stashes his clothes away.

The last thing he has to take care of is double-checking the area before he’s ready to shift. But wolf in him is impatient, it yearns to be free. His eyes and body work together to search the parameter. He can’t afford to have anyone else in town freaking out about their wolf population.

When Cal is satisfied with the knowledge of nearly complete solitude, he heads back in the bush’s direction.

Hunching over, he closes his eyes – and starts the change.

His bones break first. They always do to redefine what it means to be man and wolf. Then slowly, they begin to remake themselves – a sickening crunch here and there signifies the worst parts of it; where his limbs bend at an awkward angle and his legs buckle to keep him upright. Cal flinches but he doesn’t make a sound. He is accustomed to the pain and a sense of exhilaration comes along with feeling every crack, every bone that transcends into the animal as the beast inside him stirs awake. Familiar tingles travel up his spine; it’s his sensory perceptions overriding the more rational part of himself with the fundamental knowledge that it is almost over – and none of it is completely unpleasant anymore. Gradually, fur replaces skin and his large - often coarse hands shift into paws with claws sharp enough to tear through even the sturdiest of metals. With a howl, Cal sheds the remainder of his human form – as the final layers which prevented him from embracing his truest nature dissipates into nothing.

Everything is much clearer, crisper when he’s like this. When his heart races faster and excitement propel all 800 pounds of him forward. His better senses take control, he is no longer just Cal – he is so much more.

He pauses to sniff the air.

His ears perk at the sound of footsteps that leads further into the forest. Is that rabbit? No! He inhales deeply, and a slight shudder ripples his fur. It’s definitely antelope. He can almost picture the creature in his head – scrambling through the forest as though abruptly aware of his presence.

Then Cal sets off again – crouching low and digging his paws to feel the soil beneath him. He makes a beeline for the trees, howling over the wind and his russet fur ruffles by the motion. He leaps from tree to tree; its colour makes it easy to for him to blend in with most of the bark in his immediate area, and even if didn’t – he isn’t worried. Right now, he isn’t worried about anything.

He lets go of all those human novelties – of regret, fear and second-guessing his own past judgements. All that’s left is the wolf – and whatever the wolf demands, he simply gives.

An hour later, Cal has gathered his pants and changes with quick fluidity. Thankfully, no one has spotted him despite how embarrassingly loud he’d been during his hunt in the woods. He allows his hair to be free with a shake of his head and takes off into another jog to travel home.

The moment Cal approaches the front door, his stomach grumbles at the smell of something freshly made. To a regular human being the smell would have barely found its way outside, but to him – even the very whiff of it is intoxicating. He sniffs the air in excitement, trying to discern the flavors in the atmosphere – is that bacon? He sniffs again – and pancakes?

He boards the rest of their porch with barely contained eagerness, slamming the door a little too hard behind him before he empties his feet free of boots by their welcome home mat.

“There better still be a door, Cal!” Comes a loud yell from down the hall.

Cal winces guiltily and then double-checks its safety. So far so good. He hasn’t pried off any of their doors yet. Well – not in a long time anyway.

He quickly pads against the wooden floorboards of their home, finding Donny already sitting across the couch watching a familiar-looking show at first glance, with an ample amount of bacon and pancakes in his lap. “Morning,” He greets warmly, flashing his brother a smile.

Donny’s answer is lost within a grunt as he stuffs another mouthful of food into his mouth. His eyes haven’t even left the screen.

“Well good morning to you too.” Cal raises an eyebrow, waiting expectantly for some sort of response.

Donny visibly swallows. “Mornin’,” he mutters finally, almost appearing unwilful as he glances towards him. He tilts his chin, then directs his attention back to his screen.

Shaking his head, Cal reaches over to ruffle his brother’s head, earning a scowl from him before he slaps his hands away.

“Don’t.” Donny’s nostrils flares until he turns completely still, abruptly seeming uneasy as they made eye contact with each other. “Just…don’t.”

It takes a moment for Cal to realize the emotions flickering across his youthful features aren’t anger – they’re worry. Regret. Fear. Guilt.

“I’m sorry.” Donny blurts the words out, his cheeks suddenly going flush under the weight of Cal’s penetrating stare. His eyes fall to his feet. “I’m so sorry.”

“You should be, you could have gotten yourself killed.”

His brother flinches at the sound of anger in his voice. “I know.”

“You could have gotten Wren killed.”

A pause. “I know.”

“Donny,” Cal takes a ragged breath, letting his harsh exhale override his urge to snap at his brother. He isn’t mad at him, not really. He had been last night but not anymore. Anger isn’t going to solve any of their problems. It’s just a knee jerk reaction that causes the wolf in him to rise to its feet to snarl and snap at anyone he has a problem with. But Cal doesn’t have a problem with his brother. And he has to work tirelessly to temper that anger, to practice restraint and remain in control.

Donny is all he has left in this world. He wouldn’t trade him for anything.

After their dad’s death – Cal has always felt like it’s up to him to keep them alive – to keep them safe. “You scared me last night.” He confesses slowly, dragging his fingers through his hair. “When I came in and saw what was going on – fuck, I feared the worst.” He cuts off his sentence, suddenly grabbing his brother by the arm. He nearly knocks his plate aside, in his rush to pull him to his feet and hug him. To make sure he’s alright, that there’s nothing broken.

For a split second, Donny doesn’t react. Cal could feel his brother tensing as his arms remain loosely at his sides. Then another second passes and it’s almost as if he jolts out of it. Suddenly, Donny is embracing him back, and taking deep breaths to keep his pulse steady.

“You gotta stop doing this.” Cal mutters, releasing him. “You’re not just a kid anymore Donny. You’re seventeen. You’re growing up. You can’t keep making the same mistakes and not expect bad things to happen.”

Donny lowers his gaze to the floor.

Something in Cal’s chest squeezes. “You’ve –” his tone grows softer, “you’ve gotta stop giving me a heart attack Donny. At this rate – I don’t think I’ll make it to forty.”

Despite his half-serious tone, Donny glances back up and snorts. He’s never been good at explaining how he feels, and Cal wonders if it’s his fault for always wanting to shelter him. “I think you’ll be fine. You’ve dealt with a lot worse.”

“Nothing could be worse than losing you.” He says emphatically, holding his stare. “Nothing.”

The smugness in Donny’s expression falters. He’s suddenly blinking and glancing away again – as if he’s afraid of looking at him. “Even if it meant you wouldn’t have to deal with my shit anymore?”

“Even then,” Cal lips soften into a timid smile. He reaches between them to squeeze his shoulder. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you.”

Donny ducks his head as his cheeks flush against his olive skin. He mumbles under his breath, “thanks, I guess.”

“You’re welcome.” Recognizing his brother’s tells that the discussion is uncomfortable, Cal drops the subject and gives his shoulder another squeeze before reaching for the remote. He rewinds the last several minutes and offers the remote to him.

“Thanks,” Donny mutters.

Inclining his head, Cal pushes past the door to wade into their kitchen. He sniffs he air again, stomach growling at the very thought of eating. His keen senses help him to determine and approve of the types of spices she uses to change its typical flavor. A slight pinch of ginger. A dash of salt. Some cloves. And is that…garlic power? He can almost taste how good it will be melting on his tongue. It’s his favourite kind of bacon after all, underneath all that sauce – and his mouth is practically salivating with the urge to suddenly dive in and eat.

It’s the sight of Wren bent and leaning over their counter that causes a different reaction. Something that goes further than his hunger. The wolf in him stirs, and yearns to touch her. Want. Need. Sometimes, the line blurs between the two.

Leaning against the door frame, Cal smiles. “What did I do to deserve such a view?” he teases.

“Knowing you Cal – probably something really good in your past life.” She answers without hesitation. “You just have kinda that look about you.”

He laughs.

“But you can always come closer and find out,” Wren tosses a wink over her shoulder. “I know a dozen ways to remind you why you deserve this, why you deserve me.”

“Oh, just a dozen?” He steps close enough for her cheeks to grow lightly flushed under his smoldering stare. But she doesn’t look away, not his Wren. She meets his gaze head on, tilts her chin back as he leans forward between them to nip her chin.

It may have been the heat from the stove, but he likes to think he’s always able to cause that kind of reaction from her. He relishes in her slight shiver. The proximity between them is close enough to place his hands at either side of her. Still, Cal eaves enough room for her to close the distance if she wants to.

Instead of stepping closer, Wren loops her arms around his neck and tugs him towards her – erasing the rest of the gap. “We’ll start with a dozen.”

Before Cal can respond, across the hall his ears perk at the sound of Donny making gagging noises. Gagging noises that are painfully obvious as lacking any sort of authenticity. He makes a point of ignoring him.

He buries his lips to her neck, drawing a deep breath – comforted by her scent. The faintest hint of her bodywash still lingers on her skin. Mmm. Vanilla.

“Is Donny okay?”

“He’s faking it.” Cal snorts, then releases her and glances down in surprise. “You actually sound worried.”

She smacks his shoulder playfully with the dish rag from the counter. “I am worried. A little.”

“It seems like things between you two are getting better.” Cal can’t keep the smile out of his voice as he says it. His smile grows wider when she shrugs and mumbles under her breath. He knows Donny’s adjustment to someone new in his life hasn’t been easy. It’s never been easy for either of them.

“Finally, last night was a lot.” Wren pauses, and a small smile pokes out from the corner of her lips when she meets his stare. “And Donny’s not a bad kid.”

“No, he isn’t.” Suddenly remembering last night, Cal winces and twists to lean against the counter behind them. “Although, sometimes I wish he’d think before he does something he knows I won’t approve of.” The words may sound harsh to someone who didn’t know them – who didn’t know the Donny he’s had to bail out of trouble countless of times. But Cal says it without malice, he has always been genuinely concerned for his brother’s safety. Just thinking what their dad would’ve done if it had been him doing those things would have gotten him killed a long time ago.

“You remember what it was like being his age, right?” Wren responds, bumping his hip and interrupting the flow of his thoughts. “Everything felt important, like something you just had to do. There was no waiting around for anything or anyone else – and,” she says the rest slowly, nodding her head as though lost in thought, “sometimes that means doing some really dumb shit.”

“It’s just a part of growing up,” Cal agrees whole-heartedly. How couldn’t he, when he’s done his fair share of dumb things as a teenager? But he can’t think of a familiar instance comparable to last night. That bar fight shouldn’t have happened. “I can’t think of anything as bad as last night.”

“Oh, come on.” Wren gives him a look. “I don’t believe that for one second, Cal. You’re as handsome as sin.”

He holds up his hands, “I swear to you. Never that bad.”

“Uh huh,” she arches an eyebrow and places a hand by her hip. “But you did all that other stuff right? Sneaking out, staying out late. Spent some time experimenting with drugs. Drink before you were actually legal– that’s the really exciting part about drinking, the thrill of doing something bad – that kinda stuff?”

“You’re painting such a colourful childhood.”

Uncharacteristically, she sticks her tongue out at him. “What I mean to say is – it’s not easy being a kid. At least, I don’t remember it being easy.”

His brow furrows at the last jab. “We all do some things we regret, whether or not we’re seventeen or in our twenties. I think our bars for stupid hasn’t changed much.”

Wren laughs, her lips quirking into a know-it-all smirk. “Yup totally. I think I was the poster child for stupid shit and for breaking all the rules.”

“It must kinda come with the territory.” He means it as a light and gentle kind of prodding, keeping his voice tentatively low while he gauges her for her reaction. They never spend a lot of time talking about her past. And he senses the change in the air, even before her expression slightly changes.

“Group homes aren’t the most stable environments.” Although, she says the words dismissively – her eyes are wary, calculated – like she’s weighing how much to tell him. “I ran away a lot, got in trouble a lot for it. There wasn’t any place for me to really call home.”

Cal tries to swallow past the sudden lump in his throat as he tries to picture her out on the street – surviving on her own. It breaks his heart a little to wonder what a younger version of her was like, living the way she did. But she’s here now, and he’d do anything to make sure she’d never go through that again.

She bumps her nose with his, and her eyes suddenly bright with resolve. “At least until now.”

He places a tender kiss across her nose.

Her shoulders relax. “But I bet it’s definitely nothing like growing up here in NOLA.” Wren changes the subject smoothly.

“Not when you’ve had a pack to contend with all your life – no.”

Her nose wrinkles. “All your life huh? It’s be all our end all with you guys.”

“It’s something we were born into,” Cal responds defensively. “And it’s all we’ve ever known.” There’s no sense of sugar-coating the words – not that he would ever want to. Cal loves being a werewolf – despite its ups and downs, it’s simply apart of who he is. “I wouldn’t want to change anything about it.” He adds earnestly.

Something passes quickly in her eyes as she slips out of his grip to grab a plate. “We should eat before it gets cold.”

Piled up unto the couch with their plates of bountiful food stationed in front of them, they’ve settled into their normal routine. Cal stretches out his long legs, bracing them loosely across the edge of their coffee table, after Wren’s able to successfully wrestle the remote from his brother and declares it her turn to choose a show.

Donny’s posture deflates a little as he mutters something about never having enough time to watch what he wants before Cal suggests something to watch on more neutral territory.

They both hesitate – Donny still shooting Wren a glare and in turn, she rolls her eyes until Cal steps in. He retrieves the remote out of her hands without a second thought and declares it’s what the alpha wants; making it a moot point to further argue anyway.

Donny, almost immediately recedes in defeat. He glances away and leans his wiry frame against the seat in sulky silence while Wren has more difficulty letting it go. She purses her lips before until Cal’s arm snakes around her waist and draws her snugly to his side.

“This way, everybody wins.”

“This way, you win.” She fires back, but surrenders control and she plants a kiss on his cheek. “Don’t worry, I’ll get you back later.”

Her sudden smirk, incites a reaction inside of him. His eyes drift down to her lips and then lower. “Is that a promise?” Because he’d really like to make good on such a promise.

Before Wren is able to answer, the younger Lowell brother loudly clears his throat. “I’m still right here guys.” Donny makes a point of grabbing a pillow and tossing at them. “Can you not be gross in front of me?”

Cal’s cheeks flush with a look of apology as Wren catches the pillow at the very last second and laughs. “Sorry kid. You know I can’t help it – your brother is so damn sexy.” She whistles as if to drive her point home and then wriggles her eyebrows at Cal.

His wolfish grin causes her to lean in closer.

“Oh, look. The show is starting.” Donny changes the subject quickly, grabbing the remote and turning up the volume to drone out the rest of their banter.

“Spoilsport.” Wren declares.

But Donny ignores her public outcry and shushes them both the second they both laugh.

Half-way through the episode, the door rings and Cal is up in a flash to answer it. He heard footsteps rustling around earlier, but it’s only after Wren grabs the remote from the coffee table that he’s able to tell whose it is. Their footsteps are measured and precise – there are only few people that had that kind of strut.

Wren’s eyes shoot up in question until Cal jerks his chin. “It’s just Jayde.” He says reassuringly and instantly her entire body relaxes.

“Okay, we’ll just wait.”

“No need, I’ll catch up – keep going.” Cal doesn’t leave room to protest as he takes several long strides towards the hall. He catches the end of Donny’s sentence on his way out. “…you heard the man, keep going.”

His Beta stands outside with her hands tucked loosely inside her leather jacket as he opens the door. The piercing on her nose seem to gleam against the sun. Her evasive dark emeralds have always been sharp, but they are currently missing as he’s able to tell by the slight dull amber colour of her eyes that she’s recently shifted.

Her slightly pointed chin, lowers in reverence after meeting his stare. “Cal,” she says his name smoothly.

Her greeting is nothing short of what he expects when she’s serious.

He’s known Jayde for several years and their relationship hasn’t always been this solid. They met at their local high school’s football team after tryouts had them competing for the same spot. While she’s been a part of the pack nearly as long he has, they wouldn’t have gotten a long if they hadn’t spent a lot of time outside of school together. Their awkward fumble at prom when they’d try working out as something more than friends in his father’s old car is still a haunting and uncomfortable memory that pops up every now and then when he sees her. Thankfully, they’ve grown a lot closer as friends than they ever did as anything else. “Jayde, hey.” He greets warmly, flashing her a smile. “What can I do for you? Want come in? We’re watching –”

“I’m afraid this isn’t really a social call.” She interjects and hesitates when he arches a brow at her; as though she’s trying to choose her words carefully. “It’s about yesterday night.”

The wolf in him stirs. He grits his teeth at the sudden burst of protectiveness for his pack, swells in his chest. “You’ve heard something?”

She shakes her head. “No, not really but those wolves we took in are restless.” She punctuates the word. “They were in a hurry to leave this morning until one of our guys caught wind of it and notified me.”

“Where are they now?”

“Wolf’s Den. Pete is keeping them busy when I came to get you.”

“Good call.” Cal gives her a brief nod of encouragement before he turns on his heels to promptly find his jacket. “We should get going then.”

“No time like the present.” Jayde agrees. Then hesitates again, her sharp features softening a little as she gestures behind him. “Sorry for interrupting.”

“It’s alright.” While he cherishes these moments of reprieve where he can stave away from the rest of the world; time slips by too quickly when he’s like this. When he can almost there’s more to life than just this, than just Wren.

“The pack’s safety comes first.” He says the words more to himself than to her, committing it again to memory. It’s more of a mantra at this point. It has too much meaning for there to be any kind of simplicity behind them.

It’s remarkable to him even after defeating Octavia all those months ago that he’s alpha. If only his dad was here to see it. But more than that – remarkable and responsibility are two sides of the same coin. Responsibility has always been Cal’s burden in some shape or form – whether it was taking care of their dad, Donny or the pack – there’s been countless of circumstances where he has to put everything else first.

“Donny,” He calls loudly, after finding his boots. “Change of plans buddy, we gotta go.” He turns his attention down the hall, waits expectantly for him to heed his call and follow.

Donny appears within seconds. From the look in his eyes, when he spots Jayde – whatever argument he’d make disappears with the knowledge that this is pack business and not just a simple social call. He ducks inside the closet to find his shoes and Cal’s attention has swerved to watch Wren when he feels her eyes on him.

Her confident gait stops a few feet away. She doesn’t greet Jayde; her eyes are solely on him – and for him only, when her eyebrows arch critically.

Cal knows what she’ll say even before she says it. She gets that same determined look in her eyes every time. Shit, it makes it hard to say no to her.

“I’m coming.” There’s no room in her voice for an argument.

From behind him, Jayde snorts.

This time Wren shifts her gaze. It’s only slightly but it’s enough to acknowledge his Beta’s presence.

There’s tension brewing, Cal feels it. He has to choose his words carefully, knowing that if he doesn’t – she’d fight him on this, given the chance. “It’s really not that simple.”

“How complicated can it be?” She counters.

“It’s…dangerous.”

She scoffs. “You say that like it’s supposed to stop me.” She strides past Donny to search for her boots.

Jayde raises an eyebrow, her lips drawing back into a frown. “It’s pack business.” Although, there’s no hostility behind her words – Cal does detect a hint of flatness that betrays her distrust of her.

“You say that like it’s going to stop me.”

“Look pup, this isn’t about you. We –”

Cal intervenes, physically putting himself between them before Jayde’s able to finish.

Jayde flinches and breaks off her sentence. Her eyes drift down to the floor while her jaw remains clenched.

There’s no sense in beating around the bush. Even with the months Cal has spent, integrating Wren into his pack – claiming her as his mate; the tension surrounding her in her complete disregard of committing herself as one of them has caused a shift in his power. An imbalance that he’s starting to wonder if anyone would fight him for. One that he’s keenly aware of in moments like this –when Jayde’s nostrils flare in hostility and Wren’s glare is enough to cut a lesser person down. He’ll have to think about that later, but right now – there are more important matters to deal with than this sudden pissing match.

“Wren is my mate.” Cal says the words with renewed purpose, his stare intense enough for Jayde to step back. “Despite how much I think it’s better for her to stay – she’s capable of making her own decisions.” He doesn’t miss the taunting smile Wren shoots back at Jayde. He gives her a look of reproach before the smile swiftly fades from view.

Nodding shrewdly, Jayde steps off their porch. “Then I’ll meet you at Wolf’s Den.” She says the words crisply, leaving no room for him to think she has anything more to add.

Donny stops her before she leaves. “Mind if I tag along with you?”

The tightness in Jayde expression softens a little as Donny walks in stride beside her. “It’d be my pleasure kid, let’s go.”

“I’ll meet you guys there!” The younger Lowell brother tosses behind him, eagerly keeping pace with Jayde as they approach her car.

Cal watches them go for a moment, sighing with relief that he’d avoided another fight. On some days, he isn’t always so lucky.

She lifts an eyebrow, “he’s never that interested getting in my truck.”

“Wren – are you jealous?” He tries to fight the smile off his face when she shoots him a glare, but eventually it wins out and he laughs.

“You’ve seen how long it took for him to even smile at me, let alone invite himself to hitch a ride.” She shakes her head. “Ridiculous.” She murmurs.

“Well, I’ll hitch a ride with you any day babe.” He drawls, throwin an arm around her shoulders.

“I think that goes without saying.” But her smile is bigger than her retort, and she reaches up on her toes to kiss him.

He kisses her back, immediately resting his arms by her waist. Her lips part. Cal’s tongue slides between the slight crack as he deepens the kiss. It only lasts seconds but Cal dejectedly let’s her go. He knows he has more pressing matters other than the boner his mate gives him with a searing kiss as she cups him through his pants.

Damn these fucking jeans.

He’s almost tempted to scoop her up and return back inside. The wolf in him is practically panting at the idea. He wants to ravish her – but she’s already tossing a teasing smirk over her shoulder as she gestures to her truck. “We’re taking my ride.”

Smiling in amusement, Cal follows the sashay of her hips until he finds the passenger seat and slips inside. He watches her profile view as the engine roars to life. All things considered; he knows he’ll have nothing to worry about so long as the most important people in his life are safe.

The Wolf’s Den is unusually quiet as Cal swaggers in with Wren in tow behind him. He walks with purpose as the air of authority clings to his every movement. He cannot appear anything less than an alpha – than in complete control despite feeling a little uncertain on the situation he’s walking in on.

Immediately all eyes in the room fall upon him.

The entire room is silent as he steps further inside the house.

Jayde is standing off to the side with Donny in tow, Wren is always more comfortable out of the spotlight and sticks to the shadows of the room. Every wolf has their head bowed as his long strides past them and it isn’t until Cal has uttered his first few words since walking inside, does the atmosphere in the room change.

“By now you’ve all heard about what happened at The Howlers last night.” He begins, gathering his thoughts. “We need to talk.” His eyes skim every member of his pack – every solemn and uneasy face until they’ve made a complete circle. “Because what I have to say could potentially threaten the safety of our pack.”

Murmurs break out uneasily between small groups of people. Jayde steps forward with a curt nod from Cal to bring the rest of their attention at three distinct people.

They’re young, probably somewhere between early adulthood. The tallest of the bunch looks the most reassured and the least nervous at being the center of attention. He doesn’t shrink away from it as the other two do, instead he remains in eye contact with Cal. His copper hair shines like sheen under the fluorescent light they’re standing under. The other two are almost indistinguishable from each other to be anything less than siblings. They don’t meet Cal’s stare.

The copper-haired pup doesn’t break eye contact with Cal as he opens his mouth to speak. “Look, we don’t want any trouble. We’ve been grateful to you since you’ve taken us in. So what the hell is this?”

“Someone from your old pack showed up to The Howlers last night. He threatened my brother, threatened my mate.” Cal punctuates the words, letting his entire pack know the enormity of the situation. Anyone doing that, shouldn’t be taken lightly. “If it was just about money, I wouldn’t have batted an eye but it’s about more than that.”

The trio of young wolves share glances between themselves.

“Isn’t that right – Nick, Theo and Saline?”

The tallest, Nick – goes almost and completely still, white Theo and Saline continue to cower slightly behind him – their grey eyes are wide and their skin pales in comparison to Nick’s at the question.

“I don’t want to worry you,” Cal forces his tone to be a little less firm and more neutral. “But your alpha’s beta had specific instructions to bring you back and when I told him no – he didn’t like that.” He takes a deep breath to calm the sudden quell of frustration inside him at the thought. The man tried to tear him into pieces and the wolf in him demanded his own penance in blood before Cal had nearly killed him. “I sent him my own message.” This time, his eyes don’t linger on just the trio of meek wolves in front of him – they look to everyone to attest and emphasize his own point. “I don’t abandon my family.”

Nick’s shoulders relax, Theo and Saline lets out sighs of relief as some of the tension begins to ooze out of the room. Even the rest of the pack seems a little less worried by the strong convictions in Cal’s voice. “But I do need to know why he’s come looking for you,” Cal continues, skirting his stare back in their direction. “Because if it affects you, it affects all of us. Because next time – we might not all be so lucky to have a simple bar fight.”

There’s another murmur of discontent, several wolves have looked worried again until Jayde roughly clears her throat. “Our alpha is talking! So shut the hell up and listen!”

Cal shoots Jayde a slight and grateful nod until he makes a point of standing in the center. “Why don’t you tell us why you left?”

Nick’s body has regained some of its hostility. His shoulders are too straight and his mouth forms a silent sneer. He jerks his chin defiantly. “We already did. He was getting violent and it wasn’t safe for us to be there anymore.”

And yet, by the slight tremble in his voice – and his aggressive posture, Cal doesn’t believe him. He narrows his eyes a little, straightens his shoulders back and peers down at him. The wolf in him snaps at the firm judgement call he’s willing to make. “You’re not telling me everything, and I’m not fond of liars Nick.”

The change in his posture makes Nick welp and he steps back as though Cal struck him. He might as well have.

“I –”

“He’s been selling us off!” Saline yells behind Nick.

Nearly everyone in the Wolf’s Den freezes at her public outcry. Even Nick looks surprised before he shoots a look of betrayal at her. “What the hell are you doing?!”

“Telling the truth!” Saline fires back, her greys suddenly sparking with anger.

“Richard’ll kill us the moment he finds us!” Nick hisses back, suddenly grabbing the younger wolf by the collar.

Theo slaps Nick’s hand away as a growl leaves his throat. “Paws off my sister!” He steps protectively in front of her. “And Saline’s right, when we left – we swore off anything to do with that pack, we agreed that anything else was better than going back there.” He tears his gaze away from the taller boy to stare pleadingly at Cal. “You have to do something! We got out but not everyone’s been so lucky!”

“Woah, woah. Slow down.” Cal raises a hand as civil unrest continues the uneasy glances between the members of his pack. “You mean Richard Shaw?!” He blinks in disbelief. The man had one of the biggest packs this side of the country.

Cal doesn’t Shaw well, they’ve only met a few seldom times but he didn’t strike Cal as a man capable of such things.

Saline nods vehemently, peeking out from behind her brother’s shoulder. “It used to be one at a time. At first, we didn’t even notice. Richard has a pretty big pack, one of the biggest in the world so we were really proud to be brought in the fold after all – we were a couple of orphans until he took us in.” As she speaks, Saline reaches for her brother’s hand and then Nick’s, squeezing them affectionately before continuing, “But recently more of us have been disappearing for us to notice.”

“It started with Bethany,” Nick continues slowly, dropping Saline’s hand. “She was my girlfriend and when I brought it up to Shaw, he decked me.” He rubs the side of his face, almost as though in memory of what happened.

“We couldn’t believe it – because we’ve never seen him look so angry before,” Saline steps away from her brother; eyes trained on her every movement as she keeps going. “Not for just asking a simple question, the whole thing was suspicious especially when Derek threatened to beat the shit out of us after.”

“So, we did a little bit of digging,” Nick muttered. “I was pretty good at computer science in school and I knew a couple professors personally, so I innocently asked my favourite professor to look into Shaw. At first, he didn’t find anything incriminating and told me if I was looking for something specific, I should go to the cops.”

“But we were too scared that he’d find out, so we didn’t.” Saline bites her lower lip, “But then he called Nick back a few days later mentioning Shaw has been hanging around with London Kavinsky lately and that drew a couple red flags for us.”

Cal’s eyes widen a fraction at the name. London Kavinsky is more than a casino mogul, he’s collector of antiques to the modern 21st century. He’s never cared about such things himself, but he remembers Kristof and Octavia talking about trading with him on more than one occasion.

Still, it doesn’t sound completely out of the ordinary for Shaw to have a contact such as himself – not if he’s been trading with him. Although what Shaw had to offer the multimillionaire, he hasn’t the faintest clue. “I don’t see why that detail is completely important.”

“The meetings Shaw and Mr. Kavinsky has go way back,” Saline insists, “we think –” she looks between her brother and Nick. “As far back since the first werewolf disappearance in our pack.” She stops short and corrects herself, “our old pack.”

For once, the entire room has gone silent.

Cal blinks a couple times in shock, before clearing his throat. If what they’re saying is remotely true… He can’t leave any room for doubt and interpretation; they have to be sure. “That’s a serious accusation.” Not to mention what it means – werewolf trafficking. The thought makes him ill.

“We wouldn’t be coming to you if we didn’t have some kind of proof of it ourselves.” Theo says. He’s been mostly quiet this entire time – silently assessing everything they’ve all said until now. “We followed Shaw. Once we could roughly put two and two together; he was due for another shipment to carry out for Kavinsky. He was meeting with Brady to go hunting alone. For a while, we thought he was grooming him since they’ve been getting along so well – but the thing is Brady has been there for only two years; and there’s plenty of other older and much mature wolves that were flying under the radar.” His eyes slam shut for a moment, before he opens them again to stare at Cal with a glint of determination. “So we followed them both after a long hunt one night – because we roughly figured when another shipment would take place and sure enough, Shaw and Derek had taken Brady out to eat. They called it a celebration until Kavinsky had showed up at the restaurant. We didn’t see where they went after that, but we do know that Brady never came back home.”

Cal’s brow furrows at the implication of Theo’s words. “That doesn’t mean anything happened to him,” he wants to believe them but there were still too many holes in their story. Were they even sure it was Brady? How much of a good look could they have without Shaw realizing someone’s been following him? “He could have simply left the pack.” Although the thought doesn’t sit well with him, and it doesn’t seem the likely scenario – it is a possibility they all have to consider.

Nick almost bares his teeth at him until a sharp look from Jayde deviates him into staring at the floor. Even Theo seems unsettled by his dismissal as he stuffs his hands inside his pants and stiffen. “We know Brady, he would never leave the pack. He’d pretty much bent over backwards to please Shaw. He wouldn’t just leave.”

“Not like you guys, right?” Someone from his pack mutters and Saline flinches at their choice of words.

“Why else would we risk everything and leave his pack if we didn’t think something fishy was going on?” Saline juts her chin out. Her looks is almost pleading when she gestures to Cal. “We’ve been keeping our heads down, doing everything we can for the pack. We would never try to risk anything to ruin our place here – unless, we really believed we had no other choice.”

Nick and Theo nod, stepping beside her to join in a unified front. “Richard Shaw is breaking pack laws by selling our own to Mr. Kavinsky.”

The room erupted into chaos. Everyone has started talking at once – some demanding justice, while others have condemned the three wolves in front of them for saying anything at all. The worst of it are his brothers and sisters that wanted to turn their back on them; declaring its none of their business to involve themselves in such a thing. All of it makes Cal’s stomach churn.

His mind is whirling with how to deal with the panic – the indifference and most of all the people that actually want to help, despite the potential doom it means for all of them, if they’re wrong. Or worse – if these proclamations are true – Shaw has to step down as pack leader of New York.

The arguments continue back and forth as members of his pack begin to shove at each other, baring teeth as if ready to fight until Cal’s thunderous voice engulfs the room. “Shut it!”

Immediately, the entire room falls impeccably quiet.

He jerks his chin at Jayde and she steps forward without hesitation. “Can you keep an eye on them?” He gestures to all three of them; still huddled together some paces in front – watching the room with apprentice caution as though expecting someone to jump out at them at any moment. But they wouldn’t – so long as Cal deems them family, no one would ever dare.

Still, his stomach seizes at the uncomfortable position they’ve placed him in. The tension in the air is almost palpable as Cal wets his lips and the room seems to hover uncertainty as he formulates his thoughts into words. “This isn’t an accusation none of us should take likely. If they’re right – what Shaw is doing must be stopped. It goes against everything we are to allow this atrocity to continue. But, if they’re wrong –” he focuses his attention solely on them.

As though a needle pricks his skin, Cal slightly flinches at sight of fear in their eyes. They want him to save them, to save everyone – but, how can he? He’s only one man, one alpha. And while his gut wants to trust them, to believe them – the reality is, he needs more. And he needs to put his pack first – above all else, their safety is paramount. “Then I can’t guarantee your safety, and Shaw’s demands will no longer go unanswered.”

They blink in shock, their mouths hanging slightly open and even the rest of his pack seems surprised and uneasy at his decision. “For right now, I think we should all be careful. Derek is still out there, and if the circumstances are to be believed – there’s more of them where that came from.” He nods once, letting his pack know that the discussion is over.

While the hostility in the air is still very much apparent, no one speaks up to challenge his decision. Feeling a little relieved, Cal gestures for Jayde to follow him towards the study upstairs. His gaze drops short of Wren, - who for all intense purposes looks furious but makes a show of keeping her mouth shut as he disappears from the hall.

When Cal and Jayde are alone, he allows himself a moment. Just a moment. His shoulders sag as he sits inside a chair and he runs his hands across his face with a resigned sigh.

“Holy shit Cal.” Jayde starts, bracing a hip across the long desk in front of them.

“I know.”

He leans back inside his seat and peeks a glance at her.

She seems speechless herself, which is rare for someone like her. Her eyes appear lost in thought before she rises off the table to pace the room. “If what they’re saying is true –”

“Then this is huge.” Cal finishes for her, rubbing his face. “How the fuck did this go unnoticed for so long?”

She shrugs, folding her arms. “Shaw’s been alpha far longer than you and Kristof combined. His influence probably goes so far higher than any of ours.” She stops to arch an eyebrow at him, “do you believe them then?”

“Fuck.” He squeezes his eyes shut.

“So, I take that as a yes.”

He opens his eyes to stare out of the office window. He watches as the afternoon sun barely touches the horizon. It’s so peaceful out there, and yet he’s stuck in here – dealing with problems, he has no idea of fixing. “It’s a – I-don’t-know-what-to-think.” He mutters finally, answering her with a response he hopes is adequate enough to show how screwed they really are. “How am I supposed to take the word of three kids over someone like Shaw?” He rubs his eyes and heaves another sigh. “You’re right that his influence stretches far and ours – well it’s nowhere even close.”

Jayde nods slowly, her brows pinching together. “Then what the hell do we do?”

Cal is starting to wonder than himself.

Shaw’s pack outnumbers his ten to one, and going up against someone like that requires proof. His thoughts turn to Kavinsky. He has to find some way to get to him – he may be more reasonable to at least talk to at this point. Besides, as long as he appears in the dark of the whole problem – what reason would the man have to suspect him of anything?

“First, we find proof.” Cal rises to feet, breaking the silence. “Proof can go a long way in crippling Shaw’s plans.”

“And how do you suppose we find proof?”

“I have to meet Kavinsky. In person.” He pauses and then adds, “on my own probably. I haven’t been alpha for very long and I know Kristof had deals with him in the past. It won’t really look suspicious if I’m coming to him for a favour.”

“Uh huh,” Jayde nods along. “I’m with you so far. Still….it’s risky,” she hesitates, glancing off to watch the window. “Going in alone.”

“It’s better this way. No one else gets pulled into this..mess. And all I’m doing is looking for clues – nothing else. Kavinsky is a major player not just for us – but for vampires, the fae witches - there’s a lot of other people that rely on him.” Cal shakes his head. “I can’t just try to stop him – compared to Shaw, the idea is fucking crazy at best.” He starts to pace the room as well; dragging his fingers through his hair as he contemplates his next move.

“So, we find proof that Shaw is a psychopath and then what?” He can almost see the wheels turning in her expression. “Look, his pack is much bigger than ours and even if we find anything –”

“That may not change anything else, I know. But I can’t just sit around and wait for another one of his wolves to do something again!” Cal gestures angrily in the air, turning on his heels to bang his knuckles against the window. “That puts us all at risk.”

“The easiest thing to do would be to send those kids packing.” She folds her arms defensively as he glances up, eyes flashing in anger. “and I know that’s not something you want to hear.”

He snorts derisively.

“And I know you Cal – you’re not going to do that anyway. You’re going to help, even if –” she falls short for a second and Cal is surprised at the sudden tremble in her voice. “Even if it ends up getting you killed.” A look passes in her eyes; something close to vulnerability before she glances away again.

Cal releases a breath. He’s under no false pretenses here. If he pursues this…there’s no telling what can happen. But he has to prepare himself, he has to prepare her and the rest of the pack for whatever the hell this all means. “There’s no way everyone’s coming out of this alive,” he tries to smile but it falls short. “But let’s hope it won’t come to that. Maybe it’s all just a misunderstanding.” Cal tries to smile but it falters and comes up short. He doesn’t believe his own lies.

Before Jayde can respond, the door bursts open and all five feet seven of Wren stands in at ready – with her hands clenched at her sides and her eyes a blaze of dark fury.

Shit.

The door rattles as it slams shut behind her. “What the hell was that?” As she takes a step towards them, Jayde’s posture shifts into one of almost fierce protectiveness. “Back off, Jayde.” She barks, waving an angry hand in her direction. She doesn’t tear her gaze from him.

“You don’t talk to the alpha like that.” Jayde’s bares her teeth at her in an angry snarl.

It’s out of instinct more than anything else, Jayde doesn’t have any malice behind her words. Still, Cal knows it’s better to defuse the situation than to let it escalate any further. “What’re you talking about?”

Wren’s withering stare intensifies. “That.” She points to the door. “Downstairs. What you said to those kids –”

“– is more than fair considering what they’re asking of us.” Jayde interjects; her eyes narrowing at Wren’s disposition.

“I’m sorry,” She shifts her hostile onto his beta. “I failed to remember when I asked for your opinion.” She presses her lips into a firm line, “now if you could actually give Cal and I a second alone, and when I ask you for your thoughts – I’ll let you know.”

Jayde stiffens, her eyes illuminating amber specks as she takes a step forward towards his mate. Wren moves almost right after her, tilting her head as if to challenge the wolf herself.

Cal beats them both to it. He stands a little taller and straightens his shoulders to exert his will as alpha. “We should probably get going anyway, it’s getting late.” He makes a point of waiting for Jayde to return his gaze before he inclines his head and asks for a favour. “Do you mind taking Donny home for us? And giving those three a ride home?”

She nods once, jaw clenching and unclenching before she excuses herself from the room. Her shoulders brush past Wren a little harder than Cal thinks it should, and he bares his teeth into a snarl before Jayde glances back to mutter a stiff apology.

“What a bitch.” Wren mutters.

“She means well,” his protest is almost immediate until she narrows her eyes at him. “Are you really going to defend her right now? You know that’s the last thing that’s gonna help you.”

Left alone with Wren, Cal closes the distance between them with a few quick and long strides. “I’m sorry.” He says the words softly but Wren doesn’t appear to be deterred by the sincerity of his apology.

“How could you?” She jerks her chin at him.

He swallows past the sudden lump in his throat. The look of anger that suddenly flits across her face, nearly stifles his lungs attempt to breathe. “It’s not that simple.” He protests weakly.

“It’s not that simple?!” She mimics him with a scoff, points a finger to his chest. “They’re kids Cal, orphans for fuck’s sake. The kind of treatment you’ve given them, they don’t deserve it!”

“What else was I supposed to do?! Take them by their word?” Cal blinks disbelievingly at her. “You have to realize how ridiculous that sounds – the allegations they’re tossing around are pretty fucked up. I’d be a fool to just listen to them without any proof, it’s their alpha we’re talking about.”

“Their old alpha.” She reminds him, lips thinning into a frown. “You’re their alpha now.” Her chin lifts defiantly, “and you’re doing a pretty shitty job at protecting them.”

The accusation more than hurts. It stings. They pierce a piece of himself that no one else has been able to reach. But for Wren, it’s always been easy, so easy for her to get past his defenses. Why doesn’t she get it? Why can’t she see why he’s doing this?

“I’m trying to protect everyone, not just three people that pissed off their old alpha. And if you haven’t noticed, there’s more than them out there – there’s goddamn thirty!” His voice escalates with every word he utters.

There’s less than a few measly inches between them and his taut body steps close enough to see the slight flicks of dark gold around the irises of her eyes as he gestures angrily between them. “Thirty people that have as much right to be protected than everyone else.” They need him – they all need him.

The way she makes it sounds – it’s as if she doesn’t get how hard this all is. How much stress and danger this puts on his pack, especially if a word of this gets out to anyone else.

And maybe she doesn’t, get it. She doesn’t get why it’s more complicated to protect those kids than it is to let them go. She’s doesn’t get why this could all get them slaughtered if he makes one wrong move. She’s never going to understand completely because she’s always had one foot in the door – meanwhile, he’s spent his entire life on the other side of it.

“They’re still just kids.” Her hands tremble as they grip the folds of his shirt. “They’ve been all alone and you were like – like a lifeline for them.” There’s a haunting look in her eyes that pushes far past their conversation. “Do you think it’s easy what they did? Standing up in front of all those people? They didn’t ask to be in this position!” Her grip tightens into tight fists as her eyes widen with a fierceness he’s never seen before.

“Yeah – well neither did I, fuck –” He lets out a string of curses. “And it’s not like I’m not trying to help. I’m sticking my own ass to meet with Kavinsky is the first place.”

He doesn’t want to put his hands on her, he’d never hurt her – but her fingers are wound so tightly into his shirt that Cal has to pry them off. The wolf inside him snaps when she fights his attempt to dissuade her. And the leash he often uses to keep the worst parts of himself at bay, rattles – because it yearns to be free. But he won’t give in, he can’t. This is Wren. This is the love of his life.

Wren flinches slightly at the roughness of his grip. Instead of dropping her hands, she places them on his chest and pushes. She pushes him with such abrupt force that he staggers back a fraction. “That’s not enough, don’t you get it Cal? This is something you need to fix now, and the Cal I know would never turn his back on someone – not when they needed him. Hell – you’ve never turned your back on me.”

“I’m alpha now.” He says the words defensively, but there’s no flash of recognition in her eyes – no hint that she gets the harsh predicament he’s in. It’s one thing when it’s been just himself, Donny and her – there was no one else to worry about then. They’ve been the center of his world for so long that he understands why she still believes that.

He used to have no responsibilities hanging over his head when he’d disappear for weeks at a time to be with her. But after challenging Octavia and winning – everything changed. Now he has too many people counting on him. Too many people that need protecting.

“Yeah? And? I’m your mate – since we’re throwing pointless titles around.” She lashes out, drawing upon her full height to stare up at him.

“That’s where you’re wrong Wren. It’s not just a title. It’s who I am. I fought tooth and nail for it because I believed I could do better than Octavia – I still do. And I’m not going to jeopardize that because you don’t believe in me.”

She fumbles to respond. “That’s not what I meant–”

“Isn’t it?” Cal shakes his head. “You’ve never believed in me Wren, let’s not pretend. You’ve wanted to, but you’ve never tried to make it work with my pack.”

She flinches.

“Every time I’ve brought it up – your answer has always been the same. You aren’t ready to be apart of my life – not the way I need you to be.”

“Cal, I’m your mate.”

He continues talking as if she hadn’t spoken. “Do you even know what that means? Mate? Do you know how much you’ve had to be willing to sacrifice to be my mate? To be apart of my pack?” He shakes his head again. “You’ve never been invested into that - not completely.” He forces himself to swallow, despite the sudden crack in his voice as he looks at her. “Into us. Into this pack. You’ve always had one foot in the door.”

Wren recoils in shock as though he’d struck her. Her hands drop loosely to her sides as she staggers away from him. “That isn’t –”

“True?” He goads, taking full reins of his temper. God, he should stop – he knows he should stop before he says something he can never take back. But the lines they’ve crossed over and over again, the lines they’ve blurred ten times over has always been something they’ve done together – except now, right now Cal feels completely alone.

“If isn’t true then tell me I’m wrong.” A sense of urgency threatens to overwhelm him as he closes the distance between them to grip her shoulders. “Tell me you love me right now. Tell me you’re willing to turn and complete the mating ritual to always belong to me. And only me.” His fingers dig into her flesh and he fights the temptation to shake her.

Her mouth slips open, before quickly snapping shut again.

The silence hangs between them.

And it hurts. The silence fucking hurts, it hurts even more to think he’s driven her speechless, driven her utterly dumbstruck by the one question he’s always been too afraid to pursue. He’s given her time; even when he struggles with his own patience – he’s given her more than enough to show how completely committed he’s always been to her.

Cal drops his hands, and blinks back the tears that suddenly prick at the corner of his eyes. He thought it could be enough. “You can’t say it, can you?”

But he thought wrong.

“That isn’t – that isn’t fair.” She’s shaking so much that she visibly has to reach for the wall behind herself to keep steady and her voice – it cracks, like there’s tiny pieces of herself breaking.

He doesn’t want to break her; he’s only ever wanted to love her.

“You know I care deeply about you Cal.” Her voice is suddenly desperate as she reaches for him, only to stop short when he steps away and create more space between them. “You’re the one person that I’ve ever cared about enough to stick around for – do you think I’d still be in NOLA if I didn’t have you? If I didn’t give a damn about you or Donny – or any of this?” She throws her hands up in the air, clearly frustrated as her eyes turn glassy. “The pack is yours – but you’re mine. You’ve always been mine.”

But it’s not enough. It’s not enough for her to give a damn about him, to claim him like he’s a regular human being when he’s not. It isn’t enough for what Cal feels - because he’s fallen so far and si deeply for her that there’s no hope of seeing the surface again.

“Cal, say something please.” She begs. There’s a vulnerability in her eyes and it clings to her as her gaze turns pleading. Her hand stretches towards him – as if to touch and erase whatever stain her words have made on his soul, except at the last second – they fall back to her side and Cal shudders at the mark that’s still left on his heart.

“Say anything.”

The only thing he can say isn’t something he’s ready to admit out-loud. Not yet.

Saying it out-loud makes it real.

Instead, Cal tries to commit everything about her to memory. The way her long chestnut hair is scooped up into a messy ponytail that he’s spent countless of hours running his fingers through. The way those dark eyes of hers’ have often winked mischievously at him now seems on the brink of tearing up – the way he currently feels on the inside staring down at her. The way those lips of hers had often laughed or whispered lewd things to his ears and smiled at him indulgently – even when the entire world was looking. The way her skin looks – albeit pale but flushed against him after the moments they’ve stolen together over the course of a year.

Cal memorizes it all, even as his heart breaks at the thought – he tries to piece together every Wren moment in his life that’s lead him here. In front of her.

It is in this moment, staring at her that Cal realizes what he hasn’t been able to before. All the reasons why relationships never work out are suddenly at the forefront of his mind and months of dancing around the subject has left him feeling tired, and heartbroken. He used to think they were the exception but now the truth is undeniable as it leaves an angry mark across his heart.

He can’t be alpha and be the man she wants.

It’s as clear as day now that he’s said to himself. Now that he isn’t pretending anymore. And there’s some relief and pain in knowing he’s done everything he can to salvage that. But he can’t keep this up – pretending everything will be okay and calling it love will break him. Break them.

As long as she can’t accept this is who he is, and his pack is who he is meant to lead – there’s no version of themselves that can be happy.

The air in his lungs evaporates within a heated frenzy as Cal finally breaks his vow of silence. The words are hallowed as they leave his lips, but they needed to be said. “I can’t be what you Wren, and you....can’t be what I want. There’s nothing left for us here.”

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mistystarshine · 4 years

Text

Winter Waltz

Wordcount: 2,202

Fic Summary: An unexpected snowfall leads to Izuku and Todoroki sharing a couple moments... and maybe a little more.

Notes: This was written for @inexchangeforyoursoul as part of a secret santa exchange. Credit to crazyGearhead, Nami, and @mavzell for betaing!

The snow was unexpected. However, once it started it went on for hours, working the class into a metaphorical flurry that was only outmatched by the very literal blizzard. By the time it was done, the outside world was absolutely coated in white.

Izuku couldn't recall ever seeing anything like it. Apparently, most of his class hadn't either. He couldn't count the number of times he caught someone excitedly murmuring about it or casting an eager glance out the window. And of course, if he noticed something so easily, there was no doubt that Aizawa would be well aware of it.

That was what led to his homeroom teacher staring out at his charges minutes before class was supposed to end. His expression was too blank for Izuku to stand much of a chance of figuring out what he was thinking, but the more he looked, the more he suspected that yes, his stare lacked the glaring intensity present when he was going to say something unpleasant. Suspected? No, hoped. This was a 'hope' situation.

Aizawa heaved a long sigh before he began to speak. “Yes, the faculty is aware that you are excited by the weather.” At Izuku’s middle-school, such a statement would have immediately aroused a flurry of excited chattering. As it was, all it took was one look of warning from their teacher for 1-A to remain dead silent. Such dangerous outbursts had to be reserved for more pressing matters. “I think it would be a great opportunity for some extra training.” Aizawa paused, allowing his students a moment to feel the onset of dread and disappointment, before continuing. “However, given the rarity of such heavy snowfalls, the Principal has asked me to escort any interested students to a nearby park tomorrow.”

That counted as a more pressing matter.

Some of the students began to whisper amongst themselves, the hum of their conversation almost matching the twinge of childish excitement under Izuku’s own skin.

Aizawa mercilessly continued in the same low monotone, not caring if one of his students failed to hear what he said. Izuku found himself straining to hear so that he could repeat it for the classmates who were inevitably too caught up in their own excitement to catch it. “The bus will leave at twelve-thirty and return at three o’clock. If you miss it, you won’t be going.” With that, he looked away from the class and toward the sleeping bag under his desk.

Izuku turned his attention toward his classmates. Now that Aizawa was climbing into his makeshift cocoon, it seemed like almost all of them had started talking about their plans for the weekend. Most of them involved taking advantage of the opportunity to go to the park.

“I’m going to build a snow fort,” Kirishima declared, completely without a care as to how childish he sounded at the moment. It brought a smile to Izuku’s face. “It’ll be huge and impenetrable and-”

Off to the side, Bakugou muttered, “I’ll penetrate your fucking fort.”

Izuku only had a moment to ponder what had Bakugou in a bad mood, brace himself for what might be coming if he was, and wonder if he meant to phrase it that way, before Kirishima was piping up again. “Awesome! Then we can build a new one together!”

Bakugou protested, “That’s not what I fucking meant Shitty Hair-”

Kirishima gleefully continued, “I bet it’ll be even bigger and stronger with both of us, so-”

Izuku made sure to look away before Bakugou could catch his slowly-growing smile. In the process, he heard Jirou muse, “I wonder if they’ll have ice-skating.”

“Yakku Park is the one closest to us, so that’s probably where we’re going,” Momo softly offered. “They have a rather large lake, and it has to be frozen with this weather, so… probably.” Jirou’s earjacks twitched as her interest seemed to perk up at the comment. A tiny smile spread across Momo’s face at the sight. “I can make you some skates when we get there, if you like.”

Jirou returned her smile. “I’d appreciate that.”

Kaminari leaned back in his chair with a dramatic huff. “Maaan, I’ve never been ice-skating. I’ll be a mess if I get on there. I wonder who has...” His gaze began to drift through the students before landing on one of the few who hadn’t said anything so far. Izuku felt a chill begin to spread in his stomach as he saw what was about to happen, and even as he moved to speak, he knew he would be too slow to stop it.

“Yo, Todoroki!” Kaminari called. “How many times have you been ice-skating?”

Todoroki blinked, the edges of his lips and the corners of his eyes shifting in a way Izuku knew to mean he was trying not to frown. “Never.”

And the class, save for Kaminari’s shocked, “huh!?” fell silent.

Before the whispers and questions could start, which meant barely seconds after Todoroki had answered, Izuku blurted out, “well, of course not!” With that, all eyes in the room were on him. It took effort not to squirm under their questioning gazes, yet he also felt a faint wave of relief. It was better for him to deal with them than his reticent friend to have to. “It’s… probably pretty pointless for Todoroki to go ice-skating,” Izuku muddled out. “Not because fun is pointless! It’s just… he can control ice, so it probably isn’t very exciting?”

“There’s no challenge,” Bakugou affirmed, making Izuku first flinch in surprise, then still and blinked. He had to take a moment to try to process exactly what had happened. One could say that it was probably just his competitive streak flaring up, but Izuku knew his former friend better than that. Izuku also knew that not everyone thought the same way as him, knew that Todoroki didn’t always think the same way, and Bakugou’s tone was one that would accept no arguments. That was more than a random comment. It was… like he was helping. Either uncaring of what Deku thought or failing to notice that he noticed that something was off, he continued speaking. “Besides, why are all you extras clambering on Half-N-Half when you should be worrying about how Shitty Hair and I are gonna destroy you the moment we reach the snow!?”

While the rest of the class took the bait and either joined the uproar over an upcoming snow war or returned to their own conversations, Izuku sent Bakugou a small smile. It took a moment, but he managed to catch the other boy’s gaze, only for him to pause, scowl, and look away.

Yes, he definitely knew what he was doing. That only left…

Izuku turned to face Todoroki. The bi-colored boy was staring at a notebook spread across his table. However, after a moment, he looked up and shot Izuku a small, appreciative smile.

The last of the anxious chill in Izuku’s stomach faded into something fluttery and warm.

The bus ride out to the park was characterized by the excitable chatter of students. However, Izuku found most of his attention drawn to one of the only people other than Aizawa who was silent the whole time. Todoroki sat staring out of the window as they drove, an unreadable expression on his face. This did not change throughout the entirety of the ride. Yet, for some reason that he himself had trouble discerning, Izuku kept glancing over at him.

He was temporarily distracted from his pointless observation of Todoroki by the bus reaching its destination. As his classmates excitedly clamored out of their seats, Izuku remained stationary, not eager to get caught in the rush and confident that it was cold enough that the snow wasn’t going anywhere just yet. (Well, unless Bakugou made good on his earlier threat to melt it all, but that was between Kacchan, god, and the horde of classmates he would piss off.)

Once almost everyone had disembarked, Uraraka stopped at the door and called, “Deku! Are you coming?”

“Uh, yeah!” he called back. “Sorry! Just a second!” In that second, Deku cast one last glance at Todoroki (why?) before standing up and hurrying out of the bus.

Uraraka grinned at him as he disembarked. “I was thinking that maybe we could join Iida and - oh!” Her gaze had drifted over his shoulder as he spoke. She clasped her hands behind her, sucked on her lips, and rocked back on her heels. “Aaaactually, I think I hear someone calling me. Later, Deku!”

Before he had a chance to truly process what had just happened, let alone ask about it, she had turned on her heel and run off, leaving Izuku to stand there dumbfounded.

His answers came to him in the form of a soft, “oh. Maybe I shouldn’t ha—”

Izuku turned around before the speaker could finish. “Todoroki!” he happily exclaimed. Indeed, the bi-colored boy had been standing behind him somewhat awkwardly, an intense look on his face. The sight of it made a slight frown inch across Izuku’s face. “Is everything okay?” he quietly asked.

“Yes,” came Todoroki’s immediate response. “I just… wanted to talk to you. About what happened yesterday.”

Izuku blinked. “Oh,” he said. He didn’t get a chance to do anything more before Todoroki was speaking again, speaking like he wouldn’t have the chance to get it all out if he wasn’t quick enough. (He was probably too used to knowing he wouldn’t.)

“You were providing a distraction, right? That was kind of you. It would have been hard for me to explain why I haven’t been ice-skating. Endeavor thought it was a waste of time, but also-” Todoroki hesitated. Something like regret flickered across his face, but it was tinged with something that came a little too close to looking like pain for him to think it was regret over telling him about this. That didn’t stop the twinge of guilt that pricked at his chest, nor did it keep him from wishing he knew how to make it go away. “There was someone else, someone who isn’t around now, who used to go skating with my older sister. I don’t… think I want to do it.”

Somehow, Izuku got the impression that he wasn’t talking about his mother.

Todoroki shifted his gaze toward the ground, causing a jolt of anxiety to surge through Izuku’s chest. “That’s okay!” he blurted out. As Todoroki looked back up at him, he hurried to clarify. “It’s not good that you’re feeling bad, and I hope that one day you can consider it without the association of that person hurting you. But… it’s okay if you aren’t there yet. You don’t have to go ice-skating if you don’t want to.”

“What should we do, then?” Todoroki asked, gazing at him with wide eyes. We, he’d said.

Izuku felt…

“We could dance!” he exclaimed.

…Stupid. Izuku felt very, very stupid.

“Dance?” Todoroki repeated.

“Yep,” Izuku croaked, determined to stick to his nonsensical guns now that he had voiced them. He paused just long enough to cast a quick glance around and confirm that the rest of their classmates had left the immediate vicinity of the bus. Then he continued, “there’s no one here to call us weird, if you’re worried about that. And I don’t think dancing in the snow is something people really do, so it’s… unique?”

“Unique,” Todoroki murmured. Slowly, a smile slid across his face. “I like it.”

With that, he extended a hand to Izuku. He accepted it and felt a warm hand fall into place on his waist. Ah. He should have suspected that Todoroki would default to slow-dancing. Something about that knowledge made his stomach feel warm, like he had swallowed a little ball of light.

In a complete absence of music, snow falling around them and classmates running around causing a ruckus somewhere off in the distance, Shouto and Izuku performed an awkward, snow-muddled waltz. Izuku found himself growing warmer in the process. At first he thought he might be imagining it, but then he took the heat generated by their dancing into account. Then he realized that they were drawing closer together.

Closer…

And suddenly, there was a pair of lukewarm lips pressed against his own.

Shouto pulled back quickly, averting his gaze. For a moment Izuku thought he might be blushing, but closer inspection revealed him to be growing paler. “I’m sorry,” he said, “I should have asked first. I don’t-”

“Todoroki.”

Shouto shut his mouth with an audible click. The guilt in his expression made Izuku’s chest ache, and for a moment, he selfishly wished that the other boy hadn’t said anything and the warm tingle had been allowed to stay on his chest and lips a moment longer. However, that wish was vastly overpowered by the one for him just to be okay.

“Shouto,” Izuku tried again. “It’s okay.”

Uncertainty flickered in Shouto’s expression, the same guilt and shame, now accompanied by something softer. “Are you sure?”

“Shouto,” Izuku whispered. He reached up to place a hand on the side of his face. “It’s okay.” Slowly, he pulled him into another kiss.

This time, Shouto didn’t pull away.

#tododeku #todoroki shouto #midoriya izuku #bnha #bnha fanfic #misty writes #my writing #fluff #shameless fluff

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mademoiselless · 5 years

Text

[2/10]

"Hear her every thought, see her every dream."

Literature is that one subject you hated, you find it kind of boring that it makes you sleep most of the time in between discussions and lectures. You were annoyed to the fact that you won't be getting your degree if you dare to skip it on a semester. Apparently, you've never really imagine yourself having a fullblown distaste to that certain subject, not when an annoying, weird guy suddenly pops out of nowhere, asking you to be your partner.

"And what makes you think I'll let you be my pair?" You eyed his side curiously.

"Hmm..let me think," Jaehyun pretends to think hard, stroking his invisible beard under his chin discerning his deep dimples. "There are approximately thirty-two students inside this room which makes sixteen pairs, you see here, all thirty of them finally found their respective partners." He explains as a matter of fact.

"And?" You pressed raising him a doubtful brow.

"And... Only thirty students have been paired except for the remaining two.. hmm basic math I guess, which -"

"Doesn't make sense?" You offered, smirking a bit when you heard him snorted on his stupid reasoning. Truth to be told, there are thirty two students attending the class, twenty of them were girls which means half of the class were basically dreaming and fighting to be paired with him. The last fifteen minutes of the class were wasted with Jaehyun still pestering you to join him for the stupid research paper that you've been silently cursing, plus the annoying sound of his metal chair screeching against the marbled floor when he attempts to sneak near you ain't helping.

"Children, dont forget to pass your research work next week!" The middle-aged proffesor yells. "Get yourselves busy with the papers not with foils. Education before procreation. " she adds tilting her glasses down as she winks. Everyone laughs aloud but you didn't miss to hear the prick beside you snicker, probably finding the innuendo very relatable.

"Listen here Jung." You started, turning towards him as you stood with your notes and binder clutched againts your chest. "I really find you being really weird these days. Honestly, it's making me uncomfortable. " You tried so hard not to sound rude as much as possible but still with a hint of seriousness on your tone. "If you're planning to pull those damn tricks on me, please don't. I'm not one of them." Well, that stings a bit. He went slightly agape when you glanced up at him like he's going to speak but no words were coming out. "Please leave me alone." With that, you left the room earning curious and envy glares from random girls along the hall.

And that's how you basically tell someone to fuck off, short and nicely.

It was already 2 a. m and he can't find himself to sleep. He spent the whole day on classes and went home at ten from basketball practice, his body was dead tired but he couldn't help him self but to fidget and roll over the duvet, again and again. When he tossed to his side, that's when he finally discovered that thing on his night stand called phone were he could browse hundred of girls' numbers to call whenever he needs them, just like his old routine. He plops on his stomach, grinning from the idea and started to scan his cell, roughly running his thumb all over some random names that can distract him only to halt when he finally reached the bottom of his contacts, staring on it blankly and he's still thinking about you.

So many things were running in his head, first, his hurted ego. Not even once he received a rejection especially from a woman. Second, never in his entire life he become this so annoyed to his own surname. "Why does she even call me Jung when I have a first name?" he asked exasperately as his stirs in bed. why Jung off all the names? Third, why you? When there's so many other girls in the line waiting, ready to throw themselves at him. And fourth, what the hell is wrong with him? To answer his question, he doesn't know either. You were a sudden change to his life. There's something in you that's very unlikely that he didn't notice his strange interest will develop this far. That night, Jaehyun didn't sleep.

The weekend and Jaehyun's dilemma drifted fast at the same time. He woke up and get himself ready to college on a Monday morning with all his guts and charm. He seems like he got this renewed energy, but not really, the truth is he's just really stubborn, persistent. Right, speaking of being stubborn, the young lad cannot and will not admit of being one. He says it was out of his character and context. Competitive, that's what he is as for him and nobody can convince him otherwise.

Jaehyun arrives at the hall a little earlier than usual for that certain subject you two shared and had a quick scan for your familiar face but sadly found your chair empty. He sat down, this time near at your usual spot. The lecture already started, he checks the time and about fifteen minutes has already passed but you were still nowhere in sight, Jaehyun started to think.

The class ended lately due to some lessons that your prof decided to cram. He was the last one to exit the room when someone patted him in the shoulder, startling him. "Jae, cmon practice is about to start." One of his teammates call. Suddenly, he recalls you basically telling him to get out of your sight which made him cringe inwardly making him question himself more why you're still running in his head not mention that lowkey insult that you spew which is most likely true, but damn it wounded his manwhore image. "That girl is something." He mumbles to himself. Jaehyun isn't saying his worried, but he really is.

"She's not joining the summer tournament." Jaehyun faintly hears as he walks along the side of the court from the lockers, already on his basketball jersey. He was about to take another long stride when he caught your name being mentioned gaining his full attention. "Heard she's dropping out of varsity. I don't know." He silently evesdrops on the corner pretending to play on his phone. "But she's one of the aces, Tine. We can't lose her." The other girl sighed deeply.

For a long time, Jaehyun didn't felt any sense of care and overwrought to somebody else, he was a selfish, happy-go-lucky guy after all, but on that brief period he felt something break, drop and quiver inside him. He can not really decipher the feeling of it, it was warm and at the same time, it burns deep down. Of course the unloving jerk was still oblivious, but on that moment, for the very first time, Jung Jaehyun's heart started to beat.

<< [0/10] [1/10]

>> [3/10]

#jung jaehyun #nct jaehyun #jaehyun #nct127 #jaehyun scenario

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mythicamagic · 5 years

Text

Terracotta Teeth - Chapter 8

During a long drive to Tokyo, Kagome’s car is totalled by a monstrous silver dog. She now finds herself stranded in a remote village, where the residents appear kind, if slightly distant. However something or someone seems a little too keen on making her stay, permanently.

Rated M for later chapters

Horror/Romance/Drama

You can read this story on Ao3, Fanfiction.net or Dokuga

Chapter One - here Chapter Two - here Chapter Three - here Chapter Four - here Chapter Five - Here Chapter Six - here Chapter Seven - here Chapter Nine - here

Purgatory ~

Treading the nostalgic path down to her old school in a haze, Kagome walked amongst the sea of students. That uniform that she'd worn almost every day only made more memories resurface. She glanced behind her dimly, seeing an afterimage of a boy struggling to keep up, a football tucked under his arm.

'Hurry up, squirt. I don't want to be late for my exam again.'

He just smiled sheepishly. 'Sorry! But hey, it's not like you want to go in the first place. I'm doing you a favour.'

Kagome blinked slowly. The image was suddenly gone. Turning, she continued on, still dragging her feet. Souta always made her late, it felt only right to do so.

Of course, she was much too old to be going to school. Kagome walked there for an entirely different reason. As the school bell sounded, signalling the start of first period, she walked across the courtyard. Opening the door to the archery range, she stepped inside like she belonged. It almost felt like she did. Taking a bow and lifting out an arrow from a quiver, Kagome tested it's weight on her fingers.

She'd used to practice all the time.

'I'm not too shabby with a bow, if I do say so myself!'

'Don't puff up with pride so much, girl! Only pigeons strut like that!' Grandpa huffed fondly, turning a page of his newspaper.

Kagome's lips curved up, the action hurting her face. Exhaling, she notched the arrow, taking aim. Letting it fly, a soft 'thunk' sounded out as it met it's target.

A little off bullseye.

She turned, shouldering the bow and taking the quiver of arrows with her. It would do. She wasn't going hunting.

The scenery passed by in a series of blurred images. Kagome barely noticed them, staring straight ahead. Brain on autopilot. Sitting like a passenger in her own body, she tried to suspend her mind free of all thought. To not think about how stupid this was. About her family. About burning shrines or silver demons. But the memories she'd pushed away for so long refused to leave, sinking inside her insidiously. Kagome's grip tightened on the steering wheel.

She was almost grateful when something thudded onto the back of the truck. Kagome gasped, lurching forward and slamming her foot on the break. Slowing to a crawl, she whipped her head around, glancing behind her through the window. In the open topped cargo bed, silver caught her eye. Fur danced in the breeze. The inuyoukai sat down, staring at her as she slowed, pulling the truck to a stop on the side of the road.

She watched him through the murky window, swallowing. Her pulse jumped at the sight of him. Red eyes stayed locked with hers, until he quietly huffed, shifting down to lay his great head on his paws.

Kagome's lips thinned, and with a sigh- opened her door. Climbing out, she walked around the side of the pickup truck, the road completely silent. Opening the latch to lower the back of the storage side revealed his large form.

"…You may as well come and sit with me in the front," she murmured.

His ears pricked, tail sweeping out. The dog demon lifted his head and tilted it slightly.

"Let's not make this a big deal," she turned, walking back to the drivers side. Returning to her seat, she shut the door. I hope he didn't notice the bow and arrows...

She'd hidden them under a cover. Of course it was pointless to hide them if he'd followed her to the school as she'd suspected.

"You are not as frightened as I'd expected," came a velvety voice at her ear.

Kagome turned to look at him in the passenger seat. "Should I be afraid?"

"Perhaps normal humans would be," he uttered, shifting. She noticed he wore normal attire, rather than his old traditional red and white clothes. In the small space, he felt that much more real and close. Thinking back to her conversations with Souta, and how clear his voice had been over the phone, she sincerely hoped the demon was not imaginary.

She started the engine, glancing at his deceptively handsome, calm features. "You've been following me," she murmured. "Why?"

"I like following you."

Kagome didn't have it in her to be alarmed as she pulled away from the side of the road. He said it like it were a natural occurrence. "Normal girls don't appreciate getting followed, you know."

"We established just a moment ago that you are not a normal mortal."

She touched her neck. Normal. She certainly hadn't felt like it since the graveyard. "Koga…he told me everything," blue eyes shifted to him carefully. "Is Rin alright?"

Silence flooded the small space, before she was rewarded with the rich cadence of his haunting voice. "She is well. Is that why I have found you heading towards my village? You are returning for her sake?"

Kagome focused on the road, biting the inside of her cheek. "Sort of. I'm guessing you followed me out here to drag me back?"

He nodded, intent gaze never leaving her. He had no interest in the world outside when she was the only sight he wanted to gaze upon. "At first this one intended to take you before you found out about what happened to your family. But Rin's condition detained me longer than anticipated. I was too late to prevent you knowing," he inclined his head slightly, as though apologising. "This one could only observe afterwards."

Kagome's eyes widened, tears stinging her eyes as something slammed it's fist into her abdomen. It made her nearly buckle with the onslaught of emotion. She quickly blinked, trying to restore her suddenly blurry vision. "You knew the whole time, didn't you?" She murmured faintly. "About my family. I guess you would if you've been following me for a good year," she laughed, the sound strained and pathetic in her ears.

She summoned her bravery and looked at him, hot tears running down her cheeks. "In your own way, I think you were trying to be kind by not telling me."

His palm closed over her shaking hand on the steering wheel. "Pull over," he said quietly.

Kagome only did as asked because her body was shaking too much to do anything else. Stopping the car, she closed her eyes against the onslaught of tears, trembling.

Feeling his hand shift to her shoulder, sliding behind her to pull her closer- she jolted and slapped it away. "Don't touch me," she grit out, shying away. "Please don't, I don't have anything left. I can't afford to latch onto you just because you're being nice right now!"

Sesshoumaru stared at her silently, clawed hand still outstretched and hovering uselessly in the air.

Kagome looked away and gave a self-deprecating chuckle. "You want to know why I'm really going back to the village? It's not for any honourable reason- it's not to save people or help you. I just need something. Anything, to distract me right now. I'm just looking for the next thing that can function as my pills. Something to make me stop thinking about them, picturing them!" She sobbed, continuing to hear the phone call. The sound of the authorities telling her to sit down, because the news might be a shock.

She remembered her friends faces at the university, slowly becoming more concerned as Kagome heard the words scramble over and over in her mind.

'There was a terrible accident…'

"I'm alone…" she realised quietly, tears dripping off her chin to land on her knees. Her aunt had taken her in, but the older woman was practically a distant relative. It was more like sharing a house with a room-mate.

"You are not alone."

Kagome numbly turned to look at him.

The gold of his eyes glowed fierce and bright. "You are not alone," he uttered again in a viciously low tone. "The humans who took you in after your families demise failed you. They didn't seek to help you. But this one is here. I have been here, and will continue to be."

She sniffed, holding her arms and drawing her knees up. "Why…?"

The demon looked away slowly, as though he loathed to do so, gaze clouding with remembrance. "Perhaps it is not for any honourable reason, but I remember first laying eyes on you."

Searching with single minded intent may have sounded obsessive or serious, but the process of finding Rin a priestess did not feel so to Sesshoumaru. He took his time travelling, keeping in contact with the village and making certain Rin was well. Aside from that though, he flew across the country at night, travelling to the nearest shrines and then moving on from there. Sometimes he found priests instead of holy women, or mikos that were too old to be his companion. Some that had too little spiritual power to strengthen the barrier of the village.

Other times were far less easy to explain away why they were unsuitable. A young woman had been sweeping the steps of a shrine outside of Tokyo. She had desirable features, a quiet baring and kind demeanour. For all intents and purposes, Sesshoumaru could have approached her and set out to take her to the village.

Could have.

Something made him continue on, renting a car once he got to Tokyo and travelling from shrine to shrine by day. Sometimes it was the same, and he had no discernible reason for passing over them.

He stopped at a burned down shrine. The once proud structure had been reduced to ashes and waste. He walked around it's ruins, taking in the quiet devastation that was so like his own fallen home.

Learning what had happened, he'd focused on the headlines of the newspaper article on his laptop while sitting in a coffee-shop one afternoon. Apparently a woman and her son had died in the fire, an elderly relative of theirs passing away a mere few days later. Some suspected he'd died of heartbreak, but the old man had been sick in hospital for a while.

A daughter remained alive, the sole survivor of the Higurashi shrine. She'd been staying onsite at university when the accident had occurred. Sesshoumaru stared at the picture of the young woman with dulled blue eyes in the article. Obviously the press had taken it without permission.

She looked how he felt. Something unnamed had stirred within him.

Sesshoumaru set out to find her the next day.

It took some time to track down Kagome Higurashi. She'd been taken in by her aunt that lived many hours away, and Sesshoumaru had to do some digging to find out exactly where. When he finally arrived the sky had dimmed into bursts of lilacs with the chilled dusk. He kept to the garden, looking through the large dining room window while in a smaller version of his true form. He hunched low but listened keenly, hearing scraps of conversation.

A middle aged woman was seated at the head of the table, an air of awkwardness about her. "How are you enjoying the soup?"

"Oh, it's great, thank you."

Spoons clinked against the sides of bowls, and he heard the tell-tale blow of lips on steam.

Her voice sounded kind. Sesshoumaru couldn't see her clearly from the angle, so decided to focus only on listening.

"I suppose you're used to better cooking at home- ah! Oh I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"No, no, it's fine." Kagome cut in gently. "Mom's a great cook. I wish I'd inherited her skills, my dishes are always either too bland or too strong."

The awkward air surrounding her aunt only seemed to double. "Yes...she was a great cook."

Sesshoumaru's ears pricked when Kagome's spoon paused. He couldn't tell what she was thinking, but distress fanned briefly into her vibrant scent. He inhaled and blinked, feeling it be smothered. The miko seemed to fold her pain neatly, smoothing over the crinkles and tucking it away.

"May I please be excused?"

A chair scraped back and footsteps took her to the kitchen. Paws shifted as Sesshoumaru padded closer, changing into his humanoid form and taking to the trees when she made her way upstairs.

The first time he truly set eyes on the miko, she was laying on her side. Knees drawn up to her chest, she held a phone up beside her pillow. She had doleful blue eyes, and hair that spilled chaotically in long tumbles of dark waves. She pressed something on the device and held it to her ear.

'Hi there, I'm not here at the moment. Um- could you leave your name and number and I'll phone you back as soon as possible? I think that's how it works- Kagome, how do I-'

Full lips tugged up into a pained smile. Sesshoumaru watched while the girl pressed the return call button again and again, listening to her mother's voicemail. He did not think himself a man of feeling. He was not a man at all, but demon. However in those minutes, his instincts roared to life, having remained dormant for years.

Something recognised her pain as an experience long ago felt. He remembered standing in the crumbled foundations of his own home. Recalled the scent of blood soaked ash that had festered in his lungs and never really left.

Her distressed scent called to him, to the point that his claws sank deep into the branch of the tree, splintering. He wanted to look at her. Face to face. Wanted to see what that agony looked like reflected back at him like a mirror. And yet a part of him knew their experiences were not the same. He should not steal away a woman just because he felt a connection.

"You did it right the first time, mom."

Sesshoumaru's gaze turned back to the girl lying on her bed. She stared at the phone, a hazy smile on her lips. The call button was pressed once more.

'I think that's how it works- Kagome, how do I-'

"I explained it before, just talk when it prompts you and hang up when you're done," an airy giggle escaped the miko. Her blue eyes had strayed far away, a faint, tenuous tone to her voice. "No, you're not getting better. You're allergic to technology. Souta, tell her."

Gold eyes flickered as he watched the girl carry on a conversation with herself. She only seemed to get more emboldened the more she continued. Soon she was happily comforting herself with their imaginary voices.

And then it clicked for the demon. He didn't need to look her in the eye, face to face, in order to know. This girl was just like him.

Kin.

There was kin in that room. She lay alone and isolated, but he would not let things remain so. He would find a way to forge their bond in blood and flesh so that neither would be separated and lonesome again.

Sesshoumaru sat for the remainder of the night, listening in silence. He did the same many nights after.

After finishing an abbreviated version of the story, Sesshoumaru's gaze slid back to Kagome's shocked features. "This one has not wanted to leave you since, illogical though it is."

Her mouth opened and closed. Wide blue eyes continued to stare. "But I-" she swallowed, eyes lowering. "I don't even know what's real anymore…"

She inhaled sharply when her chin was seized, tilted up by a warm, firm hand. Slit pupils bore into her. "This one is real, flesh and blood. Just as you are."

His thumb strayed, sliding up and smoothing over her bottom lip. Kagome made a noise, frozen stiff. A long, sharp nail pried in-between her teeth, forcing her mouth to part. "I will not be parted from you again- no matter how you choose to run," he uttered in a hushed rumble. His claw scraped over her tongue lightly, dragging his thumb over the blunt of her teeth.

"You will have to destroy this one first if you intend to escape again. Be it with teeth and claws...or bow and arrows, miko."

Kagome jolted, heart stuttering in alarm and hammering in her rib-cage. She remained frozen even as his face drew nearer, until all she could see was magenta lids and burning gold. And then his mouth was on hers, stealing a searing kiss that left her mind reeling.

The demon pulled away after a moment to rest his hand on the steering wheel, looming close. "You walked willingly into my jaws tonight, Kagome." He reminded her quietly.

Kagome glanced in the mirror, seeing herself in the drivers seat. That's right, she had. And without much of a plan. She really was a dumbass.

"Jerk..." she whispered, breath halting.

"Hello again, Kagome."

The faint greeting had instantly given her pause. Searching Rin's gaze for any judgement, she instead found an empty, placid look. It was almost as though the girl had expected her return. Kagome glanced at Sesshoumaru as he exited the truck. No doubt it would shock the girl if she knew the decision had been Kagome's.

"Hi Rin," she greeted softly. The drive into the secluded village had certainly been...strange. She hadn't thought she'd be returning under any circumstances, let alone free will. The little girl stared up at her, lingering in the threshold of Sesshoumaru's house.

Kneeling down, she gestured to her own cheek. "You okay?"

The little girl nodded mutely, a melancholy look in her faded brown eyes. Kagome's brows drew together. Reaching forward, she clasped her small, freezing hands in her own warm ones. Unlike before, she forced herself to push past the instinct to rip her hand away.

"You don't have to worry. I'm going to...make things right. What do you think? Can we be friends again?" Kagome asked, looking into her eyes to try and convey her meaning.

Rin's eyes gained a little more life to them, and she nodded eagerly. Kagome followed her gentle tug inside, glancing behind her to catch Sesshoumaru's interested gaze. She inwardly winced.

Strangely, the days eerily slipped back into a routine. Sesshoumaru continued to chaperone her around the school, though not as intently as before. Kagome remained calm, suspending her mind when it wasn't needed.

She hadn't been able to find her pills in her bag.

The first thing Kagome worked on in private was drawing up a map of the village. In the late hours of the night, she crept to Rin's room and asked for any possible locations Sesshoumaru may have hidden the sword Tensaiga.

"Obviously it's planted in the earth somewhere no one ever goes," Kagome mused in a hushed voice. The map was spread out over Rin's bed like a cover. The little girl crossed out various locations with a red marker. "Only Sesshoumaru knows where it is right?"

Rin nodded slowly, "I think since a few of us...wanted to break ourselves for good, he knew not to tell us it's location."

Wincing, Kagome looked at the map in the faint night light. Placing her hand on her stinging neck, lithe fingers brushed the bite marks. Frowning, she felt her attention be tugged towards the marks of raised land. The hills thickest with trees slightly beyond the school. Kagome tapped her finger on the unmarked area.

"I'm guessing nothings over here?"

"No. Some of us have tried to go up there in the past, but Sesshoumaru says the ground is unstable. Lots of landslides."

Kagome scoffed. "Convenient," she prodded it. "I'm heading there next chance I get to check it out. See if you can buy me some time by distracting your father."

"What if you're caught?"

"I'll just say I'm trying to escape again," she shrugged. Pausing, a guilty look flitted across her expression. "Rin, this is what everyone wants. Isn't it?"

Unfathomable apathy gazed back at her. Rin nodded slowly, sighing and wringing her hands. "I've spread the word over the past few days. Everyone is in favour of it and will help in any way they can. Even Sango."

"R-really?" Kagome paused. The burning embers of a shrine wafted over her nose briefly. She breathed in and viciously pushed down the swell of feelings. "She...wanted to bring her brother back, didn't she?" Her voice wavered, becoming fragile.

Rin nodded, folding up the make-shift map. "Kohaku was one of us. But sensitive, almost too full of emotion. He was a wonderful friend, but...he couldn't take it anymore. He fled outside the barrier and became dust. The wind carried his remains away before Sesshoumaru could bake them into clay again."

The miko shivered and rubbed her arms, hearing Souta's carefree laugh resound in her mind. Rising, she took the map and turned. "Right. Good thing we're gonna help everyone so that they don't have to worry about that again!" She forced cheer into her tone.

Saying a hasty goodnight, she stepped out of Rin's room and slid the door shut. Bringing a hand to her pulsing heart that throbbed with little squeezes- she quickly padded to her room.

Rummaging roughly through her bag again, Kagome threw it down when she predictably found nothing. She needed something. Anything. She couldn't stand the memories. They kept trickling in without warning, triggered by stupid things. How was she supposed to guard against them when the mere mention of Sango made her remember her own little brother? Even a cringe inducing pop song over the radio made her recall Mama swaying around the kitchen, spatula in hand.

Kagome held her arms, bowing forward. She began to tremble, teeth clenching-

"You are not alone."

She blinked slowly, exhaling. It felt...underhanded. Slowly rising, she walked with fragile steps to a certain door. Knocking on it gently, she couldn't bare to raise her head when it slid open.

Kagome's hands squeezed into fists. "I'm sorry," she murmured. I'm sorry I'm such a coward.

"Did I ask for an apology, foolish woman?" He uttered quietly.

Feeling a warm palm settle on her cheek, Kagome blinked away her tears. It felt nice. Real.

Please hold me.

She followed Sesshoumaru into his room and tried not to feel despicable doing so.

All Hallow's Eve arrived.

Sesshoumaru made no mention of any plans to strengthen the barrier. Kagome attended to her duties as a cleaner that day just as always. She figured if he was going to try something, it would be that night. Her heart continued to flutter like a caged bird in her chest. Her body hummed with new aches, particularly in-between her legs. A few fresh bite marks lined her shoulders and lower back.

They didn't feel unpleasant.

Kagome glanced at him while dusting the shelves. He sat at a desk, reading calmly. She bit her lip, considering.

Just as she opened her mouth- Rin burst into the classroom, panting wildly.

"Father!" She gasped, eyes wide. "It's Sango!"

Sesshoumaru looked up, raising a brow. The book shut with a sharp snap. "What is it?"

"Sh-she's uh-" Rin glanced at Kagome, swallowing, before turning back to him. "She's on the school roof. I think she's going to break herself."

The chair lurched back with a distraught scrape of it's legs. Sesshoumaru strode to the door, glancing at Kagome, who remained frozen. "Remain here. Do not leave under any circumstances," he rumbled.

She could only watch, swimming in confusion while he left. Rin glanced back at her and nodded firmly, before hurrying after him.

Snapping out of her state of worry over something clearly false, Kagome automatically left the room. Peering around the corner into the hallway, she checked it lay empty. When it remained quiet, she speed-walked away. Taking the stairs two at a time, she continued until she were sprinting to the back exit and further still into the cover of the trees.

Picking up a pack, along with her bow and arrows Rin had stashed for her in a tree trunk the day before, Kagome hurried up the forest trail. Autumn tinged leaves scraped and lashed at her exposed knees. She cursed her penchant for skirts. Damn comfy clothes would make her catch her death before she found the stupid sword.

Oddly, the bite marks on her neck kept throbbing. Every time she stepped a certain way, the feeling would either fall faint or grow into a fierce ache. It felt much like when she'd looked at the map. Letting it guide her, Kagome poured everything into sprinting until she felt herself move uphill. Her ears popped after awhile of trekking upwards and Kagome breathed out, catching herself from falling.

Holding a stitch in her side, she stopped, panting hard. Glancing behind her on the incline, the village peeped out through the vast trees, somewhere below her. Spying the school, she felt mild worry. Had Sesshoumaru given chase already?

Turning on her heel, Kagome decided to keep pushing on-

Something slammed into the back of her head.

Pain assaulted her senses. Yelping, Kagome lost her footing.

Someone scooped her up, a cold hand supporting her legs as she felt herself be jostled. Resting her cheek against something, her vision swam. Closing her eyes helped. Kagome tried to regain her bearings even as she sank further and further into the comforting waters of darkness.

Tasting something metallic on her tongue, Kagome dimly realised her mouth must be bleeding. Coming to slowly, she groaned. Groggily opening her eyes, blurry shapes of dark murky browns and a single blaze of harsh orange made her wince. She blinked rapidly, squinting. The room came into focus slowly.

The bright orange turned into a single light hanging from a hook in the ceiling. Dark browns and shadows made up the strange circular walls of the room. There were no windows or other sources of light in the claustrophobic room.

Kagome's stomach dropped the moment she lay eyes on them. Clay pots lined the walls, some sloppily made. Something else was covered by a white sheet, propped up against the wall, but she couldn't make out what. Sitting up, Kagome noted the bed felt like a normal house bed, not the slab she'd seen Rin lay on in the workshop. In fact, the whole room looked different from the workshop. It felt like the time her class had gone caving. Sweat pricked the back of her neck. Was she underground then? Judging by the circular structure of the uneven, earthy walls, it could certainly be a cave or cellar. She didn't know, she wanted out.

Kagome made to move off the bed- only to feel a harsh tug yank her in place. Looking down at her wrist, she found a plastic cable tie had been tied around it, binding her to the bed.

Her breathing was starting to pick up now, chest rising and falling quicker. Tugging, realised both hands were bound to either side of the bed.

"S-sesshoumaru?" She tried calling out weakly. "H-hey, where are you? Let me go, please. I didn't even do anything yet!"

Glancing behind her, a long passageway stretched from the room, down around a shadow drenched corner. Figuring that to be the only way out, Kagome yanked her wrists up, tugging at the ties and trying to find a sharp object to rub the binds against.

Lifting her legs revealed them to be unbound, and she shifted onto her knees, gritting her teeth. Tugging with all her might at the strong ties, the material dug harsh red rivets into her skin. Kagome tried sliding her hand gradually out of them but the cable wouldn't budge around her wrists. Gasping out in pain and exertion, she whipped her head up.

Footsteps were drawing closer, echoing down the passageway. Kagome sat down, heart thundering in her chest. Sesshoumaru had never gone this far before. For some reason, she hadn't thought he would. He'd never locked her in a room, in fact her escape attempts never seemed to vex him. So why now? Why imprison her like this?

Kagome glanced at the clay pots with wide eyes.

Dark strands of hair caught the light first, before red overalls were bathed in the orange glow. Kagome stared at him in surprise.

"Inuyasha?"

#sesskag #sesshomaru #kagome higurashi #sesskag fanfiction #inuyasha fanfiction #sesshoumaru x kagome

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adelmortescryche · 6 years

Text

Like the Whisper of Wings (Sparking a Deluge)

Author: Adel Mortescryche

Rating: T

Pairing: Hibari Kyouya/Yamamoto Takeshi, Hibari Kyoya & Sawada Tsunayoshi & Yamamoto Takeshi, Giotto & Sawada Tsunayoshi

Prompt: Mythology

Tags/Warnings: None

Summary:

When Takeshi is approached by Gokudera Hayato with a dragon cub, he definitely doesn't expect how complicated his life is going to get.

(Or: That one in which Takeshi helps raise a dragon!Tsuna, collides with the Tengu living higher up in the mountains, proceeds to fall for their heir, and needs to deal with his cub deciding that humans make for good company, going against anything Takeshi thought was a good idea.)

AO3 Link: Here.

My Masterlist: Here.

AN: Written for @khrrarepairweek 2018 - Rain Day (Day Five).

This can be read as a Standalone Entry, but it is also a prequel to my Sky Day (Day Two) entry. You can find the tumblr link to that in the entries list below and the AO3 Link Here.

Entries: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8

The rustle of wings settling above him, right where the roof changes shape to accommodate the engawa appropriately, is not a surprise.

“Your dragon-cub,” murmured the voice of the man above him, tone silken and lethal, “is befriending gaijin.”

Takeshi laughed, even when he wanted to sigh. It earned him a foot aimed at his head, which he dodged, and he held up the pot he’d prepared beforehand for perusal.

The tengu1 paused in his attack, feathers bristling. But the smell of the tea was apparently adequately cultured enough that Kyoya was willing to let the matter go, for now. As Takeshi knew he would. For all that the Hibari was notoriously temperamental and just as liable to eviscerate you as he was to meditate over the beauty of a full moon at night, there were some things that Kyoya was very predictable in. One of those was cute animals. The other, without fail, tended to be good quality tea.

Kyoya didn’t speak again until Takeshi had them both settled and had served tea for them both, politely drinking it as was expected. Takeshi waited for the verdict, but Kyoya gave a deep sigh, gently setting his cup down instead.

“By this reaction of yours, I suppose you already knew?”

“Haha, I’ve been hearing stories, about a man with gold hair and his child of mixed blood, with orange eyes and brown hair.”

Kyoya’s claws tightened on the edge of the table, scoring the wood slightly. Takeshi cleared his throat, pointed in the sound, and Kyoya subsided with a barely discernible wince.

When Kyoya didn’t immediately speak, Takeshi carefully poured himself another cup of tea, turning away from the table so he could sit with his legs dangling over the edge of the engawa, comfortable in his own space. After a long moment, the tengu drew away from the table as well, sidling closer so he could sit beside Takeshi, his wings folded politely behind him. Takeshi smiled into his cup, but he didn’t immediately say anything, knowing for a fact over their many years of acquaintance as neighbors on the same mountain that Kyoya preferred the silence to noise, especially at night.

“If he’s picked a human form, that means he’s chosen to add this human to his hoard, is it not?” Kyoya asked quietly, and Takeshi shrugged lightly, not looking over at him.

“It’s possible. It could be that it’s because he was too young when Gokudera first found him and brought him to us; Tsuna has always had a tendency to wander, it could be that he was searching for something in particular-” Takeshi broke off when Kyoya’s wings rustled again, the tengu clearly ill at ease.

“Don’t play the fool, herbivore. He belongs away from the humans; that cub was always too curious for his own good. You should have kept him under firmer lock and key-” Kyoya paused when a low, throbbing growl erupted from Takeshi’s lips

Takeshi cleared his throat uncomfortably when Kyoya shot him a cool look. It was probably for the best that the Hibari had shown up with a specific topic to discuss, else that growl would have had a tonfa at Takeshi’s throat before he’d been able to complete it.

“He’s just a pup, I’d rather not think of him needing to be locked up, haha!” he said instead, smiling placidly when Kyoya’s shoulders tightened.

“And what if he brings his human to the mountain, sheep. What then.” Kyoya whispered, his claws digging into the wood of the engawa on either side of him. Takeshi glanced down at the scores being made into his home, and glanced back out towards the open ground before them.

“Well, we’ll handle it then, if we need to. From the rumors I’ve heard, for all that he’s a foreigner, the gold haired man means to stay. I don’t see why he can’t stay here.”

Kyoya abruptly stood up, his summer yukata rustling about him along with his wings. Takeshi just looked up at him, still smiling, and Kyoya hissed, before taking flight without another word.

In the lingering silence after, Takeshi rubbed the back of his head with a sigh, finally letting go of his smile. Well. That could have gone worse, but he’s relieved it didn’t. He pushed himself back to his feet, and quietly began clearing the tea pot and cups that had been left behind. Kyoya would be back when he was ready, as would the cub. Takeshi would wait, in the meanwhile, as he always did, patient as the land he was born of.

When Hayato first brought the cub to Takeshi’s home, the nukekubi2 had seemed absolutely enchanted with him. That by itself had endeared the cub to Takeshi, who had long grown tired of Hayato’s bad nature. The other youkai had his reasons, not the least of which was his human foreigner father and an ill mother who’d died under mysterious circumstances, but the attitude grew tiring to deal with over time.

Hayato’s cheer when caring for the cub was a delight, and Takeshi found that his laughter around the cub wasn’t even remotely forced.

“It’s because the dragon-cub is happy,” Hayato had remarked, smiling softly and untangling the cub’s still soft claws from the long tassels of his scarf. “Even without his parents, and no company that looks like him, he’s happy to have company at all. It’s an innocent joy, idiot-dog3 Maybe you should try that out some time.”

Takeshi had only laughed some more at that, because hearing Hayato lecturing him on the importance of innocent joy had been a riot.

It had been easy welcoming the cub into his home. Even when it was a child, it was easily to tell that the dragon-cub would one day grow very large in size. Takeshi’s father had the expertize to be able to tell, with how much he’d traveled. But their ancestral property had the space to spare, without being as higher up on the mountain as the tengu lands – the air was easier to breathe, for a child.

The Hibari family had not been happy, when they’d heard of the new addition to their mountain, but Takeshi and his father had always maintained good relations with their tengu neighbors, so the Head of the family was willing to let it pass, so long as the cub never strayed into their lands.

Then the cub grew strong enough to venture out on his own, and the next thing they knew, the cub had disappeared into tengu lands, curious about the upper edges of the woods that Takeshi and his dad never let him explore. And Takeshi had rushed right after him, too attached to the cub to see it killed at the hands of a vengeful tengu, of all things.

Which would be how he’d met Hibari Kyoya in real life, outside of the stories.

When Takeshi finally tracked the cub down, he was whining pathetically in a high pitched tone that had Takeshi’s ears pricking and a hand on his sheath because nothing that made his cub wail like that should be allowed to live. A split second’s pause before he came upon the cub and the Hibari menacing it managed to give Takeshi the time to remember not to draw his shapeshifting blade. Not when he and the cub were technically in the wrong.

Surprisingly enough, when he reached the tree where the cub was wailing from, climbing up revealed a tengu in his partially shifted form, clad in heavier robes for the summer and wings neatly folded behind him. One hand loosely gripped the handle of a tonfa, but the other was gently petting the soft fur that grew along the dragon-cub’s neck and back, and the tufts on the top of his head.

Now that Takeshi was close enough, he could tell that the cub wasn’t whining in distress. He all but sagged in place on the branch he was perched in, heaving for breath and in relief.

The next thing he knew, there was metal against his throat, shoving him up back against the tree trunk. Takeshi didn’t hesitate to move with it, knowing that one wrong step could having him either falling out of the tree or with a broken neck because of the tonfa. When he got a clear view of the Hibari clan member facing him, the first thing he noticed was the hard gray eyes, watching him coldly.

The cub was happily curled up in Hibari’s other arm, pressed against his chest, the traitor.

“I come in peace?” Takeshi offered with an awkward grin, lifting his hands up defensively. “I’m not trespassing on purpose, honest, I was just worried about the cub.”

“The cub,” Hibari murmured, voice cool, “made less of a menace of himself, simply playing in the shrubbery. You, on the other hand, dared to venture into our trees.”

Takeshi laughed wryly, tilting his head back a little. No go, the body of the tonfa simply followed him, the metal chilly against his throat.

“Does it help if I say that I was worried someone from your clan was punishing him for trespassing?” Takeshi asked, gaze not leaving Hibari’s own.

Evidently that had made the tengu’s hand pause in petting the cub’s fur, because he made a squeaky, whining noise of protest. Takeshi’s lips tilted up in a grin, in spite of himself, even when it made the tonfa dig harder into his throat.

“You. You’re one of the escorting dogs that took a dragonet in.”

“Takeshi of Clan Yamamoto,” Takeshi replied, agreeably enough, seeing as he was trespassing. Steely gray eyes narrowed at him, then glanced down at the cub, staring up at both of them innocently.

“This… is a dragonet?” Hibari asked incredulously, though his voice remained soft. Measured.

Takeshi laughed again, ignoring the way it made the tonfa dig into his throat.

“Yeah. We think he’s got mixed blood of some sort. The nukekubi that brought him to us for safekeeping said he stole the dragon from foreigners who planned to make a pet of it.”

“Feathered wings and these hindquarters remind me of a cat, though its skin is still mostly hide…” Hibari said lowly. “What manner of breeding made this child.”

“Beats me,” Takeshi cut in, smiling. “All I know is that he’s adorable, and loves beef, and playing in the sunlight. And he loves the sky at dawn.”

Hibari stared at him steadily for a long moment, through which Takeshi continued to smile winningly, before finally dropping his arm with an aggrieved sigh, making Takeshi sag against the truck, trying not to laugh in relief. The next thing he knew, he had an armful of dragon cub, squeaking plaintively and trying to get back to Hibari. Takeshi petted him comfortingly, transferring him to his shoulder, and directing a cautious look Hibari’s way.

“You sure this is okay? We are trespassing, like you said. You’d be well within your rights to punish us.”

Hibari rolled his eyes and glanced away, apparently already bored of them.

“Possibly. But the only trouble I see here is a pair of herbivores making noise, which I will have corrected when you leave. I am Kyoya of Clan Hibari; watch the cub. I will return to look in on it.” And with that, Hibari disappeared with a beat of his wings, moving almost too fast for Takeshi to see.

“We dodged an arrow there, pup,” Takeshi murmured to the cub, tucking it safely close to him while rushing for the ground and then away from these lands high up on the mountain. Even the trees could tell that he was unwelcome in the lands of the Hibari; the very air felt threatening if he waited in one place for too long.

The cub simply snuffled in his robes, looking for a place to duck its little head. Takeshi laughed, and pressed a hand to its nape comfortingly, making sure to watch where he was going all the while.

The day the cub finally draws his human up the mountain to Takeshi’s home, it’s more anticlimactic than he expected it to be. For one thing, the human has wide eyes and an excited smile that remind him almost sickeningly of the cub. For another, the cub is clinging to the human’s hakama and looks just as human as he does, if it weren’t for the wide orange eyes he was sporting.

“We,” Takeshi told him mildly, “Have a lot to talk about. Later.”

The cub made a crooning noise at him, smiling artlessly, and Takeshi’s heart filled with about as much dumb love as the cub usually engendered in him. It was in no way lessened by the way the gaijin spun around to stare up at him with eyes that were surprisingly just as orange as the cub’s.

“Ah! Sorry for intruding, Tsuna led me up here, I didn’t realize that this was his home!” he explained hurriedly in rough-spoken Japanese, still clearly new to the language. The fact that he was explaining himself at all meant he could actually see Takeshi. In his shifted form, not the dog or wolf he usually appeared as to humans.

The cub’s human had to be interesting, didn’t he.

“Tsuna?” Takeshi asked, curious in spite of himself. And not taking a single step down the stairs, instead standing and watching carefully to see if the human would walk any closer.

“Ah, he told me he didn’t have a name other than ‘cub’, so I named him Tsunayoshi, Tsuna for short. I hope that isn’t too much of an inconvenience?”

The man did take a step closer, but he paused immediately when Tsuna tugged on his hakama. Takeshi’s lip curled up slightly over his canines; the cub wasn’t watching the human, he was watching Takeshi.

“Giotto’s a good man,” the cub said suddenly. “He just wants a place to rest. He wants peace.”

“Does he now,” Takeshi responded, smiling sharply, a little stung in spite of himself over the mistrust. Not that it was misplaced – Takeshi might have found himself attacking an unwary human whether or not he wanted to, after all. Some instincts ran deep.

“I told him Takeshi was a good person to talk to,” Tsuna said, peering up at him beseechingly. “Takeshi has good ideas, and always smiles! I didn’t know whom else to bring Giotto to. He has people searching for him and he doesn’t want to go back.”

Takeshi blinked slowly, and glanced back at the golden haired man – Giotto. Giotto just smiled up at him awkwardly, but Takeshi could read a man’s character simply from the set of his shoulders and the unbending nature of his spine. Takeshi knew humans in a way humans simply couldn’t understand each other, and this specific human was of a rare breed.

He laughed out loud, abruptly amused.

“Haha, my cub has brought home a king. I thought it was normal for children to bring home dead animals and insects at trophies to begin with, I’m not sure what to do with you, human.”

Giotto went still, hands suddenly flaring orange as if in shock or warning, but he subsided when Tsuna growled up at him chidingly. The sound was adorable enough that Takeshi was tempted to end the impasse just so he could walk down the stairs and sweep the cub into a hug.

“I ask for shelter, for a couple nights at best, maybe a few more at worst,” Giotto asked him, serious, and Takeshi smiled, settling his weight back on his heels.

“Now we’re talking. You’re welcome in my home, human, if only because you walk beneath my roof as a friend of my ward. But I make no promises about the rest of the mountain; the cub and I have territorial neighbors, after all.”

“Thank you,” Giotto breathed, relieved, and made it a point to stay in place until the cub led him up the stairs.

“I,” hissed Kyoya later in the night, looming over Takeshi’s window sill more like a vulture than a crow, “have no idea what you think you’re doing, dog, but you will teach the dragon-cub to come to heel or I will.”

“Haha, the human’s just looking for a bit of shelter, Kyoya, no harm or foul,” Takeshi responded, pausing for a moment by his door before stepping the rest of the way in, sliding it shut. The cub and Giotto had both retired for the night, after all. And Takeshi was free to entertain other guests without having to think about them.

“And what if more humans come? Is this mountain to become a sanctuary to their kind now?” Kyoya demanded, and Takeshi paused in the process of unrolling his futon.

“No. Never. I would never do that, Hibari, of course not. My clan guards this mountain, same as yours, I wouldn’t shirk that duty just because the cub’s distracted by pretty things.” Takeshi protested, and the tengu made a clicking noise from deep in his throat.

“Pretty, is he?” Kyoya breathed, stepping all the way into the room, and Takeshi felt his throat go dry.

“In the way most transient things are, yes,” he husked, dropping the futon and turning to meet the Hibari fully when Kyoya reached out to press a hand to his neck, right where it met his shoulder.

“Pretty enough to distract you as well?” Kyoya asked him, head tilted to the side curiously, his eyes as blank and hungry as the void, as always, and Takeshi barked out a laugh.

“Definitely not.” Not anywhere as pretty and distracting as you, anyway, he thought, and didn’t dare to complete the words out loud. Not when Kyoya’s claws were close enough to rip his throat and face open.

“Hm,” Kyoya murmured thoughtfully. “Clearly distracting enough for the dragon-cub. Perhaps it’s something in the blood. Dragons do tend to hoard strange things, and the child is at the age.”

“Mmn,” Takeshi murmured back, and turned his face into the open palm at his neck, pressing his lips to it leadingly without taking his eyes off of the tengu.

Kyoya smiled slowly, clearly charmed against his will.

“Stay the night?” Takeshi offered quietly. “You could take the human to task come morning. I did warn him that he had other neighbors to contend with.”

Kyoya turned the thought over slowly in his head, clearly considering it, before tilting his head forward in the slightest of nods.

“The thought amuses me. Yes.” He said, and Takeshi grinned hungrily against his hand.

It was odd, how easy it was to fall into something of a routine. Takeshi’s dad shook his head and laughed over it, saying Takeshi had gone bird crazy, but Takeshi swore it wasn’t anything of the sort.

It was just that the higher mountains were wilder, more untamed, and therefore better ground to train the dragon-cub in. The cub grew more each day; Takeshi had caught it rubbing its head and skin against trees to ease the itching that its newly growing horns and spines were causing it. The cub was even beginning to make sounds that almost reminded Takeshi of words, and he suspected the day the cub would become fully sapient in all the ways that mattered weren’t far. It clearly thought and acted for itself, now all that was left for it to speak its mind, and Takeshi would no longer have just a cub on his hands, no, he would have a cub shaped person.

It was only fair, then, that he had aid in tending to the newly forming cub shaped person. And Kyoya of the Hibari Clan was proving to be the best sort of company possible, almost moreso than poor Hayato.

Kyoya, after all, wasn’t swayed by the cub’s wide orange eyes and coy smiles. Hayato gave in every damn time, unable to help himself when the cub truly wished for anything. He’d been flooding Takeshi’s home with junk over the cub’s whims and Takeshi couldn’t even find it in himself to be angry, not when it was so funny. Hayato, a particularly murderous nukekubi, terror of the human settlement at the base of the mountain turned mother hen over a dragon cub.

“Fitting,” muttered Kyoya, gently running his fingers through the cub’s hair, claws grooming almost absentmindedly, “that that outlier is brought to heel because of a cub.”

“Haha, Hayato’s hardly an outlier. He’d been living here for more than a human generation at this point, cut him some slack, will you,” Takeshi laughed, and tilted himself out of the way of the tonfa that was aimed at his face.

“As if human generations are something to judge by,” Kyoya scoffed. “that boy will be an outlier until he learns better manners. Preying on humans without any reason because of malice and hunger tempt me to take him down, if only to preserve some decorum on the mountain.”

“He can’t help what he is,” Takeshi countered mildly. “His mother contracted the sickness in her village and passed it on. He’s better now.”

Kyoya rolled his eyes, and shot Takeshi a narrow eyed look. Coupled with the cub on his lap, the image Kyoya made was adorable enough that Takeshi was hard pressed not to laugh.

“You need to learn better manners too, dog,” Kyoyo said snidely, and Takeshi did laugh this time unable to help himself.

“Is it wolf, or sheep or dog, crow, you never seem to be able to make up your mind.” Takeshi asked, grinning widely, his mouth full of sharp teeth, and Kyoya stared back at him, eyes hungry and wide, going still on the branch beside Takeshi for a whole second before resuming grooming the cub’s fur.

The cub made a questioning purr, ruffling it’s still small golden wings softly, and Takeshi reached out to brush a finger across the feathers gently. Kyoya’s fingers paused when Takeshi’s grew close to his, but Takeshi paid him no mind, leaning down to smile at the cub, who was wriggling his nose cutely up at Takeshi.

“I must be some mix of all three, hm, cub?” Takeshi asked the cub teasingly. “At least the sheep would make me a herbivore by design.”

When he glanced up, Kyoya was staring at him again, eyes as pale as the half-light of dawn, and Takeshi couldn’t help himself. He reached right across to touch, leaned in to press his lips and tongue to the tengu’s because, really, Kyoya looked good enough to eat.

He got a tonfa to the face for his troubles, and this time it actually hit.

“Be direct with me, cub, you want this man to stay for longer than a few days, don’t you.” Takeshi asked Tsuna quietly.

The name, for all that it was relatively new, stuck to the cub like a burr. Takeshi might have called it unwanted, but Tsuna seemed rather clear that he treasured the gift that Giotto had bestowed on him. Tsuna, for his part, simply looked up at him seriously, demeanor shy for all that his gaze was steady.

“I want to stay with him,” Tsuna said, soft. “You and Kyoya and Hayato are my hoard, too, but Giotto is small and weak and could die so much easier than all of you.”

“It’s in the nature of humans to be transient,” Takeshi replied, instead of pointing out that the cub was much smaller and weaker than Giotto in the now. It wouldn’t be true for much longer, after all. And some day, Tsuna would be larger and mightier than even Takeshi and Kyoya, possibly more dangerous than Hayato too. “It wouldn’t do you any good to get attached to him.”

“But he’s small, and weak, and mine,” Tsuna said plaintively. “I don’t have any others like him, and I would like to keep him, even if it’s only for a while.”

Takeshi ended up laughing, if a little helplessly. There wasn’t much he could say in the face of that. Kyoya had been right all along, after all, there was no telling a dragon to change its mind about its hoard. Even a sapient dragon. You could sooner convince the wind to turn and blow in the opposite direction from which they willed.

“Okay. Okay, Tsuna, if you’re sure.”

They were interrupted by the sound of explosions going off in the inner gardens of the house, and Takeshi sighed, smiling in spite of himself.

“We’d best go rescue your small and weak human from Kyoya first, haha! Coming?”

“Un!” Tsuna declared smiling sweetly up at him, and pressing a small clawed hand into his own.

They walked together back into the house, leaving the doors open behind them.

They only paused to laugh when Giotto ran past them looking thoroughly frazzled with his head on fire, hands filled with dancing orange flames, while Kyoya followed close behind, his tonfa wreathed in purple flames.

1: http://yokai.com/daitengu/

2: http://yokai.com/nukekubi/

3: I couldn’t exactly go with ‘yakyu-baka/baseball-idiot’ when this is a period fic. So, I’m sticking to idiot-dog, because Takeshi’s a yama inu or okuri-okami4. The other options had been yama-baka or wolf-idiot

4: http://yokai.com/okuriinu/

#fanfiction #khr #khrrarepairweek2018 #hibari kyoya/yamamoto takeshi #8018 #mythology au #rain day #hibari kyoya & sawada tsunayoshi & yamamoto takeshi #giotto & sawada tsunayoshi #yamamoto takeshi #hibari kyoya #sawada tsunayoshi #gokudera hayato #giotto #adel writes

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darveyfics · 7 years

Note

7.10 post ep based on the song only love can hurt like this by Paloma Faith

“Timing”

A/N: The idea for this story came when I saw this video (slightly spoilery) on twitter (the first part is new, the second was filmed before, but is likely from the same episode). Anyway, ideas started rolling and this story was born. I also incorporated the lyrics to this song because I think it more than fits the theme. I also have another take on this possible darvey scenario written here.

Say I wouldn’t care if you walked away,But every time you’re there I’m begging you to stay,When you come close I just trembleAnd every time, every time you go,It’s like a knife that cuts right through my soulOnly love, only love can hurt like this

He knows something is off the second he steps off the elevator, the air around him thick and palpable. Harvey makes his way further into the space of the firm, catching the eyes of everyone around him, noticing how they give him a solemn glance before quickly looking away, almost in shame.

His forehead knits in confusion and just a touch of agitation as he continues to make his way to his office, a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach for a reason he can’t quite discern.

Entering his office, he sees it almost immediately. The small silver device too familiar to his senses for him to miss.

There, sitting on top of his desk, is the can opener.

Harvey feels his throat go dry. He knows things haven’t been good between them lately, they’ve barely been civil. Almost two weeks to the day since she had waltzed up to him, kissing him without a moment of hesitation. He had stood there, numbed and speechless for what felt like hours, before any of his senses could awaken and he was able to make his way out, to look for her.

They had fought- a lot. They argued more in the last two weeks than they’ve had in the twelve plus years they’ve known each other. He’d been so angry, though, angry at her, angry at the situation, angry at himself….

He knows he had screwed up continuously in the last thirteen days, the way he had treated her making his nights sleepless and his dreams painful. Blame had fallen off his lips in waves every time he saw her, seemingly ignoring the way her eyes would well up, her voice would shake… He couldn’t seem to fathom how he let things get this bad so quickly, it wasn’t like he didn’t love-

But it was complicated. They were complicated. There was too much too lose, too much of a past and too much of an unknown future. Harvey didn’t like unknown, he liked predictable. Except he’s always known she was anything but.

Donna Paulsen will forever remain an enigma in his eyes- a vision of all that is good and pure whilst remaining mysterious in all her wit and charm. He still didn’t know why she had kissed him. He knows, she had told him, but he couldn’t for the life of him understand why now, after all this time, when he was with Paula, when she knew full well how he felt about cheating….

Yet, he knew the anger he held inside, that had been directed at her, had been purely to mask his own fear and confusion.

His hand shakes as he lifts the can opener, their can opener. Over a decade’s worth of a history between them in his hand, the very weight of it feeling heavier now. Before he can try to decipher the meaning of her leaving it on his desk, he sees the envelope. Her all-too distinguishable handwriting staring back at him.

Harvey.

One word, six letters, and his heart was in shambles. He didn’t need to open the letter to know what was inside, but still he did.

He ignores the way his hand shakes, ripping the letter apart as quickly and carefully as possible as to not tear the contents it held inside.

He swallows back the tears that were pricking behind his eyes, finding two letters before him. Taking both of them out, he quickly identifies one as a formal resignation letter. He feels his world spinning then, despite the fact that he expected this, he still felt his vision fogging up, his heart squeezing in its current confinement. He skims the letter quickly, turning his attention to the other letter he held in his hand.

Harvey,

He feels his head throbbing, a tear finding its way to the corner of his eye.

This isn’t easy for me to write, as I know this won’t be easy for you to read either. You have to understand, that I tried so hard to move on, from you, from us. I tried to ignore what we had- abided by the rule I had set all those years before. But, Harvey, there comes a point when you can’t ignore anymore. When you can’t let go of the past just for the off chance that maybe things could turn out differently. I never meant to hurt you when I kissed you, you have to know that. I knew you were with Paula, I know that kissing you brought on too many feelings of anger and resentment, but I had to. I’ve stood by your side for longer than I’ve ever stood by anyone. I kept putting you first, because that’s what you do for the person you love.

Harvey closes his eyes for a moment, letting the words wash over him, his throat constricting too tight, making it harder for him to breath.

I know you love me too, in whatever way you say you do. A part of me thought- hoped- that maybe you would see me in the way I see you. Love me in the way I love you. And perhaps you did, but it’s clear to me now we don’t want the same things. I can’t make you understand why I did what I did. I know I told you I had to know- know that I did want to be with you, know that you felt something for me too. And I did feel something when you kissed me, or at least I thought I did. But I don’t know, I can’t be sure of that, not when you look at me like you’ve been doing so for the past two weeks. Not when you’ve been blaming me for your break up… The only thing I do know is that I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep playing this game with you when I only end up losing in the end.

Jessica offered me a job at her new firm, in Chicago. I decided to take it. It pains me to do this, to leave my family, my friends, you… but I need to move on. I have to. And I’m sorry it has to be this way, but I have to put myself first. I have to be able to try and be happy, because as much as I tried, I can’t be happy with you there. Not with the way you look at me every time I walk into work, not with the knowledge that maybe we never really were meant to be. I don’t regret a single moment I spent with you, but this is where it must end. Maybe I won’t ever stop loving you, but I have to try. My flight for Chicago leaves in a couple of hours, so I have to wrap this up now.

Just remember one thing, Harvey, for all the things I’ve claimed to have known over the years, I never knew how much I could ever love you.

-Donna

The world before him blurs suddenly, his head is spinning and a vile taste creeps into his mouth. He tries to tamper down the nausea that overwhelms him, tears clouding his vision, making the words below him start to blend.

She was leaving him, for good. She wasn’t going to work for Louis down the hall, she wasn’t taking a new position at the firm, leaving her a good few feet away from his own office. She resigned. She was moving. To Chicago.

He checks his watch, suddenly, noting that it was already eight fifteen. He realizes he doesn’t know what time Donna must’ve dropped this off at his desk. He’d been at a meeting with a client for the past two hours, the minutes dragging on as he only half-focused on what they were saying, too distracted thinking about her. Again.

Something snaps in him then, and he finds himself sprinting out the door, jogging his way to the elevators. He clutches her letter in his hand, unable to quite loosen the visceral grip on the paper that held her words to him.

I never knew how much I could love you.

His eyes are stinging with the manner in which he tries to keep more tears at bay, not wanting anyone at the firm to catch him in his vulnerable state.

He sighs in relief when the elevator doors open before him, thankful to be alone, not in the mood or mindset to have unimportant small talk with anyone right now.

When he gets to the lobby, his heart beating against his chest, he starts a jog as he subconsciously looks outside the glass windows, trying and hoping to maybe catch a glimpse of red hair. Though, knowing his own damn luck, she would be far gone by now.

He tries to flag down a cab, eyes and movements frantic as he curses under his breath, impatience running through his veins.

When one manages to stop in front of him, he all but jumps inside, the words “JFK airport” escaping his lips in one breath.

He doesn’t even know if that’s where she’ll be. If she went home first to grab a few things. If she already left….

He takes out his phone then, finding her contact in five seconds flat, and waits. He curses under his breath when it goes straight to voice mail, shoving the device into his pocket again.

Harvey takes this moment to close his eyes, hand still gripping the letter she wrote.

I never meant to hurt you.

He somehow manages not to let out a sob, remembering the words she had written him, filled with too much honestly and pain. He should be the one apologizing, he is the one who never meant to hurt her. He should’ve done something, said something. Guilt resides in him, drowning him from the inside out, numbing his every sense. He’d been such an idiot, a goddamn asshole to her the past few weeks. Too damn scared and blind and angry, too much of a fucking coward to notice how much he had been hurting her, to see that she had been slipping from his grasp more and more everyday….

It’s not until the cab driver stops the car that he notices they’re parked right in front of the airport. He mumbles out a “thanks” and drops a fifty on the man’s lap, sprinting out the door before making his way inside.

He had to buy a goddamn ticket. But it’s not the money he had to spend that annoys him, the mere fact that every second he loses stretches the possibility of him not finding her at all. He takes comfort in the fact that there were currently only three flights to Chicago, all set to leave within an hour. Still, paranoia sits low in his stomach, too many variables standing in the way of him getting to her.

Jogging his way to the designated gate, his eyes roam the area, trying to catch a glimpse of her, knowing she wouldn’t be hard to miss. When he sees the numbers come into view, he halts to a full stop, his heart beating erratically. He surveys the area, jumping from one person to another sitting and waiting for their flight.

Nothing. No sign of red hair. No sign of Donna. The weight of her letter, now sitting on the inside pocket of his jacket, right beside his heart, grows heavier with every second.

“Dammit, Donna, where are you?” He mumbles under his breath, frustration and fear seeping into him all at once.

Harvey scans the area once more, hoping he may have missed her in the sea of people, but there weren’t even that many to begin with.

Sighing, he starts to turn around, a new plan forming in his mind to try and track her down. Maybe Rachel knows where she is….

Just as he’s about to walk out, head deeper in the labyrinth that was the airport, he sees her. Unmistakable, poised, elegant, Donna, right in front of him.

Her eyes are wide as she stares at him, feet frozen in place, breathing shallow. A myriad of emotions fill her- confusion, anger, a slight ounce of hope she quickly tries to tamper down….

“Harvey, what are you-”

His lips are on her then, hands cupping her cheeks, angling her face to his in a way that allows him to keep her in place.

Her body goes numb for a second, lips still against his own, too shocked to react in any form. It’s not until she feels an arm wrapping around her, pulling her flush against his chest that she comes to life. Dropping the bags she held, she kisses him back just as fiercely, if not more, her arms winding around him. Their mouths open at once, together, letting their tongues slide and duel against one another.

Donna feels hot tears against her eyelids, the feelings welling up inside spilling out without her consent, trailing down her cheeks, meeting her lips, still fused to his.

She parts from him then, the need for oxygen becoming too apparent and overwhelming, her tears making it harder for her to breathe.

When she opens her eyes, she has to blink a few times against the wetness, in order to see him in full. His own brown eyes are clouded over, cheeks stained with the tears that he had let fall in the last minute or so.

“Harvey…” Her voice is hoarse when she speaks, low and broken, too many questions dripping with every syllable.

“Don’t leave,” he speaks at once, head shaking, his nose a mere centimeter from her own, “Don’t- don’t leave me, Donna.”

She feels more hot tears springing to her eyes, her vision becoming less clear by the second. Her mouth opens, but no words come out, trapped in her throat.

“I don’t- I can’t lose you.” His voice is watery, fighting against the emotions welling up inside his chest, failing more every second with each new wave of tears that fall. His left hand still cradling her cheek wipes a few tears away, his thumb continuously caressing her skin.

She closes her eyes, trying her best to compose herself, an array of emotions making it more difficult to set her heart and mind at ease. “Harvey-” She tries again, but when her eyes open and she sees his all-too familiar face, staring back at her, tears in his red-rimmed eyes, she feels her face crumpling further.

His forehead meets hers, their eyes closing simultaneously, and for a moment they just remain in that position- breathing slow and shallow, mingling in their proximity.

“I love you.” The words fall from his lips, easy and difficult all at the same time. He feels her stiffen against him and he makes sure he has a good hold on her, fear of her leaving his grasp too great. “I love you- so much.” Harvey whispers. The emotions that well up inside of him not allowing him to take his voice an octave higher.

Donna grips his biceps then, the need to hold onto something, to him, too much for her. “Why are you doing this?” Her words surprise him, low and dripping with too much pain, and he feels like he could pass out any second.

His eyes shoot open, glancing to see her own closed tightly, her eyelashes lined with tiny tear drops. Swallowing, he lifts her chin up, angling her face to his.

“Donna,” he speaks slowly, “Donna, look at me,” her eyes flutter open, hazel orbs meeting his, “I’m a goddamn idiot.”

She stares at him, forehead knitting at his words, watching how his jaw clenches.

“I never should have- I treated you like shit.” He spits out, disgust in himself, flashbacks of the past few weeks washing over him. “I was just- so angry that I-”

“Blamed me for everything.” Donna finishes for him softly.

He shakes his head, the grip on her tightening still. “I never meant to- I don’t- I was angry at myself. I took it out on you, and- there’s no excuse for that, and I’m so so sorry, Donna.” His voice shakes as more tears flow down his cheeks.

Confusion clouds her mind, a mix of emotions and desires trying to one up the other continuously. “Harvey, I can’t-”

“Can’t what?” Anxiety oozes from his words, eyes searching her face for the answers he desperately seeks.

“I can’t- be who you want me to be. I can’t keep doing this.”

His forehead knits, bewilderment shadowing his face. “I don’t-”

“You tell me you need me, and you push me out. You start having panic attacks when I leave to go work for Louis. I tell you I want more and you go to her.”

“I’m here now.” He defends, voice trying to remain steady, his gaze pleading with her to understand, to believe.

Donna shakes her head. “It’s-”

“Don’t tell me it’s too late, Donna, don’t. Please.” Fear drips with every breath, crippling him to the spot.

“I love you, Harvey, I do, but-”

“But what?” Frustration bubbles in him now, floating at the surface.

“But- you’re only doing this because you’re scared. You don’t want to lose the firm’s COO, you don’t want me to leave you high and dry…”

“You’re damn right I’m scared, but I don’t give a shit about the firm, I care about you. Can’t you see that?” His eyes plead with her, voice low and desperate.

“I see a man who’s hurt me for the past two weeks. Who blamed me for cheating, for his break up with his girlfriend. Who treated me like shit for whatever goddamn reason he’s turned into an excuse.”

“I told you, I’m sorry.”

“That’s not enough, Harvey.”

“Of course it’s not enough!” His shout takes her by surprise, flinching slightly at the higher octave of his words. “It’s never enough! I’m not enough,” The grip he had on her loosens then, arms flailing about, catching the attention of the few patrons around them. Neither notice, however, the world around them blurring into dust.

She stares at him wide-eyed now, watching the way his breaths come out short, his tear stained cheeks turning red. “Goddammit, Donna, I don’t deserve you. I never did. I doubt I ever will.” Defeat leaves his lips, voice cracked and small, head shaking as he watches the surprise in her eyes stare back at him. “You deserve the world, you deserve everything, and I know I can’t give you that, can’t ever be what you deserve, but I want to be the one who tries.” He takes a moment to breathe then, taking a tentative step toward her again.

“You were right, you have been putting me before yourself for over twelve years, always being there for me, while I just expected you to be at my every beck and call. It wasn’t fair, the way you would put my needs before yours- it wasn’t right.”

His words are hitting her in full, a massive blow to her emotions with every breath he takes.

“When you told me you wanted more, I panicked. I didn’t know what you meant. I thought maybe, at first you meant us, and the idea of it just scared me because I knew I could screw it up within moments. As long as we were working together, side by side, it was fine, we were fine. But we weren’t.” He lets out sigh of defeat, of exhaustion filled with shame and regret.

He takes another step toward her, taking her hands in his own. “I know I can’t stop you from leaving, I know this is your decision to make, but know that I don’t give a shit about anything else in this world except you. Nothing matters if you’re not here, by my side- as my COO, my friend, my anything, my everything.”

Harvey waits a beat to gauge her reaction, watching as the tears fall freely from her eyes, and he feels himself sinking lower into the ground.

“You once asked me how I love you, but I didn’t know how to respond,” he lets out a breath, standing a little straighter. “Ask me again.” He whispers.

Her head shakes sightly. “Harvey-”

“Please.” His eyes are soft and pained, boring into her own.

Donna clears her throat, voice low and shaky. “Love me how?”

Harvey cups her cheek then, his other hand splayed at the small of her back, pulling her closer to him. He makes sure his eyes are aligned with her own, “Like this.” His lips slant over hers again, need and desperation converted into a slow passion that has her toes curling into her heels. His lips pull and nip at her own, slowly yet fiercely, tongue snaking out in a torturous pace that she feels her own meeting his half way. He pours all of his in love into her, not holding back an ounce of emotion, of need, of want.

A low groan reverberates through him, and she swallows it down immediately, sucking on his tongue, setting a low flame of passion inside of her.

She feels him pulling her closer to him, the gentle way in which he holds her bringing fresh tears pricking against her eyes. He tastes like coffee and warmth and him, the sweet and bitter flavors making her head spin and her knees buckle. She’s thankful for the visceral grip he has on her, gentle but firm, making sure she stays in place, safe in his arms.

Their kisses slowly come to a stop, their lips still pressing against each other, the need to taste each other never dulling.

Harvey plants a lingering kiss to the corner of her mouth, taking the moment to breath her in, hold her to him. He sighs, “I’m not very good with words,” he confesses, eyes opening to meet her own, hooded with desire and love, “and I don’t want to screw things up- further, anyhow,” he shifts in place, making sure he has her full attention, “I don’t expect you to forgive me easily, hell, I can’t even begin to do that, but, know that I do love you, fully and completely, with all of my heart, for as long as I can remember, Donna.”

She swallows against the tears that can’t seem to stay at bay, mentally cursing at the way she must look right now, in the open, exposed to him and the world around them.

“Took you too damn long to realize.” She finally whispers, voice low with a twinge of amusement, despite her serious expression.

His lips quirk ever so slightly in a sad smile. “I know,” he says softly, “and I’m sorry, for everything, just- please, don’t go.” Fear seeps back into him then, not knowing if his words were enough, if anything he says will ever be.

Donna studies his gaze for a moment, letting out a sigh. “I- don’t want to,” she begins, her heart fluttering at the way his face brightens with hope for a moment, “but-“

“No, no buts please.”

“I just need- some time.”

His brow furrows. “Time?”

Donna nods, “Yeah, time.”

“So, you’re still leaving,” Harvey deflates.

She shakes her head, thumb reaching up to caress his lower lip, swollen from their kisses. “No, just- I’m gonna need some time off work.”

His eyes light up slightly again. “Work? Does that mean-”

She lets a small smile line up her face, “You can throw out my resignation letter, Harvey, but I’m still going to need some time off.”

“Haven’t we already wasted enough of that?” His voice is low as he steps even closer to her, his breath hot against her ear and she tries to tamper down the arousal that sits low in her belly then.

“Harvey-” She closes her eyes, trying not to let his touch and voice affect her anymore.

“Donna,” his gaze meets hers again, warm brown meeting dark hazel. “I almost lost you tonight, for good, I don’t want to waste any more time.” He speaks with persistence.

“Harvey, I’m not saying no, I’m just saying, I’m going to need a day, or two, just to wrap my mind around this.” Her eyes plead with him, the idea of spending any kind of time apart from him already pulling at her seems, her lips still tingling from their kiss.

He nods in understanding then. “Okay, I- I’m sorry, I don’t want to push you, I just- I’m scared.”

“Of what?” She speaks softly, reaching her hand up to caress his cheek.

“Of losing you. Of wasting too much time that we can never-”

She shakes her head. “That won’t happen.”

“You sure?” His eyebrows raise, wonder and hope and worry creasing into his features all at once.

“I don’t want to lose you either, Harvey. I’ll stay- I just need to process this. For a little while, anyhow.” Her face is riddled with an ounce of guilt, despite it all. A couple of hours ago, she was angry, hurting, and she was still feeling all those things, but leave it to Harvey Specter to suddenly make her regret the very words she was speaking now. She did need time, but she still didn’t want to leave his side.

“Okay.” He leans over to plant a kiss on her forehead, her eyes closing when his lips meet her skin.

“I do want this.” She tells him softly, eyes glassy.

“I know. So do I.” He gives her a small smile and she resists the urge to kiss his dimples then.

They remain quiet for a second, gazes remaining locked, the reality of what had transpired in the last few minutes hitting them all at once.

“So,” Donna clears her throat, “I take it you got my letter.”

Harvey sighs. “You’re one hell of a writer, Paulsen.”

She smirks slightly, “I just- had to tell you why. Didn’t want to leave without you knowing.”

“I wish you had just told me in person.”

She shakes her head. “I couldn’t- it would’ve been too much.”

He nods in understanding, “Still, would’ve saved us some time.”

“What? And miss the chance to see you coming to profess your love for me in the middle of an airport like some sleazy rom com?” She jokes.

His head tilts in amusement, a flutter in his stomach forming at the way she can toy with him now, after everything.

“You do like a dramatic flare.”

A chuckle escapes her then, making him release his own. It felt good, being able to laugh at each other, at their unconventional way of dealing with things.

“Uh, should we- get going then?” His words come out awkwardly, unsure.

It takes her a moment to realize what he’s saying, mind still reeling from everything that’s transpired. “Oh, uh, yeah.” She disentangles herself from him, suddenly feeling colder, even with the coat that hugged her body. She reaches down to grab her bags, holding one on each hand.

“Here, why don’t I-” Harvey reaches over, grabbing her carry on, while she held onto her purse.

“Oh, thank you.” She gives him a smile, cringing at the way things quickly grew awkward between them.

They quietly make their way out of the airport, Donna studying his face as they walk toward the entrance, catching him looking at her before he looks away, like a couple of teenagers hanging out with their first crush.

They manage to quickly grab a cab, and she lets him take lead, watching him as he spouts her address from memory, the simple action itself somehow making her insides fill with warmth.

When they reach her apartment, a good thirty minutes later, Harvey tells the driver to wait for him, and she momentarily curses herself for telling him she needed time, when all she wants in that moment is him.

“Wait,” she finds herself saying, her words surprising them both.

Harvey looks at her in confusion, concern written in his features. “What is it?”

“I-” she turns to look at the cab driver, “You don’t have to wait for him, he’s staying.”

Before Harvey could protest or question her, she’s pulling out a couple of bills from her purse, handing them to the driver. She manages to grab Harvey by the hand, leading him out of the cab in a near rush.

“Donna, wait,” Harvey manages to finally find his words, shaken out of the daze he had found himself in just moments before.

She stops just short of the door that led them inside her building, copper hair flowing slightly in the the cool breeze of the night.

“I thought you needed some time.” He begins tentatively, trying to measure his words carefully, not wanting to say the wrong thing in the moment, knowing they were still toeing a fine line.

“So did I.” She breathes out, stepping toward him in slow measured steps, stopping when she’s just short of a foot away from him.

Harvey feels himself swallowing, the light from the street lamps catching her eyes just so, making them twinkle with mischief and mirth.

“Donna,” Her name is honey on his tongue, eyes searching her own, trying to decipher her intentions.

“Harvey,” She echoes back, a coy smile on her lips, stepping just an inch closer to him.

“I thought- you said you needed time, to process things, process us.”

A sigh escapes her, and she looks down for a second before looking back into his kind eyes. “You were right, we’ve already wasted too much time.” She tells him softly.

He shakes his head. “Yeah, but, I don’t want to rush you, rush us,” he’s quick to clarify, “If you need more time, I understand. I know I told you otherwise at first, but this is a pretty big step for us.”

“Harvey, we’ve played around with this for thirteen years now, closing on fourteen, I think we’ve had too much time already.”

She’s mere centimeters away from him now, and he feels his body grow hot suddenly, the cool air around them doing nothing to dilute the heat he feels filtering in and around him. “I don’t want this to- I don’t want you to regret anything. And I don’t want you to think I can’t wait for you while you think this through, while you process-”

Her lips are on him, warm and soft against his own. A sigh escapes him, arms wrapping around her on reflect, keeping her close. Before either has a chance to deepen the kiss, she’s pulling back, softly biting down on his lower lip, bringing out a low groan from him.

“Look, I know what I said earlier, but,” she licks her lips, his taste still lingering on her, “I really, really, need you. Right now.”

His throat bobs, eyes dilating as her low and sultry voice reaches him, making his blood rush south. “Are- are you sure?” He asks her, needing for her to clarify.

“Harvey, take me inside.” Donna whispers, voice laden with need and impatience.

He nods dumbly. “Okay.”

He shuts the door with her body, their lips fused together in a tight lock. His hands are roaming through every inch of her, trying and failing to get as close to her as possible. Their coats come off simultaneously, their hands making quirk work of his dress shirt next, lips never parting. She rakes her hands down his bare chest then, nails scratching his abs, a grin forming on her lips when she feels his muscles contracting beneath her.

Harvey turns her around suddenly, hands finding the zipper of her dress, beginning a slow descent, his lips latching onto her exposed skin, sucking on her shoulder blade and neck, anywhere he could find.

“Harvey…” A low moan escapes her, eyes closing out of her own volition, his lips finding that one particular spot on her neck that has her quivering in his arms already.

He presses one last kiss against her freckled skin, the zipper of her dress now all the way down and she immediately shrugs out of it, the material pooling at her feet. She kicks the black dress away, stepping out of her heels in the process.

She turns around to look at him, catches his eyes mapping out the length of her body, dilated and clouded over with arousal and pure unadulterated need.

“You’re- so beautiful.” He breathes out in wonder, his eyes finally meeting her own.

Her heart suddenly jumps a beat, his words having a bigger effect on her than she would like to admit. When he doesn’t move, she takes a step toward him, grabbing his hands and placing them on her bare hips. “Harvey, take me to bed.”

His arms are around her in a flash, guiding her legs around him, hands supporting her weight as he lifts her up, carrying her to her bedroom, a loud gasp leaving her lips at his spontaneous action.

“Impressed?” He breathes against her, guiding her to her room.

“Hmm, more like surprised. You pulled that same move last time, mister.” She teases.

A low chuckle escapes him, reaching her bed and gently depositing her on it, looming over her. “I promise,” he begins softly, hand tracing down her body, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake, “this time,” he kisses her neck, followed by her cheek, until he reaches her lips, “will be better.”

His bare chest is molded to her back, arms surrounding her naked body, pulled closely against his own.

“Hey, there,” he whispers, lips meeting her clavicle, “you asleep yet?”

“Hmm, you didn’t tire me out that much, Specter.” She chuckles.

His own chuckle leaves his lips, low and vibrating against her back. “I’m not done with you yet.” He whispers against her ear, pleased at the way he feels her shivering in his arms.

She turns around then, her eyes meeting him in the dark of her room. “Look at you all smug,” she pinches his cheek, her grin mirroring his own, Cheshire Cat-like and annoyingly adorable.

Harvey places a kiss against the inside of her wrist, a low hum following. “Tonight was amazing.” He tells her softly.

Her features soften at his words, a small smile playing on her lips. “Yeah, it was.” She still feels her body tingling, aching in all the right places, a heat radiating through every inch of her lithe figure.

“You were particularly amazing.” He pulls her toward him, making her turn in his arms until she was fully facing him.

“And you had a couple of tricks up your sleeve.” Donna tells him, voice impressed.

He wiggles his eyebrows comically, and she lets a loud laugh leave her lips. It was amazing, surreal, honestly, how much things had changed in the last couple of weeks, the last couple of hours in particular. When she had woken up that morning, alone in her bed, after another near sleepless night, she expected to be sleeping in a different bed that night, in another city, miles away from him.

But here she was now, wrapped up in his arms, naked, teasing each other like they used to, except more.

“What are you thinking?” He asks her quietly, hand trailing up and down her arm.

“Hmm?”

“I can hear you thinking pretty loudly there, Donna. You okay?”

She almost laughs at how concerned he sounds. The fact that she’s in bed with her best friend of thirteen years, the man she loves, the man she’s been in love with for the better part of those years, nearly convinced he didn’t love her in the same way, will forever rival any other moment she faces in her life.

“I’m just,” she lets out a small sigh, closing her eyes for a moment, relishing in the warmth that radiated from his skin, “really happy, Harvey.”

A slow smile creeps on him, eyes crinkling as he watches her. Her hair is a tangled mess, yet still flowing down in waves, her pale skin is flushed and her eyes are bright. He doesn’t think she’s ever looked more beautiful.

“Good,” he whispers, leaning over to place a chaste kiss on her lips, “I am too.”

They settle into a comfortable silence, their lips meeting each other lazily between staring each other in the dark, like first time lovers, doing everything they could to take in every moment.

“So… you still going to take some time off?” Harvey muses after a few seconds.

“That depends… do you think you can take some time off too?” She trails a manicured finger up his chest, her eyes landing on his, doe-eyed and innocent-like.

“I think I can manage a day or two.” He murmurs, shifting to pull her closer to him, body aligning his perfectly.

She tangles her legs in his, seeking even more contact with him. “I mean, we do have a lot of catching up to do.”

“Thirteen years worth.” He whispers against her lips, words holding more weight in them than either expected.

“Thank you.” She finds herself telling him.

His forehead knits in confusion. “For what?”

“For going after me, tonight.” Her words are low, almost shy.

His whole demeanor softens, a sigh leaving his lips. “You don’t have to thank me for that,” he swallows back the guilt that kept building up in him, “I’m just glad I wasn’t too late.”

“No,” she reaches her hand up, caressing his cheek, “you were right on time.”

#darvey #darvey fic #donna x harvey #author: ali #prompt #rated t #one shot

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reeleev · 6 years

Text

Lying Next to Yoo - JooKi/Kiheon

Summary: Throughout the years, Jooheon and Kihyun have learned many things about each other… the most important being the best way to accommodate the other’s sleeping position.Or the debut to current era Jooki fic no one realized they needed ‘till now, hehe~

Word Ct: 1443

AO3 Link

It’s all a haze for Kihyun.

He remembers his name being called, going up on the pedestal to stand next to Jooheon, the confetti bursting out all around them. He doesn’t remember much after that, though. Not how he got off the stage, the ride back to the dorm, or coming to sit with everyone on the living room floor now.

The others sit around them, each cupping mugs of tea or bottles of beer. Their eyes are trained on the floor, as if it’s too much work to look up. He notices Changkyun isn’t in the room, the faint sound of the shower running filling the air. He’s about 99% sure the rapper isn’t taking a shower, though. He often pretends to shower when he just needs to be alone to cry.

“We ought to go to bed,” Hyunwoo suddenly pipes up, his voice subdued. Kihyun glances at the downtrodden face of each of the other trainees.

No, members. We’re all members from now on. Members of the same group. The same group that’s set to debut…

The faces of each of their fellow trainees doomed to remain in that awful purgatory between the life of an idol and a citizen flash before the vocalist’s eyes then, and before he knows it he’s standing to leave the room. He escapes to a bedroom, any bedroom. It doesn’t really matter, as they’ve all switched beds accidentally on multiple occasions. He changes into a spare sleep shirt and shorts the he finds on a top bunk and slides into the bunk beneath it. The clothes feel a bit too big, so they’re likely Hyungwon’s or Minhyuk’s, but it doesn’t matter. He knows neither will mind.

He doesn’t look when he hears footsteps enter the bedroom. He already knows he’s in a bed that’s not his, as he sleeps on a top bunk, but he’s too exhausted to go up to the top tonight. Guilt and fatigue drag down his very breath as it moves from the air to his lungs.

He hears a long sigh behind it, and the shifting of clothes before someone crawls in beside him. A pair of pudgy arms wrap around his waist, and he feels the top of a snapback pressing into the middle of his back.

“For the first time since I was asked to join No.Mercy,” Jooheon’s voice mumbles, barely audible, “I’m wondering if I really deserve all this. I just betrayed my best friend tonight, not to mention all the others that have left before him… Should I really be rewarded, hyung? Should it be me?”

Kihyun feels tears prick at his eyes once more, similar to how they had earlier that night when he’d been chosen for debut. He turns on his other side, cradling the younger in his arms after pulling the cap off his black hair. He tosses the hat to the side and brushes Jooheon’s askew hair back in place.

“You’ve worked hard, Jooheonney,” Kihyun assures the younger easily. “You deserve to debut. You’ve earned your place here.” Jooheon doesn’t say anything, he just snuggles closer to Kihyun in silent thanks.

The two fall asleep like that, in each other’s arms, both craving comfort and reprieve from the guilt they doubt will ever leave them.

The next morning, Kihyun awakens with an awful crick in his neck. Judging by the light in the room, he’s woken up a bit earlier than usual. He stifles a sigh and turns on his other side, wanting to go back to sleep as soon as possible. The company’s given them a couple of free days to lick their wounds and come to terms with the fact that they actually will be debuting, so Kihyun has made it his mission to take advantage of the uncharacteristic show of mercy.

However, as he turns, he feels a pair of arms holding him in place. He glances down and sees Jooheon’s arms are the ones clamped around him. It’s a surprisingly strong grip, considering who it is. He wouldn’t be as surprised if this were Hyunwoo or Hoseok, but Jooheon—and a sleeping Jooheon at that?

Jooheon’s plump lips contort into a small pout, and he grumbles something about food before settling back down atop Kihyun’s chest. Kihyun sighs, brushing Jooheon’s short bangs off his forehead before shifting to climb over the younger and into the kitchen. If Jooheon is already talking about food, then it’s only a matter of time before he fully awakens and begins to consciously grumble about sustenance.

He manages the maneuver with only a little trouble and pads his way to the kitchen on bare feet, releasing a shaking breath as he rubs the back of his neck. He’d slept in a position he isn’t used to due to having to share a bed. He can’t complain, though, as the bed isn’t technically even his to begin with.

Kihyun peeks into the living room, where Changkyun had slept the night before. The youngest, their new maknae, seems to still be asleep. Though, he isn’t quite sure, as he isn’t as accustomed to discerning the telltale signs of consciousness as he is with the others. He chews on his cheek as he continues on his mission to the kitchen, meek bitterness still eating at his heart.

He knows he and the others had treated Changkyun poorly when he’d first joined them, but he’s really been making an effort to correct the error since… despite still not being entirely sure if the rapper had been promised debut before getting onto No.Mercy or not. Jooheon had assured him that the company didn’t give the younger any kind of promise, and the news had even been broadcast as part of their touching heart-to-heart on the show itself.

Still, Kihyun can’t help but be suspicious.

Doesn’t matter now, anyway, Kihyun tells himself as he enters the kitchen. He meanders over to the fridge, opening it with a long sigh. Whether he was promised debut or not, he’s got it. We’ve all got it. Now, we just need to learn how to be idols… together.

“… Kihyun-ssi?”

Kihyun starts, whirling about at the subdued voice of the maknae in question. Changkyun rubs at his eyes, his hood pulled over his hair, making his acne scars barely visible.

“Is anyone else up?” Changkyun asks. Kihyun shakes his head, and Changkyun nods himself before turning to shuffle off, probably to the bathroom.

“You know,” Kihyun says, keeping his voice low so as to keep from disturbing the others, “you can start calling me ‘hyung’… We’ll all have to start getting used to each other now.” Changkyun doesn’t turn around, but Kihyun sees clearly the way his tense shoulders drop.

“Okay… hyung,” the rapper says, and then he hurries from the conversation. Kihyun glances down, feeling defeated. He knows he’s done the right thing, as Changkyun needs to start feeling much more comfortable around himself and the others as soon as possible, but it’s still too soon. The loss of all his friends is still too fresh. And, even though he knows it’s wrong, he can’t help but somehow blame Changkyun for all of it…

But, Jooheon’s been on him about doing just this, and he knows this is what needs to happen…

Kihyun shakes his head at himself as he returns his gaze to the fridge, coming up with a haphazard menu for their breakfast.

Unbeknownst to him, Jooheon is standing just around the corner. A fond smile pulls at his lips, gazing in the direction of the vocalist. He’d been trying to get Kihyun to start trying to get over his hurt feelings regarding Changkyun as soon as possible. After all, when the lead vocalist accepts the maknae, then his same-age friend will begin doing the same, and the others will have no choice but to follow the mood-maker’s lead.

Jooheon chuckles under his breath, shoving his hands into his hoodie pockets as he shuffles to the living room to lie on the bottom bunk until Kihyun finishes cooking. He’d help, but he’s absolutely hopeless in the kitchen, so he’ll just help out with the cleanup after to thank the older.

As he relaxes, he can’t help the small, painful intake of breath that escapes him. He shuts his eyes against the morning light, pouting.

Though, for some reason, he can’t bring himself to blame Kihyun for his pain, despite it being the older’s laziness that had driven them to sharing a bed the night before in the first place. The rapper sighs, shaking his head at how soft he is when it comes to that prideful hyung of his…

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inarichi · 7 years

Text

Free Writing 5.1

(previous part 5.0)

Opposites Attract 1.8k

His wearied footsteps reached the front of his apartment, and he brought his key to the keyhole to unlock the door. Immediately, his eyes fell on the lump of mass resting on his couch. He’d forgotten that Sehun would be staying the night at his place.

“Get up.” Jongin toed off his shoes near the entrance and walked towards the cabinet to pull out cat food. As he poured the dry food bits into a milano stainless steel bowl (with the word Princess etched onto it), Sehun’s groggy voice sailed to his ears.

“What time is it?” Sehun stretched his long limbs while releasing a high pitched squeal.

“Time for you to cook us dinner. You’re going to work for your stay.”

“I’m heartbroken here, and you’re asking me to cook?” Sehun placed a hand over his chest, feigning pain.

“You should have thought about that before asking to stay over. And, I’m not asking, I’m telling.” Pinchy’s scrawny frame slithered around his ankle and Jongin picked her from the floor, cooing. Sehun rolled his eyes. “I like salmon by the way.” Jongin added before heading to his bedroom to change clothes.

“One oily fish coming right up!” Sehun yelled as he agitatedly moved a hand through his hair.

“It’s not that bad.”

Jongin poked at the dried out, overly cooked fish on his plate. “You burnt it.” he deadpanned, placing a pile of rice in his mouth to overshadow the crispy taste.

“Your kittens are staring at me.”

Jongin glanced behind him where his pink, cuddly kitten calendar was proudly perched on the wall. “Yeah, well, they’re mad at your poor attempt at cooking fish.”

“In my defense, I never said I could cook. And it’s not like it’s inedible.” Sehun casually shrugged. “What I mentioned earlier, I really meant it.”

“About what?” Jongin asked, looking down at his plate and forking over the asparagus.

“About you getting laid, man. How long has it been? A year or so?”

“My sex life is none of your concern.”

“It is when you’re being uptight and a prick. You seem even more moodier than usual and I didn’t think that was possible.”

“I think the homeless shelters are still accepting people, I’m sure they have enough room for you as well.” Jongin smiled.

“I’m just saying. Jongin, what’s wrong? You’re not your usual self?”

Jongin sighed and shook his head. He didn’t have a profound reason as to why he seemed moodier lately, he simply just didn’t want to be around people these days. Work bogged him down along with the demand from his parents to get married. Pinchy was sick earlier in the week. There was too much life happening and not enough time for him to keep up.

“Nothing’s wrong, I’m fine.”

Sehun eyed him suspiciously, but refrained from prying further. “If you say so...Hey, isn’t your company hosting a dinner party this weekend?”

“Yeah, and I have to be there...around…people.” Jongin quivered at the thought. What he wouldn’t give for an excuse to miss the social event. It was stupid really, having to dress in formal clothing while standing around talking to old farts, who did nothing but steal glances at younger women and talk about their “new money” wealth. If Jongin was going to survive the night, he wasn’t going to do it sober, he thought.

“Well, I can come with you, to make it less demanding.” Sehun offered. Jongin contemplated his words for a brief moment before disapprovingly shaking his head.

“No. I rather go alone.”

“Suit yourself then.”

They continued their dinner immersed in small talk about everyday things. Although Jongin hated people, Sehun had wormed his way into his unwelcoming life and he was slowly growing accustomed to his presence. He’d hate to admit that Sehun’s blunt nature was something he appreciated. There were no broken promises as of yet, and if the former couldn’t do something, he was honest about it.

Sehun was proving to be more trusting and dependable. Jongin smiled to himself because what of the irony. Here this man was, oblivious to his hate for people, yet, he was the very reason Jongin hadn’t given up on humanity entirely. There’s still hope, he thought. And maybe, deep inside, he wanted to hope.

***

The company car pulled up and Jongin stepped out the vehicle dressed pristine and clad in a three piece designer suit. The dinner required formal attire and he knew better than to wear a cheap knock off. Most of the men inside the establishment screamed of money and could smell a bad suit a mile away.

He sauntered down the short red carpet, through the automatic double doors, and was instantly met with the grand hall of pricey embellishments. The golden-crystal chandelier hung haughtily above and there were numerous paintings perched on the walls.

His shined gators took him further inside until he saw the last person he ever wanted to see. Promptly, Jongin made a 180 degree turn on his heels and dipped behind a few executives with a charming smile. However, his efforts were all for nothing when Chanyeol stalked up to him moments later.

He cursed under his breath.

“Jongin! Is that you? What are you doing here?” Chanyeol’s smile was wide and forced. Jongin simply rolled his eyes. Chanyeol knew he would be here.

“My company is hosting this event, so the real question would be, what are you doing here?” He raised a brow, and Chanyeol cleared his throat.

“Well, I was invited by one of the chief executives and I just simply couldn’t turn it down.” Jongin searched around the room for any means to escape his current predicament, he didn’t want to speak with Chanyeol, at all.

He loathed people like Chanyeol the most. The fake chipper attitude was stale and overdid, he could see right through his facade and discern that he was a leech. Chanyeol latched onto people for their money and wealth, and after having his fill, he left them hanging out to dry. Jongin knew him the best of course, he was his ex-fiance, after all.

“It was nice talking to you, I have other people to greet.” Jongin kept with professional gestures and bowed slightly because no matter how bad he despised Chanyeol, keeping up appearances was just as important.

“But wait I--” Jongin slipped through the crowd quickly leaving the other behind. He was relieved to finally be rid of his reason for blaring migraines and searing heartaches.

Upon his arrival near the reserved seating area, he caught sight of one of his colleagues in the company, Baekhyun.

“Jongin! That suit, Brioni?” Baekhyun asked, twirling his champagne glass before taking a sip.

“Yes, you always know.”

“That’s because you’re so predictable.” Baekhyun briefly chortled. “I know you don’t usually attend events like this, so what made you come this time?”

“My dad was hounding me about it, and well, I need to keep up appearances.”

“Hmm, is that right? I suppose you’re talking to me for that very same reason, yeah?” Baekhyun’s smiled faltered a bit.

Jongin swallowed thickly, because it was true. He never talked to his colleagues unless it was absolutely necessary. The only reason he was even speaking with Baekhyun, was to seem as though he was being friendly and keeping connections, and not standing idly in the room. However, Baekhyun had always been sharp, and that was one thing Jongin admired about him.

His lack of response prompted Baekhyun to continue, “It’s not a crime to want to keep up appearances Jongin, but I would like to think that you would consider me a friend. Even though we aren’t as close as we used to be.” That made Jongin’s heart drop slightly. It wasn’t his intention to push Baekhyun away. After his horrible break up with Chanyeol, he simply couldn't stand being around anyone, and within that frame of time, he folded in on himself deciding that people and emotions were a waste of time.

Suddenly, an eruption of laughter caught his and Baekhyun’s attention and they looked toward the source of the humor. There was a small circle of people crowding around one man, seemingly entertained by his stories and listening intently to his words. Another round of chuckles and pats on the back in hilarity were given and Jongin zoned in his gaze.

When he could discern who the person was, Baekhyun had beat him to the punch, as though he could read his mind.

“Do Kyungsoo, huh? I had no idea he would be here.” Baekhyun took another sip from his glass.

“You know him?” Jongin’s asked, curious.

“Who doesn’t know him? He’s a pretty great guy.”

Jongin’s eyes widened because so far, Kyungsoo had proven to be nothing but a disappointment, and he hated people who seemed to be that way. Showing up late to a meeting did not sit very well with him, and not to mention the fact that he was trying to bribe him with a rolex.

“What’s so great about him?” Jongin asked. Baekhyun side glanced at him from the subtle bitterness in his tone.

“He’s intelligent, funny, outgoing and positive. There’s nothing to not like about him. If I wasn’t in a relationship already, I’d go for him myself. He’s very much gay and isn’t ashamed to let that be known. It’s admiring in a way.”

Jongin staggered back. He had no idea the accountant was gay. This was a turn of events he hadn't been expecting.

“Aren’t you looking for someone to date? You can try dating Kyungsoo, I’m sure you guys would hit it off pretty well.”

“I’ve already decided that I don’t like him. So no, we wouldn’t be hitting it off unless we're in a fist fight.”

“Woah... what’s got your boxers in a rut? Why don’t you like him?”

“He showed up late to our first meeting and then tried to bribe me with a rolex. He thought he could pull one on me!”

“Did he say why he was late?”

“No, I wouldn’t let him.”

“Did he try to sell you the rolex? Or was he giving advice about your clothes? He’s really into fashion.”

“He was telling me about a watch that would further ‘complement’ my suit. I mean, if that’s not trying to sell a product, what is?”

“So let me get this straight. He showed up late and you didn’t allow him to explain himself, and then he gave you advice about a rolex that would complement your attire.” Jongin nodded with pursed lips. Baekhyun shook his head. “Jongin, you’re too much.”

“What?” He gasped.

“The guy did nothing and you’re sitting here holding a grudge, it’s quite childish really. I didn’t know you could be this petty.” Jongin looked affronted, voice caught in his throat from the insult. “Look, Kyungsoo really is a nice guy and maybe he had a reason for being late, and whenever he’s on about fashion and accessories, its sincere. It’s one of his hobbies. So stop holding this silly grudge and give the guy a second chance. I’m sure you guys would come to like each other.” Baekhyun patted his back leaving the brooding and silent Jongin behind as he walked toward the group of people.

#kaisoo #kai #jongin #kyungsoo #ksoo #kaisoo fanfic #free writing #drabble #yall i cackle everytime i read the cats name #like pinchy wtf inari #sookai #kadi #dika #mine oneshot

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littleshebear · 7 years

Text

Destiny fanfiction; Little Bird, part 2.

Wrote the first part of this for Destiny Week’s NPC prompt but I felt it warranted more. Thanks to @canam77 for the late night/early morning proof read! <3

Part one.

A03 link.

“But then we got to talking about the City and the Walls and how we're all going to die and the nine hundred things that want to wipe us out. And I realized he's actually much scarier than most people give him credit for."

- Amanda Holliday.

“I can help!”

“No!” Amanda’s mother lifted her into the transport and pushed her none-too-gently inside. “You’ll stay in here, you’ll keep your head down and you’ll keep quiet. Do you understand? Do not step outside unless I tell you.”

“Okay, Mom.” Amanda nodded before her mother placed a kiss on her forehead.

“We’ll get this thing moving again, we’ll be out of here in no time, you’ll see. Love you, Li’l Bird.”

With that, her mother was gone, gone to help fix this gods-forsaken transport that decided to break down in the middle of Fallen territory. Amanda lay down on the floor of the transport, in a fetal position. The other kids were hiding in here with her, most of the grown-ups had grabbed weapons to help defend the caravan. She heard a Dreg shriek in the distance.

“They’re coming,” one of them whimpered, his breath coming in sharp gasps. There was a sudden whiff of ammonia; one of them had wet themselves. Amanda lay her face against the floor, pieces of grit and dirt pressing into her cheek. She wouldn’t tremble, she wouldn’t cry. She certainly wouldn’t piss her pants. She was a Holliday, and that meant she had to be brave.

She heard a creak, then clanging and creaking noises. That must be them opening the hood and working to repair the transport. It wasn’t long before other noises became apparent. Gunshots, shouts that turned to screams. One sound stood out. It wasn’t a cracking sound like most of the other guns, it was a low boom, almost like a thud. The Chaperone. Her mother was fighting. The Dregs must be close. There was a thump, the hood closing. Amanda felt shuddering vibrations through the floor as the transport’s engine sputtered into life. There was more yelling, urgent and frantic, (“That’s it, go, go, go!”). She heard the shriek of a Dreg right beside her, no, not beside her, they hadn’t been able to get inside, not yet. It must have been right on the other side of the chassis from her. Amanda screamed and shielded her face with her arm as glass above her shattered. The wretched creature was trying to get in through the window. There was another blast from the Chaperone, then more shrieks. Amanda couldn’t tell if they were the Dreg’s, human or her own.

Amanda finally heard the doors of the transport swing open and a group of pilgrims clambered aboard. They were pale, sweating and reeking of fear. She pushed herself up from the floor to look out for her mother among the mass of bodies squeezing through the door. She finally spotted her but she wasn’t on her feet. She was being dragged aboard, limp as a rag doll. There was smoke rising from a black, sooty mark on her chest.

“Momma!” Amanda wakes with a start, breathing heavily. Her skin is cold and clammy, her bed sheets are soaking wet. She pushes herself up onto her elbow, listening out to see if any of her dorm-mates have woken. There’s the odd grunt or whimper but the ensuing silence tells Amanda that she managed not to completely wake anyone up. She gingerly eases herself out of bed and tip-toes over to her footlocker and carefully pulls out her shoes and a jacket. She shivers as she pulls on her jacket, the garment pressing her damp pyjamas against her skin.

She pads towards the window, shoes in hand. Her heart is beating so hard in the aftermath of the nightmare, she’s half convinced that it must be loud enough to wake everyone else in the dorm. She knows it’s a risk sneaking out like this but she can’t let them know how much the nightmares get to her. She can’t let them know she barely sleeps, that she can still smell the cordite and burning flesh as though it were happening right in front of her. She can’t let them know that certain sounds or smells send her right back there. She can’t let them know that every time they go to the City bazaars, the smell of cooking meat makes her want to vomit. She needs air. She needs space. It’s stifling in here.

Amanda carefully eases the window open, the hinges squeak slightly. She’ll have to see about procuring some oil before that gets any worse. She places her shoes carefully on the ledge outside before wriggling through the gap. The windows don’t open very far but for now, she’s small enough to get through. She sits on the ledge and slips on her shoes and drops down onto a dumpster and then onto the street.

She wanders the streets for a while, finding them just as overbearing and repressive as the orphanage dorm. She eventually decides to head for the Tower. She knows she’s probably not meant to be there at the best of times but at least she’ll be able to see the sky. She can vaguely remember an elevator that they took last time, during that ill-fated raid on Executor Hideo.

A group of laughing Guardians spill out from what she thinks is the right elevator. At least, she thinks it’s the right elevator. Everything looks different in the dark. She waits until they’re well clear before slipping through the doors. She stands on her toes and presses the top number. That looks promising. When the doors open, she sighs with relief as she feels the cool breeze on her face. She takes a deep breath before venturing out. She glances back and forth before dashing up the steps and across the plaza. She notices an open area towards the back of the plaza, through a large gate. She heads for it, sticking to the darkness so that the few people still out and about on the plaza can’t see her. She slips past the gate and and gasps when she sees what’s in front of her.

The light of the Traveler casts a silver hue on manicured lawns, long, rectangular ponds and large trees at the end of a paved promenade. That isn’t what gains Amanda’s attention though. At the far end of the this little park there’s a railing and nothing but open space, the mountains and sky, so much sky. She ambles down the path, eschewing the seating on either side in favour of sitting on the edge, her feet dangling down over the Tower.

Amanda rests her arms on the railings, plonks her chin on her hands and gazes out across the landscape. They were so close. If that transport hadn’t broken down there and then, if that Fallen had shot at someone else, if they’d been faster. Maybe if Momma had let Amanda help with the repairs, they’d have got moving more quickly -

Amanda’s view of the landscape blurs as the tears that have been threatening ever since tonight’s nightmare overtake her. It’s all right, she can cry here, there’s no one to see. There’s no one to see that she isn’t being as brave as a Holliday should be.

***

Zavala tells himself that he can manage one more report before calling it a night but the crick in his neck and tension in his shoulders tell him that’s probably a lie. The stream of titans seeking his advice had slowed to a trickle before stopping completely. They have better things to do, no doubt down in the City, in the Blustery Brew. It’s time to turn in. He straightens up and winces suddenly as he feels something on the periphery of his senses.

“I told you,” intones Ikora from the other end of the table.

“Told me what?” Replies Zavala.

“You’ll throw your back out if you keep hunching like that,” she replies with a smirk.

“It’s not my back, it’s…” Zavala trails off, pinching the bridge of his nose, homing in on the painful sensation on the edge of his consciousness. He looks up at the ceiling. It’s above him, it’s right above him. “Do you hear that?”

Ikora frowns and tips her head to the side. “Hear what?”

“It’s very faint, it’s…” It’s then he realises what he’s hearing and why Ikora can’t sense it. Ikora’s attunement to the Light is second to none but this isn’t the Light. This is another mind, crying out in such distress that it doesn’t care who else hears. It’s desperate, unfiltered. It’s human.

“It’s nothing.” He is reasonably certain Ikora won’t believe him when he says this but he fears he’s inadvertently intruded upon some private grief he had no business hearing. “I’m just tired. Good night.”

“Good night, Commander,” Ikora replies as Zavala makes his way out of the Vanguard Hall. She can’t disguise the curiosity in her voice. “See you in the morning.”

Zavala jogs up the steps to the plaza. Instead of heading towards the Guardian apartments he does an about-face and heads towards Traveler’s Walk. He makes his way down the paved path toward the source of the mental anguish that so disturbed his concentration. He discerns a tiny figure at the end of the promenade. They’re sitting right at the edge of the paving. A child. They’re small, they can’t be any older than ten, certainly small enough to slip through those railings. He lengthens his stride to reach them, they shouldn’t be up here by themselves. He clears his throat in an attempt to make his presence known without startling them.

The little one gasps and turns, revealing glistening eyes and puffy, tear-stained cheeks. Zavala feels a wave of fear wash over him, like cold needles pricking all over his skin. It only lasts a fraction of a second, before the crushing sadness returns.

He holds his hand out, “Come away from the edge, child.”

“I won’t fall.” There’s still fear in her voice but there’s a hint of defiance that Zavala can’t help but admire.

“Even so.” He beckons. “Humour me.”

She gets to her feet awkwardly and shuffles over to him. “I know. I’m not meant to be up here.”

“You’re really not, not at this hour. Not alone.” Zavala studies her properly. “We’ve met before.” He says it as a statement, not a question.

She flushes deeply and nods, still not meeting his gaze. “Me and my friends were…” She pauses to remember the right words, “We wanted to redist- Redrib- Redristrib…” She sighs before abandoning the euphemism. “We were stealing from Executor Hideo.” She finally looks up at him. “It wasn’t my idea.”

Zavala’s Ghost appears at his shoulder and speaks privately to him, Amanda Holliday. Unaccompanied minor. Arrived and registered at the City Refugee Service 23 days ago.

Unaccompanied minor, Zavala replies. You mean she’s an orphan. She doesn’t have anyone?

No one claimed her, no, Izanami states sadly. “Amanda, is it?” Zavala asks her.

The child’s gaze flickers uncertainly between Zavala and his Ghost before nodding.

“What are you doing up here on your own?

She shrugs. “I snuck out.” She mumbles an addendum, “I wanted to see the sky.”

Zavala frowns, seeking a further explanation.

“The dorm is really stuffy.”

“You just wanted some air? That’s it?”

Amanda nods. She’s clearly resisting it but her face soon crumples. Zavala places a gentle hand on her shoulder and steers her towards one of the benches set-up beneath the trees in their planters. Amanda settles herself on the seat, pulls her knees to her chest and sobs.

Zavala closes his eyes and visualises a wall behind his eyes. There are times he pities humans’ and exos’ inability to sense the feelings of others but this is not one of them. Once the tumult in his head has quieted, he opens his eyes to regard the little girl seated at his side.

“It’s all right,” he says softly. In his long years in service to the City, he’s seen this many times before. There’s a strange bravado in refugees, in orphans in particular. A desire to prove their self-sufficiency.. “I won’t tell anyone you cried.” She swipes the back of her hand across her eyes and then her nose, sniffling loudly. “I just had a bad dream. That’s all.”

“Do the bad dreams happen a lot?” Amanda shrugs, replying with a strained voice. “I miss my mom.” “She died on the Road? I’m sorry.” He takes a deep breath, “I don’t know what to tell you. I don’t remember my mother.”

“I could have helped,” Amanda whimpers mournfully, “Our transport broke down, it held up the whole caravan. The Fallen came. I could have helped - “

“No.”

“I’m good at fixing things -”

“Stop it.” “If I’d got out to help-”

“Amanda. Stop. Your mother was protecting you.”

Amanda tries to take a deep breath but her it catches in her throat. “I can take care of myself.” Zavala places a hand on her shoulder and gives it a tentative squeeze. “You don’t have to. You’re allowed to have a childhood here.”

Amanda looks up at him expectantly. “Because the Walls will keep all the bad stuff out?”

“I hope so.”

Amanda frowns, “What?”

“I hope the Walls will keep the Darkness at bay. I can’t guarantee it.”

Amanda’s tears dry up sheer through sheer force of surprise. “What? No. The Walls keep the bad stuff out!”

Zavala nods. “That’s what they’re meant to do, yes.”

Amanda gapes. “That’s not how you’re meant to talk to kids!”

“How is one meant to talk to kids?”

Amanda gasps, nonplussed. “You’re meant to tell them that it’s all going to be okay, that everything is going to be all right!”

“Ah. ” Said Zavala. “You want me to lie?”

“No…” Amanda splutters, “You just...what?”

“You know what’s out there,” He replies calmly. “You’ve seen it. What would be the point in me telling you that the monsters aren’t real?” Amanda gapes up at him, blinking several times in disbelief. “I won’t lie. I don’t believe in lying. Lying leads to impossibility of truth so here it is. The monsters are real. The Walls are not infallible.”

“Is this supposed to stop me having nightmares?” Amanda asks incredulously. “No. I know how scary they are but…” Zavala kneels in front of her and takes her tiny, trembling hands in his.. “...I’m way scarier.” “What do you mean?” Amanda asks in a tiny voice. “The Fallen, the Vex, the Hive, the Cabal, they could breach the wall tomorrow and it wouldn’t matter to you. Do you know why?” Amanda shakes her head, curling her little fingers around his. “They won’t get to you. They have to come through me first.”

#Commander Zavala #Amanda holliday #bb!Amanda #cw: PTSD #cw: childhood trauma #canon typical violence #Zavala is tower dad #Awoken telepathy shenanigans #destiny fanfiction #my writing

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