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emptymasks · 3 years

Text

Finding something worth taking

Pairing: Erik / Raoul de Chagny

Words: 7401

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Read on Ao3 @ emptymasks (can’t link it or tumblr will block this post)

Notes: Prompt from an anonymous asker in @fallenidolandfalsefriend ‘s askbox. I do not know who you are but thank you for the idea. And thank you Fi for giving me your blessing to use a prompt you got.

Summary: "Well, what do we have here?" The man had to bend considerably to fit through the doorway of the carriage, neck bending harshly against the ceiling as he towered over Raoul. "Such a pretty little thing all alone so late at night. Some little lord? Surely nothing more important with no one here to protect you-"

"A Vicomte, thank you very much. And I need no one's protection other than my own," Raoul was retorting before he could stop himself.

"Someone with some spirit. How... refreshing. Well, little Vicomte. What do you have for me?"

(Alternate title: 5 times Erik robbed Raoul's carriage, and 1 time he got more than he intended to steal.)

Moonlight flickered in and out between the barren branches of the trees that lined either side of the road, light cascading against Raoul's cheeks in small glimpses before being snatched away again. The wheels of the carriage rolled smoothly against the dirt road, only occasionally bumping over some small stone.

It was quiet. Perhaps too quiet.

The lack of birds and wildlife scurrying about and crying was not unusual in the winter months, but even still...

"I know it's a shortcut you seem most fond of gazing at when it's in bloom, but Raoul I would caution you about going down that way. The cold tends to bring out all sorts of vagrants and miscreants," Philippe, his older brother, had warned him before he left.

Raoul felt a little awful for it, but the idea of some danger only had made him more intrigued. He had no death wish, of course not. But as a child he'd been so drawn to stories of fantasy, of pirates, of vigilantes on horseback. He remembered his uncle telling him stories of the famed highwayman Dick Turpin after Raoul's parents had gone to bed and the two of them would sneak downstairs and sit by the fire.

The curiosity was starting to twist a little in Raoul's stomach as they continued down the road. It would only be a minute or so before they would turn off the wooded lane onto a more open road and then another few minutes more until the horses would be clattering against cobblestone and there'd be streetlamps craning overhead. Just a few minutes more.

Moonlight once against vanished from Raoul's face, but this time seemingly with a gust of wind as something seemed to fly right past the window. He slid against to the edge of the bench where it met the wall and pressed his cheek against the glass, straining his eyes as he tried to see to the front of the carriage. But he couldn't see anything. His blue eyes almost glowed with his blonde hair a dusty halo as the light glinted across his face.

Then all of a sudden a whiny broke out and Raoul wondered if one of his horses as the carriage came to an abrupt stop. He was about to rush out of the door when he heard the thud of something, or someone, landing on the ground. Perhaps Nicolas, his driver, was sorting out whatever had happened. Maybe there was a fox in the road.

But Raoul knew those footsteps were too quiet to be Nicolas'. It was as if the owner almost was skirting along the dirt, maybe billowing it up around his feet.

Raoul slunk back away from the window to the middle of the bench, his heart unsure whether to start pounding in his chest, or freeze like a stone.

The door to the carriage swung open to fast it almost swung all the way around and crashed against the outside wall.

A thing leg clad in a heavy black boot clacked against the wooden floor of the carriage. Then another one. And then a tall back mass slunk into the room, a great black cape billowing around him as he raised his arm to show the barrel of his gun. He had a black hat tipped against his head and an equally dark mask covering his entire face. There was something draping down the back of his hat that looked too odd to be hair. Fabric, that's what it was, an extra precaution to protect his identity?

He moved slowly, almost methodically, across the carriage. His long thin limbs cut darkness across the now moonlit full carriage as he craned his head around.

"Well, what do we have here?" The man had to bend considerably to fit through the doorway of the carriage, neck bending harshly against the ceiling as he towered over Raoul. "Such a pretty little thing all alone so late at night."

A gloved hand reached out and pressed itself harshly against Raoul's skin as a thumb griped his chin, index finger digging into the hollow of his cheek. Raoul could smell that the gloves were made of leather and the velvet voice that came from behind the dark mask made Raoul's heart finally decide it wanted to speed up.

"What are you then? Some little lord? Surely nothing more important with no one here to protect you-"

"A Vicomte, thank you very much. And I need no one's protection other than my own," Raoul was retorting before he could stop himself.

"Someone with some spirit. How... refreshing. Well, little Vicomte. What do you have for me?"

Raoul blinked up at him. Forgetting for a moment as the man withdrew his closeness what the man would want with him. He soon remembered how to move though as the man rolled his shoulder and his cape moved allowing the light of the moon streaming through the open door to catch against the silver of its cylinder. Raoul recognised the model of gun; A Chamelot-Delvigne 1873 revolver. It was the gun issued to all members of the French army, and back at home Raoul had hidden own slight variation of it from his time in the Navy.

If only he had brought it with him. Philippe had asked why he never carried it around with him and Raoul had said it was just a bit of a hassle to fit under his clothes. That had been a lie. Philippe would have called Raoul too sensitive and told him to grow up if he's replied with how his hands shook at the idea of having to hold that gun again.

Raoul slid his hands into the coat that was cast aside on his seat as the man sat down opposite him. He fumbled blindly to find his coat pocket, not wanting to take his eyes off the man, before finally clutching his coin pouch. The man seemed to perk up at the noise of the coins clinking together and quickly outstretched his hand. Raoul hesitated for a moment before dropped the coins into the stranger’s palm.

He watched as the man took the coins out, counting them and inspecting them.

"They're not fake coins," Raoul said, indignity.

"Oh forgive me," He could hear the man's smirk. "I didn't mean to offend your delicate pride." He chuckled and pouch vanished beneath his dark cloak.

"Anything else?" The man leaned forward, perching his elbows against his thighs.

"I'm not some pretty maiden with a neck full of pearls and jewels."

"Not a maiden no... But who knows what you'd look like draped in pearls."

"Must you tease me as well as steal from me?"

"It's hard not too when you flush so much. People either fear me or hate me, and yet you sit there talking back to me but making no attempt to stop me, with such a dusting of pink across your nose and cheeks."

Raoul didn't know how to respond to that. It surely couldn't be true and yet he could feel the heat on his face. Maybe it was just the excitement or adrenaline. Maybe he could make believe that it was, since it was unlikely he'd ever see this man again.

Oh god and what would be tell Philippe? He really didn't want an 'I told you do' talk when he arrived home. He could just not tell Philippe? And maybe he could convince Nicolas not to tell? They wouldn't want to worry Philippe, of course.

Lost in his worried thoughts, Raoul didn't notice how the man had gotten up.

"Wait, what's your name?" Raoul blurted out, causing the man to freeze, one of his feet already out of the door.

"Why," He snarled. "So you can try and report me?"

"I have would have very bad luck with that, considering I have no idea what you look like. I'm simply... curious."

"About my name?"

"About you."

The man blinked. Raoul could tell as the moonlight caught against the man's eyes as they tried to hide away with the mask, but they glowed almost golden. He looked all at once not like a fearsome thief, but a confused cat being offered a plate of milk as it sat shaking in an alleyway, pondering and pondering about what possible ulterior motive this could have.

"Erik," He said at last.

And before Raoul could respond the man hoped out of the carriage, shut the door behind and in mere seconds was riding back past the window in a flurry of shadow

-----

Nicolas had promised not to mention last week's unplanned stop to Philippe, worried that it might put him at risk of losing his job. But he hadn't been able to hide the fear from his eyes when Raoul asked them to go back down that road on his return from his next trip to the opera.

"But Monsieur what if he is there again? I've heard others talking. They call him The Phantom, for how he seemingly appears out of nowhere and disappears back into the night. They say his body is made of pure shadow."

"He won't harm you Nicolas, the worst he'll do is take my coin, and I have plenty of it to spare. I assure you he's just a mad made of flesh like you and I"

Nicolas had looked at him strangely, but knew Raoul well enough to not fruitlessly try to change his mind.

Raoul wondered if Erik would recognise the carriage. He'd seemed to have found Raoul strange, not that Raoul could blame him as he had been acting a little out of sorts but... he'd just been so intrigued, he couldn't explain it. But perhaps Raoul had embarrassed himself too much last time that Erik wouldn't approach them.

They were only half way down the road when Raoul felt the carriage come to a stop and his heart started beating harder in his chest.

The door opened delicately and Raoul's heart sank as he thought surely it must be Nicolas. But his vision was clouded in black and as the shape settled Raoul saw Erik's cape fall about his shoulders as he sank into the opposite bench.

He started at Raoul for so long Raoul wondered if he was being dared to speak first. Maybe Erik wanted him to explain himself. Well, he would have to wait then.

Eventually, which was really just a minute or so, Erik crossed his legs, annoyed and agitated.

"Why are you here again, little Vicomte?"

"Well," Raoul shifted in his seat. "I always prefer to take this route. It's more scenic. And it is technically a short-cut for me, so..."

"You forgot about me so quickly then," Erik said it with a tone of jest, but underneath Raoul sensed that thought it was true.

"No, of course I didn't forget you."

"Then why are you back here on my road? Did you think after one robbery I would let you pass a second time?"

"Actually I... What if I hoped that you would...?”

"That I would let you pass? Foolish boy-"

"No, I meant... I meant what if I hoped that you would show up. That we would meet again."

The black mask stared at him as two tiny pinpricks of gold vanished and returned.

"Why would you want that? Not taking pity on me, I hope. I'm not some sort of charity."

"Oh not at all. I have a feeling you wouldn't have any fun with that."

"What makes you think I'm having fun now?" Erik stood and lent over Raoul, his cape swinging down around them both.

"Well," Raoul's gaze flickered from between Erik's hand and his face. One of Erik's hands was pressing against the bench in the spot between his legs, his other hand supported against the wall next to Raoul's head.

"You haven't left yet," Raoul breathed out, as he remembered breathing was a thing he was supposed to be doing.

"I'm just waiting for my prize," Erik's voice was deep and Raoul swore he could feel hot breath from where Erik's mouth would be.

Oh god Raoul could feel himself swallow hard, hyper aware of where Erik's hand was and how close it was to his thigh even as Erik seemed to lean in closer. What prize was he talking about... For surely he couldn't mean...? He had called Raoul pretty last time, but that had surely been a jest? But he seemed to still be getting closer.

Raoul blinked as a jingling sound rang out at the side of his head. Oh. Right. The money. He could feel Erik's grin as Raoul shifted awkwardly, pulling on the bottom of his honey yellow waistcoat. His eyes shifted down.

"Your gloves have a hole in the thumb," Raoul said absentmindedly, eyes drawn to the pale skin peeking out from the dark leather.

Erik drew his hand back from the seat as though he was ashamed. "Erik tore it, he didn't mean to..." He muttered, voice becoming something almost childlike, as if he thought Raoul were scolding him. He seemed to realise it himself and his eyes flashed with anger.

"What is it to you anyway?" He hissed, yet still hiding his hand from Raoul's view.

"Nothing, I'm only..." Only what? Was he just curious? Or concerned?

Why was Erik reacting like that anyway? Raoul was only trying to be polite. Kind. Was that odd? He supposed in his line of work Erik wasn't used to kindness. The only people he interacted with would be those who he robbed and why would they show him kindness. So why was Raoul showing him kindness.

It was unexplainable. There was something about Erik that Raoul just felt drawn too. Perhaps that was unhealthy, for him to find the danger exciting. Erik had a gun for Christ's sake. How could he say he had a feeling Erik wouldn't use it.

How many other people had Erik shared his name with though? He had given it on their first meeting and yet... No one else seemed to know it. Maybe no one else had asked.

He thought to apologise, but for what? Erik's back was already turned.

"Good night, monsieur," Erik said before he hoped out of the carriage, back into the night.

-----

"What is it that you want from me?"

Erik stood in doorway of the carriage, one foot pressing inside and the rest of his body hunched and twisted to try and look at Raoul without having to actually come inside.

"Three weeks in a row, twice already I have robbed you, and yet you keep coming here?"

"Where else would I find you?" Raoul said with a look of ease but inside felt slight nerves.

A week had passed in agony. Every nightfall with the knowledge Erik was out here on this road had started to drive him mad. It was pure madness and nothing more. To be intrigued by this man, this Phantom, to desire him. With every evening Raoul felt it more and more and had to come to terms with the realisation that it was not some mere thrill of danger he felt in Erik's presence. There was no childhood boyish fantasy about meeting a highwayman, or evening joining him on an adventure. It was the reality of realising that less than romantic reality of Erik's tattered clothing, the thinness of his bones, the unfamiliarity with basic human kindness, paired with that mystery, those eyes, that voice which teased him so, that made Raoul's skin grow hot as he laid in his bed.

"Aren't you going to come inside?"

Erik lifted the weight off his foot that was inside the carriage, before pressing it back down. He rocked back and forth as he contemplated to himself, before planting himself across from Raoul.

An awkward silence filled the air as Erik shuffled among the seat.

Finally he turned his head and folded his arms over his chest. "So, what do you have for me?"

"The same as always," Raoul tossed his coin pouch at Erik. "Oh, and these."

He reached out his hand for Erik to take the items from him. Erik was cautious, as if somehow this could be a trap, before grabbing the edge of the fabric and sliding them out of Raoul's hand. They were turned over and back again as they were inspected.

"Gloves?"

"Yes, gloves," Raoul nervously bit on his lip. Why should he be feeling nervous?!

"These seem too large to fit you."

"Well, yes of course. They wouldn't make a very good gift for you if I bought them in my own size."

Raoul hadn't thought it possible the night could get any quieter, and yet...

Oh he wished he could see what Erik's face looked like behind his mask. His entire body had frozen on the spot, not even blinking. Was he shocked? Was he disgusted? Was there a flush across his cheeks? Raoul knew he could feel his own burning up the longer the silence progressed.

"A... gift?" Erik choked out.

"Yes, they're a gift, Erik. I noticed last time that yours had a hole in so I thought..."

"That you would bribe me away with fine leather gloves?"

"What? No, not at all. I just thought, well I just hoped that... you'd like them."

Erik squinted at him, and Raoul felt a little pleased at being able to make out some emotions Erik conveyed. He leaned over Raoul, slightly raising from his seat, as he seemed to be trying to wring out the truth from Raoul with just his glare, and then his eyes widened as if seeing and daring to believe Raoul was already telling him the truth.

He sat staring down at the gloves that hung limply over his hands. Raoul sucked in a breath and slowly, as if approaching a deer that might spook, took a couple of steps across the carriage and quietly as he could fell to his knees in between Erik's parted legs.

Erik didn't seem to realise he was there until Raoul tentatively reached up and brushed his hands against Erik's own. He tried to recoil but Raoul gripped his hands, stroking his thumbs against them until Erik seemed to calm down enough for Raoul to peel the aged and falling apart gloves off his hands.

As the leather peeled away Raoul stared at Erik's hands even as they twitched. Out of nervousness perhaps? That was... a little adorable. What a strange word to use to describe such a man. Raoul chuckled slightly to himself as he became distracted by running his thumb down the length of Erik's long, rather elegant looking fingers.

Clutching at the fabric of his trousers, Erik tried to pull away again. "You laugh at Erik's skin."

Raoul blinked in confusion. Was that something Erik was insecure about?

"If you must know, I was actually thinking they were quite beautiful. I only laughed at my own oxymoron of thinking of your demeanour now as almost adorable contrasted with your usual imposing one."

He looked down again at Erik's hands again as he once again felt Erik's eyes staring at him with such confusion. As Erik slowly unclenched his hands, Raoul could now see harsh lines of scars that began at the backs of Erik's knuckles and disappeared up his sleeves. Of course... no one with a happy upbringing would probably find themselves in this line of work. But then Raoul thought of the high collar, the mask... Was all of Erik's skin covered in such scars?

Raoul took the new gloves he had bought, something of far better quality than Erik could ever afford, and slid them up Erik's fingers. He did the same with the other hand, not before indulging himself and placing a kiss to the back of Erik's hand, his pink lips plush and soft against the hard and cold skin.

He looked up and felt as though Erik's eyes were burning into him. The second glove slid up Erik's hand and Raoul maintained eye contact as Erik's fingers twitched and caught against his chin.

"I hope they're comfortable," Raoul's voice was quiet, not wanting to shatter the moment.

The leather crinkled as Erik flexed his fingers, screwing them up into fists and then straightening them out again. Raoul wanted to say something more, he wasn't sure what, but he wanted to open his mouth to speak again but the words lost themselves as the carriage suddenly rocked to the side and the moment was gone.

"Cesar, no," Erik made to get up.

Raoul had the dreadful shameful feeling that they'd been caught by some companion of Erik's. But as he turned around he heard a strong puff of breath and the carriage rocked as a beautiful white horse rocked into the carriage, his head already peering through the door. Erik fussed over the stallion, shooing him outside and seemingly giving him a stern talking too.

Trailing behind them into the cold night air, Raoul stared at this strange tall skeleton of a man draped in nothing but black talking to horse or pure white as though it was a badly behaving dog.

Both of them turned to Raoul as he started laughing at the absurdity of it all.

Erik seemed almost flustered as he brushed down his cloak and fiddled with his hat. Outside the carriage was only slightly brighter, but Raoul could make out a little more clearly the layers of cape and coat and waistcoat,. He could see the line where Erik's boots laid against his trousers just below the knee. He could see how the mask wasn't some cheap piece of cloth and was something sculpted as it sat neatly against Erik's face. Had Erik made it himself?

"Doesn't a bright white horse make you stand out a little?"

"It wasn't really ever in my plan," Erik huffed. "But Cesar is a good boy. Loyal. And his previous owners were not too kind to him. I suppose I saw some of myself in him."

Erik's voice trailed off somewhere farther away as he seemed to forget himself, then he quickly and effortlessly pulled himself atop Cesar.

"Good night. Your home is not too far away, no? You might be lucky enough to get back before the rain starts."

"You didn't follow me home one night, did you?" Raoul laughed and then stopped as Erik turned his head. "Erik?"

The cape nearly hit Raoul in the face as Erik swung up onto Cesar. "Good night, Vicomte de Chagny. Safe travels."

The bastard had the audacity to tip his hat before he rode away.

-----

"I wonder what your driver must think. The young Vicomte de Chagny fraternizing with a common thief. Surely someone is wondering what is taking you so long to get back home?" Erik said as he stretched his legs out, seemingly content to start treating the carriage like a sitting room.

"Nicolas wouldn't tell anyone. And if he had the inkling too, I can appease him as I appease you."

"Is that what you do? Make a habit of paying people to get what you want."

"Of course not," Raoul snapped. "If I were to slip him an increase in his wages it would only be to protect the both of us from any scandal."

Erik sat up straighter. "I meant no offence... How strange you are, little Count, to think you must protect me from others and not the other way around."

"My name is Raoul," Choosing to avoid answering Erik's probing statement as he didn't really want to think of the moral implications of any of this, Raoul blurted out something he'd been mulling over for a while. "You knew though, probably, I mean you already figured out who I was so... But I just meant that, well, you can call me Raoul. I always call you Erik."

"I didn't give you any other name."

"Something tells me perhaps you only have the one."

"Something did?" Erik perched his elbows on his legs and lent forwards to rest his chin on his hands. "So there is some perception going on in there. What exactly makes you think that?"

Raoul felt all of a sudden embarrassed. "I don't rightly know... And I don't mean to offend, I just... You seem not like someone who doesn't have a home, but perhaps someone who has never had one. And orphans don't usually have surnames."

"You could not offend me."

"You say that as if you aren't easily offend."

"Oh, unlike you?"

Letting his back hit against the wall, Raoul conceded. "Will you tell me if I was right?"

Erik shifted his in his seat, his fingers on one hand rubbing up at down the other's knuckles. "I was not an orphan."

"Oh?" Raoul wasn't going to be surprised if he had been wrong about everything. He was very well versed with people from lower classes so everything he said could have been wrong. It was mostly ideas drawn from lone wanderers from tales he had heard growing up, granted they were works of fiction.

"But," Erik continued. "You can take some pride in thinking I'd never had a home. I'd at least never been in a place that felt like one."

Oh well... Pride wasn't really what Raoul was feeling now. He thought if he worked things out about Erik, or Erik began to like or trust him enough to tell him, that he would feel joyful. But he supposed the reality of growing up alone, or at least feeling alone, wasn't something that should be romanticised.

Erik seemed to not know what to do with himself as he kept shifting and when he coughed Raoul thought he was going to ask for Raoul's money, but he simply went quiet again.

"You don't have to sit over there, you know," Raoul's heart fluttered in his chest. This was it. He was going to find out Erik's true intentions. "There's plenty of room on this bench."

"And this one is equally comfortable."

"Oh the great Phantom of the roads, afraid to sit next to me."

"I'm not afraid," Erik snarled.

"No?" Raoul raised an eyebrow up and smiled cheekily, a smile that only widened as Erik got up and grumbled under his breath.

"Insistent boy. I have half the mind you'll be the death of me," Flicking his cape up so it did not get as caught up underneath him, Erik sat next to Raoul with a huff.

"Oh, how so?" Raoul turned, sliding a little to close some of the distance between them and hoping Erik wouldn't notice.

"You keep letting yourself get robbed so often, people will think you're an easy target."

"Well then people will have the misfortune of finding out quite the opposite."

Erik laughed. "Oh will you fight them away with your feistiness, my little Vicomte."

"I'll have you know I was in the navy," Raoul puffed out his chest and squared his shoulders. "I could take a robber or two if I had the mind too."

There was silence as Erik started at him.

"Then why haven't you?" He asked, his voice soft all of a sudden.

"Why haven't I what?" Raoul furrowed his brow.

"Had the mind too."

Raoul's mouth went dry. Erik seemed impossibly close and he wasn't sure when or if either of them had started sliding down the seat.

He wondered then what it would feel like to have those leather clad hands pining his own wrists against the wall behind him. What it would feel like to have a leg shoved between his own, as Erik bore his weight down on him. Maybe both of his wrists would be captured in but one hand, long fingers grasping him like a rope, as Erik would grab his chin and tilt it upwards to claim his mouth. Would he have to tell Raoul to be quiet less his driver hear them? He wouldn't want a scandal, would he? He'd let himself fall open on the seating as Erik would remain swathed in black, undressing him and claiming another prize for himself.

Or would Erik let himself be pushed back. Raoul thought about the previous week as he had knelt between Erik's legs to put his gloves on and how Erik had seemed so unused to the touch. Would he let Raoul guide him backwards, limbs tangling in the small space, as he let someone take him apart for the first time? Had anyone ever touched Erik in that way?

He reached out, mind running with scenarios, and traced his hand over Erik's, giving him the opportunity to turn away. But Erik stood still as a statue. Raoul grew bolder, his fingers skimming along Erik's shoulders, until they reached under his jaw and slid under the edge of his mask.

That seemed to snap Erik out of the moment as his hands were suddenly around Raoul's wrists, squeezing painfully like a vice.

But Raoul did not want to give up. Erik's panic only fuelled Raoul's curiosity. He seemed far too fearful to be solely worried about his identity being discovered. Raoul thought back on the scars he'd seen along Erik's hands.

"I won't be scared," Raoul whispered, his fingers tracing lightly against the dry skin he'd managed to find.

"You will be horrified," Erik's voice echoed against the mask now longer pressing taut against his mouth.

"Then, just a little..." Raoul pressed still, half expecting to be thrown across the carriage, but half not caring. If Erik would give him this little leeway.

He pressed the mask up just enough to see Erik's mouth, stopping as he saw what would had had to be the start of Erik's nostrils, but Raoul saw no dip of flesh between them. He let his hands rest of the mask there, simply holding it up but not pushing it, until Erik realised Raoul meant that he would reveal no more of his face. The grip on his wrists loosened, but the hands did not leave, for they could not trust Raoul to keep his word.

Raoul traced his thumbs up the pale skin of Erik's sunken cheeks, they were hollowed out and yet Raoul could sense the strong cheekbones above. His skin was dry and cold, not soft but not rough either. His thumbs drew closer together as he found paper thin lips set in a hard line, but they trembled as Raoul touched them.

Having found his mark in the darkness of the carriage, Raoul slide his hands back against Erik's cheeks, brushing against the fabric that was drawn down over his ears. The skin around the back of Erik's head was smooth, the only hair catching on Raoul's nails being nothing but tiny wisps.

Erik gasped as Raoul kissed him, as if with Raoul so close he still didn't expect it would happen. Raoul was suddenly struck with the question of whether Erik had ever been kissed before and the idea of this being his first made Raoul want to make it all the more enjoyable. His hands slid against Erik's skin as he moved his lips slowly, parting them for a second before kissing Erik again. And then again. And again and he wanted to keep going but felt that Erik's hands had slipped from grabbing his wrists to clutching at the fabric of his sleeves as his whole body shook.

"Erik, I'm sorry, was that..." Raoul panted as withdrew. "Was that alright?"

He could see Erik's chest heaving and Raoul's hands pulled themselves back forwards and couldn't resist a final slide across Erik's lips, now slightly slick and wet.

His fingers pressed down despite trying to have some self-control and Erik jumped, head almost knocking against the ceiling, as he scrambled to pull his mask back down so quickly that Raoul's' hands were almost trapped underneath it, oh to be forever trapped between parted lips and porcelain.

"Erik, wait-"

But Erik had already pushed himself away and flung himself out of the carriage and as Cesar's white hide flashed past him Raoul felt the weight of his coins safely nestled in his pocket.

-----

The road was quiet as always and Raoul's heart pounded over and over and over again in his chest. It was as though the sound of it was the only thing he could hear. It seemed to rise and fall as the carriage finally turned onto the road, but as they got further and further down it... Raoul's heart only sank lower and lower.

Had he scared Erik off? He'd kissed Raoul back so... He wanted Raoul too, hadn't he? Wouldn't Erik be pleased to see him again?

But he had also run off right afterwards. Was he ashamed? But Raoul could give him so much. He could give Erik safety and security. Wouldn't Erik want that? He wouldn't have to stalk about in the cold and the rain. Or they could continue this? Whatever this was? Raoul only knew that he hadn't wanted to see anyone else this badly before.

They were past the middle of the road now, and there was still no sign of Erik. The night air seemed dead and stale as the wind blew shadows of gnarled fingers across Raoul's cheeks. Raoul didn't know what to do. They'd be at the end of the road soon, leaving Erik's domain, and he didn't know what to do.

He could just shout out of the window and ask Nicolas to stop... But he was already counting on Nicolas for his trust with enough of these visits. If he did that, how long should he wait? How embarrassing would it be if he stopped and Erik was out there just standing and laughing at how pathetic he looked and never approached the carriage at all?

Raoul pressed his hands against the window, peering out at the nothingness. And he said nothing, letting Nicolas take the carriage straight home.

-----

Raoul stayed up tossing and turning, before giving up on trying to sleep at all. He couldn't stop thinking if he'd made a terrible prideful mistake. He was so worried about what Nicolas would think, and what Erik would think, that he'd just let Nicolas drive on. What if Erik had been somewhere else and hadn't shown up yet? What if he'd thought Raoul just hadn't shown up?

Though what kept his stomach twisting was the idea that he'd read everything completely wrong and that Erik wasn't interested in him at all.

Pale sheets slid of his body as Raoul's feet padded against the cold floor so he could fetch his dressing gown. The deep maroon fabric kept him warm as he opened the doors to the small balcony window and let the wind chill his bones. He wondered if he should pick up smoking like his brother as he imagined doing anything other than just standing staring at the moon. Not that it wasn't a beautiful sight. But it wasn't going to bring him any comfort.

Sighing with resignation, Raoul shut the doors behind him and flopped down onto his bed. He'd not closed the curtains to the balcony, letting the moon shine down on his face. The light might keep him awake, but it wasn't as though Raoul thought he'd get much sleep now anyway. He closed his eyes and wondered if he could imagine being laid back against the seat in his carriage, the moonlight flickering in and out of view from behind his eyelids.

That... was only meant to be in his imagination though.

His entire body tensed as he realised he couldn't see the moonlight anymore.

He tried to keep his breathing as quiet and slow and consistent as possible as he started to slid up to his elbows. He knew if it was some burglar it was safer to act like he was asleep. But what would be the chances of a random burglar picking his bedroom window of all of them. Hadn't Erik followed him home one night? Had he followed him again and watched Raoul come to bed after they'd kissed?

As slowly as he could he turned his head to the side and opened his eyes.

Behind the glass doors was a tall shadow, a silhouette that was unmistakable with its long cape and hat. Raoul turned and sat on the edge of the bed, not breaking eye contact with where he was guessing Erik's face was.

The shadow didn't move. But neither did Raoul. No, Erik needed to be the one to decide here, Raoul was not going to chase him. There was... perhaps... the chance that Erik was here to kill him... That... hadn't even been anything he'd slightly considered. For all he knew Erik had killed before. And if he felt like he'd let Raoul see too much of himself, then Raoul was a threat to his secrecy.

Wood screeched as the balcony doors were slowly pushed open. It was like an ink etching from one of those books, this pure black shape standing out there as the curtains billowed out as the doors opened, the moonlight behind everything... Raoul held his breath.

"Why did you come back again?" Erik's voice seemed to rumble.

"So you were there!" Raoul shot to his feet. "Then why didn't you come over?"

"You answer my questions first, little Vicomte," Erik stalked a couple of steps towards him. Raoul swallowed as he realised the two of them had never been stood this close, only sat, and it allowed him to take in Erik's height more as he looked up at him.

"Why wouldn't I have? I wanted to see you."

"Why?"

"Erik, for God's sake I kissed you," Raoul hissed the words out as he noticed himself getting louder. "Why would any man do that to someone?"

"Maybe you thought it could spare your purse forever more. Maybe you thought it would make me soft you."

Raoul closed all the distance between them, almost stepping on Erik's toes.

"Aren't you already?"

Erik didn't reply and Raoul wanted to keep pressing.

"Aren't you, Erik? Erik? How many people have you shared that name with? How many people have you let get that close to you? How many people have you let have any slight peak under that mask?" Raoul's hands came up and hovered by the sides of Erik's face and watched as he flinched. "You want me."

"You're a vain, foolish little boy," Erik's voice slid out of his teeth as Raoul pushed the mask up once more, until he snapped, pushing Raoul's arms out of the way and tearing the mask of himself. His hat went fluttering to the floor.

Raoul gasped as he stared at Erik's face, but he steeled himself not to look away. His cheeks were not the only part of his face sunken in. His cheekbones and his temples stuck out, and down under his brow bone Raoul could barely tell where Erik's eye sockets started. Those eyes that had seemed black with pinpricks of yellow, were really a deep brown. Quite a pretty colour. But his skin was so dry it almost looked as though it had been sucked tight against his bones, and his nose... Or whatever was left of it. A little way down from between his eyes his face just seemed to opened up onto this hole that stopped where ones nostrils would. His mouth Raoul had already made himself quite familiar with.

"Is this what you wanted to see?!" Erik tried to shout out the words but with Raoul still gazing up at him they seemed to get stuck in his throat. "You can now say that curiosity of yours is satisfied and leave me be."

"No!" Raoul gripped his hands down without thinking, right against Erik's cheeks.

"No? Did you want a closer look?" Erik snarled, his hands starting to make fists in Raoul's dressing gown.

"My curiosity isn't satiated. Erik I... Won't pretend this isn't... shocking..."

That was a little bit of an understatement. Raoul had suspected something was wrong with Erik's face, though he'd thought scaring at worst. This was... Raoul didn't even know how to describe it... And yet he couldn't take his eyes of Erik. Was there something wrong with him to find something handsome in that face, even still? And it didn't change who Erik was.

"It... will take some getting used to," Raoul said. "But it's just a face. And a face that happens to be on a man I'm very interested in."

Erik gazed down at him, the hands clutching Raoul's robe were trembling. "Even still?"

He said it as if he dared not hope. But the fact that he'd said it at all, rather than shoot Raoul down with another insult or scream... That was progress.

"Even still."

Raoul pulled Erik's face down against him and as he kissed Erik again he felt Erik's tears sliding against their cheeks and he pulled Erik harder against him, slowly giving him the confidence to explore Raoul back. And slowly but surely, Erik's hands unclenched themselves and began to move and slide around Raoul's waist, brushing over his hips, until Erik's lips moves and pressed harder against him and Raoul felt himself tipping as Erik pushed him down onto the bed and knelt over him, their lips still connected.

He didn't know what they parted, but they had too eventually, less they suffocate one another. Raoul breathed out a laugh as he pulled himself up his bed, trying to aim his head to land on his pillows, and groaning as Erik just let himself go boneless on top of him. For such a slim man, he still had a fair bit of weight to him.

But he let Erik lie there, afraid that if he were to disturb Erik this would all shatter. That Erik would fly out off the balcony, into the night, and never to be seen again.

So he let Erik lay there, bony hips pressing awkwardly against Raoul's thigh, until Erik felt comfortable to say something.

"You should leave your driver behind next time."

Raoul laughed and shook his head.

"Ah and already so sure they'll be a next time. What should I do? Will the horses to go the right way with the power of my mind?" He mockingly pressed his fingers against his temples and Erik huffed, lightly slapping at his hands.

"You do know how to ride, don't you?"

Raoul sat up. "You expect me to ride out all that way on my own?"

"I'll protect you."

The words ran up Raoul's spine with a pleasant shiver.

"Well, at sweet as that is and as thrilled as those words make me, it doesn't change the fact you wouldn't be with the whole time. I'm not wishing for anyone else to start robbing me," Raoul paused and lent back against the headboard. "Though... You are right. I can't exactly keep making Nicolas an accomplice to this... Whatever this is... And I don't know how much longer he'll want to keep his mouth shut. Although, you know what?"

Erik rolled so that his stomach was pressing down over Raoul's outstretched leg. "What?" He asked, already sounding pessimistic.

"Well I have been making Nicolas stay out awfully long hours, it's not very fair to him. He can drive me around all day as much as he pleased, but perhaps... Well for the sake of not overworking the man, perhaps I could employ a new driver? Just for very late evening appointments?"

Sliding up to his knees, Erik's eyes blinked at him. "Would this new driver be paid?"

"Oh, quite handsomely. Though I would hope, there'd be other things he found enticing about the position rather than just the coin?" Raoul couldn't help the slight hint of a question leak out in his voice.

"My little Vicomte," Erik slid up his body, black fabric pooling everywhere and sinking against Raoul's cream bedspread. "It has not been just about the coin since you asked me my name."

And Raoul let himself sink into the bed with all that fabric, as he tried to the ties that kept it all together.

"You know this does not mean Erik is quitting his regular job?" Erik panted between their mouths.

Raoul grinned, knowing it was wrong. "Well, I always did fancy someone stealing my heart."

#rerik #phantom of the opera #Raoul de Chagny #poto #potoedit #mywriting #mine #poto highwayman au

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tundrainafrica · 3 years

Text

Title: A Tale of Two Slaves (7/17)

Summary: “Soulmates don’t exist. Fate doesn’t exist. Everything is a choice.” At that moment, Levi could only watch as she made the choice for him.“

Reincarnation AU. Levi remembers everything from their past life. Hange doesn’t.

Note: I was busy with fic exchange pieces for a while but will be focusing on updating my multi chapter fics now. As always, feedback is very much appreciated :D

Other Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 8

Link to cross-postings: AO3

“So you’re Levi Ackerman?” The woman who had just entered the room looked excited. Too excited.

After being kept waiting that long, Levi was in no mood for anything, especially unnecessary pleasantries. For the past thirty minutes at least, he had been sitting on the couch of a quaint office. It was spacious and there was at least enough room on the couch to elevate his knee comfortably. Probably the reason he had the self control to give a curt nod in reply.

“I’m a fan! I watched a few of your events actually and I’m so glad to have you here,” she said too enthusiastically. She paused for a second and shook her head. “No, I’m horrified about you being injured which caused you to end up here but I’m just really excited to get to know you.”

Levi didn’t feel the need to reply.

She walked to her desk and dropped her canvas bag before sitting on the couch in front of Levi. “Sorry for being a little late. I just came out from another meeting and went out to get something to eat after. Maybe I could give you my number and you could text me if you get here before I do.” She took a post-it out of her purse and scrawled a few numbers on it and slid it towards Levi.

Shouldn’t you have my number? Somehow it was hard to believe that she was a counselor. “Name?” Levi asked.

“Shela. Just call me Shela.”

Levi had met those types of people before who go by nicknames. More often than not, he couldn’t blame them, usually they had a very old fashioned or embarrassing name behind it. He couldn’t believe someone as transparent or excitable as her who didn’t look like she had much control of her filter, would have issues about how embarrassing a name was though.

“I have a very old fashioned first name.” Shela added, only confirming Levi’s suspicions. “Shela… Sierra - Hotel - Echo - Lima - Alpha.”

Levi typed the name on his phone and saved the number.

Last Name? Academic History? He set the rest of the details aside. As long as he knew her name, he could probably get through enough sessions to at least keep both his coach and Erwin satisfied. Going to a counselor was not his idea after all. It was his coach apparently who had requested it and it was Erwin who had pushed for it. Without twice a day training or even the freedom to go wherever he wanted without being completely exhausted within hours, Levi had not much of anything else to do anyway.

Shela brought out a notebook from her purse, opened it to a bookmark paged and wrote something on it before looking up at him. Levi couldn’t help but note that when she wasn’t looking ashamed or overly enthusiastic and she did look like she knew what she was doing.

“I’m going to skip the question of ‘what brings you here’ because I think we all know why you’re here.” She gestured her pen towards Levi’s leg. “Let’s start with something simple. How are you? How are you feeling today?”

“My knee hurts and I can’t train anymore. But I’m focusing on studies now so I think I’m doing okay.” He answered, having prepared that script in his head the thirty minutes he spent waiting for her.

“I’m not asking how you’re coping. I’m asking how you’re feeling today.” Shela’s piercing eyes were a beautiful shade of blue. The serious look she gave him then bore into him. In fact, it felt like it bore into his soul.

Despite the generally bad first impression she gave him, Levi was somehow convinced that she was qualified to do that type of work and his showing up there might turn out to be worth something after all. Levi found himself almost hypnotized by that look she gave him, a healthy mixture of concern, interest and professionalism.

Hiding and watching his words felt pointless and Levi found himself saying his answers as his brain came up with them.

A Tale of Two Slaves

The hospital where he was slated to have his next sessions was that same hospital he had stayed in a week ago. Conveniently, it was a five minute walk from where he had been staying since he got out of the hospital: Hange’s apartment.

Just until I can walk up stairs. Levi had told himself. There were many dormitories clustered around campus yet he had ended up staying in the least handicap friendly one. The first floor had a lobby and a common room and the actual bedrooms were only found at the second floor and the third floor. To top it all off, there was no elevator. He had to note though that it was an old building with only three floors so it would have been useless to put one.

He was on scholarship and it was assigned to him back in first year so he did not have much of a choice. He didn’t need to think too much of it either that past three years of college since he had never been injured enough to the point of being unable to climb stairs

With his leg completely immobilized and a deadweight, Levi was sure it would be a nightmare to brave that everyday. The paperwork and legwork required to change dormitories in the middle of the semester seemed daunting as well. In the end, Hange had offered to let him stay over in her apartment.

Her condominium was spacious, it had an elevator and it was walking distance from the hospital where he’d have both his counseling and physical therapy sessions.

Walking Distance. For non handicapped people, it should only take five minutes to walk the two block distance from the hospital to the apartment building. Levi took ten minutes to clear it and by the end of it he was exhausted and despite the chill of mid autumn, Levi found himself sweating as he arrived in the apartment.

It was a Friday afternoon, a week after he was released from the hospital. Nobody was pressuring him to go back to school yet. His professors had been kind enough to send him lecture slides and give him extensions. Some classmates had dropped their own summarized notes and get-well messages.

Levi settled on his bed and propped his knee on his pillow, looking through the lecture slides of his last class. Despite his self imposed week long isolation, Levi just wanted to go back to normal life.

But it never will be normal again. Although Levi did see a glimmer of hope in the possibility of feeling normal again when he went back to school, the realist in him knew it wouldn't happen.

Levi was supposed to be in the process of accepting at least that it would never be the “normal” he used to have and had taken for granted. Something inside him was rebelling the process though.

If I can't live the life I want, then I won't live at all. That something screamed inside him.

That form of rebellion left Levi with little energy for anything else. His mind was slower. His body was heavier. He was seeing little reason to move beyond the mechanical and primal movements needed to survive.

As if by magic, his body that used to carry him over two meter tall bars, suddenly felt like it weighed a ton. The weight crushed him everyday. At times Levi found himself unable to breathe. That was he found himself in that same position for sixteen hours a day, either sleeping or staring at the same white ceiling above him.

In fact, the only time he had left the Hange's apartment was for that one counseling session Hange had prodded him to go to. That was the only time she had forced him to go out of the house as if she herself understood somehow the comfort and at the same time the panic that came with a self imposed isolation.

What else was there to do?

He was alone. He had kept to his own bubble in college, only flitting between the two islands of academics and trainings.He was always either busy or exhausted and the lack of in-between had given him little time to reflect on the state of his mental health. And suddenly he had lost one of his islands, the bigger one, the one that had given him meaning the past few years. That had left him completely and utterly lost. Maybe even desolate.

That was what Shela had pointed out in their first counseling session as Levi attempted to articulate the emptiness inside him, the slight panic that came with idleness, the sudden need to turn off all message notifications and the frequent mood changes that came with Hange's entering and exiting the apartment.

And his weird dependence on Hange.

In between studying for his three subjects that semester and icing his bum knee, what else was there to do? Wait for Hange to come home? Talk to her during that one to two hour window when she wasn't working on her thesis? That was what his life had ended up revolving around anyway.

Levi found himself only replying to anything related to studies or graduating. He had received a few messages from others, suggestions to visit training, offers to visit from teammates and he had ignored them all. Somehow, the reminder of the loss of the one hobby that had kept him busy for the past decade of his life, was mocking. He became someone who waits, someone who just went with the flow of everyone's schedule. Having been busy his whole life, having been constantly needed and looked for and only recently, having been reduced to where he was, Levi felt his life was just a series of wrong choices, wrong choices that only formed a distrust with himself and consequently a refusal to engage in activity.

What else am I supposed to be doing? Levi opened his laptop. For a moment he had tried to go through his school notes at Shela’s advice.

After less than an hour of halfheartedly reviewing his notes and forgetting it soon after, Levi had exhausted his already scarce energy. With nothing else to do, he had decided to move to scrolling through timelines which displayed little to no signs of real life obligations, pinterest and reddit to pass the time. Within an hour of just scrolling through both, he had gotten tired of it too. It was a new feeling. Usually he could drown himself in hours of social media and timelines but at that point, nothing was interesting to him anymore.

Have you tried writing out how you feel? Shela’s suggestion echoed in his head. Like maybe get a journal. It’s a great way to process your thoughts and emotions.

What’s there to write. Levi asked himself and Shela’s voice as it echoed in his head. Levi could only stare at the blank screen, his emotions too non-existent to write. The blank document he had opened in front of him was the best representation of his thoughts and emotions already.

There are no right or wrong answers. Shela had brought up another good point during their session.

You think, therefore you are. You feel therefore you are. As long as you’re processing images, sounds and sensations, you’re thinking. You’re feeling something and you can write something down.

Then why do I feel so empty? Levi had asked.

Shela had compared it to a false bottom. As he continued to stare at the blank page in front of him, Levi was starting to feel for that false bottom in his mind. It was a matter of discipline more than anything, determination to dig into one’s self.

It could have taken hours but as Levi looked at the time on his laptop, he realized much time hadn’t passed. In fact, the time to the lower right of his screen, was still the same. But Levi was starting to think differently.

He did have something to look back on. Stories he hadn’t thought back to in a while, having been occupied by training, Hange’s tests, studies and recoveries. They continued to taunt him in the mornings. With the magic of worldly obligations, Levi had managed to set them aside.

His motivations particularly lay in the fact that his world was a little bigger, he was talking to more people and the idea that these same people he was seeing were the same ones he’d been writing fictional stories for had him questioning his own sanity and had him a little self conscious about having those dreams in the first place.

At that moment though, his inability to think and feel beyond that false bottom had Levi more alarmed and he found himself attempting to articulate those dreams on the word processor just to experience a semblance of something.

Levi at least confirmed one thing, that bottom was false. And the more he articulated those dreams, the more they became real. He was starting to scrape on that false bottom and the first things that were oozing out were dreams. Somehow, the dreams were more vivid that he had ever remembered them to be. He felt almost guilty for having set them aside like some sort of fair weathered friend.

“Hey not bad! Is that homework?”

Levi tensed up in surprise. He should have been able to hear the familiar footsteps and the jangle of the keys from his place on the sofa bed. He never missed it once. Levi didn’t know if he should be proud that he had distracted himself enough not to consider Hange or terrified that she was right behind him at that moment, probably reading through his work.

He quickly closed his tab and looked at the time on the lower right. It was only five. Hange usually went home at seven.

“You’re early,” Levi commented.

“It’s my apartment. I can choose when to go home.” Hange answered. “Anyway what was that? Are you writing?”

“A journal,” Levi explained. There was not much point in lying.

“Did the counselor tell you to do that?”

“Yeah. Something about processing emotions and thoughts.”

“It’s a good exercise. Especially since you seemed pretty out of it recently...” Hange trailed off.

Levi looked back at her and noticed a flicker of what looked like guilt in Hange’s eyes before she looked away.

“Out of it?” Levi knew what she was talking about. He just felt the need to keep the conversation going.

“You spent the past weekend just lying in bed. I never even saw you look through your phone or open your laptop. ” Hange explained. “I’ve seen how these types of things develop so... So yeah, I’m just so happy to see you so focused on something else.”

“I don’t really have much else to get into other than school.”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” Hange said.

Levi bit his lip, instantly regretting that last sentence. Hange averaged two apologies a day which was a lot given the fact that they only ever had a two hour window to talk in between Levi’s long hours asleep and Hange’s long hours on campus.

“It wasn’t your fault. I was kinda going crazy too...With the jumping I mean.” He added. “And I was the one who decided to make that last jump in the first place. And now you have to change your whole thesis topic.”

“It wasn’t too difficult. Just one week building a new proposal. It’s still the same case study, it’s just I decided to document a recovery. Erwin’s unconventional methods with the recovery makes it worth documenting.”

“At least I’m still useful somewhere,” Levi commented wryly. Hange had explained the thesis to him over the weekend. He should have been relieved at least to know that they weren’t separating anytime soon. Surprisingly though, he wasn’t even happy to hear it. Everything around him just seemed too bleak to celebrate anything. Good news that used to make him smile and celebrate internally suddenly only made him feel a slight sense of relief, the equivalent emotion of seeing a wet floor sign in an area with slippery floors.

Hange sat on the sofa bed next to Levi and looked towards him. She took a deep breath. “I know with what’s been happening, it looks like you don’t have much going for you. And I know things seem pretty dark now but things will get better. You just have to keep living.”

“I’m still breathing.”

“You know what I mean,” Hange said. “When I get up in the morning you’re asleep. When I get back we talk for an hour and half the time it’s just me talking. You barely even answer when I ask what you want. This past weekend I didn’t even see you look through your phone. It’s like you’re practically dead.”

“What else is there to do. I can’t show up for training. My professors aren’t asking me to go back to school soon.”

“Find a new hobby? Continue whatever thing you’re writing. Enjoy the food I bring home. Laugh when you see a funny meme. Or you know, at least smile and do that nose blowing thing people do when you show them a funny meme..”

“My teammates are preparing for the new season. My classmates are at least all caught up in class. I spent too much damn time on that fucking sport. Now that it’s all gone, I feel like I’m just going with the flow of life instead of actually swimming,” Levi said, having taken that last part from Shela’s book.

“Everyone is just going with the flow of life. We’re all at the mercy of time anyway. Live for yourself. See joy in the small things at least. Look at me, I’m simping for athletes like some idiot in between studies.”

“Live for yourself? You follow people’s orders a lot for someone who gives this type of advice.”

“It’s not obeying people. I’m just asking questions and seeking advice. The more relevant facts, information and experience you have, the better the decisions you can make right. So can’t I argue that having more information at my fingertips makes me freer? ” Hange gave Levi a knowing and playful smile

He could tell by the look she gave him that she expected something in return. It was a rhetorical question though, maybe even a premature victory lap for having won that argument. Levi silently looked back at his laptop, not wanting to let her win.

Hange broke the silence. “Okay now that we’re on the topic of asking questions... who’s that Squad Leader Hange Zoe you’re writing about?”

A Tale of Two Slaves

Levi could not pinpoint the exact moment he decided for certain that squad leader Hange Zoe was real, when he decided for himself that the stories he was writing out should have been real.

It came as a gradual decision after incessant questions from Hange that at first, he was determined not to answer. Hange was smart about it, keeping the questions as things that could be answered with one word, and before he knew it, he was giving her too much information, it was pointless to blatantly refuse. After he had answered her more than enough questions, she smiled.

“Looks like you got my personality down,” Hange commented. Levi somehow knew her enough to tell there was no judgement or obligation in that voice. In fact, when he looked into her eyes, he saw that same wonder, he had seen many times before when she witnessed the jumps.

That wonder only carried over from questions on the squad leader to questions on his dreams and finally, to questions on how he wrote his dreams out.

“How do you see the world?”

“How do I see the world?”

“Like what type of camera angles do you see the world in. If I asked you to imagine a tree, what kind of tree do you imagine? Do you imagine it from top to bottom, from trunk to top? Our minds are the most creative producers and cameramen you can think of.”

“Do you notice how well our body blends sensations? When the light turns off then on, there’s a split second where you see shapes when your eyes adjust from light to dark?”

“What are the physical manifestations of emotions? Do you feel your stomach drop? Do you ever get that tingling feeling in your legs and suddenly they’re jelly?”

Did you ever witness something so beautiful that you wish you could live forever just so you could never forget it?

The conversation was a little deep and a little too philosophical for him. It was a ploy to get him writing and maybe a ploy to get him to understand the same wonder she had in the world from what he could tell. Somehow he needed it. The way Hange had described the world, the way she had described reality, only made the line between what could have been his imagination and his memory a little more distinct.

It was around then did he look at Hange Zoe the medical student to see the squad leader from his dreams. Erwin Smith, Hange Zoe and every single one of the soldiers in these dreams. They weren’t just dreams or manifestations of an exhausted mind.

In another life, she could have been real. The angles at which he saw the world, the way his body processed those sensations in his dreams, the manifestations of those emotions, too vivid even more vivid than a catharsis from a good book or a phenomenal ending to a TV show.

The questions continued to echo as Hange turned off the lights and Levi lay in bed awake. That food for the thought left Levi hyper aware of his surroundings, all the way down to the small details --- the way every piece of thread on the bed covers beneath him pressed on to him, the way his breath made a sound in the utter silence late at night no matter how much he tried to quiet it, the way the palpitations in his chest could be felt all the way until his head. He was excited to sleep, dream and take stock of his dreams yet he was too excited to fall asleep.

Like a five year old the night before their first field trip, Levi did not fall asleep anytime soon.

A Tale of Two Slaves

Nobody really questions the logic of dreams.

Sometimes one can find themselves only a few millimeters tall on top of a giant donut. Sometimes they can find themselves having milk tea with their favorite celebrity. Dreams are more felt by the moments they bring to people, not by the logic. It was only natural Levi did not question much of his dreams then.

That night as he lay awake, Levi made the conscious effort to live in his dreams, to take note of every detail from the sights and sounds, to the smells, the emotions, repeating to himself the questions Hange had asked earlier that day. What he had failed to consider then, was the context of dreams.

Were Hange and the others okay?

He found himself on the battlefield and he knew exactly what had to be done. In front of him was a large furry creature which the military had dubbed the Beast Titan and around him were other naked humanoid creatures called titans.

The Beast titan was flinging rocks at them and the soldiers were dying at an alarming rate.

Commander Erwin Smith ordered a suicide mission. All surviving soldiers were to rush towards the Beast Titan while Levi flew from the side of the walls and snuck towards him.

He knew what to do. The movements were natural and Levi had flown before, the gear on his waist had only made the whole mission easier. Somehow, on the battlefield he had the luxury of stock knowledge.

That stock knowledge was what had him slicing through the arms, through the eyes, through the achilles and finally through the nape of said titan. He pulled out a blonde man and pushed the sword through the man’s mouth.

He could feel his blood boiling. From anger? Of course, the man had killed Erwin. For a second, Levi had managed to get a view of the blond commander as he flew from the wall slashing titan after titan. He knew the man was probably dead.

But there was a way to revive him. There was a serum.

Before Levi could give it a second thought, a duck billed monster tore into his view and---

Levi sat up and screamed. He found himself in no hurry to dodge that duck billed titan. He was in Hange's apartment, too injured to be flying in the air in those contraptions anyway. He ran his hands through his body and up to his face, taking stock of his reality. He didn't reek of titan blood nor was he covered in it. He scanned the dark room, or at least what was visible given the moon was his only light source.

Somehow, those few moments as captain Levi had felt so real, watching the moon from his place on the sofa bed seemed almost dreamlike.

Which one is my reality? Levi found himself questioning it all. As quickly as the questions came, they were answered. All he needed was one stimuli, strong enough to root him back into his reality.

"Hey, bad dream?"

The dark room and his own state of mind had made it difficult for him to notice that Hange had settled beside him. That voice though had pulled him out of his trance and he became certain at least that he was not dreaming anymore.

"Yeah," Levi managed to say. At the least he still had control of his voice.

Hange sat cross-legged next to him. The moon was at a perfect angle to illuminate her face and even in the dark room he could see it. Her eyes were looking right at him as if she were studying him a little too seriously.

She brought out one finger to his eye and pushed at the corner. That was when Levi felt it. The small tear spread on the corner of his eye and dried up within seconds. Levi only hastened the process by wiping it himself.

"I'm not leaving you tonight."

"Why?"

"I'll take full responsibility for this. It was my mistake that got you into this in the first place.”

"I've had them before. This is nothing new.” Levi argued. As Hange lay on the sofa bed next to him though, he realized he didn’t want her to leave. His body froze as if understanding that emotion, unwilling to accommodate the protests, the impulse inside him to argue, to force her to go back to her room.

The sofa bed was at least big enough for both of them, wide enough for a comfortable one to two feet space between them. Hange had made sure as well to lie on her side, only widening that space a little more.

“I don’t know how many times I’ve told you this but I swear I really do mean it every time. I’m sorry.” Her voice cracked as she said it.

Levi only continued to stare at the ceiling above him, listening to her disturbed and hitched breaths next to him as if she was holding back something. He didn’t want to look to his side, not wanting to further aggravate a reaction he sensed was raring to come out of her or to further tighten that knot which had settled itself on his chest. His dim surroundings only illuminated weakly by the moon, did not help at all.

Levi lay awake for a while longer, scrambling for words that could placate her.

This is nothing new. It hadn’t worked.

I’m fine. But he wasn’t.

Things happen. Had he not given that same consolation so many times before?

Eventually the rhythm of her breathing evened out enough for Levi to guess that she had fallen asleep, and as if by some special force, Levi found his breathing slowing down too. He was starting to relax.

The apartment was dark and quiet. It was peaceful, so peaceful that Levi never did notice when exactly he was pulled back into his dream. The dimness of the apartment was gradually replaced by the dimness of the forest a long time ago. The distant sounds of passing cars gradually replaced by the crackle of a fire and the rustle of leaves on a windy night.

He was surrounded by trees. A broken wooden cart lay to the side and a few feet away from it a campfire.

The soft and even breathing next to him stayed though. The same exact pattern, the same exact rhythm, the same hitched breaths--- all signs of the light uneasy slumber of his companion.

That was all Levi needed to hear to have sworn nothing much changed about her.

#levihan #levi ackerman #hange zoe #levi x hange #levi x hanji #levihan fanfiction #fanfic

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peeterparkr · 4 years

Text

perfidy;tom holland

teaser & prologue: the end of a beginning.

enemies to lovers au

story summary: Tom and you have been sworn enemies since you were young. However you happened to be best friends with the twins. When one of your friends challenged you to break Tom’s heart, you immediately accepted to get back at him for all the times he’s hurt you. Old feelings might come back, while both of you try to go past your pride and your lies.

teaser summary: the first & the last times.

pairing: tom holland x y/n

warnings: none I think, further chapters angsty, smutty

word count: 1k

tell me what you think? wanna be tagged?

chapter 1 series masterlist

As you know, Limits of Desire is coming to an end so I’m starting this new series. I’m very excited for this! Maybe it’ll flop but I like the idea, so I hope you like it too!

per·fi·dy /ˈpərfədē/ (noun):

1: the quality or state of being faithless or disloyal: TREACHERY. 2: an act or an instance of disloyalty 3: deceitfulness; untrustworthiness.

When we walk in with the idea of a sworn enemy, it is expected to be deceived. One never walks into a war without expecting a battle, without expecting casualties. But you would have never guessed to be hurt in this way, not because you never thought he could stab you, but because you would have never guessed you’d feel this way by knowing he wanted to hurt you.

This wasn’t a first time he’d hurt you, but you thought you’d learned better. You’ve learned it before, he was not worth the aggravation. Yet there you were, in your way to apologize to your best friend for causing such a mess. You were sure neither Harry nor Emma wanted to see you. But you were even more sure that they didn’t want to see Tom.

You didn’t want to see him, because this wasn’t the first time Tom Holland had shattered your heart. It was the first time you shattered his, however. If you could even say that. And you were sure you had been both initially determined to hurt each other. Because both of you had twisted your words, and you’d both played with fire.

But right now, you were trying to figure out if it had only been only an act of playing pretend, you were trying to understand if you really had gone to the battle wanting to win. Maybe you were destined to lose. Because you were sure that even if you were now standing in the end, there was still a beginning.

Everybody talks about first times, but not the best ones. Not the ones that really settle in a relationship. Not the ones that you barely remember. But they’re important.

Everybody remembers the first kiss, the first date, the first time you slept together, the first time saying I love you.

No one remembers the first time you looked into each other’s eyes, or the first time your hands brushed against theirs, the first time you ran out of breath after laughing at a joke they made. The first time you hugged. The first time they reached out to pull back a lost strand of hair. The first time you ever shared fries or the first time they gave you a spoonful of whatever they were cooking. The first time they showed their ugly laugh or the first time you really turned into friends.

The first time that you ever saw them with different eyes, and the first time that you didn’t roll your eyes at a lame attempt to flirt. The first time you talked wholeheartedly. The first time you weren’t lying.

And nobody talks about the last times which turn into firsts. The last time you ever ignored each other, the first time you listened.

The last time you stayed up all night to wait for a text and the first time you ever feared they wouldn’t text back. The last time you said goodbye and the first time you’d be scared to say hello. The last time you fought and the first time you didn’t want to apologize. The last time you went to bed together and the first time you ever woke up without him.

Nobody talks about the last time you believed it was real, and the first time you ever let loose. Because it was a mistake, but all good things are, aren’t they? Miracles happened by accident. But this wasn’t an accident, this had been a perfectly crafted way of hurting each other.

Maybe the first times led to the last times. And you wondered if you had ever crossed his mind before. Because he was always roaming your mind. You were not supposed to fall in love with him, this was just a stupid bet, and this had been a stupid decision. But maybe he did hate you now, maybe it was always meant to be this way, with him not wanting to talk to you, not even having the energy to annoy you and with him not answering your calls or your texts, not even to call you names.

But nobody talked about betrayal, and how you shouldn’t even be angry about it because you had accepted the dare so nonchalantly and you knew what you were playing with. You were both wrong in this situation.

Had this been the sweet revenge you were looking for? Or had it been just a pathetic excuse just to get close to him and finally accept your feelings? Maybe this just meant you were both too proud to accept it. But you were hurt, too.

And now there you were, wondering what you had done wrong, wanting to turn back time so you had said no to that dare. Because, then it wouldn’t have hurt that much. Both playing pretend but both letting each other fall.

But you remembered a first time, the first time you met, the first time you crushed on him and the last time he hurt you and the day you had promised yourself you’d never think of Tom Holland as anything but an asshole whom you would never trust, and you remembered that from a very young age you’d promised yourself that you’d never get tangled in his charms. Because they were not true.

But you weren’t really one to talk now about truthful charms and you couldn’t say anything because you were no better than him.

But Tom Holland was so vain, and arrogant and too proud of himself. And everything revolved around him. Even your mind and your heart right now. But it was Tom, the idiot you’ve sworn you’d hate your whole life and the one who annoyed you whenever he strutted into a room.

This was Tom, there was no reason to cry. You’d always say it: ‘I’d rather have grounds in my coffee than spend 5 minutes with him.’ Yet you were crying.

But there are first times, and there are last times. It’s just a matter of retrospective to see if its the end of a beginning or the beginning of an end, even if both of you showed how big of perfidy you can pull.

chapter 1 series masterlist

tell me what you think? wanna be tagged?

I’ll be using the tag list I used for LOD, please DO TELL ME IF YOU DON’T WANT TO BE TAGGED NO HARD FEELINGS!!

tag list @clairesrainbow @underoosmarvel @wronglanemendes @itsvianny @jake-and-amy-are-married @starlightfound @harleenqueenofgotham @kill-the-stereo @originalpinkpowerranger @spidxrparkxr @mukesnugget @anxiousdesignerdancerbandlover @organicpurplepants @happywolves81 @nedthegay @skylar-mendes @sentimentalquackson @savannah0111 @spidermansmj14 @soccerstud004 @marinaabernardii @applenter @silver-winter-wolf @dark-infernal-instruments @claredolphinbear24 @bookgirlunicorn @tomshufflepuff @avengersgirllorianna @nevertoofarfromivar @saintlavrents @herofiennestiffinashardinscott. @tomzfrog @tohollandback @morganhoran1671 @awkwardfangirl2014 @spideysimpossiblegirl @everythingbooknerd @xapham @xapham @xxtomxo @tomhollandisagod @danicarosaline @laurfangirl424 @vintageroses1014516 @cinnamon-roll-peter @the-lost-fairy-tale @lala-florez @fufaation15 @healthyassdonut @ilcveyou3000 @xxtomxo @socorroann @muffinmari25 @cassindeansass @rogers-obsessed-barnes-curious @southsidespidey @nathaliabakes @nathaliabakes @marvelstuck @embrace-themagic @bradfordbantams @sanniegirl1214 @gioandreolli @peterpandco @fairytaleparker @underooling @griff1ndor @chubby-cheek-calum @thatweirdomimic @avengersgirllorianna @reginalaufeyson-holmes @better-daisy @yeahimcrying @allmonstersxarehuman @spider-manholland @clairesrainbow @georiaang @sebxstianbarnes @kissingtrutharchives @snoopy3000 @prettymessygurl @spideyparkerstark @fanfic-4-you @lexshead @officiallyunofficialperson @mannien @whitewolfandthefox @melodiclovesong @bizzlepotter @localfangirlx @xxpeachyxo @acceptance07 @mendes-fan @mendes-fan @swaggyspiderman @localfangirlx @queengemsworld @liberty01 @stiles-banshees @itsjusttor @stretchkingblog97 @annathesillyfriend @dangerousluv1 @tomshufflepuff @thewayilookatbacon @petersdiaries @emjaywrites @swaggyspiderman @infamousmany @jungeunave @bullshitstars23 @ispiderdudei @calhtlland @literalfsngirltrash @quacksonhq @it-is-rebel-owl-ma-dudes @desir-ae @pxkajesus @unbelievableholland @peterporkpie @justanotherusername80 @smolpeachees @thenoddingbunny-blog @quackeroos @spideyyeet

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anna-justice · 4 years

Text

Lost or Found - 15

Summary: As Jay, Hailey, Kim, Adam and Kevin start their junior year in the wake of a tragic summer, the past year of their lives comes back to haunt them. If you enjoyed Pretty Little Liars, this is for you! *UPSTEAD/BURZEK High School AU

...

15 - Glimmer ...

“Jay, this has to be perfect.”

Jay scoffed at his friend, who was attempting to paint massive letters on a blue sign. “This seems a bit extravagant Adam.”

Adam rolled his eyes, dropping his paint brush. He had asked Jay to come over a few hours prior to help him. It was Sunday, the day before spirit week and Adam was planning on asking his girlfriend to the homecoming dance the following weekend. The plan was simple: Jay (and Kevin, who ditched because he had an extra practice) were going to help Adam make all the shit he needed while Hailey kept her away from his house. Then after school Monday, Jay and Hailey were in charge of distracting Kim until he was ready. The only problem was, Adam’s ability to paint was about as good as his handwriting and the letters on the sign were equal to chicken scratch.

“I mean, you are already dating.” Jay continued.

“So,” Adam said, standing. “You are telling me that when you ask Hailey you won’t be holding a corny sign and a bouquet of flowers?” Jay began to speak but Adam kept talking. “Because I guarantee you, you will look like an idiot when every other girl has a cute story to tell.”

Jay shot his friend a dirty look, “Who said I was going to ask Hailey?”

“I hate you…”Adam muttered, groaning in defeat. He was sick of watching Jay dance around his feelings, especially since he knew Hailey felt the same way. He knew that he was the one that told him it was a bad idea in the first place, but he had retracted the statement a million times since then.

“Adam stop stressing, you know she will say yes.” Jay said, changing the subject.

Adam shrugged, “I know. That’s not the point. I just want her to feel special.”

Jay grinned, it was fun to watch his usually dickish best friend get all sentimental. “You know, sometimes you have these moments where I forget how much of a sarcastic little smartass you are.”

Adam glared at him. He then put on a fake smile and put his hand over his heart. “Really Jay? That means so much to me.”

Jay rolled his eyes and laughed as Adam got back to work. And even though Jay had dismissed him just a few moments earlier, he had planned to ask Hailey. He was right, it needed to be special, and Jay had the perfect idea.

…

Going back to school on Monday was a bit of an adjustment for Hailey. It was exactly the same as before, Jay picked her up (she really needed to start giving him gas money) and they met their friends in the parking lot and she went to her first block as normal. Except she had had heart surgery, and everyone knew that she was the girl that got trapped in a garage with a running car. That alone made people's stares a little more intense, but she also couldn’t seem to forget about the scar running up her chest.

It was crazy, she was wearing a t-shirt, no one could even see it. But she still felt like she had something she was hiding. It was all too familiar, she flashed back to just a year earlier when she began to hide the bruises caused by her father. There was something scary about her situation (other than the obvious facts), she moved to Chicago to escape the danger she was in, but somehow she had walked into something worse. And now she was a 16 year old with a pacemaker and a stalker, and she wasn’t a fan of either.

Hailey and Jay were walking to first block together, since they both had Criminal Justice. Hailey was still nursing the cup of coffee that Jay had brought her that morning, and she would admit that it made her morning much better. The two ways to her heart were coffee and pizza, and Jay had gotten pretty good at buying her both.

They settled into their seats (of course right next to each other) and Hailey pulled out her textbook. She noticed the sheepish look on Jay’s face and pushed it between them, it wasn’t the first time that he had forgotten his.

Jay smirked as he watched Hailey pull out her notebook and pencil pouch, the girl was a bit of a control freak when it came to her notes. Not that he minded, his looked like a five year old did them, so he’d be studying with hers anyway.

That’s how they spent the whole class: Hailey listening attentively and taking notes and Jay watching her listen and take notes. By the end he couldn’t remember one sentence their teacher said. He looked down at his own blank paper and chuckled, he hadn’t realized how out of touch he had really been.

“Mr. Halstead, did you find something more important to do than paying attention in my class?” Their teacher, Mr. Chavez asked as he stared him down.

Jay was about to respond with a “yes” but Hailey beat him to it, “He has a headache sir, I told him he could copy my notes later.” She explained.

“That’s very kind of you Ms. Upton. Great work as always.” He looked to Jay, his smile faltering. “See to it that you get those notes, don’t throw away Ms. Upton’s kindness.”

Jay nodded his head, stifling a laugh as he walked away. He gathered his things, preparing for the bell to ring and Hailey smirked beside him. “The next time you want to stare at me for an hour and a half, pick a class you aren’t close to failing.”

As soon as she finished her sentence, the bell rang and Hailey jumped up. “Hey! I’m not failing.” He called after her, but she just threw a grin over her shoulder at him and exited the room. Jay shook his head and grabbed his backpack, pulling the strap over his shoulder. That girl was going to be the death of him.

He made his way to his next class, Advanced Physics, which he unfortunately didn’t have with Hailey. He felt a little pathetic if he was being honest, but his happiness at the moment completely revolved around her. When she was around, the air felt a little lighter and he could breathe easier.

It was crazy to think that something so good came out of all of the shit they were dealing with, but it did. Hailey Anne Upton was his best friend, what more could he ask for?

…

Hailey sat in Psychology next to Severide, keeping her eyes locked on Kevin who turned around every five seconds to check on her. It was hard and she spent the whole class a little on edge, but they couldn’t risk Severide knowing that they were onto him in any way. Which meant Hailey had to spend 90 minutes every other day pretending to be his friend.

“How are you doing?” He asked, grabbing her attention.

Hailey looked back at him, startled. “I’m good, thanks.”

Severide nodded, glancing back down at her paper. “Uh, do you have number seven?”

“Yeah, it’s cognitive.” She said, looking at her own.

“Thanks.”

Hailey grimaced at the awkwardness of their conversation. “No problem.” She needed to get out of there. She raised her hand, “Can I use the restroom?” Her teacher nodded and she jumped up and grabbed the hall pass before high tailing it out of the room.

She let out a breath as she entered the bathroom, taking in her disheveled appearance. She hated how riled up Severide made her, but everytime she looked in the mirror she pictured the bruises that once covered her neck.

A toilet flushed behind her and she quickly got herself together. She gleaned in the mirror to see Nadia exit the stall, they made eye contact and quickly looked away. Hailey’s second uncomfortable interaction of the day. “Hailey right?” Nadia asked.

“Yeah.” Hailey said, she patted her legs nervously and gave her a small smile. “We haven’t officially met.”

Nadia gave her a cautious smile, “No we haven’t, but I don’t doubt you know everything there is to know about me.” Her tone turned darker at the end, her facade giving out.

“I’m not one to judge.” Hailey said, hoping to give her some solace.

“I’m not either.” Nadia turned towards the door, “Be careful with Jay, he’s not all he’s cracked up to be.”

“We’re just-” The door slammed shut, leaving Hailey alone to her thoughts, “Friends…” Not that she would be opposed to something more, but she wasn’t sure that was a secret. She ignored Nadia’s jab at Jay, if Hailey was her she would have said the exact same thing. Nadia didn’t know that Jay only ruined her because his mom’s life was at risk.

She grabbed the hall pass off the sink and made her way back to class, against her will. She was ready for the day to be over and she was barely halfway through.

…

After school, Hailey stood at her locker waiting for Jay, something else that had become normal. She was scrolling through instagram, not paying attention to anything going on around her. She was trying to keep her mind off the amount of AP Chem homework she had,but the tactic was proving to be unsuccessful.

“Hey,” a voice said, pulling her out of her trance. She looked up to find Kelly Severide standing over her, and she practically jumped out of her skin. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Hailey laughed nervously, removing herself from between him and the locker. “You’re good, what’s up?”

“Uh, nothing really I was just wondering if maybe you would want to go to homecoming with me?” He asked and Hailey stared at him blankly.

She figured she was going to be asked, but not like that and certainly not by him. She stood there in silence, trying to figure out what to say. She was 100% sure that she had watched this movie and the probability of her ending up dead at the end of it was high. Who else could say that the guy who choked them in the middle of their living room at one in the morning was also their homecoming date? Not many, probably because everyone who could check yes for that box was either murdered or missing.

She was about to respond when she felt a presence behind her. “Sorry man, she can’t go with you.”

Hailey sighed, Jay.

Severide gave Jay a bored look, sighing. “Why’s that?” Hailey looked up at him as if to ask: Yeah Jay, why not?

Jay smirked, glancing down at Hailey and the to Severide, “Because she’s going with me.”

...

@lissethsrojas @fuckyeahkillianemma @puckluck28 @chilly7188 @thebigapocalypsewolf @karihighman @upsteadheart @ruzek-halstead

#jay halstead #hailey upton #upstead #upstead au #kim burgess #adam ruzek #burzek #burzek au #kelly severide #chicago pd #chicago pd au #one chicago #chicago fire #high school au

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jooneggs · 4 years

Text

Glossaphilia | Yoongi 👄

👄 Glossaphilia ~ (noun.) being sexually attracted to a person’s mouth, specifically their tongue 👄

⤑ Pairing: Yoongi x Reader ⤑ Genre/AU: idol!Yoon | smut, slight fluff ⤑ Warnings: Blatant Smut revolving around the tongue, Yoongi’s a tease, swearing ⤑ Word count: 984

⤑ Rating: M/Explicit

A/N: This is my gift to Em @nahfamily ✭ I really hope you love this, that it fills all your Yoongi needs and that you have a really pleasant Valentines. It’s been great to be a part of this and to get to know a bit about yourself! ♡

👄

The day you met Suga was at the side-bar of an Underground Alternative Club. He’d been performing just moments before on the rustic corner-stage, rapping and spitting like he had the entire world in his grasp. You’d come here every week to watch the acts and be a part of things, but this time, you were completely compelled. Not only by his music, his passion..but him. You watched as he’d run through his lyrics, clenching his teeth, biting his lip, letting his tongue flow off the words like pure alchemy. You knew, that instant, you had to get to know more of him.

The day you met Yoongi was a few weeks later, where you’d decided to hang at his studio - almost like a first date. It was the first time you’d seen each other since talking at the bar, and it felt nice falling into his arms in a brief hug and sitting opposite him in a room with just the two of you. Alone.

He’d heard your lyric and producing skills upon attending previous evenings at the club where you’d mixed songs for the booked artists. He admired it, so much so he wanted to become fully encapsulated in your world of writing and ideas. You said you’d wanted the same with him.

Over the next few weeks, you seemed to meet more and more often. Mainly at his studio, pouring over metaphors and new worlds together. As he wrote, you’d stare, his tongue caught in his cheek, fleshing out the side of his caramel tone face. His tongue would fiddle around his mouth, lost in thought. Sometimes it would rest on the inside of his cheek, sometimes his tongue would slip out of the crevice of his blush pink lips, tantalizing and rose-tinted.

You loved watching him like that, and you encouraged it, often urging him to get on with his work while you just watched. If Yoongi’s mouth were a fruit, it would be a peach, just ripe enough to taste and for it to still be the perfect combination of sweet and soft. Of course, you were yet to kiss him, or to confess your feelings. You could only imagine his taste, and the way he’d feel up against you.

A month later, and you’d finally reached round to your birthday. That night, you sat in his living room, pizza boxes flung to the side, slices in your lap alongside a small tub of mayo. The night air was cold and whispering, the room a dark tint of grey, matching his hair. You’d talked a lot, mumbling through mouthfuls of food, laughing and almost choking from the ridiculously sarcastic jokes he would tell.

In that moment, a slither of sauce had found its way onto your chest, just beneath your collarbone, reaching for your breasts. You could only stare for a second, eager to stay still as to not find your shirt getting stained by the condiment. As you looked around the room for a tissue, you felt a sudden warmth on your skin. Looking down, you found Yoongi, head of hair brushing your neck as his tongue worked at your chest to remove any remnants of food. At first, you tried to take his action lightly, playing it off as a weird joke of his, or something that was spurred on by his intake of alcohol.

As he continued however, you felt less certain that it was just a joke. His tongue now working on the high mounds of your breasts, lips skimming the skin, you felt your breathing start to becoming heavier, chest rising with each stroke of his mouth.

That night, looking back on it, could have easily been encouraged by the alcohol, and the casual nature of the event. But Yoongi had told you, just minutes later, that he was so much more than serious regarding his feelings about you. He had sealed that promise with a hot, wet kiss that ended up pushing you back onto the sofa and leaving the both of you exhausted the next morning.

The next few years ensued in a similiar fashion, the dominating character of the relationship and the sex being his irresistible mouth. In fact, more than his mouth, his tongue.

Nights would be spent, you strung back on the bed, legs bent apart, his head between them. Hours would be spent, his tongue lathering your pussy, sucking on your bud, fingers fucking you deep until you couldn’t see anything anymore but stars.

Some times he would ensue a moment of passion with the element of surprise. he’d come up behind you as you were cooking or reading or drawing and he’d lick a stripe from your neck to the upper curve of your ear. He’d do it so unexpectedly, so slowly and gently that by its end, you would be begging for a more intimate release. Other times he would attack in the moment of pure passion. During an intense moment of making love, he’d sidle down and leave purple petals across your breasts, your nipples aching; or in other moments he’d pull you up onto your face, squeezing your ass, letting his tongue reach deep inside you.

You recall a particular night where he’d littered you in love bites after a massage from a long day of work. You also remember another time where he’d left you so swollen from his tongue, ass up and face clamped between your aching thighs, that you struggled to walk or even communicate the next day.

It truly was a miracle he’d came into your life. Not only because of those sensual, explorative nights where he’d give you more than you ever felt you deserved, but because of so many other things that made him so uniquely and special that you wished you could give him another title that would really sum-up how much he meant to you.

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crossbows-and-moonshine · 4 years

Text

Screaming Salvation (Part one)

[[ The rest of this author note is from when I wrote it, but this is me now. Here’s the first chap of the gift I promised. Please remember there will only be 5 chapters and as of now, I have no idea when I’ll go back to finish this.]]

-----------

So this one will end up being AU. Focused heavily and my OC and Daryl rather than everyone else. Not much else to say, no idea where the fuck I’m going with this as usual loool Set before the group gets to Alexandria.

Name of the fic is inspired by a song. The Two Tongues by As It Is.

When I think of him there's comfort in the cold

He gives me solace when I offer him control

Her voice so beautiful will find me and explain

That life is agony but worth it all the same

I've been to hell and back

I've been living in between

Where the sky is always grey

And the grass is ever green

No I'm not sure I'm right

But I'm not sure I'm wrong

I'm just desperate to belong

Her voice like a sunrise

His voice like temptation

She sings to me softly

He's screaming salvation

-------------------------------

The sounds of boots slapping the damp mud in the forest, mixed with her own heavy breathing, were the only sounds in Rosalie's ears. Blaring like an alarm, letting her know exactly just how much she was in danger. And to put it lightly, she was fucked. She dodged and weaved the trees like a bat out of hell, eyes fixed on the break in the trees in front of her. The weight wrapped around her middle was weighing on her heavily, not just physically, but mentally. With each step it was as if she could feel just how heavy the burden placed on her shoulders really was. Like being put to the test, and she really fucking hated it. She had to get out of here, she fucking had to. She could still hear the men back further in the forest, not giving up the unrelenting chase of the young girl. Despite the fact her boots felt like they were filling with blood from her torn up feet, she didn't slow down. She was a lone survivor. Well maybe not completely alone, but she didn't exactly have anyone to have her back. She knew better than that by now. She’d been alone for years now. But the weight of having something else to keep alive, something to keep safe, it was a hard pill to swallow, especially when said thing was making life that much more difficult.

The cut on her arm stung like a bitch as it bled everywhere, the warm crimson liquid dripping down her arm. She had a fleeting thought that it was creating quite an inviting trail for the dead ones to track her with and have a nice meal, or even the assholes who were after her. She knew it'd need stitches and could only pray to a God that clearly either didn't exist or give a shit, that it wouldn't get infected. At this point, so far past the turn, finding antibiotics was a rare fucking thing. Her lungs burned deep in her chest from her violently sucking in air and heaving it out. She could only focus on getting far away. She knew she'd put a good distance between her and the assholes chasing her, being small and nimble had its perks. But she knew they were still chasing her, and she wondered with a dark feeling if they’d ever even stop.

She broke out of the tree line, but what should have felt like a small victory rapidly turned on its head as she was faced with a large group of survivors just a few feet away in the road. It felt like a fraction of a second before all weapons were trained on her, and she drew her machete with a shaky weak arm, the other curling protectively around the thickly wrapped sheet around her middle. Her eyes were wild. Fear and desperation clear as day in them. A girl who had seen way too much shit for her age. Twenty...something. She was twenty one when the world fell apart and she’d lost track of how much time had passed since then. She really wasn't sure anymore, she didn’t give a shit. None of it mattered anymore. The only thing that did matter was staying alive. Age had no purpose in the new world because no matter the number, your life could end swiftly from the dead or the living. It didn't matter if you were 5 or 82.

Her wide haunted eyes rapidly flit around, taking in the threats as she was assessing them. A man with shaggy hair and a beard, holding a revolver. A dirty man with a crossbow and a scowl that would make Satan shit himself. A black woman with swords, a young boy with a gun. There were more, but her fatigue was making it hard to even decipher them, her stance wavering as she fought hard not to collapse. She wondered if they were part of the group chasing her, but despite the fact they looked worn down and like they'd been dragged through hell and back, they didn't seem like it. They didn't give off the extremely dark vibe that the others had. The others, although clearly living and breathing humans, were more animal than man, and those were the kind you really needed to stay away from.

“I don't want any trouble,” her firm yet scared voice sounded foreign to herself, rough and scratchy from not using it for so long and from not having had a drink. She couldn't remember the last time she had a drink. She often went without these days. There was something much more important that needed it. The others squinted at her, and the man with the revolver cocked his head. She couldn’t hide from his eyes that looked like maybe he'd lost his marbles just a little bit. She couldn't really blame him, she had that same look in her own eyes. The one that said she had seen the darkest depths of hell, that said she was desperate and would do anything for survival. It was tense, none of them wavering as if waiting for the other shoe to drop. And then, the bundle wrapped securely around her moved and a small cry came from it. The survivor's eyes widened just a fraction, glancing at each other before back to her. A sound of a baby so strange to them, despite the fact they had one of their own. Some of them wavered their weapons a little, as if the idea of hurting someone with a baby wasn't something they could stomach. If they shot her, they could hit the baby, or the baby would get crushed when she fell like a sack of crap.

Rosalie swallowed thickly and took a shaky step back, her weapon still raised as she tried to see if they would put a damn bullet in her back the second she turned. Her hand held the baby's head protectively as she glanced down, shushing the baby in a low soothing tone. The man with the revolver slowly lowered his weapon, and most of the others followed suit. He was either the leader or they just trusted his judgement, Rosalie mused. He looked almost pained as he glanced at the wiggling bundle attached to the woman, the woman who seemed too haunted. The thought of one girl, one person on their own having to survive with a baby, made the man's blood run cold. He knew how hard it was and he wasn't ever alone anymore. He had his group, his family to have his back. To know that if anything did happen to him, the baby would be safe and protected still. And this girl, with the desperate look in her eyes that he knew all too well, she didn't have that luxury.

She exhaled a shaky breath and was about to leave, but that would be way too easy for the unfortunate events that made up her life. Nothing was ever easy in Rosalie's life. From the moment she was born with the umbilical cord wrapped around her neck to her mother dying in childbirth, it only went downhill after that with her evil father shifting the blame onto the innocent child. Her life was one shitty thing after another, and the new world did nothing to change that fact. If anything, it made it much much worse.

The three vile men suddenly appeared out of the trees. It was as if they had somehow not noticed the large group of survivors not too far away, or maybe they were too stupid to care, their eyes on the prize as it were. She thought it was a combination of both. As deranged as these men were, they really weren't too clever or aware of their surroundings. It was how she managed to get away in the first place.

Rosalie's eyes widened in terror and took a step back, a low feral sounding growl erupting from her lips as she held her machete up, looking more alert than she did seconds before. She looked like a wild animal ready to attack, to fight for its life and do whatever it took to survive. It was a look that didn't match up with her almost angelic pretty face and tiny petite frame.

“Now now kitten, that wasn't very nice to leave us like that,” the man with long straggly hair sneered. He was thin and sickly looking, a wild gleam in his eye. The man to his left, far too fat for this world and Rosalie wondered how the fuck he’d managed that one, laughed loudly.

“Forget the girl, I want the baby,” the balding man to the right side gleefully stated. The words polluted the air and caused the group to gasp, shocked from the other survivors who were watching, weapons drawn and appalled faces. Because no matter the horrors you found in this world, something always came along to outdo it.

With no hesitation, when those vile vile words left the man's lips and then left them distracted by the other group, a loud snarl left Rosalie as she dove at the man, swiping her machete with a force that looked unreal for her small weak frame. The blade sliced cleanly through the man's neck, almost severing his head. And with a sudden flurry of movement and noise, the leader hit the floor like a tonne of bricks, a bullet right through the temple, as the man to his left got a bolt right in the eye and fell next to him.

Rosalie's head whipped to the others, seemingly shocked that anyone had even bothered to help her or the child. Did good people exist anymore? She really gave up that hope a long fucking time ago. She stopped expecting the best of people before the world went to shit and it only went downhill after. The thick silence filled the air and she blinked wearily at them. Fatigue was setting into her bones but she needed to go. She needed to find somewhere to hole up for the night, to find safety for the little thing attached to her that had seemingly taken over her life, the fierce need to protect. She turned her back, feeling like they wouldn't hurt her. Why bother helping if they'd just kill her? She started stalking away, wincing at the pain in her feet.

“Wait!” the voice rang out in the tense air and stopped her in her tracks, making her turn cautiously, half expecting a gun trained on her. But instead, she found the revolver man who had taken a few strides towards her. She narrowed her gaze distrustfully at him. In response he held his hands up, giving her a weird look, like he was looking at a scared animal and he didn't want to spook it.

“You should come with us, ain’t safe out here on your own, not with a baby,” his words were soothing, like he'd done this all too many times before. Diplomatic and calming. She was good at reading people and she wondered if he was some kind of law enforcement before the shit hit the fan. She'd had enough experience with police in her past to know one when she heard one. Rosalie chewed the inside of her cheek as her eyes flit to the others watching carefully behind him. Although no weapons were pointed at her, she could sense their readiness to do so if needed.

“They won't hurt you, we’re good people,” he said softly, as if he could sense her apprehension. He didn't really blame her for feeling that way, especially not after what they had just witnessed. It painfully reminded him of the other group he came across when one of his own had returned to him. The Claimers. The one slimy fuck that had his eye on his son, the one who ended up with his entrails all over the floor.

She didn't like this. She didn't like people and she didn't want to be part of another group just so they could fucking die around her like the last one all those years ago, not long after the dead started walking and got a penchant for eating people. She already had enough on her plate looking after the kid. She didn’t need feelings or attachments, nothing of the sort. One was more than enough. That shit was what got you killed out here. She didn't say a word, turning around and carrying on walking. The man's shoulders slumped a little, the idea of letting her and the baby walk away to an almost certain death not sitting right with him.

“We have a baby too...We have formula...if you need any. We look out for our own. You come with us, we can make sure the baby is safe,” Just as he hoped, the woman stilled again, but didn't turn to him this time. He could see her clench her fist a little, the one with no weapon. He also noticed the gash on her arm that looked like a defensive wound. It was dangerous to have a wound like that these days, and he doubted she could sew it up herself.

“Someone can help with your arm, sew it up. Won't be much use to your baby if you die from infection or blood loss,” he prodded, knowing the girl clearly cared about the baby and trying to coax her using that knowledge.

She slowly turned around, tugging her lower lip with her teeth as her bloodied arm came around to the baby’s head that was now poking out from what looked like a tatty bloodstained blanket that was tied tightly around her. The dark-haired baby cooed at her, pulling at her necklace, and Rosalie glanced from the man to the baby. She knew he was right, that she couldn't do this alone. If she died, what chance did the baby have of surviving? None. Just like when she had found him. She mulled around the idea of leaving the small boy with the people, but she found a strange pain in her chest when she did. She’d at least have to stick around a little to see if she could trust them with such a thing.

After a few tense moments of silence, she looked back up at the man, seeing his hopeful gaze imploring her to do the right thing. If they wanted her dead, they would have done it by now, that much was obvious. She’d run into too many bad people already in the new world. She could tell they were different. But despite the apprehension swelling inside of her, she had to. She had to fucking hope that maybe all the people left in the world weren't evil, and that maybe this was her chance to give the baby the life he deserved. The guilt swam deep in her veins, remembering what he said about formula. She’d ran out weeks ago, and the baby was surviving on mashed foods that were way too much for a boy his age. As much as she was grateful that the baby was mostly quiet, she knew deep inside of her, part of that reason was because he wasn't getting what he needed, wasn't getting the right nutrients and it was making him weak.

Rosalie took a deep shaky breath to steady her nerves before giving the man a small nod, and he breathed a sigh of relief, stepping closer. He didn't fail to notice how the grip on her machete tightened without her raising it, or how the arm around the baby gripped harder.

“I’m Rick,” he said with a warm smile, holding his hand out but she looked at it like he’d grown three heads. Shaking hands wasn't a thing in this new world. Hell, she didn’t shake hands in the old world either. She still took it though, her small hand giving him a weak shake and letting him see just how tired and weak she really was.

“Rosalie,” she muttered, her eyes tired and her whole body screaming with pain. She didn't offer up the baby's name but Rick didn't mention it. He would be protective of Judith too. He nodded at her and tilted his head in the direction of the group before walking back over to them. She heaved a sigh before trudging off after him, watching the others eye her curiously, some wary. They should be wary. They didn't know what she was capable of, and she knew they were smart just for feeling the same apprehension she felt about them.

“This is Rosalie, she’ll be joining us,” Rick’s words were firm as he gazed around the group that had become his family, waiting for anyone to speak up, to challenge him. But the baby cooed again and it was as if the noise itself was enough to soften anyone who may have had doubts, to leave such an innocent thing out in the world like this. The children were the future now, the only hope the cold world may have. And with no more words, they all turned around and started back on their journey. One to find somewhere to call home, to feel safe. Somewhere Carl and Judith could be safe from the horrors of the new world, and now somewhere for this new baby to have the same.

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon fanfic #The Walking Dead #the walking dead fanfic #twd #twd fanfiction #twd fanfic

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jasperwhitcock · 4 years

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equinox | chapter 06 –– “open book”

here is chapter chapter six of my bella as a vampire and edward as a human fanfic inspired by an au that @bellasredchevy posted. you can read the new chapter on AO3 or here. i post updates on AO3 or on tumblr using the #equinoxjw tag. but sometimes it doesn’t work. so. um.

the last time i wrote for this, it was BEFORE midnight sun came out. and now, midnight sun has been out for two weeks (oops...now FOUR weeks), i’ve finished it, i am miserable as a result, and finally, SHOOK. here’s why: in the last chapter, i mentioned esme’s aversion to having her floors ruined by rain. in midnight sun, edward mentioned that multiple times. MY MIND.

everyone reading this is thinking like, yeah, sure “your mind” OR you’re dumb and should not be finding any humor that your lizard brain came up with the same basic idea as smeyer, known racist. maybe esme was just written with hardly any personality so it wasn’t that difficult to end up concocting the same idea. and… okay, you’re right. but in those moments, let me tell you, i was really feeling something. smeyer, you reading this?

to catch up since i’ve been busy, i reread my other chapters. and i really need to go back and edit them. so thank u for being here & bearing with me. hehe

also… the beige… that’s for y’all.

just a lil baby warning: there are conversations revolving around religion in this chapter. i wanted to mention that as a warning for the sake of anyone who has had negative experiences with church/religion (like me!) whom this topic makes uncomfortable. the local doctor and his children are VAMPIRES. you have been warned.

It was entirely unrealistic –– the possibility of running out of time –– but still, I expedited through the forest, the greenery blurring by me in long unfocused streaks. Although if I paid attention, I knew I’d still be able to see every microscopic detail. The fluffy moss growing along the trunks of the ground, the iridescent droplets of rain dotting the ferny leaves, the patterns in the wood of the trees. But I cared little to as I barreled forward, hurtling over uprooted trees and bounding over large pools of rainwater nestled in the muddy forest floor.

I lost a shoe leaping over the last fifty yard stretch of river, so I kicked the other off carelessly in midair. The shoe fell into the water with a powerful splash from the height. Alice could bite me later. I was in too great of a hurry to deal with her chastisement now. If she really cared for this pair of shoes, she could dive for it. Alice! The thought of my sister made me realize a reason I could actually be late. I needed a change of clothes.

As I fell back to the earth, reaching a hand forward to grasp onto a convenient branch, I focused, envisioning my arrival at the house, the flight of the stairs, and the knock on the door of her room. I pictured asking her my request, and though I had no intention of actually following through with these steps, I hoped the thought was enough for Alice to see what I wanted. It should be, because if it wasn’t, I’d have to go into the house anyways, but I really didn’t want to waste time.

I swung lightly onto the bough of another spruce, and nimbly travelled this way from branch to branch, juggling the journal all the while by throwing it into the air between trees and catching it again. I could run fast and delicately enough to avoid muddying my feet, but with how unfocused I was in my hurry, I didn’t want to risk needing to stop to wash off.

If they hadn’t been concerned already, now would really be the time that my family genuinely considered my descent into insanity, seeing me wildly and maniacally swing through the trees towards the house like Tarzan after having only melodramatically left hours prior.

I knew it wouldn’t last, but I felt somehow liberated by the realizations that I’d come to in my wintry jungle. After hours of considering the right way forward navigating my now complicated future, I’d decided to face it head on. To stubbornly confront the problem. I was tired of feeling unlike myself and feeling distanced from my family, though my new resolution might encourage the rift I’d only just mended with Rosalie. Even with my grievances, I still enjoyed this life, the strength I’d found in it. The sense of rightness and belonging that contrasted how I’d felt so weak and out of step as a human. I wanted to bask in that again. I wanted to take action.

I decided the best way to reattain that freedom was rather than leave the boy alone, I’d challenge the vision. Seek him out this morning. Return the journal to him. Sit beside him. And in my ability to do so, I’d then prove his irrelevance to me, his powerlessness over my self control.

And although it was still a ridiculous thought to entertain, if I did find in me some concern or care for him, then that’d be even better. It’d certainly be strange, but it’d also strengthen my resolve to leave him be with his own life rather than make any choices he couldn’t even be knowledgeable enough about to consent to. Then, once I’d done so, I could truly leave him alone for good. I’d toyed with completely ignoring him from the beginning as I said I would, but then I decided that outcome wouldn’t develop from inaction. I was far too headstrong to leave this alone without trying to face it.

I will admit that a part of me was curious about Alice’s vision, curious about a friend or even a partner in this life… But the thought of Edward as that partner made me recoil. He was too irritating –– not the ideal candidate to spend an eternity with.

He was smart, though. And kind too, I noted, thinking of the way he’d cheered up the girl in the hospital… But definitely irritating. I’d have endless time to decode what had made him so relentless and smart-mouthed, but once I’d made the discovery, what then?

I had spent hours turning the little brown journal in my hands over and over, studying the worn leather, the folds and creases, tempted to open it and uncover his secrets. During an hour where I’d been resolved to go forth with pretending he didn’t exist, I’d even considered sneaking back to his house and finding my way in to leave the journal by his side so that I wouldn’t have to give it back to him myself in person. But that –– and also privily reading it without his permission –– seemed indefensibly invasive.

I didn’t mind being a vampire if that’s what I was. But that didn’t mean I had any desire to fulfill some of the creepier of the tropes.

Once I reached the tree closest to the garage, I tightroped onto a thin branch. Then, cautious as to not break it, I gently pushed down and sprung off, diving like a swimmer seventy feet down, the journal clasped between my outstretched hands. The distance was very short, and I landed softly, focusing greatly on doing so in a cautiously tactile way that wouldn’t cannonball me through the building and barreling into the ground. I rolled like a bowling ball to a stop on the vegetative, vine-covered roof in a cluster of silky honeysuckle and tickling lavender wisteria.

Even now all these years later, I felt kind of giddy at the impossible physics of my body’s capability for control, so I couldn’t help but laugh a little. I even laughed a little more thinking again of how my family might see my behavior –– me laughing here in the flowers –– as lunacy in how drastically it differed from the darkness of the personal rain cloud I’d been carrying over me.

From the house, I heard a deep chuckle and the sound of a scoff, confirming that I did have an audience. It must be Emmett mocking the impressiveness of my nosedive. I smiled, feeling very much like myself again.

I hopped off the roof to the ground and entered the garage. Sure enough, Alice had laid out a small pile of clothes for me for the upcoming school day. I stripped, unceremoniously dropping the garments I was wearing into a pile on the floor and reached for the clothing. Then, I groaned.

“Alice!” I hissed her name like an expletive. I thought we’d moved past my sister’s insistence on using me as her personal doll, but it seemed this was her attempt for a revival. Maybe she was determined to punish me for the way I’d destroyed my shoes. Rather than a sensible sweater and jeans, Alice had taken advantage of my hurried need and elected to pick out a cropped turtleneck sweater and a mini skirt, both black. The sweater wasn’t awful in that the crop wouldn’t be exposing with the high waist of the skirt, but the bodycon fit of the skirt, the crocodile print of the polyurethane, and the ludicrous split up the side… Alice was deranged. This had to have come from her own closet.

She had the good sense to include sheer black tights to hide some of the disconcerting flawlessness and freaky whiteness of my skin –– not that that would matter much in how off-putting and contrasting I’d look in all black anyways –– but I’d have preferred converse over the matching black boots. At least the heel of the boot was more reasonable than I’d expect from her. Not more reasonable than converse, though.

I imagined showing up to Edward’s house. Hey, Edward! Here I am to drive you to school, pale and ridiculous. Also, I’m a vampire. Here’s your journal.

I considered the short run to my room in the house, but again, I was already running late…

I tugged the clothes on and hopped into the pearly white car, throwing the journal into the passenger seat. As I reversed out of the garage, I felt thankful for the engine upgrades Rosalie worked on that allowed for the instant rapidity of the acceleration.

I spun sharply, letting the car spin out with an obnoxiously loud screech until I was facing the long drive away from the house. In the rearview mirror, I watched as Rosalie entered the garage, her golden eyes shocked and her mouth open as I sped away.

My reckless driving only warranted a few irritated honks on my way to Edward’s house through the morning traffic –– one dark green Honda specifically gave me a long piece of their mind when I cut them off –– before I was whipping around the corner onto his street.

Just as I pulled in front of the lonely house, I watched as Edward casually jogged down the steps of his porch, his sleek backpack hanging carelessly off one shoulder and an apple in his hand.

His tangle of bronze hair was like a low burning flame against the muted monochromatism of the grey house and the grey sky and the grey pavement. Today, he wore a light tan turtleneck that clung tightly to his chest, slim beige trousers, and a long black coat that ended above the knees. His fancy belt, his long socks, and his suede boots were all black too. I didn’t particularly consider him to be someone who cared much about what others thought about him, but he seemed pretty meticulously dressed. I wondered if he dressed to impress others or dressed for himself. Neither decision particularly mattered, but it’d been so long since I thought about something so human –– the thought process of selecting what to wear and considering how you wanted to present yourself.

The clothes I wore ceased to matter long ago. I never particularly had an interest in fashion, so it was easy to allow Alice to select my wardrobe. And for the most part, she got it right. Only when I found her selections to be impractical, such as today, did I really care. But it was a rarity that she tried to push me too far out of my comfort zone anymore. She’d given up on me, or maybe she had just become more clever about finding the right opportunities to dress me in something absurd… I liked things that I could easily move around in.

Alice would approve of his outfit, I thought. Maybe if he liked fashion, they really would get along. But that didn’t matter because I had no intentions of involving Alice and her freaky little visions in my experiment.

Seeing me parked there, he froze for a moment, before his lips curved into a huge smile. Edward laughed, throwing his apple up in the air and catching it again. He half-jogged forward to meet me. I took a deep, clean breath full of the leather scents of the car’s interior and rolled down the window, leaning forward towards him.

Edward bent over so that his head could duck down to see my face through the window, and he shook his head again, chuckling.

“To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“Hello, Edward,” I smiled pleasantly, trying to play nice.

He eyed me suspiciously, but the glint in his pretty green eyes was teasing, the grin that lit them up never fading.

“I’ve come to bring you this, fresh from the scene of the crime––“ I grasped hold of the leather bound book in my hand, raising it up to wave it before setting it back down, “––and to offer you a ride to school. I’m sure it’d be a humbling experience for you to walk, but I felt bad about your pretty car being flattened like a pancake.”

“You’re not irritated with me?” Edward asked, slightly cocking his head to the side.

“Are you irritated with me?” I countered.

“Never,” he beamed.

“Well, then we can call a truce,” I half smiled. “You’re not curious as to why I’m forcing you to carpool, making your getting to school my business?”

“The wasting of finite resources is everyone’s business. But of course, I am curious.”

“As usual,” I mumbled under my breath. Hesitantly, I breathed in. It was like pulling the chord on a hot-air ballon with the way his scent ripped my throat into flames. I was grateful for the distraction of someone grumbling to themself as they turned onto the street, because instead of spiraling, I was able to instead laugh as I realized who I had cut off a few traffic lights ago. I looked in the rearview mirror and sure enough recognized Sara, the sandy blonde, driving the ugly green Honda.

“Hmm… Well, I wouldn’t want to upset your girlfriend––” I bit my lip momentarily to keep myself from laughing, “––so I wouldn’t be offended if you said no.”

“Who?” Edward asked, but his smile had faded as his eyes watched my lips intently.

He looked back into my eyes after a second, blinking as he realized I was staring at him staring at me, then up at the car awkwardly pulling in behind me.

“Oh,” he chuckled as he realized who I meant. “I’ll be just a moment.”

I watched in my side-view mirror as Edward approached Sara on the drivers’ side.

“Hey, Sara,” he said as she cranked her window down.

“Hey, Ed,” she grumbled, kind of irritated. I should have felt guilty for disrupting her plan, but her irritation with Edward instead provoked my nerves. Also, the fact that she called him Ed bothered me too. “I guess you made it out alive. I’d have been here sooner, but Cullen cut me off. I got suck at a red light.”

“Did she?” Edward laughed. “Well, I’m really sorry, Sara. This is so nice of you, but Bella offered to drive me to school today. I’d cancel now that you’re here, but after she saved my life, I’d feel terrible doing so. Is it alright if I see you at school?”

“Yeah, that’s fine,” she snapped, trying to seem unbothered despite the tightness of her jaw and the edge in her voice.

“I’m sorry again, Sara. I really appreciate that you came here,” Edward smiled a dazzling smile.

“No big deal. I’ll see you at school,” she lifted the corners of her lips once before turning away, her mouth in a tight line.

He sighed watching as she drove past me and away before a crooked smile reappeared on his face as he walked back to my car. I didn’t have time to wonder if he would have preferred to ride with her. It didn’t seem likely.

“…Ed?” I asked as he crossed back to the passenger side.

“You heard that?” Edward chuckled. He slid his backpack off his back, opened the door, and dipped his tall frame into the car. He picked up the journal before settling into the passenger’s side, adjusting the seat to make room for his legs and backpack. “I’m not particularly fond of that nickname. Or any, for that matter. My mother called me Teddy sometimes. I prefer Edward.”

“I do too,” I agreed, breathing in the potency of his fragrance. I clutched the steering wheel tightly and swallowed dryly.

“So,” he began once he was comfortable. “Are you feeling more open today?”

“No,” I answered as I began to drive towards the school.

Edward sighed, but he shook his head, amused. Clearly, he’d decided to play nice too. “Do you ever get tired of ambiguity, Bella?”

Yes.

“No,” I teased, rolling my eyes. “I enjoy being mysterious far too much.”

“Mysterious enough to keep me up at night,” he egged on.

“I’m sure you slept just fine.”

“How’d you sleep?” Edward asked. I looked over at him, ignoring the tingling of my tongue in anticipation of the taste of his sweet blood. I should have thought of a response, but I was too busy fighting off my instincts to think of a lie. His pretty eyes narrowed in thought as he analyzed my face and the dark circles beneath my golden eyes.

Suddenly, I froze, my muscles locking down as he reached forward, his hand gently touching my hair. I didn’t dare breathe as the heat of his skin enveloped me in warmth. His hand lingered for a moment before it pulled back, holding up a broken piece of fern.

“You had a leaf in your hair. How’d that get there?” Edward almost whispered, his lips curved into a half-smile.

A strange electricity throbbed through my body, and the sensation was so odd. Like my heartbeat should be thrumming loudly in my ears. Deafening. But my heart was frozen and dead, so I only heard the beat of Edward’s. We sat in silence for a moment as my mind spun in the dizziness.

“Maybe I should have accepted Sara’s offer,” he joked after a moment, laughing, but I wondered what he made of the affliction I was trying to hide on my face. Around him, no matter my attempts at subterfuge, it felt as though my face was an open book in which he could read all my secrets. I refocused my eyes on the road, too distracted by the warmth of his pale face and the prettiness of his green eyes as the forest flew by in the window behind him.

“Maybe,” I agreed, smiling softly, smiling sadly. Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe you should jump out of the car and run before I accidentally kill you.

“But,” he mused gently, trying to keep the mood light and playful. “She probably doesn’t have heated seats.”

His effort to comfort the conflict raging within me that he didn’t even understand worked. I snorted.

I continued driving, thinking of ways to bring up the journal.

“You look lovely today, by the way,” he smiled, appraising me. “Which is not to say that you don’t on any other day, but you do look very pretty.”

I felt oddly incomplete as I waited for reactions my body was no longer capable of. Reactions I’d forgotten. There was another strange sensation in my cheeks as if they should be very warm.

My head whipped towards him in surprise, my eyebrows pulling up.

“What?” He immediately asked in shock, his heart beat picking up. My reaction didn’t totally alarm him though, because his lips were still pulled up at the corners. Edward seemed to always be smiling. Or maybe smirking was the better word. “Do you not get compliments often? I find that rather hard to believe.”

“No, it’s not that,” I relaxed my face. “I was just caught off guard. Lovely…That wasn’t particularly something I’d expect a seventeen year old boy to say.”

“Oh,” he relaxed, easily grinning again.

“Are you even seventeen?” I found myself smiling in return.

“Are you?” He countered.

My mood darkened as my lips dropped immediately, but I fixed the smile back onto my face so he couldn’t see how exposed I felt.

“You know, my mom used to say that I was born thirty five years old, and that I get more middle-aged every year.”

“Hmm…” Edward nodded, his eyes narrowed again as he scrutinized me. I wondered if this clarified some assumption he’d made about me.

I turned into the school parking lot. I saw the gleaming cherry redness of Rosalie’s ostentatious car and desperately hoped she was already inside one of the brick buildings.

“So,” he prompted, his tone mysteriously patronizing. “Did you read this?”

I glanced over to see the accusation in his eyes as he held up the journal, but he didn’t seem angry whatsoever. They were still light. Still playful.

“What? No, of course not,” I defended myself. But my voice was unpersuasive, the pitch coming out a little too high to give my words any credibility.

I parked beside Rosalie. The car was luckily empty, so I relaxed my grip on the steering wheel. Ha! As if my sister would have confronted me here, and I’d have driven away, effectively kidnapping Edward… I scoffed at myself. I clenched the hand Edward couldn’t see into a tight fist, concentrating all of my strength in my fight against temptation into the way my fingers dug into my palm.

I turned my face to look at Edward, whose face was condescending, his thick eyebrows pulled up in disbelief.

“I’m serious! Maybe I look guilty because I considered it, but I didn’t actually follow through.”

His face relaxed into a crooked smile. “Okay, I believe you. I’d have forgiven you anyways.”

“Does that mean if I ask you about the contents, you’ll share?” I asked eagerly. I’d read so many books in my life that this new mystery novel easily became just like another book I was dying to read.

“Absolutely not,” he shook his head, chuckling. Edward reached for his bag, winking at me, and opened his door, ducking his head to get out. I swiftly undid my seatbelt and was out beside him probably much too fast, my backpack slung onto my shoulder. For a moment, I wondered if my siblings needed their useless backpacks too since we typically drove this car to school, but I figured Alice must have rescued them from the trunk after seeing my plans for this morning.

He blinked, looking down at where I suddenly appeared.

“Why?” I inhaled through my mouth, grateful for the influx of fresh rainwater and firs that helped dilute Edward’s scent.

His heart thrummed in his chest, and being so close to him, the sound was like thunder surrounding me as I listened, becoming attuned to it. The splash of puddles as tires hightailed through the parking lot, the slam of locker doors as students got their books, and the chatter of kids as they entered the school all seemed like irrelevant ambiance now.

“Because,” Edward breathed. His breath was shaky, but his face remained cool. The sweetness of the smell washed over my face, and I clenched my fist again. “That wouldn’t be fair whatsoever.”

“And why not?” I demanded.

“You expect me to entrust you with all of my secrets when you won’t trust me with just one of yours?”

He wasn’t wrong. But I couldn’t exactly divulge anything about the accident. I was already breaking too many rules. My own rules. My own promises I’d made to my family.

“How about…” I considered, though my thoughts were headed in a dangerous direction. “If you happen to have any theories, you can share one, and I’ll either confirm or deny it.”

“Just one?”

“Yes.”

“How is that worth the very much intimate documentation of my entire mind, Bella? That’s hardly sufficient.”

“Fine, I don’t care about your stinking journal,” I snapped, stubbornly poking my chin in the air a fraction.

He surprised me by actually throwing his head back to laugh.

“Are you done?” I asked.

“You’ve got a bit of a temper, don’t you?” he considered this for a moment, beaming. “Okay, I’ll accept these conditions. But later.”

“Later?” I demanded, feeling a sense of injustice as I froze in place. He continued forward and took a bite of his apple. The juice spilled out sweetly into the air, but the fragrance was unappetizing and certainly not as sweet as Edward’s blood.

“Thank you for the ride, Bella. I’ll see you in biology.” Again, he winked, walking backwards. He saluted me, waving once with the journal in his other hand and then turned around, clearly enjoying having the upper hand as he and temptation disappeared into the crowd of students.

I stood there, my mouth propped open. The sensation of being watched started to creep up on me and sure enough, I turned to find Rosalie ten yards away outside of the building to her first period. Her eyes were dark, cold, and fierce with betrayal. Guiltily, I looked away and headed off towards my first class.

Throughout my morning classes, I tried not to think about my family’s –– or rather, Rosalie’s –– opinions on my decision this morning. At this, I failed miserably. As I imagined explaining how really if I didn’t stay away from the boy, it would prove that I actually could leave him alone and exercise control against Alice’s visions, I started to find my logic extremely flawed and unbelievable. Maybe I was making a mistake. Maybe I was just too pigheaded. I tried not to think about this too.

Instead, I thought again about the secrets of his journal. Wasn’t this essentially the symbol of everything I’d been obsessing over? All of my wonderings and curiosities as for why he was so annoying and his eyes so perceptive could all be unraveled in that little book. I wondered if I’d be disappointed once the mystery was unveiled. Maybe the journal –– and by extension, Edward himself –– was not as interesting as I thought. I may have just been fixating on this because it was something different. But I told myself it’d be better for me to be disappointed. The sooner I could move on with my life.

Throughout the day, a couple of the braver students asked for details about the accident but became disappointed when I didn’t offer up the dramatics they were hoping for. I felt too shameful to discredit Edward’s accounts, so I irresponsibly dismissed the opportunities to ensure the accident yesterday hadn’t exposed anything unusual about me or my family. Eventually, as my monotonous account of the events spread through the tiny school, kids stopped asking.

I was impatient to get to biology, but before then, I’d have to face my siblings at lunch. When the bell rang after fifth period, I walked much too quickly to the cafeteria, dreading arriving but very much eager to get it over with. As I weaseled my way through the hallway –– which wasn’t difficult because even in the familiarity of the school, we were typically provided a wide berth –– I overheard the conversation of two other juniors. I froze in place as my plans shifted for the day. They discussed the difficulty of today’s biology pop exam, and I realized I wouldn’t have the hour of the day the school allotted to speak with Edward, the excuse I could provide my family in my defense. A freshman nearly rammed into me from behind, not expecting my sudden stop. Whoever it was recoiled immediately.

Well, I wasn’t going to miss out on whatever explanation he planned to provide because of some trivial pop exam. I rearranged my lunch plans, appreciating the excuse to postpone another family confrontation. We could battle it out at the long oval table later if necessary.

I entered the cafeteria and was second in the lunch line, only selecting a glass lemonade bottle so that the emptiness in front of me wouldn’t be unnerving for Edward. I figured it’d be more disconcerting to leave a tray of food in front of me untouched. I headed to a round table in the corner that was typically empty. This wouldn’t surprise my family when they entered. Alice would warn them.

I sat waiting as students filed in, either joining the growing line or meeting at their usual tables with their friends. I avoided Rosalie’s eyes when she entered the room, but I could still feel the iciness of her stare. I listened for Edward’s deep and soft voice to indicate his arrival, then when I couldn’t find it, instead listened for Sara’s to see if she may be with him. Sara was a loud, babbling talker, so it was easy to find her voice in the crowd of the hallway. She seemed to have gotten over her irritation from this morning as she animatedly spoke about some research she’d done the night prior into some potential colleges she might apply to.

I found that although I may feel some irrational resentment of her ability to be so close to Edward, I liked Sara. Maybe we would have even been friends if I was a human. And if her proximity to him didn’t bother me. She was prattling on about her dream of becoming a veterinarian, and her goals seemed so sincere that I almost felt guilty finding any enjoyment in having stolen Edward from her this morning.

But that didn’t mean I didn’t have intentions to do so again.

As I suspected, when Sara walked through the double doors, Edward was by her side. He was actively listening to her words –– always so polite to anyone who wasn’t me –– but once inside the lunch room, his eyes immediately flashed to the table in which my siblings were settling into. His thick eyebrows pulled together in confusion –– and maybe even disappointment? –– at the realization he didn’t find me there.

I was impatient as he purchased his lunch. Once he’d left the line, he still hadn’t noticed me sitting here. Maybe he was less perceptive than I gave him credit for. I felt a moment of awkwardness as I thought about having to get up, walk across the cafeteria, and ask him to join me in front of my family. I would still have done so, but I was immensely relieved when Sara noticed me.

“Are you eating lunch with Bella too?” The sandy blonde asked, her tone suddenly indignant. This time, I felt no pleasure in my thievery. Sara was right to want to reserve Edward to her human world, but I was too entranced with the mystery of his journal and the mystery of his mind to care.

Edward looked up, searching. His sage eyes were bright and animated once he found me here at the table. He held his tray in one large hand while combing the other through his untidy bronze hair. The arrogant confidence in his face made me smirk, and I rolled my eyes, lifting my hand to beckon him forward twice with my finger as if I was reluctantly pacifying a child.

“I guess so,” he laughed a little as he sauntered forward towards the table, leaving Sara behind gawking. I braced myself for the onslaught, inhaling one last fresh breath of air. How habitual this was becoming.

“I’m being gifted your presence outside of our biology class twice in one day? What did I do to deserve this?” He teased once he’d arrived, standing behind the seat across from me.

“Nearly die. I guess that’s a fair enough price to pay for my company,” I played along. If only he knew how true that still was. He grinned, his perfect teeth white and shiny. “Oh, don’t look so smug. I’m only here to uncover a mystery.”

“As am I,” he reminded me. I winced.

“Are you going to sit down?” I asked. He still stood behind the seat, tall and lean, a giant like my brothers. Not quite as towering and much slimmer, but still, I felt small in my seat looking up at him.

Edward leaned down to carefully place his tray on the laminate before comfortably settling into his seat as if we’d done this before. I glanced at his tray, curious as to his selection. A bottle of water, a grilled chicken salad, and a bag of dried fruit. I stared at the food for a moment as if this would provide me any clues about his mind.

“So,” he began. I looked up to meet his eyes and though I knew he’d be looking at me, I felt a jolt pulse through me. He caught something about my reaction, and a crooked smile appeared on his face.

“So,” I continued. “You were going to tell me about your journal.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “But I believe we agreed on a condition, did we not?”

“We did,” I admitted. “Go ahead.”

“Hmm… I’m not sure I’m actually ready to, Bella,” he pondered, and I felt odd again hearing him say my name.

“Why not?” I demanded, restless. Of course I was interested in the book, but I was also definitely interested in his theories. I couldn’t believe it had only been yesterday that the accident occurred. It felt like a lifetime ago. The same way that first day in biology did.

“I’ve only been given about twenty four hours to come up with any explanations.”

“And have you?”

“Maybe, but I have a feeling you’ll be very firm on only allowing one theory, so I want to hold out for the theory I’m most confident on.”

I frowned, and Edward laughed.

“Don’t worry though. I’ll tell you about my journal anyways. As long as you promise–– no, that’d be letting you off too easily. As long as you swear to me that you won’t forget your end of the deal.”

“I swear,” I promised, smiling at the silliness of his command. I took this moment to breath in his powerful scent, to wrestle with my desire.

“Hmm… I wonder if it’ll upset you,” his forehead crumped in thought. My patience was wearing so thin that the inexorable cloud of lust for his blood had little impact in comparison to the sudden aggravation at his procrastination.

“Oh, Edward!” I groaned, exasperated. “Would you just tell me? What could possibly upset me?”

For whatever reason, Edward burst into laughter at my outburst and couldn’t seem to stop.

I glared at him, and he tried to choke back his humor unsuccessfully. The irritation in my eyes didn’t deter him or instill any sense of fear in him. Briefly, I wondered if he was mentally sound.

“Okay, well, you can just go eat lunch with your little friends, and I’ll stay here and talk to myself.”

“Don’t be mad,” he pleaded as another laugh escaped. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t help myself. You’re just so impatient. And for what? My uninteresting little journal?”

“You’re annoying, did you know that?”

“Maybe, but you’ve chosen to sit here with me, so you must like me for some reason,” he pointed out. For some reason indeed. Once again, he was right on target. My mouth gaped open.

“Okay, I’m getting up––”

“No, please, Bella. I’ll behave myself now. I’ll tell you about my journal. I’ll tell you anything you want to know.” His smile was dazzling, and his eyes were fierce, sweet, and sincere. I was mesmerized, stuck in the seat across from him.

“Okay,” I said stupidly.

“My journal,” he began seriously, “is sort of a Bible.”

I waited for him to laugh again.

“No, really,” Edward did laugh but not as though he’d told a joke. “I know that’s kind of strange.”

Religion had never been a major facet of my life. A dozen memories flickered through my mind of the times as a human where my mother Renée had gone through impassioned phases where she attended church, trying on multiple denominations and religions for size. But just like the rest of her sudden and fleeting interests, her spiritual high wore off, and we never spoke about God or church again. Only when I became immortal did religion take a more permanent place in my thoughts. But it was only the proximity to Carlisle that made me consider spiritual beliefs, and even then, it was simply another topic to devote thought to in all the endless space in my head and all the endless time in which to fill it.

I didn’t know particularly what I believed nor if I cared much, but I did know that if Edward was religious enough to tote around a bible at school, he’d definitely not be pleased to know he sat across from an actual vampire.

“You carry around a bible?”

“Well, don’t make any judgments yet, alright? It’s not exactly a bible. It’s kind of difficult to explain.”

“I think I can keep up,” I said simply, feeling slightly awkward but still curious. I glanced down at his untouched food. “But you should probably eat.”

“And what about you?” He asked, eyeing my full lemonade bottle.

I unscrewed the tin cap for his benefit. Following my lead, he opened the plastic container of his salad. I waited impatiently as he slowly ate his food.

I watched him as he ate, but when his eyes flickered curiously up to me, I fixated my attention on the lemonade bottle, tracing the mouth of it with my pinky finger.

After a few moments, Edward spoke up. “What are you thinking?”

I looked up to meet his light green gaze and felt stuck there again, compelled to reveal everything.

“I’m trying to figure out what you think I am,” I admitted only one of my concerns, though even this was much too honest. I thought of the inspiration he could draw from his religious text. The second beast. The Nephilim. Cherubim. Demons. Even though I didn’t have a true understanding of the contents of the book, some of Carlisle’s paintings had provided me with enough of an idea.

“I’m not having much luck with that yet,” he answered.

I laughed, relieved. “Well, you have only been given twenty four hours.”

“What else are you thinking?” he asked again, sensing there was more.

I sighed, feeling uncomfortable under his analyzation. The weight of his watchful eyes was too penetrative.

“That a boy who carries around a bible probably wouldn’t like me very much.”

“Why? Are you a sinner?” He smiled teasingly, but his eyes were soft as he tried to pull me again from the gloominess that seemed to steal me away.

“Something like that.”

“Well, aren’t we all?”

“Not all dogs go to heaven,” I answered. He chuckled at how I butchered the expression.

“Hmm… I’m not sure if I absolutely believe in a heaven, but if I do, I think the prerequisites to make it in are much broader than the Christian faith teaches.”

“You carry around a bible but don’t believe in heaven?”

“I said I’m unsure. And I said it was difficult to explain, didn’t I?”

“I don’t understand what you mean.”

“I hardly understand what you mean the majority of the time either.”

We both laughed, and the synchronicity of the moment made me forget my intentions with bothering him in the first place. It made me realize that in a way, I actually did feel fondly of Edward.

“Here, I’ll explain. I’m done eating anyways.” He used a napkin to dab at the corners of his mouth, then pushed it away on top of his lunch tray.

“My mother was very religious,” Edward began. “She wasn’t pious or bigoted or forceful about her beliefs. She was kind… devout. She believed in goodness. Her entire life had been dedicated to caring for other people. She wasn’t someone whose true intentions were to condemn others with the hope to save them from hell. Rather, she seemed more focused on saving someone from unhappiness. A lot of other believers have been known to connect with someone only for the end goal of forcing them to change the way they live for the sake of feeling as though they saved them. She had always been offended by this insistence to control another’s lifestyle, believing that any Child of God should truly only be concerned with loving others.

“I have pages of verses ripped out from her bible stuck throughout my journal. It may seem sacrilegious to destroy a bible in that way, but she’d read through it so many times that it had completely fallen apart. I tried to save it when she died, but there was no hope to. It was too dilapidated and tattered. So in my own journal, I have all these notes I’ve written on the notes she wrote in her bible. All these confusing erratic writings, these scribbles, I’ve been trying to sort out, just trying to figure out how to be a good person.”

At the end of his speech, my mouth dropped open. Quickly, I closed it again.

“So, do you believe in a god?” I asked after a few moments of silence.

“I’m not sure what I believe. If you don’t believe that all this world could have just happened on its own, which is hard for me to accept myself, then a god seems to be just as reasonable an answer as anything else. But I do believe in science as well. And once again, I don’t believe that any higher being who created the entire universe would be so particular and unyielding on such frivolous, harmless human matters as to what you do…or who you love… I’m hesitant to speak about god publicly, not because I fear any kind of persecution for my complicated beliefs, but because I know that the church has caused a lot of damage to a lot of people. And I don’t want anyone to think I support any of that harm. But for innocent believers, I see nothing wrong with wanting a reason to hold onto hope if that’s what religion is for them.”

“Neither do I,” I agreed, thinking of Carlisle.

“I think at the core of any religion –– and I definitely am interested in studying other religions as well –– is the same message. To do good by others and yourself. Of course, historically, religion has been weaponized as a means to take control over innocent people, but in considering people like my mother… I sincerely hope that there is a god. For her sake.”

I didn’t know what to say.

“Don’t worry.” Edward smiled his crooked smile. “I’m not about to try and sell you some religious propaganda. At no point will I sit you down and ask, ‘do you mind if I take a moment to speak about our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ?’ That’s never been my mission. I’m not entirely certain whether or not I even consider myself religious.”

“So what is your mission then with the journal?”

“Perhaps this will sound a little pretentious, but it’s not so much that I’m curious about the chicken or the egg scenario… Evolution versus creation… I don’t care very much as to how we got here. I guess because my mother believed so profusely, and I consider her to be such a great person, I’m curious as to whether our morality is innate as people, or if all goodness is because we have some kind of spirit within us leading us to want to do right by other people. I think overall, it is innate. An atheistic individual can do wonderful things for the world just as someone who claims to love Jesus can do terrible things. I don’t think anyone who doesn’t believe chooses to do good for God, but I wonder if that innate sense of morality, sense of compassion is ingrained into us because of the fact we do have souls. So the question I’ve been trying to answer all these years is… do we? Does my mother die, fade to nothing, with her body? Or did she live on because she had a soul?”

“Those are big questions for a seventeen year old.”

“Those are big questions for anybody, no matter their age. And questions humankind has been trying to answer for thousands of years,” Edward chuckled, shaking his head. “I don’t expect to be the one to stumble upon the answers. More so, I’m really trying to find some purpose in my mother’s life. I do want to honor her, and maybe if I can understand all the things she wrote about people and about God, then I can.”

“So what do you write?”

“I write my thoughts on what she journaled about. And I write about all the good things I see someone do. About the reasons why I think they did them… I study people a lot.”

“Do you ever feel creepy?” I asked.

“Sometimes,” he laughed. “I mean, it’s not that I’d be the type to watch someone while they sleep. But if someone comforts a friend, picks up a stray piece of trash off the ground, smiles at a stranger… I try to take notice. I want to notice people.”

Edward sighed. “I know this must sound arrogant, but I really do believe I’m very sensitive to the thoughts of other people. At least, I try to be. For example, I know Sara must not be very happy that I chose to ride with you this morning, or that I am sitting with you now. I’m not oblivious to her feelings for me. But it’d be very ungentlemanly of me to accuse her of those feelings if she prefers to keep them secretive, so I’ll define a boundary if needed to protect her feelings whenever she chooses to come forth about them. I’d like to retain our friendship, but I still make my own choices.”

“So…” I began, ignoring his point about Sara. “Let’s say we all did have souls. Could someone lose that soul by any chance?”

“Hmm…” he thought, his eyes intent, piercing into mine as though he were trying to read my mind. “Now, that’s a big question for a seventeen year old.”

I laughed along with him.

“Well, I’m not sure whether or not you can lose your soul –– if we have them, of course. Perhaps you could damage the integrity of it or compromise it somehow. Could it be lost in death? If there is something of a heaven, does that automatically imply the existence of a hell? What purpose does hell serve in torturing one’s soul for eternity? Justice? Do some people perhaps deserve that fate? I want to say no, but then you think of awful, malicious people who have done awful, malicious things. Murder. Genocide. Rape. Isn’t the losing of your soul in death, fading into nonexistence too easy of a punishment? Do those people warrant a judge, jury, and executioner? I would hope that there are consequences to evil actions, but I don’t understand the idea that if such a place exists for the most vile of humanity, nonbelievers and sinners would go to the same place as well according to the Christian faith. I would say on that front, the Bible must be profoundly off. That aspect has to be invented by man for a means of control. What creator would wish such a fate on someone so innocent as to simply be uncertain about a god? So does a nonbeliever or sinner simply cease to exist, therefore losing their soul? Or is there some kind of alternative? Like a purgatory in the Catholic faith. That too seems a cruel fate from what should be a loving God.”

I felt slightly uneasy, wondering what he would think of my non-life, if he would consider this to be the alternative for innocent sinners. I wondered if he would believe I had a soul.

Edward softened his expression at my discomfort. His eyes were gentle and kind.

“But I don’t think I believe that. Like I said, I think the division between good and bad, right and wrong, is less black and white than most religious people believe. I think it’s gray, and I think any higher power would realize that too. So if you’re making that face because you’ve sinned a little here and there or murdered somebody, maybe you can make a comeback.”

Edward winked, and I forced myself to laugh.

“So would yesterday earn me some points?”

“Oh, definitely. You’ve practically merited an angel status.”

This time I did genuinely laugh at the thought of me as an angel.

“But again, as for what’s considered sin… I don’t subscribe to the majority of what’s considered biblical canon.”

“You don’t have to continue with the disclaimers. I believe that you’re not judging my sinful ways.”

“Correction, I don’t believe that God themself is judging you for your sinful ways. I never said anything about my judgment of you.”

I bit my bottom lip to keep from smiling at the smirk on his face. “I’m not at all surprised that you have a god complex. That seems about right –– you do come off like the type to be very judgmental.”

“I’m notoriously difficult to impress,” Edward half-smiled. “Are we continuing this conversation in Biology, or are you growing tired of the dark and the heavy?”

“Not yet,” I answered. “But I overheard that we have a pop quiz, so you’ll have to save your pretty boy disciple thoughts for later.”

He chuckled as I stood up from the table, reaching to grab my untouched lemonade bottle and cap to throw away, then stopped me.

“I’ve got it,” Edward placed the bottle on his tray to dump into the garbage. I watched curiously as he pocketed the bottle cap.

“I’d say thank you, but I know you’re only trying to win points in the eyes of God.”

“Anything to get into heaven,” he laughed.

* * *

y’all know i had to make edward a lil christian boy. u know edward is the i wanna church girl who go to church… and reaaaad her biiiible vine. i do want to clarify again… unlike stephenie mormon, i have no agenda in speaking about religion in this fanfic. i’m not particularly fond of labels, but i am more agnostic than anything so… i’m not tryna convert anybody to anything. it just seemed very “classically edward” as rosalie would say.

i hope u enjoyed! i also wanted to say i really, really appreciate the comments! i haven't replied bc... i'm shy but i read them & truly feel very flattered. ♡

#equinoxjw #twilight fanfiction #twilight renaissance #twilight au #twilight #midnight sun #edward cullen #bella swan #edbella

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theonceoverthinker · 4 years

Text

When Will My Life Begin? (Fair Game, 12/?)

Summary: Tangled AU. Clover Callows has been confined to a tower for all of his life, and given the threat that his Uncle Tyrian says his semblance poses to his safety, he accepts that fate. It’s the only life he’s ever known, after all. But when he’s offered the opportunity to fulfill his greatest dream after a chance encounter with a thief -- or bandit, as Qrow Branwen insists there’s a difference between the two -- both Clover and Qrow will discover joys that they never knew life could offer them before.

AO3

Tumblr: (1) (2) (B1) (3) (4) (B2) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (B3) (10) (11)

A/N: ...You guys are either going to love me for this chapter or hate me! Just so you know, I’m preparing an umbrella for the things you’re going to fling at me for this one! XD Anyway, enjoy!

()()()()()()()()()()()()()

Sometimes, raising Clover Ebi -- or rather, Clover Callows, as he now called him -- as his own ‘nephew’ was more trouble than it was worth.

Sometimes, it was a lot more trouble than it was worth, so much so that Tyrian had to remind himself that it was an endeavor that still merited seeing through.

Right now, as Tyrian trudged through the forests of Remnant, it felt like one of those times.

‘Uncle Tyrian! I put some dough in an oven and managed not to burn the tower to the ground! Aren’t I so smart?’

‘Uncle Tyrian, I want to see some stupid green lights and give away my identity to everyone you’ve carefully hidden it from for over twenty years!’

‘Uncle Tyrian, I want new paint from the furthest Gods damned corner of this dog’s dropping of a continent! Go get me some as well as a bag full of some other trash from the ground!’

What. A. Pest.

For twenty years, he’d had to live with that constant pest yammering in his ear all day long, asking -- nay, begging -- for trash or praise for his mediocre accomplishments or answers to his positively inexhaustible supply of banal questions.

This domestic life caring for Clover that Tyrian had subjected himself to was without question relentlessly dull, annoying, boring, and miserable.

Gods, if it weren’t for his semblance, he’d-

Well, if it weren’t for his semblance, Tyrian wouldn’t be so close -- so very, very close -- to being Salem’s right hand man, and with his ‘nephew’s’ continued help, he’d likely get that spot soon enough.

After all, that’s how he’d gotten so far. Others near the top of her hierarchy had fallen prey to many tragic ‘accidents’ over the years.

Who could have predicted how Arthur Watts’ latest invention would not only malfunction, but that the explosion would release chemicals that came together to act as a pheromone for Grimm?

How cruel could fate be to have the support beam that Hazel Rainart was hiding behind collapse just as he was about to complete his most recent mission for Salem?

What could have been done to prevent Leo Lionheart from attempting to desert Salem’s forces just as she’d had one hundred Grimm return from battle eager for something -- or rather, someone -- to eat?

And what sort of disaster would just the tiniest bit of luck have in store for Cinder Falls, Salem’s current right hand?

So yes, Clover was a pest, but he was a pest that nonetheless had been very successful at improving Tyrian’s placement in Salem’s hierarchy.

Tyrian supposed it stood to reason that he had to do things to keep Clover happy to ensure that that would only continue. He’d been careful to never push his luck too hard in that regard, knowing that even fear and guilt had its limits on what they could make a person willingly endure, and after their fight -- especially when it involved discussing actually going outside -- Tyrian knew Clover was getting agitated enough to possibly act on his desires.

Tyrian wasn’t about to let that happen, and so now here he was, about to make a trip all the way to the Argus Coves.

It was an ordeal, if for no other reason than that he’d be away from Salem, but it was one he would suffer all the same in her name.

He was lucky -- Salem had decided to spend the next fortnight in her Grimm pools, devising new forms for her malicious, yet stunning pets to take. She wouldn’t need his -- or, more importantly, anyone else’s -- services, nor ask about his whereabouts -- not that she ever did, always so respectful of her loyal subject’s privacy.

Salem trusted him…

In return, just as he gave her his unconditional admiration, he also gave her lies.

Tyrian hated lying to her about Clover, but he reasoned that helping her by channeling all of Clover’s luck into her most adoring servant’s being would be a better way of ensuring her victories. After all, who else would care about nothing more than Salem’s continued successes? Her other minions all had their own concerns and even if they didn’t, Train found that they were about as competent as a cat being trained to not drink milk.

In any event, his strategy had worked over the past two decades, and if he had anything to say about it, it would continue to work for the rest of his days. Perhaps, should he not only tell Clover about her, but also inspire him to love her as well -- and he absolutely could -- his scheme would persist even after his death.

He could only hope, for it was what Salem deserved.

Salem...Salem was a Goddess -- radiant, bold, cunning, enchanting, beautiful in both her body and soul, wise, gentle, ruthless, and far more qualities than Tyrian couldn’t state with all the world’s air in his lungs on top of even that. How the pitiful wastes of life in Remnant managed to not only not spend every waking moment of their purposeless days either bowing before her glory or gathering gifts to bestow upon her, but actually oppose her, he’d never know.

Cretins, the lot of them -- hopelessly lost cretins.

And of all the cretins Remnant had to offer, he got stuck with the worst of them to play the role of a lifelong babysitter -- and at present, delivery boy -- for.

Tyrian mentally mapped out his trip. If he stayed at a steady speed, took regular breaks, and ate and slept as he planned, he’d be at the Argus Coves by tomorrow afternoon. He’d spend two or three hours collecting shells and then head back to the tower. While he hated collecting the shells, and knew it would be a complete bore of a chore, it was best not to give Clover any reason to ask for more of them next year, or the next few of them, for that matter.

Then again, Clover had shown himself to be at least a little unpredictable, so he could only guess as to how quickly he would go through those paints, or what else he would desire for future birthdays.

After all, somehow, Clover had managed to conceal that mural of his from him for Gods knew how long. If it wasn’t for the subject matter of its depiction, Tyrian would almost be impressed by that bit of stealth. Clearly, he’d taught Clover well.

However, he may have been teaching Clover too well. If he could conceal an entire wall of the tower from him, what else could he be hiding? That tower might not have been large and Clover never left it, but it was fitted with many a nook and cranny for which to tuck away any number of trinkets.

Well, he’d just have to have a little search when he got back to the tower. He could disguise it as a game of hide and seek or just a checkup to make sure Clover was cleaning his living space well enough.

Clover might have believed himself to be clever -- he may have even crossed the threshold of cleverness a few times in his life -- but Tyrian knew he could put him in his place easily enough. Given how much lip disguised as wit Clover had started to show as of recent, perhaps it wasn’t a bad idea to do so sooner rather than later.

Tyrian had just started to drum up more ideas for how to best reign in his ‘nephew’ when suddenly, he heard a voice cry out.

“Let me go!” It was a man’s voice, one Tyrian thought he might have recognized, but was unable to recall its source on just it alone.

“Not a chance, you thief!” a woman’s voice responded, a low chuckle underneath her words.

Now that voice, Tyrian was reasonably sure he did recognize.

Before he could confirm it, another set of noises grabbed his attention -- the woman’s, and by the sounds of it, others’ footsteps were approaching

Quickly, Tyrian hid himself behind a tree, and just in time. Keeping careful as to remain unspotted, Tyrian peeked to look at the opposite side of the tree.

There, a group of five people, one of whom seemed to be something of a prisoner held tightly in one of their arms, emerged into his line of sight.

However, the four non imprisoned people weren’t just any people.

They were the Ace Ops.

Comprised of General Ironwood’s four children -- Harriet Bree, Elm Ederne, Marrow Amin, and Vine Zeki -- The Ace Ops served as the leaders of Remnant’s royal guard.

But what were they doing here?

Tyrian had only a small handful of run-ins with the Ace Ops all that much over the years since their formation, but despite that, he knew all about them, from their names to their weapons to their semblances -- when one was regularly gathering intel, threatening informants, and killing bystanders and witnesses who saw him doing either of those things in order to best assist Salem’s strikes against the kingdom’s capital, it was practically a requirement.

Because of that, it was odd to see Harriet on a horse, given that her semblance revolved around her own speed, but Tyrian didn’t let himself think about it too much, preferring to get an answer to his inquiry about just what led them so far out in the woods.

He looked at the prisoner in Elm’s arms and immediately, his eyes bulged with recognition.

Mercury Black.

Tyrian knew this man well. He was a thief, and unfortunately, a rather good one, or at least he seemed to be prior to this moment.

Salem had given Mercury not a small amount of her attention as of late. She entertained the idea of him as a prospective recruit for her forces, sending him out on missions to see just how much he could achieve. While he lacked Tyrian’s dedication to serving her, Mercury’s talent and need for direction as well as means for his survival in the cruel world they lived in piqued Salem’s interests. Like a lump of clay, Salem felt that she could perhaps mold him into a model member of her inner circle, one strong enough to enact her schemes and ready as well as willing to die for her at a moment’s notice.

Alas, it looked like Mercury’s talents had failed him. Tyrian knew Salem well and a failure that ended up with him in the custody of the Ace Ops of all people was likely a big one, all but guaranteeing the destruction of any interest she had in Mercury as a member of her forces.

Well, that just meant more attention and admiration for Tyrian to enjoy.

And not only that, but he would have the esteemed pleasure of reporting the news of his -- judging by Elm’s grip -- literally crushing defeat to Salem once she returned to her throne.

How lucky was that?

Hmm. So this is why he had to get Clover those paints.

It was a worthwhile enough sacrifice.

“Let me go!” Mercury repeated.

“I don’t think so, buddy!” Elm said, gripping Mercury tight in her unwavering hold, her feet firmly on the ground as to restrain any attempts of his to fight out of her grasp.

It didn’t appear to stop him from trying though.

What a waste of his goddess’ sights he turned out to be.

From her horse, Harriet turned to him. “If I can’t bring my father Branwen’s head, then I’m at least bringing him yours!”

“I don’t even have the stupid brooch!” Mercury yelled, still fighting for some nonexistent leeway in Elm’s vice like grip, not that he’d get that far if he even found it with the three other Ace Ops directly next to her.

“Don’t you worry -- it will be found.” Harriet then looked out to the team. “Elm, stay here with the prisoner and keep an eye out for Branwen. Vine, Marrow, and I will continue to comb the forest, and we’ll reconvene here in an hour with our findings. We’re not going home without that brooch.” The determination in Harriet’s voice had Tyrian bite his lip.

Crap. Knowing Harriet, that last sentiment may very well have been a true one.

In the twenty years since Tyrain took Clover, guards have searched the forest, but they’d never come across the tower’s hidden entryway. While the brooch was likely nowhere near the tower, and the Ace Ops were still roughly a quarter of a mile out from its exact location, Tyrian couldn’t help but acknowledge the feeling of unease in his stomach.

If Remnant’s most specialized guards -- Clover’s siblings, no less -- were searching this bit of the forest, whether looking for their long-lost brother or not...they might actually find something more than just some brooch.

Harriet directed the horse she was riding on towards the tower’s general direction.

Clover!

Knowing what he had to do, Tyrian slunk away from his hiding place and snuck through the forest, careful to keep both a strong distance between himself and Harriet as well cautious, yet quick movements to pass her and get back to the tower before she could ever learn about its existence.

It wasn’t hard. Tyrian had traversed these woods so much over the course of his life, especially over the past two decades, that he grew to know them better than he did his own hand. Every twist and turn and fork in the road on its dirt-floored surface was committed to his memory like the appearance of the very sun that shone above him.

When Tyrian at last made it to the tower’s entryway, he was well ahead of Harriet, ensuring that he would be absolutely safe crossing the canopy of vines in a way that would keep him as well as their odd disposition unspotted by her.

Tyrian rushed through the caves and clearing, all the way to the base of the tower.

“Clover!” Tyrian called out when he finally arrived. “I forgot my rain boots! Bring me back up!”

It was an odd excuse -- especially as there was no sign of rain coming for the foreseeable future -- but Clover would ask why he came back if he didn’t have one at the ready all the same.

Tyrian waited a second for Clover to respond, but for the first time in as long as he could remember, when he called to the tower, he heard nothing back. It was a foreign feeling, one that at present grated on Tyrian’s nerves like a room of mumblers.

“Clover!” he half shouted and half growled. “Wake up!”

Still, not a sound left the tower.

As soon as he realized that no sound would be coming out, Tyrian whipped the sharp, metallic end of his tail out and slammed it into the dirt between the tower’s bricks, pulling himself up and then clinging to the bricks with the help of his blades as his tail ascended his form further up the tower’s length.

It was a method for climbing the tower that he hadn’t used in years, manually climbing it himself -- practically antiquated thanks to Clover’s weapon, but it was handy in a pinch.

Right now, Tyrian absolutely felt like he was in the pinchiest of pinches.

With exhaustion that only climbed in magnitude as the seconds passed, Tyrian made his way the tower.

Tyrian called out Clover’s name twice as he rose from the ground, but to no avail. Clover’s room was as quiet as a tomb.

Oh, that room would be a tomb alright when he was finished with Clover…

No, he couldn’t think that way...as much as he wanted to...

Upon reaching the tower’s window, Tyrian paused for no more than but a second to catch his breath, looking around the room frantically all the while.

The tower was dark.

The tower was quiet.

Neither of those things had ever been true when a waking Clover Callows roamed its singular upper room.

Hell, thanks to his brat’s snores, the tower was never quiet, even when he was sleeping!

As soon as Tyrian had recovered enough of his breath to continue, he ran to Clover’s bed, pulling off the blankets with a harsh tug.

Clover was going to pay when he woke up.

However, underneath the covers, there was no Clover.

“Clover!” Tyrian called out.

Maybe...maybe he was just using the bathroom...in the dark...without noticing his uncle’s cries…

Tyrian rushed to the bathroom, but just as with Clover’s bed, Clover wasn’t there.

Oh Gods, where was he?

Confused, Tyrian ran around the tower, tearing apart anything Clover might be hiding or sleeping either in or under. He even opened the door to the tower’s stairwell which led to his own room and checked there. However, not one place held Clover’s form.

As Tyrian approached the tower’s window, he couldn’t help but run his fingers through his hair in much the same fashion as he searched for Clover -- frantically.

Was he actually kidnapped?

There seemed to be no sign of a struggle, and he’d taught Clover to distrust outsiders enough to at least cause something of a scuffle should one ever show their face in the tower.

Suddenly though, something removed Tyrian from his thoughts.

By the bottom of the tower’s small balcony’s staircase, a small glimmer of something was reflecting off the sun, creating a glare of light that went right into Tyrian’s left eye. Tyrian sidestepped the glare’s direct trajectory, but kept its location in his mind as he steadily approached it.

He had given Clover many things over his nearly twenty years in this tower, but never had he been given something so shiny as to create such a harsh glare.

What the hell could this be?

Upon reaching the staircase, Tyrian lifted the semi-broken plank where the glimmering object sat.

Inside the makeshift cupboard was a satchel...and inside the satchel was an emerald encrusted, clover-shaped brooch.

No…

It couldn’t be...

Had Clover learned of his identity?

While it made all too much sense for his mind to go there, Tyrian fought the instinct with facts. If Clover had learned who he really was, why would he leave behind the key piece of evidence of his discovery? He clearly wasn’t trying to make a point to Tyrian given how he hid the brooch in such an odd location and didn’t provide his beloved ‘Uncle Tyrian’ with so much as a note for context concerning the brooch’s existence and his reaction to it.

No, for some reason, Clover wanted the brooch and the satchel that held it to remain here, and Tyrian immediately swore to himself that he was going to discover that reason before any havoc on his life could be further wreaked.

He already had an inkling of a clue.

The Ace Ops were searching for a man called ‘Branwen’ -- whoever that was. Tyrian believed he’d heard the name once or twice in passing, but based on what they were saying, Branwen was a thief, a thief that had stolen the brooch.

It now made sense as to what mission Salem had put Mercury up to, as well as why the Ace Ops were called to take on a thief.

Wherever Clover was, it was likely with Branwen, and judging by the still revealed painting of Clover’s wish, Tyrian had a pretty good idea of where it was they were going.

Now, all he had to do was find them and end this trip of lunacy before they got there.

Tyrain warped the satchel in a bundle and hid it in the basket Clover had prepared for him. He then felt for the handles of his blades, The Queen’s Servants. Even without touching them, he could sense they were as hungry to restore his brand of order as he was.

It was a good feeling.

Approaching the tower’s window, Tyrian shot the long way down an exasperated look.

What a pain this was going to be to climb down manually once more for the first time in so long.

He swore to the Gods, without that semblance of Clover’s...

Sometimes, raising Clover was more trouble than it was worth, but for the benefits his semblance provided, Tyrian knew he had no choice but to clean up his ‘nephew’s’ mess.

#fair game #tyrian callows #clover ebi #rwby #tangled au #ace ops #elm ederne #harriet bree #qrow branwen

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too-many-baes · 5 years

Text

To Hell and Back

Pairing: fem!reader x Dean Winchester

Warning(s): Injury, death, going to hell, angsssst (but some fluff to make up for it), slight AU, S03-S06

Word Count: 5.2K

Request: Hi! Love your writing! Could you do a dean x fem!reader where she’s Bobby’s daughter, they’ve been dating forever and she went to hell to save the boys. It was a surprise to the boys but she saw it coming so she wrote a note to Dean that he should not try to get her back and go have a normal life with Lisa. Eventually she gets back (somehow - maybe Bobby or Sam or Cas figure something out) and Dean really is with Lisa. You can choose the end - I’d love some fluff. I hope it’s not too specific. - by Anon

A/N: So I played with the timelines here a bit so it may not be exactly what you had envisioned but I hope you enjoy it none-the-less! Thank you for sending in a request!! Masterlist in my bio and requests are open

gif is not mine, credit to [@ jamiedornaniseverything ]

*********

You sit at the tired old table in your house of Singer’s Auto, you and the Winchesters. None of you make a sound, your collective focus makes speaking unnecessary.

Words begin to bleed into an incoherent mess so you rub your tired eyes in an attempt to revive your vision. Bobby has long since retired for the night, you and the boys persisting.

This has been your position for several weeks. Day in and day out, you can feel your blood cells slowly turning into caffeine in your attempts to keep yourself alert, the rest of the household living in the same coffee induced delirium. None of you felt you could rest until you found the solution you were so desperately searching for, an answer to your prayers.

One single week is all that's left between Dean and hell hounds claiming his soul. You've seen it happen before, the tearing of flesh and anguished cries are not something you'd wish upon anyone, making you all the more desperate to save your boyfriend from that wretched fate. Here you are and here you'll stay until you figure out how to save him. You know if you don't fix this soon it will lead to Sam doing something drastic, and that's not something you can stand for either.

You've known the boys since you were young. Being Bobby Singer's daughter meant if someone was a hunter then your paths had definitely crossed, with the Winchesters your house had always been a revolving door. You were indifferent to the boys when you were young, it wasn't until you were a teenager that you took notice of Dean, much to your father’s initial disappointment. He loved the Winchesters as if they were his own sons but that didn't change the fact he didn't think anyone was good enough for you. Not even the charming, well-meaning Dean Winchester.

The shock of finding out you were dating the eldest of the boys passed eventually and after strict words from your dad you’ve been inseparable since. You've been through thick and thin together, you know everything there is to know about him. This means you know how much the brothers mean to each other and just how far they'll go to ensure the others safety.

You can't see them die for each other, you don't care how many sleepless nights it'll take.

You have successfully claimed Sam's usual role, being the first one to rise and the last to bed. You hadn't even noticed they'd gone to bed when a tapping on your shoulder pulled you out of your trance.

“It’s 2am babe, it'll still be there in the morning.” You look up at Dean's face. His usually bright eyes have lost their signature shine, the lines underneath mountainous, his hair mussed from the few hours of sleep he'd already managed to get.

“I'll be there in a minute.” You answer him with a quick dismissive smile. Dean has other ideas, reaching over and forcibly closing the book cover you couldn’t remove yourself from.

“You need your sleep.” You could have argued, but what would be the point? In a few minutes you would’ve ended up asleep on the pages anyway. You allow Dean to lead you by the hand down the hallway to your room, where you clumsily change before crawling in beside his almost already sleeping form. In his half there state he instinctually reaches out to circle his arms around your waist, pulling your back against his chest as he buries his face into the crook of your neck.

Typically you and Dean weren't really cuddler's, but after finding out your days together could be numbered that changed. Now every night you sleep something like this, as close as possible, not wanting to waste your precious moments alone. He mumbles a barely audible ‘I love you’ before his faint snores rumble on your neck.

“I love you too.” You say it to yourself, knowing he was past hearing. You love him more than you thought you'd ever love a man, it was because of that the seed of an idea you'd read weeks ago had been sprouting ever since. You know what has to be done to save him and his brother, despite how much they won’t like it.

***

“They’re coming!” Sam’s frantic yells sound from the front door where he makes his best attempt at holding it closed from the ferocious hounds that claw and leap at its weakening wood.

“Everyone get in the living room!” The three of you run into the salt barricaded room, swiftly followed by Sam. No sooner had he left his post than the doors were flown off their hinges and angry growls could be heard by everyone in the room.

“Can you see ‘em?” Bobby's unusually tentative voice questions, a curt nod from Dean swiftly answers his question.

“There's two of them. There.” He raises his arm to point at the seemingly empty space before them, fear causing his arm to shake and his voice to lose volume.

You take in a grounding breath, assured within yourself you were making the right decision. You spin around to face your father, doing your best to not succumb to the overwhelming emotions pounding in your chest. “I love you dad.” It was rare for you and your father to exchange verbal ‘I love you's’, your love for one another going unspoken usually.

“What are you doing?” His question is gruff and urgent, immediately knowing something was wrong.

“Dean”, you ignore your father and grab the aforementioned by the shoulders, forcing his frantic eyes onto your face, “I love you. Never forget that.”

“Y/N what-" He had no time to finish his sentence, the salt guarding the door blowing away as the sound of growling creeps closer. You push your sleeve up revealing a series of symbols drawn on your skin.

Before the men in the room can process your actions you've unsheathed a knife and cut a long slash along your palm, pressing it against your forearm. The growling ceases momentarily, a false sense of hope for your companions.

“They're gone. I can't see them any more.” The hope that had crept into Dean's eyes vanished when once again snarling growls filled the room.

“What's happening, I thought you said you couldn't see them Dean?” Sam yells in dismay.

“I can”, you manage to croak out as you stare at two creatures more gnarled than anything your nightmares could conjure. If you weren't positive that you'd already earnt yourself a way one ticket downstairs then the black magic you'd found to redirect the hell hounds had solidified your fate.

The men were now frenzied, yelling and screaming for you to run as they scrambled for weapons they knew would do no good. For once you did as instructed. You turned away from the hounds and bolted out of the front door. As you'd planned the beasts were on your heels, they'd have you in their clutches within minutes. As the adrenaline courses through your veins you push yourself to go faster, to get far enough down the road that your demise would be away from the eyes of a room full of people you love.

A series of claws slash across you calf sending you crashing unceremoniously onto the dirt road beneath you. You turn to face your death head on, all teeth, drool, and crimson eyes.

“Y/N!” No. No, you don't want them to see this.

“Leave, please!” Your sentence ends with an agonising howl as claws and teeth set upon you. The pain is unbelievable, hot and searing, making the deafening chorus of cries and pleads from the witnesses to your chosen fate obsolete. Death didn't last as long as you had thought and the life in your eyes had faded as the three voices continue to call out for you.

Bobby is the first one to reach your now lifeless body. He shakes your shoulders, lightly at first, then harder with every time his saying your name goes unanswered. Dean falls to his knees on your unoccupied side, grabbing your limp hand and desperately clinging it in his own as tears fall down his face. Sam stays standing, but barely. None of the men speak, the cruel turn of fate that took you from them stealing away their words.

Dean opens his bedroom door, the emptiness without you there consuming his thoughts. As the usually terse man fights back yet more tears an envelope on his otherwise empty nightstand caught his eye. He hurriedly tears it open when he recognises his name in your handwriting.

Dean,

This is going to be short and sweet, just ‘cause I'm gone doesn't mean I'm about to get sappy.

I'm sorry I didn't tell you about my plan, you would've stopped me if I had. This was the only option, in time you'll come to see that.

I know you had no time to prepare yourself but I have to ask something of you, my dying wish if you will.

Be happy. That girl Lisa, from Indiana? Go to her. She needs someone, so do you. I reckon that makes you perfect for each other.

Don’t waste your second chance pining over me, I'm gone and I intend to stay that way. Don’t try to bring me back.

I died happy so you could live happy.

Don't let me down Cherry Pie.

Forever yours,

Y/N Singer

As soon as he saw his name on that first line the tears begun to stream down his face. By the end of the letter he was inconsolable, his hands shaking and drops from his eyes blurring some of the words on the page. He quickly dabs away the dots from the page, not wanting to permanently lose any letter from the last token you’d left behind for him.

You had written you’d wanted him to move on, he would do his best. Not tonight, hell not any of the coming nights. They would be reserved for you and only you. Dean was going to drink so much he cried whiskey. He was going to spend every waking hour thinking of you and nothing but. Then, when his eyes finally dried and he could muster the courage to step foot out of the house, that’s when he’d follow your wishes.

***

Flesh burning. Skin cutting. Teeth being removed and hair being torn from your scalp. It’s all you knew, all you thought you’d be resigned to know. Then all of a sudden it was gone, you were there one minute and it was black the next.

You lurch forward, clutching your chest and furiously sucking in as much air as your lungs could handle. You look around, seeing that you have no idea where you are other than in the middle of a wheat field. You know well enough to know that this isn’t some trick of the devil. No, something, somehow has put you back on earth. The thought crosses your mind Dean could have been the culprit, but you dread what something like this would have costed.

As you stand you feel something burning your side, lifting your shirt to find a raised hand print just below your ribs.

“Y/N.” The unfamiliar, gruff voice behind you causes you to jerk your body around, seeing a man in a trench coat with a blue tie.

“Who are you? What am I doing here?”

“My name is Castiel, I’m a friend of the Winchesters.” He needn’t bother answering your second question, hearing he knew Dean and Sam caused your wild thoughts to snap to his attention.

“Are they okay?” It was the only thing you could think to ask, your frazzled head still processing being above ground.

“They’re okay, here” he holds out his hand to you, making your eyebrows furrow in confusion, “I’ll take you to them.” You can’t see a car anywhere near you and you’re completely unsure how he intends to get you to the men as you, for some inexplicable reason, reach out and grab his hand.

For the second time in your very short time on solid ground you’re left dizzy and breathless as you find you are once again not where you were before. This time though your surroundings are familiar, causing a happy gasp to leave your mouth and your hands to shoot up and cover it.

You’re back at the only place you’ve ever called home, Singer’s Auto.

“Y/N?” Sam’s all too familiar voice sounds from the kitchen, a smile stretching infinitely across your face as the taller Winchester rushes to wrap his arms around you while desperately calling for Bobby to join you in the living room. You exchange happy, disbelieving words as Bobby makes his entrance.

“What are you yelling about idjit, I was busy-Y/N.” His sentence falls short when he sees his presumed dead daughter. Sam has only ever seen Bobby cry once before, that awful night they’d lost you, but now as he races to hold his daughter he thought he’d never see again his tears glisten under the yellow light of the cheap bulb.

“Hey dad.” You’re both laughing and crying at the same time, overjoyed and overwhelmed by this strange turn of events.

“Castiel”, Sam questions as you finally release your father from your grip, “what did you do?”

“Actually just while we’re asking questions, what exactly are you?” No human man could have pulled you from hell and taken you to the auto shop and since you were fairly certain this man was no demon you were stumped.

“I’m an angel of the lord and I got you out of hell.” You look around the room trying to pick whether it was Sam or your father who had made some kind of deal but the lack of guilt and knowing on their faces tells that neither one had plotted to raise you from the fiery pits.

“Neither of you did this?” The shaking of their heads confirms your deductions. “Goddamn it, Dean”, you mutter.

“He played no part, it was just me.” Castiel’s statement shocks you.

“Why? I don’t know you, why would you do that?”

“Dean hasn’t been hunting for years and somethings come up we need his help with. We need Dean’s help and they refused to do anything about it. I knew my presence wouldn’t be enough to get him back and I recalled him speaking of you fondly and thought you would be able to help.”

“How could you Cas?” Sam speaks in irritation with the angel. “Dean got out, he deserves to stay out.”

“He did?” The bickering stops when you speak your hopeful question. “Dean got out?” Sam nods, an almost nostalgic look on his face.

“Yea Y/N, Dean got out.” You smile along with him, your chest lightening at the knowledge that the stubborn man had paid attention to the letter you left. As you think your smile wavers when you register something is Cas’ prior sentence. “Hang on Castiel, did you say he hasn’t hunted in years?” You let out a small humourless laugh, “How long have I been in hell?” The men previously in your life struggle to find words to say, so the angel who you’re learning is rather bad with social cues speaks.

“Three and a half years I believe.” Three and a half years. Time feels endless down in the pit, never-ending but entirely still at the same time. Five minutes or fifty years could have passed and you’d have been none the wiser, but being back now after three years? Dean was out and happy, you didn’t want to jeopardise that.

“How selfish can you be?” You bite at your angel acquaintance.

“Y/N, he was only trying to help.”

“No dad, I don’t care what he was trying to do!” You yell at your well-meaning father, “He doesn’t even know me and he brought me back to get Dean back into the hunting life? You may as well put me back in the ground ‘cause I’m not doing it.”

“That’s enough!” Bobby’s raised voice makes every pair of eyes land on him, his looking directly at you. “He may not have done it for the right reasons but you’re back, and that can only be a good thing, do not argue with me”, he adds as you open your mouth to object, letting it fall back shut at his request. “I never thought I’d see you again, so quit whining.” You can’t help but laugh seeing that the years have done nothing to change your dad’s temperament.

“It’s good to see you too”, you tease, lightening the mood of the room.

***

It’s been a fortnight, a whole two weeks above ground and you’re still getting used to it. You made everyone swear that they would not mention to Dean you were back and instructed Castiel he’d have to find another ploy to get him to help.

You were happy Dean was happy, yet despite the fact you’d made everyone swear to keep your existence a secret you couldn’t help putting that all at risk. You had to see him, to see for yourself the Dean that wasn’t a hunter. You wanted to see that cheeky grin and those entrancing green eyes that used to make your heart skip a beat. You wanted to see him out and happy.

So here you are, inconspicuously parked outside his house for the third morning in a row in the hopes of catching a glimpse of him. So far you had seen Lisa and her son Ben previous mornings, but no sign of Dean.

The front door opens and your mouth dries up with what walks out. It’s Dean in the flesh, still flannel clad and handsome as ever. He walks hand in hand with Lisa as Ben trudges behind them. He pecks her lightly on the lips before she and the kid get in the car, Dean giving them a small wave. No amount of happiness for him could have stopped the pang of jealousy you felt at seeing Dean in his apple pie life that you weren’t fortunate enough to be in.

Yes, he’s living the exact life you’d told him to live, but when you’d written that letter you planned on not being around to see it. You shake your head at your stupidity and selfishness in coming here and you turn the key in the ignition ready to drive off. You’ve indulged yourself more than enough, watching any longer would just cause you unnecessary pain.

You allow yourself one last lingering look at what used to be your man before you pull away to find his eyes surveying your parked car from across the street, your heart leaping into your throat at the danger of getting caught. You tug your baseball cap further down your face before pulling out and speeding away, all notion of stealth lost.

“Shit, shit, shit”, you curse to yourself for your idiocy. Any longer and he may have recognised you, then what? You’d cry, you’d hug, and you’d get back together? You’d ask him to leave the family you asked him to start in the first place? No. You couldn’t put him through that.

Back at the motel you pack your bags, resolute to go back home. You had no idea what you’d do once you were there, you figured you’d start hunting again, help Sammy. After today though you’d leave Dean behind you, once and for all.

A rapping on the door halts your footsteps, freezing your hands from closing your bag.

“Hello?” Shit. That’s Dean, what is he doing outside your room? He repeats himself once more before you hear the distinct sound of him trying to pick your lock. You move fast, thankful for the fact that you’d kept the room’s curtain shut as you desperately search for a way out on the other side. He’s quicker than you though, the door flying open and a gun cocking sounding behind you.

“Hands up, don’t move.” You follow his orders, hands raising above your head. “Turn around.” You don’t want him to see your face, opting to shake your head instead of reveal yourself to him. “I’m the one with a gun pointing at you so if you wanna stay alive I’d turn around.” You know he’s not lying, having seen people call his bluff too many times before. You comply but as slowly as possible, shuffling your feet until you finally face him, keeping your head down in the vain attempt the small action would keep his recollection at bay.

“Y/N?” His question sounds unsure but you know the inevitable has happened, raising your head to meet his eyes.

“Surprise?” You say, turning your hands upwards to gesture shrugging your shoulders. He holsters his gun immediately, never taking his eyes off of your form. You don’t know what to do next as marked by your silence, and his next move you cannot fathom.

“How did you get here?”

“You have your winged pal to thank for that.”

“Castiel?” The stunned tone of his voice shows you he’s as confused as you were by the whole thing.

“How’d you find me here Dean?” You question after a long pause.

“You weren’t exactly subtle at my house this morning.” The normalcy of the conversation you’re having sets you on edge, not wanting to sink into familiar habits of jokes and jabs, afraid of what that could lead to.

“I better go, it was good to see you.” You state abruptly as you awkwardly grab your bag and make to walk past him and out the front door. His strong hand around your forearm prevents you from leaving.

“What just like that you’re going to walk out the door?” You answer his incredulous question with a nod of your head and a perplexed look in your eyes. He shakes his head reaching and grabbing your other forearm so you are locked in front of his frame. “So what, I don’t get to say goodbye and now you won’t let me again?” There’s no malice to be heard, his voice soft and fragile. This does nothing to stop the guilt bubbling in your stomach.

“Dean it wasn’t like that-”

“No Y/N it’s exactly like that.” He lets the silence speak for itself before continuing. “I lost you with no notice, now you’re back with no notice. You can’t just up and leave again.” You were trying to be fair to him and stay unnoticed, now that you’ve been caught you know he’s right, you can’t just simply leave him again with no warning. He suggests you get a bite to eat, to which you instead offer going to a bar which he gladly accepts.

He insists you drive together, you suspect he was afraid if you went separately you may have driven off. You get a table at the closest bar which happens to be nearly completely empty, as to be expected midday in the middle of the week. Dean gets you a beer each, placing yours in front of you as he sits on the other side of the table.

What you thought would be a brief awkward catch up was anything but. Beer after beer is consumed as he regales stories of being a father figure, making your sides split when he recounts a particular story of trying to get in the good books of the PTA. You gave a very brief explanation of your time downstairs, leaving out pretty much every significant detail to save Dean from the guilt you know he’d project on himself. The whole time it feels like you never left. Every time your eyes catch it gets harder to look away and the light brushes of his fingers as he passes you another bottle sends shivers running up your spine.

After a particularly boisterous fit of laughter dies down you offer to get another round. Just as you go to stand Dean’s phone ringing on the table with the name ‘Lisa’ on the screen stops you.

“Hey. No sorry ran into an old friend, I won’t be too much longer. Mhmm, you too.” He speaks with large pauses in between and although you couldn’t hear the whole conversation you heard enough to bring reality back into your view.

“I should let you get back Dean.”

“What? C’mon you were just about to get another round”, he light-heartedly argues to which you shake your head.

“I should hit the road now anyway, otherwise it’ll be too dark.” Your numerous late nights on the road together makes your excuse a weak one. He complies with a dejected nod regardless, pulling out his keys. The drive is quiet, the low hum of classic rock filling the car. He reaches your motel and you thank him for the day as you unbuckle your safety belt, your other hand already reaching for the door. He reaches out and grabs your closest hand, bringing your eyes down to the small gesture.

“Don’t go.” He voice is small, weak. Words you would usually never associate with your Dean. You let out a breathy scoff at his request.

“Why not Dean, what would I do? You’re happy here with your family-”

“Hey you told me to do that.” His grip on your hand tightens slightly with the raising of his voice in defence of himself.

“I know”, you say gently to acknowledge his rebuttal, “I know I did and I meant. I’m not going to take that away from you now.” You meet his juniper eyes but do not linger in worry of them weakening your resolve. You click the handle open, lightly pushing the door and letting the now cool breeze drift past your face.

“If you hadn’t been taken from me I wouldn’t have chosen this life.” His tone is imploring, almost pleading with you.

“So enjoy it now you have it.” You release the handle so you can lean in enough to cup his cheek and look into those magnificent eyes. “You’re out. Stay out.” His hand moves to rest upon the one on his cheek, his eyes glassy as they look at you. As one last little goodbye you lean in and delicately place a lingering kiss on his free cheek. “Goodbye Cherry Pie.” With your whispered words you pull away, exiting the car and shutting the door without looking back, for one more glance and you’d have never left.

***

A quiet week has gone by at Singer’s, you’ve spent as much time with your father and Sam as possible, still in dubiety at the fact you get to be around them again rather than meat hooks and flames. You’ve convinced Sam to take you on at Scrabble, telling him not to take it easy on you just because you’re out of practise.

“Quaky? Are you kidding me?”

“Oh and what’s that, is it on a double word tile, I think it is.” You say in mock doubt as you laugh along with your incredulous opponent.

“Three years and you can still kick my ass.” He says in jest as he reluctantly adds to your tally. As the two of you jokingly bicker the sound of an unfamiliar car pulling into the gravel driveway makes your giggles cease and your eyes to peer sceptically out the kitchen window. A door opens and closes followed by rapid footsteps to the door and then Dean is before you once more.

“Dean?” Sam questions, as confused as you at his brothers sudden appearance.

“Heya Sammy.” He greets briefly before his eyes snap to you, “Y/N we need to talk.” His urgency leaves no room for debate. You shoot Sam a look before you rise and follow Dean as he leads the way to what used to be your shared room, now occupied solely by you.

“Is everything okay?” You tentatively ask as he shuts the door behind him.

“I left Lisa”, he blurts out.

“You- what? No, why would you do that?” You can hardly keep the disappointment from your voice despite how much your heart is now bouncing excitedly in your ribcage.

“I couldn’t stay there, not after seeing you.” Your excited heart quells, replaced by the overpowering guilt that your selfishness has caused Dean to leave everything you wished for him behind. You shake your head, not allowing yourself to believe you could be the cause of Dean abandoning all you ever wanted for him.

“You’ve got to back. Beg her to take you back, say you hit your head and you had a concussion, anything.” You walk to him as you speak to show your intent.

“Do you know why I can’t go back?” He answers his own question by reaching into his back pocket and pulling out his wallet, from whence he pulls a folded up, dirty looking piece of paper that he places in your hand. Your suspicions at the content are confirmed when you unfold it to see your own handwriting staring back at you.

“I kept that on me every day. Every time I doubted myself I would pull it out and read it, you wanna know why? Your words were the reason I stayed. I care for Lisa, but you’re back. I don’t want that life if you’re here.” Tears spring into your eyes, some falling down and blurring some words you noticed are already muddied. He abruptly pulls the piece of paper from your grasp, crumpling it up and throwing it aside without a care where it lands.

He removes the insignificant space between you, encircling his steadfast arms around your waist and pulling you into the embrace he could tell you desperately needed. Out of instinct your arms join behind his neck, gripping like if you let go he’d disappear.

“What about Lisa? It’s not fair for her.” You chide regretfully in his ear.

“What about what’s fair for you?” He asserts. “You spent three years in hell so I didn’t have to, you don’t have to think about what’s fair for anyone but yourself right now.”

You pull your face out of the crook of his neck and collide your lips on his, melting into the long lost but not forgotten feeling of his tender lips gliding against yours. You pull away, breathless at obtaining the sensation you’d been craving since setting eyes upon him again. You smile up at him, a smile eager and happy like a child in a candy shop.

“I’ll take that as a yes?” You respond to his poking question by latching your lips to his once more as you jump and encircle your legs around his waist.

You head down and help Dean unpack his car, every time you pass him his hand would pinch at your side or cheekily tap your ass. You could barely contain your excitement at putting his belongings back into their respective places, completely eradicating the empty feeling that was in the room before. The blame you feel about Lisa still niggled at the back of your mind but Dean’s words from earlier assure your guilty conscience.

You’ve paid your dues, and the Winchester with the jade eyes and wicked grin was your reward.

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

Taglist:

@hobby27 @musiclovinchic93

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester one shot #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester reader insert #dean winchester fanfic #spn #supernatural #supernatural one shot #supernatural reader insert #supernatural imagine #supernatural fanfic #supernatural fanfiction #angst #fluff #writing #mine #too many baes

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yooncuffs · 4 years

Text

Enraptured

➵Genre: Gang/Mafia au

➵Pairing: Mafia boss and heir! Yoongi X Business and fashion design grad! Jimin

➵Word count: (For this chapter) 7,416

➵Contains: Organized crimes, white collar crimes, drugs, sex, slow burn, slight pining, heavy angst, dark past, childhood trauma, stockholm syndrome, light bdsm, one-side relationship, side Taegi, side Jikook, other fandoms not mentioned in tag, other additional tags to be added as story progresses.

➵ Cross posted from:

Inkitt: Enraptured https://www.inkitt.com/stories/romance/460585

Wattpad: https://my.w.tt/xHoFeMqNX4

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23117059/chapters/55312273

Summary:

What if, what if you fell for someone you shouldn't, what if you already fell for him. Min Yoongi. You knew too well about his family and the danger that entails falling for a man like him. You Park Jimin the most priced possession of your family, the youngest son, the gem of this country as most people see you as. Coming from a prominent political family, who leads the country. You should be far from being acquainted from him. But what if he comes to you first? And he captures you, and for you to survive. You need to--make him fall for you.

Chapter 1: Éveil

éveil [evɛj ] MASCULINE NOUN 1. (fait de se révéler) awakening l’éveil de la sensibilité the awakening of one’s sensibility activités d’éveil early-learning activities

Heavy breathing,

and groans filled the air,

both of you trying to catch your breath,

you had bruises on both your knees.

You can feel your heart pounding harder and faster every second that passes.

He squeezed your hand tighter as he bit his lip

nervous but at the same time thrilled

with what's about to unfold.

You looked at your watch, as you can see the lights flicker in this dark alleyway.

You lost them, a breath of relief came from the both of you.

He gave you that tantalizing smirk, and you knew he was up to no good. He leads you to explore wildly and boldly and brought you to this chaotic but beautiful mess.

"C'mon baby, this is only just the beginning." He said as he pulled you by the hand and both of you continued running.

You were always like this with him, he loved breaking the rules and you loved watching him break them especially for you. There's always that satisfaction whenever you did something real bad and the thrill of it whenever you're almost caught but never have. You didn't really cater the idea at first but when he introduced this world to you there was no going back it's either all or nothing and you knew at the back of your mind that you'll always choose him, even if you didn't know where you stand.

"What if they catch us?"

You asked as you stared at his dark raven eyes in contrast to his bleached blonde hair.

" They never do ."

He answered and managed to give you a quick wink that only made you want to get passed this night and just do stuff with him more thrilling than what you're already doing.

Sirens echoed in the streets, and you were sure that it was you they were looking for, and then you suddenly encountered a police, immediately he then pins you to the wall, looks at you ravenously. Hungry for you and hungry to win, he then kisses you deeply holding your face tightly so that they'd look the other way and not notice you.

"You-taste so sweet baby" He breathed out inside you and you held back a moan as you pulled him by his hair and he gave you a subtle but filthy smile.

He's the master of disguise an innate criminal by blood: sly, quick, witty and a sucker for a good and entertaining act. This hide and seek that you always play was a game he would always win and would never want to lose from he uses you to beat his pawns as you are his queen and you on the other hand submits fully and indulge in the ecstasy of being used.

"We lost them. Atta babe! " He exclaimed as he pulled out from your lingering, deep kiss and smacked you straight in your ass and you just gave him a faint but reassuring smile. It didn't matter to you if there were a lot of people around, for you all you could see was him, and you knew for a fact it was poisonous, because one way or another this will eat you up inside making your world revolve around this evil, evil man.

Lately you've been in a roller coaster of emotions, trying to understand what's running through his mind, as you try to hold back your emotions, you know for a fact that there was no emotions involved on his end and you always convince yourself to believe that; to avoid getting hurt. You always tell yourself that all you know is you need him close for your plans to come through, and that you needed him to be only yours and yours alone. But you also had your own vendetta, which you wanted to make sure you’re able to achieve despite all of these.

"Shall we head home, Yoongi?" You asked as you cling to his arm, looking at him intently hoping he'd agree and end this game for tonight."I think we've managed to get enough to buy a full meal for the 20 children in the orphanage I was talking to you about." You continued as he remained silent, his eyes darken and you saw him bit his lip then and there you knew there was something else running in his mind. No matter how bad he may seem and even if he’s doing unimaginable you still somehow manage to convince him from time to time to be good, and to do the stuff you do for those people in need. And that’s one of the reasons you still believe and hope he’d change... Somehow.

When Yoongi is in this state---thinking; he’s always planning new ways to escape, new targets to accomplish, new possible things you could do or make his people do. There was not a time where he’d just completely submit to what’s happening in the moment and indulge in it the same way you do. He always wants to be a few steps ahead of everybody.

"Yoongi..." You stopped yourself from walking and held him with both arms "Hey, what is it?" You said rubbing his arms trying to ease him and pull him back to his senses, because of this dilemma that he seemed to be devoured in, in his mind.

"It's nothing. Don't worry about it baby."

He said gruffly, he then held your face and tried to force a subtle smile to make you believe, even though surely you know he's not convinced of it himself. You sighed as you knew it was more than nothing.

But you let it pass as there are more things that you should be worried about, especially walking out in the open, if he's bothered and not in the right mind you know then that's the best time you needed to remain vigilant for the sake of both of you.

After walking a few blocks away from where you’ve been you then arrived at your destination where cars all lined up at this secluded, dark, parking lot and slowly the lights turned on and revealed these lavish cars, shining in their glory never been kissed, never been touched just like a fine young lady, slick, sexy, stylish and elegant and just enough to make Yoongi brush his hands through them slowly as he walks across all of them.

"Hmmm, Which one do you think we should pick to bring home today Jimin-ah?" He asked you but his eyes still locked in each car he passes by. His gaze so lustful as if looking at someone that he's ready to do unimaginable things with.

He sure loves playing with his cars like how he played with his lovers .

You thought to yourself. You remained quiet and walked behind him observing his every move and reaction. You let him enjoy his precious moments as you knew how he loves flaunting his cars.

"How about I'll take you on the ride of your life, baby?" He said touching the hood of this sleek black Bugatti with both his hands in front of him you flinched as he said that, thinking his words was meant for you but then it hit you real quick, and you scoffed a little and bit the inside of your cheeks holding back laughter you were about to make, seeing how Yoongi just literally called this car ‘baby’ almost as if you thought it was pathetic but you tried and erased that idea out of your head and just brushed it off, you were confident that there’s only one baby he should consider and that is yourself.

You then slowly walked near him and ran your fingers slowly through his chest from behind as your body softly touched his back "C'mon baby, the night isn't going to last any longer. We need to get home. I'm tired. Don't you want to take me on the ride on my life as well? " You whispered into his ears in the most seductive way to catch his attention back to you.

He then grabbed your arm aggressively that was wrapped around his waist, and made you lay your back on the hood of the car and he locked you down for a good minute staring at you, studying your features, as his eyes darken, with a burning desire, you can feel it pierce right through you, you can see it. All the thoughts that could be running wildly, marking you evidently and you bite your lip, wrap your arms around his neck pulled him closer to you without blinking and whispered "You're the only one I want to ride, Jimin."

You breathed out and you can feel his breathing getting heavier. You then laughed and pushed him away just like that you somehow told him off and let him remember his place, at least this way you had him in the palm of your hands, but just this way .

It is clear that both of you are spellbinded by each other's presence one way or another. You both knew each other's weaknesses and strengths like the back of your hands and both of you knew how to use it against or with each other. You complement each other so much that it's scary how the two of you got together with such minds it would either be a match made in heaven or a diabolical duo risen from hell and it's clear which path the two of you chose, or to be more specific: Yoongi made you choose.

"If that is the case then I think we should go home." Yoongi said as he pulled you up from being laid down and immediately opened the car door and signaled you to go inside which you immediately obeyed, Yoongi revved up the engine and drove out of the parking lot, with a smirk on your face sat beside him in shotgun, you then held the back of his neck looked over to him and said "We'll see about that."

You arrived at this luxurious five-star hotel and Yoongi slowly pulled over and parked your car in the basement

"Are you ready?"

Yoongi asked as he knew you both needed to change your masks from those cheeky rascals who outran and outsmarted the police to someone a bit more refined and whom everybody knows you as.

"When was I ever not ready?"

You asked and gave him a subtle smile before opening the door as if preparing for an extravagant performance.

Two men in black suits assisted you and Yoongi in opening the door and handed you both a bag of shoes and clothing. Yoongi then threw his keys up in the air for the man to catch "You know what to do, I don't want her to be mistreated or else." Yoongi said in a stern voice as he bent his arm for you to hold on to as the other man was left with the responsibility of the car, one ushered you through a private elevator that goes through all the floors with no surveillance cameras inside, especially made and used only for the owner of the building and a few VIP members.

"Sir you will need to pass by the lobby to greet the people, they’ve been informed of your arrival."

The man told Yoongi "Of course, I knew that. I wouldn't want to be rude to my employees." He replied, with his lips stretched out in a straight line and an eyebrow raised. But then it was immediately replaced with a smile.

Right before the elevator closes he then pressed a button to make the elevator stop half way and then both of you immediately changed out of your dirty outfits to these tailored-fit suits, wiped your faces clean, you put on a chapstick, patted your cheeks and tossed your fringe back, sprayed a little of perfume and wore your Chanel, Yoongi on the other hand brushed his hair back, wore his Cartier watch and glasses, and then slipped on his pair of Bolvaint leather shoes, and pressed the button once again.

Yoongi stole a kiss from you and smiled, held your hand tightly and breathed out just in time as the elevator opened right before your eyes and you didn't even get a chance to react. "Mr. Min! Good evening. Good to see you and of course Mr.Park, enchanting as ever. Welcome back!” A middle aged man in a suit greeted you both warmly “Here let me take those for you." He then offered to take the bags that both of you are holding "We're happy to be back home Herman, thank you so much. Maybe we should go ahead and greet the rest?" You said to the man giving you a warm smile, Yoongi then squeezed your hand tighter "Hmm sweetie?" You asked and looked at Yoongi, which Herman noticed.

"It's okay Mr.Park, Mr.Min must be tired from--" Before he even finished his sentence Yoongi immediately spoke "I'm sorry Herman, it was indeed a very long night and things are just... running crazy on my mind with the business and all." He said while rubbing his temple showing that he has a headache "Of course Mr.Min you don't have to apologize, it is understandable.” Herman said as he waved his hand pointing to the elevator which you’ve come from.

“Why won't you guys head on to your floor now, so that you can both rest?" Herman suggested "No, it's okay Herman we can go ahead and greet the others first before we go up." Yoongi replied with a warm smile on his face which undoubtedly made Herman smile as well "Of course, sir." He said as he slightly tilted his head down and pointed the way to the middle of the lobby where the employees are all already lined up.

"Welcome back Mr. Min and Mr. Park !" They all said in unison and then bowed to both of you, Yoongi then gave you a quick look, a look that you immediately understood, you then let go of his hand and he immediately smiled and went to shake their hands one by one and you smiled cheerfully as you bowed to whoever Yoongi was shaking hands with, as Yoongi finished with everyone, you then spoke.

"I believe we can't stay any longer to ask how you're all doing as we're dreadfully tired, but we do hope that you guys are doing great.” You said with a warm smile “Thank you so much for your loyalty and service." You said and held one hand out to reach for Yoongi "We do really hope we can stay longer, but we're pretty sure all of you must be tired as well so I won't hold you guys any more.” Yoongi waved his hand out to you and tilted his head down a little as a gesture for a bow “Thank you so much for your time and we'll head up now. Good night everyone!" Yoongi waved goodbye to all of them and you rode back on the elevator where you initially got out and went all the way to the top floor, the penthouse.

"Mr. Min, Mr.Park. Good evening." An old man greeted you upon arriving at the floor "Alfred." Yoongi said and just gave him a nod and went past him and laid down straight on the couch " Rough night? Jimin-ah?" He whispered to you, as he noticed Yoongi's aura.

"Tell me about it." You replied, knowing how different Yoongi was all night despite the slight exchange of smiles and banters you had with him, something was different and you yourself felt that something was off about him. You just gave Alfred a sigh and went straight to where Yoongi was.

"Let's go to bed baby, come on you'll be able to rest properly there." You reached your hand out gesturing to Yoongi to get up but instead he pulled you down to him "Where's that ride you were talking about earlier, huh?" He asked as he licked his lower lip and stared at your face and then to your shoulders which was exposed a bit in front of his face as he held onto you tightly with your body against his, hip to hip, chest to chest, you felt your body starting to heat up, but you tried to resist it as you knew that after tonight that would be the last thing you’d want to do.

You tried to wiggle your way out of his grip but he was too strong "Yoongi, can we at least go up first?" You demanded and just let out a teasing chuckle.

"And what do I get in return if I let you go?"

You just stared deeply into his eyes not knowing what to answer him or what he expects for you to say.

“You’re crazy, Agust D. Maybe we should try and see for ourselves.”

You said and pulled away, you then immediately stood up and brushed yourself, but before you walked further away from him he pulled you in and hugged you from behind and whispered.

“Do you want to know how crazy I can get?”

And he bit your earlobe and turned you to face him, “Do you want to find out?” He said while putting your hair behind your ear and gave you a smirk you knew you could never resist.

Your life wasn’t always like this before: dangerous, outrageous and sinful those are three words you never thought you could describe your life before you met him, Min Yoongi, he had a lot of names you first knew him as Agust D the grandson of the infamous crime syndicate leader, the guy who has been running all his life from the crimes he and his family had committed and continues to do, but not once was he suspected as he was also Mr. Min the inheritor of his father’s business: the largest luxury hotel brands with more than 393 upscale properties across 68 countries on six continents.

But to you he was Yoongi, the man who captured you-- your heart at that.

He’s a rascal who always wants to get his hands dirty in every context you could think of, he always wants to personally do the dirty work even though he has lots of people for that, he said he would better know how things work if he does them himself. He loved playing Bonnie and Clyde with you and you on the other hand fully offers yourself to him in whatever he does, wherever he goes, you give in to his demands, you feel enraptured in his every command, weakened by his whispers.

It was dangerous, outrageous and sinful and yet you lived for every second of it. Although at the back of your mind you know it’s wrong, as it should never have been this way.

You’ve woken up by the sun’s beaming sunlight through your big high windows with blinds half open. You then reached for your side you heard a soft groan which made you smile. You then faced this man beside you who's still sleeping soundly. Your eyes carefully scanned his whole body only covered with a soft, warm duvet and you brushed his hair through and caressed his peaceful face. ‘How can a man look so angelic but live the kind of life that you do.?’ You thought to yourself.

“Do you even realize how lucky I am to have met you?” You said under your breath and you snuggled closer to him and hugged him tightly, he then slowly fluttered his eyes open and gave you a soft subtle gaze, it was foreign and it felt almost sinful “I guess that makes the two of us.” He said in a raspy voice. You both continued whispering sweet nothings to each other, you loved this feeling, waking up beside Yoongi all vulnerable and genuine nothing to worry about, no one to hide from, nobody to escape from just you and him.

But you knew that this wasn’t the case, this isn’t some romantic film that you watch in the movies it’s Min Yoongi we’re talking about here Mr. Min, Agust D and because of that it makes it difficult for both of you to just be normal as it never really was normal right from the beginning. He’s always busy day and night and sometimes he would leave you alone to go on business trips for days.

“Mr.Min, they’re here.”

Alfred knocked and said over the door which made Yoongi get out of bed immediately and wore his robe and you were left alone in bed, you held onto Yoongi’s hand and gave him a look telling him to stay “I’ll be back, stay here Jimin. Don’t go out. Okay?” and just like that he pulled away.

And you stayed in bed sulking as he had matters to attend to but you had no choice but to follow what he said, you then got up and went to the bathroom to take a shower. There was no point arguing with him when it comes to these, as it was like this right from the beginning. It has been a routine he does even way before you came into the picture.

Your day usually starts off like this, you both wake up, Alfred knocks at the door at some point, Yoongi gets out of bed and he tells you to stay inside the bedroom until he comes back to the room either in a bad mood, or in a rush to prepare for work, and when he comes back he would either catch you still in the shower and he’d join you for a steamy quick exchange or if not he’d just go ahead and take his shower and be all dressed up in his neat, slick suits, leather shoes, favorite watch and his glasses he then tells you he’ll be back but that doesn’t give you the certainty of how long he’ll be gone, he kisses you on the forehead, on your cheeks and finally gives you a long lingering kiss on the lips that would make you last long, you don’t know how long but it does seem to do the work for you, sometimes.

“I’ll be back baby, okay? I promise, I’ll make it up to you, we'll do the usual.” He breathed out and held your face with one hand “Just promise me to stay at home if you want anything just tell Alfred and he’ll get it immediately for you.” His words always have a way with you, no matter how much you’ve been fighting your thoughts not to give in, not to believe him and be deceived. You know behind all the masks he wears, there’s still something in him that makes you want to believe, believe that he might change somehow... and his promises to you will still be fulfilled.

As soon as he said that he hands you a phone “For urgent matters, call me through this phone. Okay, baby?” he gives you a quick peck and leaves.

You trail down the stairs with your silk robe drying your wet hair as Yoongi had just left. “Alfred what’s on the television right now?” you asked and he scanned through the television for you “Mr. Park, I don’t think there’s anything good in the television right now.”

Alfred said as he scans through the channels quickly “I suggest you watch movies or a series, Mr. Min updated our subscription on Netflix they’re pretty great! A lot of new shows and movies.” He said and immediately changed the screen to Netflix even before you got the chance to check the channels out yourself “Alfred, can I not just scan through the television myself?” You asked, it was always like this Alfred does everything for you and by everything it means even holding the remote and scanning through the television for you.

You’ve watched a couple of movies as you sip on your second cup of coffee early in the morning, this is your normal routine but honestly you get bored of it as there’s nothing else you can do. “Alfred! Where’s Mrs. Lopez? Isn’t she going to come to clean the house?” You shouted to Alfred who's probably busy doing something around the house desperately looking for refuge from your boredom as Mrs. Lopez is the only person you talk to outside of this household that sometimes seemed more normal than Alfred and Yoongi. “She will come, Mr.Park but she’s scheduled in the afternoon today.” And you just let out a heavy sigh at the disappointment of what you’ve heard.

“Alfred, can I go out today? Please?” You begged, but you already know what his answer would be “Mr.Park, I’m sorry but as instructed by Mr. Min you need to stay inside the house until he comes back or until he says otherwise. But of course you can go to the gym, or the pool but I would have to accompany you and we’d have to bring Chanyeol and Hoseok for your own security Mr.Park.” Alfred said.

At least I will get to see Hoseok.’ you thought to yourself “Ah, Hoseok. How’s your son by the way, Alfred?” You asked him and he just replied to you with a smile. He’s another person other than the names mentioned earlier that’s also your friend and someone who's keeping you sane while living here, you try and chat with Chanyeol at times but he seems to be more focused on his job and more obedient to Yoongi. You laid down on the couch and stared at the ceiling, almost fed up by your situation, sure you understand Yoongi and his protectiveness over you but sometimes it just gets to you. And it makes you realize your actual situation and set-up with him.

You even think that sometimes he doesn’t trust you enough. Even though you're bound by your deal.

“Okay, I’ll go for a swim then.” You said and decided it was better than nothing and you got up and immediately went up to your room to go ahead and get changed.

The splashes of water echoed into the indoor pool as you dive deep down the clear blue water, the pool area was solemn there was no one else there but you. Thankfully Alfred, Chanyeol and Hoseok kind of gave you some privacy by staying outside the pool area and are just in front of the door entrance “I want to get out of this building, I hate being locked up here. I want to go shopping” You said to yourself loudly which echoed in the whole room.

“But actually no. I know what’s better, to see the park, be around trees, breathe in the fresh air and not just this centralized air conditioning atmosphere.” You said catching your breath, panting after doing 5 rounds back and forth in this 30 meters swimming pool.

The solemnity of the pool area was only temporary when it was immediately disturbed just moments after your argument with yourself. “Sir, you’re not allowed to go in there as of the moment.” You heard the commotion just outside of the pool area “Excuse sir, but we said you’re not--” You stopped in the middle of the lap as the body guards were trying to stop this man from coming inside of the pool area “Mr.Park, we have to go.” Alfred went near you on the edge of the pool handing you a towel, you then went near him and got out of the pool.

“What’s this commotion all about?” You asked nonchalantly as you pat yourself dry using the towel “Am I not even allowed to use the pool in this hotel? Can you please explain to me why?” The man asked trying his best to keep his calm but you can hear it in his voice that he’s kind of irritated because of how the body guards are still trying to stop him “Can you please let go of me? I won’t do anything bad. ”

With a smirk on his face he raised both his hands as if surrendering, and you just signaled them to let him go, “I’m sorry of course feel free to enjoy the pool. I’ll be leaving anyway.” You said in a low tone embarrassed by how they were acting and because the man was kind enough to not lash out on you or them, you then walked past the man and handed Alfred the towel you were using and reached for your robe.

“I hope you enjoy.”

You said in a cold tone but before you fully got out of the pool area.

“Jimin, that’s your name right?”

The man said with a smile on his face and it made you stop from your tracks but even before you could say a word and go back to that man Chanyeol and Hoseok already blocked your way.

“Thank you so much, but please do tell your bodyguards to not be in other people’s faces just because they want to use a public utility that you are using.” He said in the same tone he’s been talking since earlier “I don’t think anybody will be as kind as me to understand.” His tone changed into a sarcastic one and dived into the pool.

Which you caught on, so clearly that it marked your thoughts.

The man you saw earlier still has your mind running.

“I don’t think anybody will be as kind as me to understand.”

There’s something that’s making you curious about him and you know there’s more to him than his kind and calm personality, one thing’s for sure you know he’s a VIP member by the way he acted around your guards , when they stopped him from using the pool. You stared at the high ceilings and wondered if you’ll ever get to know that man’s name and how the hell he knew yours.

Not any moment longer you got up from lying down and went on to the kitchen to get some food. “Mrs. Lopez! You’re here.” You immediately went in and hugged her. “It’s good to see you too, Mr.Park.” She replied a bit cold, opposite to how she usually greets you, warm and happy and he calls you Jiminnie. She responded back to your hug but immediately got back to her work.

“I’m sorry if I had to reschedule today, and work only half a day, as I had urgent matters to attend to earlier this morning over at my dear boy’s school.” She explains and continues with cleaning up the kitchen as she was previously doing.

“Oh, is it today?”

You asked with a low tone as you then understood why she must be acting differently. “Yes, Jiminnie. I went to Jose’s school to meet up with his adviser.” Mrs. Lopez let out a deep sigh “---and we talked about Jose’s situation. I don’t want him to suffer like that, he doesn’t deserve to be treated badly because of me.” Before Mrs. Lopez continued you cut her words “Don’t say that Mrs. Lopez…”

You said as you softly caressed her arm to comfort her as she stood still and fixated her eyes on the blank wall of the kitchen and said “It hurts seeing him this way. I wish I could give my hijo a better life.” You bit your lip as your own life flashed before your eyes, despite the lavish lifestyle that you grew up in being born with a silver spoon, as some might say, you’ve still always wished to have a better life .

And this is also another reason why you empathize with Mrs. Lopez so much, as you know how much she really works her hardest to give the life her son deserves. And also because you know how much he loves his son, in contrast to your own mother. “You know what Mrs. Lopez, cheer up! Here’s my proposal, why don’t you bring your son over sometimes so that you won’t feel as bad not seeing him and worrying so much about him.” You gave Mrs.Lopez an expectant smile waiting for her reaction to brighten up and with the slightest delight you saw in her face you continued.

”I can help him with his assignments, we can play here together to also use up my free time and maybe even buy him toys if he wants.” You feel Mrs. Lopez's mood lighten up with the proposal you’ve shared to her and she just responded to you with a smile and a tight hug, you felt yourself start to tear up but you held in your emotions with the thought of missing your own family, regardless of how messed up they were.

As Mrs. Lopez pulls away from the hug and she proceeds with her tasks around the house, you silently trail over her lost in your own train of thoughts. Before the silence grew bigger between the two of you Mrs. Lopez spoke to break the ice “Mr.Park, I always wanted to ask something…” She stops, hesitant to even proceed with what she was about to say.

“Hmm? What is it? I don’t mind.” You replied to her to reassure her you were fine with anything she asks “I wanted to ask about your family, because for the many months I have been working here, and ever since we have started talking. Not even once you’ve mentioned anything about them.”

You flinched at her question and fell silent, you felt your heart tighten and you let out this deep sigh.

“Oh, Jiminnie you don’t have to answer my question. Forget that I asked about it” Mrs. Lopez tries to let out a soft chuckle to scour the heavy atmosphere “Anyway, I'll go on ahead and clean the bathrooms. I suggest that you stay in the lounge for this one.” She suggests and tries to get both of you out of the conversation, which might be for the better. With her question, you were left thinking about it yourself.

You never did talk about your family ever since you Yoongi agreed not to, as he won’t be talking about his either.

You haven’t heard anything from them either, it’s been months since you were gone. Technically you were never home in the first place but this is the first time where you were just around town and they didn’t actually know you’re here. You don’t even know if they’re looking for you as you don’t have your old phone with you ever since Yoongi had decided to throw it out.

But the thing is you also have no direct contact with them, for security purposes your family constantly changes their contact number being part of the government, so you had no way of actually getting a hold of them either, it’s a valid reason which also gave you an excuse to not even try to ask help from them, ask for help to get you out of your situation the first time you were in it.

“Jimin...hey.” Your thoughts are disturbed by the man’s faint voice “I see that you’re lost in your train of thoughts again.” He then chuckled faintly upon seeing you looking up at the ceiling completely drowned in this void that you seem to be in, you recognized the man’s playful tone and unconsciously showed a gentle smile and slowly your thoughts started to fade.

“Hey, Hoseok…” You sit up and brushed your hair to the side and looked at him as he was standing in front of you keeping a distance while holding a brown envelope on his side, your eyes are now seemingly locked at the envelope which you made obvious, but Hoseok just brushed off your curious stare and spoke up.

“Jimin, Mr. Min told me to inform you that he won’t be home tonight and that you shouldn’t wait for him--” Before he even finished what he was about to say you rolled your eyes on the announcement which was nothing new to you “He didn’t give a specific time or date as to when he will come home, but he told me that he’d just update you. ” And you noticed him kind of move the envelope away from your sight, which you caught on immediately.

“And what’s that envelope for?” You asked him on the spot as it seems he wanted you to ask him, opposite of leading you to not have your attention on the envelope. “Oh this? You don’t have to worry about this, just some work stuff.” He waved the envelope hesitantly and gave you a flat smile that shows off his two dotted dimples.

“Anyway, I’ll have to go ahead since Yoongi called for me just to fetch these for him.” He said somehow in a rush brushing off your conversation immediately. “If you have anything in particular you need, just go on ahead and tell father. I’m sure he knows what to do, okay?” He said with a smile while walking away towards the door, which you found kind of annoying at how Hoseok always takes control of the course of your conversation just by his charms and deceiving happy vibe.

“Wait, Hoseok! Tell Yoongi, that I need to get out of the house even if it means he will send a group of guards to watch over me. Please? I need fresh air, and we certainly don't have that here.” Hoseok just nodded, him being like that is the reason why even if you guys share a conversation or two at times, you still can’t fully trust him as he’s always still loyal to Yoongi. Much as all the other people in this building.

The night crept in slowly but you can surely feel the aloneness, being in your bed with a space so big it takes over you and the silence only grows louder. Ever since Mrs. Lopez said goodbye to you just moments ago and Alfred that doesn’t seem to be anywhere in sight since after your visit from the pool. You feel your spine tingle at the eerie atmosphere that starts to linger, you hated this, even if you try your best to psych yourself out and make yourself find the good in everything that’s happening to you, cooking up these plans and schemes in your head, it was not enough.

You still can’t brush off the fact that you're stuck in this situation without free will, and freedom itself. The complete opposite of the life you had before arriving in this situation. And you didn’t know who to blame, or how this all came to be. You wanted answers, and the longer you’re stuck here the more you want them bad so that all of this facade will be over and maybe you and Yoongi will be able to live normally by then. Because as of this moment being imprisoned here doesn’t seem like an ideal ending to a story you want your life to pan out to.

The moment you sealed the deal with Yoongi, you thought it would give at least a slight freedom and control over him, but the mere fact that he already took over you emotionally, whilst being held captive, already means defeat in itself, and you knew it .

You’ve been played in your own game, and maybe you’re starting to grow tired of it. As your lying down in your room you then turned to your side facing this huge window that gleamed with light reflected by the city, you sit up to reach for the phone that Yoongi gave you which was on the bedside table and open the drawer, where hides your stash of cigarettes, you took one and placed it in your mouth and walked towards the balcony and lit it up, you then opened the phone and dialed the only contact number that was saved there.

“Hello, I think we’ll have to talk.” You paused and bite your lip trying to hold back yourself from saying this, you’ve always said it to him either jokingly, or somehow in a way he won’t take seriously but this time you really just want to get over it, you can’t live like this any longer you feel like time is fleeting before you and you have so much you want to do, you’re running against your own deadline that is.

“It’s about our deal.”

You heard him sigh on the other side of the line and you can vividly imagine how his brows furrow, and his lips pursed as if he already knows what you would say, as if he already expected for it. But what else would he even expect if all you ever wanted in the first place was to be freed from being kidnapped .

And for him to fulfill his end of the deal.

Which was to help you find out the stench your family has been hiding away from you. Since they have raised you away from them, away from all the stuff they have been doing because you knew for a fact they weren’t as noble and as benevolent like people had always depicted them, you knew how your mother manipulates your father into signing papers he did not approve of, you knew that your loving father only says yes to your mother because of him not wanting your mother to lash out and leave him or worse maybe spill some secrets of his own, and lastly your well sculpted sister you knew that her obedience to your mother is only a facade to her personal vendettas and that she just wants the power, money and fame as much as your mother does. So much for a family whose name is well respected knowing that your father is one of the leaders of the country.

You tick at the mere thought that they actually do such things and it makes you literally disgusted by the idea that your eyes were opened to the truth that such things do happen in the government and worse your family is a great contribution to how dirty and rough the field is.

Despite everything, when you come home at times to meet your family, you keep a straight face and obey them as much as you could, you disregard your own beliefs for a moment and you absorb their wisdom, and accept their actions while keeping your stand untouched. You do your best to keep this information safe for future reference and for the day when you’ll be able to garner enough knowledge, power and help to correct the actions of your own family. You didn’t want them to continue to live the way they do, you’ve always taught yourself how to stand by what’s right especially being exposed to different kinds of people from around the world.

With this in mind you thought maybe you’ll be able to do this by the help of someone as equally bad as your family, or maybe even worse.

Yoongi .

It would be an understatement to say that his actions are bad and they’re not right. Because they are way worse than that. It’s not just like stealing candy from a baby, it’s stealing, deceiving, lying, manipulating, and probably even killing someone to take not only his candy but everything that flashes in front of his eyes; money, power, position, title.

“Ah, our deal. Yes.” Yoongi finally said a word after a few seconds of silence.

“I guess this leaves me no choice then?” He scoffed, but you can feel him let out a smirk.

“Yes.” You simply replied, you forced your eyes closed, grit your teeth and clenched your jaws, this overwhelming feeling of annoyance overpowers you.

You knew he was up to no good, he’s always up to no good. His words always have a way with you and you knew for a fact it was poisonous because you’re always on the verge of giving in to them, but this time. You shouldn’t . You need to start to have your head on your plans and get your problems solved, have answers to your questions and stop being so...

“I’ll talk to you about this in person. Let’s meet up tomorrow. But for now, have a good night rest baby.” He said in a tone more calm, and sweet almost

as if he… “Okay, baby?” cares for you.

#enraptured #min yoongi #park jimin #yoonmin #bts fanfic #bts smut #yoongi smut #jimin smut #yoonmin smut #chapter 1 #Éveil #the beginning

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sweetiepie08 · 5 years

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Musician with the Poison Tears (Chapter 10)

Miguel Rivera’s been fascinated by the story of the legendary ghost, the Musician with Poison Tears, since he was a kid. He’s always wanted to know the full story behind the weeping specter that haunts the train station with its invisible guitar. Now 18, the travels to Mexico City to try to observe the ghost from afar and get some clues about its origin. Who knows? He might even get a song out of it.

This story is based on the art and ghost!au created by @melcecilia14. Go check out her artwork here, here, here, and here. It’s really awesome.

Chapter 1. Chapter 2. Chapter 3. Chapter 4. Chapter 5. Chapter 6.Chapter 7. Chapter 8. Chapter 9. Chapter 10. Epilogue.

Bonus.

Miguel and his cousins watched from the doorway as their Abuelita sat in the courtyard reading the newspaper.

“You think this is a good idea?” Abel asked?

“Not really, but it’s the only one I’ve got.” Miguel spent all night preparing what to say to her. He rubbed his thumb over the cover of the journal in his hands. He figured, if she wouldn’t listen to him, she might listen to Mamá Coco. Even then, it might not be enough, but he’d never forgive himself if he didn’t try.

“Maybe it would be better if one of us did the talking,” Rosa suggested.

Miguel shook his head. “No, it has to come from me.”

With one more breath, he stepped out into the morning sunlight. “Abuelita?” he said approaching the table. She flipped one corner of her paper down and peered at him over it. “I have something to show you.” He sat down beside her and set the book on the table. “I opened Mamá Coco’s gift. You know? The one she gave me right before she died?”

Abuelita put her newspaper aside, looked inquisitively at the book, and opened the cover.

“Careful,” Miguel instructed. “It’s very old and there’s a few loose pages.”

She turned to a random page and her eyes went wide when she saw the handwriting inside. “Miguel, what is this?”

He grinned. It was a small victory but those were the first words she spoke to him since that awful fight. At least he was making progress. “Mamá Coco gave me the journal she kept when she was young. She writes about a lot of things in here. She talks about Mamá Imelda and Tío Oscar and Tío Filipe. She talks about growing up in Santa Cecelia and working in the zapatoria… and she talks about music.”

Abuelita threw him a sharp look.

“I know, I know, it’s not your favorite subject,” he conceded, “but if you read her words, you’ll know she loved music too. Though, I already knew that because she’s the one who introduced me to music in the first place. She used to sing to me when no one was listening.”

Her lips curved downward into a hard frown. “You’re trying to use your Mamá Coco to justify your lies?”

“No, that not it,” he backpedaled. “I just meant that she loved music and she wanted to share it with the people she loved. She did it because that’s what her father did. She loved him and he loved her. She never believed he abandoned them on purpose and she was right. I know because I met him.”

Abuelita looked at him like he was trying to convince her the earth was flat.

“I know how it sounds, but it’s the truth. He’s the ghost who’s haunting the train station. I talked to him. Rosa and Abel talked to him. He went on tour with his best friend, Ernesto de la Cruz, always planning to come home, but when the time came, Ernesto wanted him to keep going. He tried to go home anyway, and Ernesto murdered him for it, stole his songs, and became famous off of them. Now he’s trapped, but he’s still trying to come home.”

He placed the small photograph corner on the table, showing her Héctor’s face. She looked at it like she’d seen a ghost. Well, I guess she has.

“That’s him,” Miguel explained, sliding the picture closer. “His name is Héctor. Mamá Coco kept this for a reason.”

Abuelita kept staring at the photo. The initial shock left her face, but now, Miguel couldn’t tell what she was thinking.

“All he wants is to see Mamá Imelda and Mamá Coco again. That’s his unfished business. It’s why he’s still hanging on. He’s too late to meet them in person now, but there might still be a chance. You’re Mamá Coco’s daughter. I think if her met you, if he knew his family still loved him, it’d set him free. He’d be able to cross over and he’d finally return to Mamá Coco and Mamá Imelda.”

She was silent for a long time. Miguel resisted the urge to fill that silence. He knew she needed it and it was best to let her take this in at her own pace. “You lied to me,” she finally said. She didn’t sound angry, but hurt. “You lied to your whole family for years. After all those lies, why should I believe you are telling the truth now?”

Miguel felt a lump form in his throat. “I’m sorry I lied,” he began, gently taking her hand, “and I’m sorry for what I said to you on the night we fought. I regret that the most. I have no excuse for that. I was wrong to say those things. All I ever wanted was to share my love of music with my family. I still hope I can someday and I hope you’ll be there when I do, but this isn’t about me. Héctor is part of our family and he needs our help.”

She went quiet again and looked off into the distance. He thought he could see tears brimming on her eyes. “You don’t have to answer me right now. Here,” he slid the journal closer to her, “I’ll leave this with you. I hope you’ll read through it. I think Mamá Coco wanted us to know how she really felt.”

He waited for a response. When none came, he picked up the picture of Héctor and left her with her thoughts. He wasn’t sure how long she would think it over or if she’d consider it at all. He hoped she would, but not just for Héctor’s sake. Their whole family revolved around this one painful event. If they put Héctor to rest, maybe they could put that pain to rest as well.

[-]

A few days later, Miguel had his answer. He was hanging out in the living room with his cousins when Abuelita walked it, journal in hand. “Alright, when do we leave?” she asked, looking at Miguel.

He went dumb for a second. “Leave for what?”

“To see this ghost of yours of course.”

“You mean Héctor?” he asked, jumping to his feet. “You want to help him?”

She nodded. “At the very least, I can see what he has to say for himself.”

“Great, so when do you want to leave?” It was really best to let her take the reins from here.

“Tomorrow, bright and early” she said. Her voice made it clear there would be no argument.

“Right, of course Abuelita. Tomorrow.”

[-]

The drive back up to Mexico City was tense to say the least. It was nearly silent. The no-music rule was still in effect, after all. Rosa and Abel sat up front and exchanged a few words but that was about all the sound they had. Miguel sat in the back with Abuelita, who looked out the window with a determined look on her face. At least the quiet gave Miguel time to think about how best to approach this whole day. That last thing he wanted was for Abuelita to chew out her long-dead grandfather in front of a crowd who couldn’t see who she was yelling at. And he definitely didn’t want Hector’s first encounter with his long lost family to leave him feeling even more alone than he already did. He just had to cross his fingers and pray this all went smoothly.

When they arrived at the train station, Miguel begged Abuelita to let him introduce her. “Fine Miguel,” she agreed with a shrug. “This is your ghost. We’ll do it your way.”

Once they got inside, it didn’t take them long to find Héctor. He popped up in front of them as soon as they walked through the door. “Miguel, what are you doing back so soon? I thought you had a promise to keep with your family.”

“I did and kept it. In fact, I brought some of them.” He jabbed his thumb over his shoulder at his cousin.

“I see. Hola Abel. Hola Rosa,” Héctor said cheerfully as he waved at them.

“I also brought my Abuelita,” Miguel said, gesturing toward her. “Abuelita, this is Héctor.”

“Can she see me?” Héctor asked.

Abuelita nodded. “I can.” From her awestruck expression, there was no doubt.

“That’s great! It seems your whole family can…” Something seemed to click in his mind and his face shifted into a thoughtful expression.

“About that, I did some more digging while I was at home and there’s a good reason we can all talk to you.”

Abuelita clutched Mamá Coco’s journal in her hands. Miguel gestured for it and she handed it to him without taking her eyes off Héctor.

“This Journal belonged to my great grandmother,” he said, showing it to Héctor. “She started it when she was fourteen. She wrote about her life in Santa Cecelia, her love of dancing and music, and she wrote about how much she missed her father. You see, he disappeared when she was a little girl. And her name was Coco Rivera.”

Héctor’s eyes went wide. If he could still breathe, it would have left him. “My Coco?”

Miguel nodded with a soft smile. He put his hands on Abuelita’s shoulders and gently guided her closer to the ghost. “Héctor, this is your granddaughter, Elena Rivera.”

“My…” He stared at her like he was seeing the sun for the first time. “I can hardly believe…”

“You…” Abuelita started. Miguel held his breath. “You…” she said again, apparently searching for the right word.

Miguel braced himself. Would it be an insult? A tirade about how he abandoned his family? Could he even hope she’d say something kind? Please God, let this go well.

“You’re a baby!” she said at last.

Miguel’s jaw hit the floor.

Héctor drew back and blinked. “Excuse me?”

“How old were you when you died?” she demanded.

Héctor’s eyes darted between her and Miguel. “Twenty one?”

“Are you asking me or telling me?”

“No I’m telling…” He looked helplessly at Miguel who could only shrug. Neither were able to comprehend the awesome power of Abuelita.

“Dios mio, I have grandchildren older than you,” she sighed, shaking her head. “My boys were idiots at that age. It’s no wonder you got those ideas in your head. All this time I thought you were cruel and careless. Turns out you were just young and stupid.”

Héctor’s eyes turned to the floor. “You’re right. I was stupid. My stupid choice caused my whole family pain. I’m sorry.”

“Is that all you have to say for yourself?”

Héctor shook his head. “It’s all I think I have a right to say.”

“Don’t give me that,” Abuelita scolded. “I want to know exactly what you were thinking.”

“Abuealita,”Miguel interjected, “Héctor only recently got his memories back. I don’t think he’ll remember.”

“It’s alright Miguel,” Héctor said, floating closer. “I do remember.” He straightened himself up and looked Abuelita in the eye. “I remember that we were poor. I remember wanting to give Imelda and Coco a better life. I thought becoming a famous musician was the only way I could do that. I always planned on coming home. I never thought I wouldn’t make it and I never could have imagined why.”

“Your friend murdered you?” she asked frankly.

“Yes.”

“How long did you know him?”

He sighed. “My whole life.”

“How did he do it?”

“He toasted our friendship with a poisoned drink,” he answered with a bitter sneer.

Abuelita shook her head in disgust. “Coward,” she spat with the venom of a snake. “Well, you were stupid, but you didn’t deserve to die.”

Héctor’s face seemed to lighten up slightly. “Miguel mentioned before that after his great-great grandfather left, your family hated music. That you believed music tore your family apart.”

“That is true.”

He nodded sadly. “I am ashamed to be the cause of that. If I knew how much my family would suffer for my mistake, I never would have touched a guitar.”

“That’s nonsense,” Abuelita snapped, taking both Héctor and Miguel by surprise. “Miguel tells me your songs became very popular.”

“More like iconic,” Miguel corrected.

“If you have a talent like that, you should use it,” Abuelita affirmed.

Miguel thought he might lose his breath now. “Do you really mean that, Abuelita?”

She cast a teasing smile in his direction. “Do you think I’m a liar, Miguel?”

He beamed. “No, ma’am.”

Abuelita returned his grin and turned back to Héctor. “My family spent generations being angry at you. I used to think you were the slimiest, most self-centered snake to ever slither across the planet. I must say,” she let out a breath and smiled up at him, “you are not what I imagined. I think you’ve been punished more than enough, don’t you?”

Hope grew in Héctor’s eyes. “Does this mean you forgive me?” A faint glow began emanating from him.

Abuelita nodded. “I could never stay mad at my family, not when I know they meant well.” She gave Héctor a once-over and tsked. “Look at you. So skinny. That’s the real curse you put on my family. My sister, my son Enrique, and just look at Miguel.” She swung her arm in his direction. “All twigs thanks to you.”

Héctor laughed. “Now that I’m not sure how to apologize for.”

“Look at that, Miguelito,” she said, putting her arm around him, “you’ve got his dimple.” His cousins gathered around him as well. Héctor’s joy at seeing them all together radiated off him like the orange glow.

“Now what are you waiting for?” Abuelita said to him. “I think you’ve kept your family waiting long enough.”

Héctor’s light dimmed. “Do you think they’ll take me back?”

Abuelita gave him a sad smile. “I’m afraid I don’t know the answer, but I read my mother’s journal and I do know this: she still loves you.”

Tears fell from Héctor’s eyes once again. There was no scent of tequila and not a trace of poison. These tears were real.

The orange glow around him grew brighter. The flesh on his fingers faded, revealing bone underneath.

“Héctor! Your hand!” Miguel cried as the skin continued to disappear.

Héctor smiled as he examined his hands, completely unalarmed by this change. “It’s alright, Miguel,” he laughed. “It’s alright. I feel better than I have in a century.” His flesh continued to burn away and he laughed as if filled with pure delight. “I love you all. I couldn’t wish for a better family.” His smile was enough to warm the hearts of everyone around him. “You set me free. I can’t thank you enough. Please never forget how much you love each other.”

“We won’t,” Miguel answered, tears filling his own eyes.

Héctor’s grin somehow made his glow even brighter. The light became blinding as it enveloped him. He let out one last jubilant laugh and he was gone.

#coco #coco fanfiction #coco fanfic #ghost au #ghost hector #hector rivera #miguel rivera #coco rivera #rosa rivera #abel rivera #elena rivera #sweetiepie08 #sweetiepie writes #coco fandom #pixar coco #almost to the end folks #just the epilogue to go

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bitway-arts · 5 years

Text

title: Towering fandom: Inazuma Eleven Ares characters: Nosaka Yuuma, Nishikage Seiya pairings: nosanishi kinda summary: To him and the dragon, he is neither captive nor damsel. {medieval au}

The human leans against the window, peering out over the landscape that lay before him. The skies were clear aside from a few clouds, allowing him the perfect sight. From this tower, he had a view of the pathway to this castle, the darkened forest that one had to traverse to reach this place. And beyond that, he could faintly make out the silhouette of another castle. His castle.

His home.

If the day had been cloudy, he's certain it would have been nearly impossible to make out his old home. He would have been completely fine with that. He would have been fine with it simply disappearing one day.

Nosaka is- was a prince. He stopped considering himself one the moment he'd left the lands of his kingdom and found himself here. Not in a neighboring kingdom nor rival's clutches. But one that belonged to a dragon.

An amused smile forms upon his lips when he thinks of his captor. There were always tales of such creatures, ferocious and deadly, but none believed in their existence. They had been kept away for so long that people believed them to be myths. That is, until one night when one of those myths had shown up and fulfilled his rightful role of stealing royalty.

For what reason? Nosaka had believed it was out of hunger. Perhaps there was something about a young noble tasting better than most. He'd like to think it was due to the fact that they were more defenseless and had priceless jewels somewhere on their body, which would be a treat for the beast. And yet, things hadn't gone as most legends had said. He was not eaten nor held captive. He simply chose to remain here.

The dragon's castle was…not too well kept. It was never meant for a human to live in. Centuries ago, it could have been, but now half of it was falling apart, becoming ruins and just to provide shelter for the winged beast. Yet, even in this condition, the human would argue it was better than being kept in his perfect home.

Now, he had freedom. Well, as much freedom as one could have living in a place like this. And…it was strange. To be able to do as he pleased without a care. No kingdom forced upon his back by strangers who hardly gave him a passing glance. No strict lessons to follow, although he did keep up reading and his personal studies here- magic was something unheard at his home, but now he could study it all he wished. But, other than that, he was at a loss.

His life had always revolved around royal pursuits, knowledge of the lands, and politics of the world. While dull in theory, they were fun to toy around with when given the chance. Though, those chances were far and wide and meant for those strangers of parents he had instead.

"Nosaka."

The voice comes from the door of the tower- the dragon. He had taken a human form, dawned human clothes. It was almost impossible to tell he was a mythical beast.

"Yes, Nishikage?"

"They've sent out more soldiers."

He walks towards the human, gaze looking out the window. He saw what Nosaka couldn't; it was one of the dragon's powers.

"It's about time." A grin forms upon his lips, eyes trying to find the soldier's location. "I thought they would have given up by now. They must be desperate for someone to be their prince."

He'd wonder why his parents were so intent on bringing him back. They could have easily taken in another to stand in his place or have another child. Having a single heir was silly, but so were they. Maybe they really needed him now, needed their ideal prince. That's what they wanted. A prince, not their son.

"I trust you'll get rid of them?"

"Of course."

It wasn't an order, it never was. The dragon would carry it out regardless. If it came from the prince- this human, he would listen.

This human was a strange one, the dragon thinks as his eyes fall upon the human. He hadn't fought nor begged for his life when captured. It almost seemed as if he were ready to accept his fate. That is, until he had reached out a hand to the dragon with a smile on his face. It was one Nishikage had never seen before. He'd become entranced by the sight and by the words he spoke to him that day.

"Do you think they'll ever give up?" Nosaka speaks, breaking him from his memories.

The dragon falls silent, lost in thought. His history with royalty was rare, but he'd seen how determined humans could be.

"No. Even if they think you're gone, they'll keep fighting. They know of my existence. I'm seen as a threat to them now."

"Hmm."

Nosaka's eyes close as he thinks. Nishikage could never read him whenever he did this. He knew there was something, an idea, a plan just churning in his mind. He hoped to know of it one day.

"I think they will. Just give them time. Eventually, they won't come to bother us any longer."

When his eyes open, the dragon can see the determination within them. His words were true- they would be soon enough. Whatever he was plotting to make his words real, Nishikage hoped to be part of it.

#fantext;#fictober 2019 #Inazuma Eleven #nosanishi #nosaka yuuma #nishikage seiya #inazuma eleven ares #medieval au #day 7

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bakudekuficlibrary · 5 years

Text

BakuDeku: Oblivious Izuku

1 Series. 57 Works.

What The Fuck Did You Just Call Me? by reading_raindrop (T | 8,303 | 4/4 )

“A-ah B-Bakugou! You dropped some pencils!”

Katsuki stiffened. Kirishima and Kaminari froze. Basically, everyone within earshot stopped what they were doing to look at Izuku like he sprouted a second head. What did he just call him? “What the fuck did you just say to me?”

Katsuki whipped his head towards Izuku with his signature death glare as he stood up from where he picked up the fallen supplies.

“U-um I said you dropped some pencils! I think this eraser might be yours to-”

“No. What the fuck did you just call me?”

Izuku starts calling him Bakugou and it pisses the explosive teen off a lot more than he thought it would

It's Okay, Quirkless by VMarus ( M | 34,187+ | 15/? )

Izuku just wants to make his mother proud and to be happy with himself.

AU. Quirkless Vigilante Izuku!

[Major Character Death | Graphic Depictions Of Violence]

A Challenger Appears by MariaMediaOverThere ( T | 9,467 | 3/3 )

"Oh, so is Midoriya really seeking a relationship like that then?" And for the first time, there's a crack in Kota's impassive stance. Vulnerability. But also a glimmer of something excited- hopeful.

"I don't give a shit, but if Deku were, hypothetically, looking for a relationship," and Bakugou would be the first to know if he was, as well as the first to line up, and also suspiciously the only one alive in line. "He definitely wouldn't be trying anything with some shitty high schooler." Bakugou sneers, not even attempting to mask the distaste in his tone.

"So stick your obvious fanboy crush up someone else's ass, okay?"

The kid seems to consider this at first before looking Bakugou dead in the eyes, "Well in ten years when your pro hero injuries are forcing you into retirement, this shitty high schooler will have graduated med school and then it will be you versus a hot young doctor with a stable income."

With an air of finality, Kota shoulder-checks Bakugou while carefully holding the coveted Deku figurine in his possession.

"...Bitch."

Heart Out by minzie ( E | 65,588+ | 12/? )

Bakugou Katsuki was not the type of person you’d call in an emergency. Sure, he’d help you out if he was standing right next to you and you were about to get stabbed because of his damn hero complex, and because he’s maybe, kind of, somewhere a decent person, but that’s about it.

It was just his luck that someone needed saving tonight, in more than one way.

Lights. Camera. Hero! by brichibi ( E | 23,248+ | 6/? )

If there’s one thing Izuku Midoriya’s good at, it’s dreaming big, and dreaming hard. That’s why he’s in Hollywood, of all places, his hometown an entire ocean away along with his graduating high school class and single mother. But he’s gonna be an actor, an international sensation, a superstar like no other.

He just.

Has to convince the rest of the world.

Which is, admittedly, a difficult task.

[AU where "My Hero Academia" is an upcoming television series, everyone's an actor/actress, and romance happens behind the scenes]

Not All Heroes Wear Capes by vulcanhighblood ( T | 11,002 | 3/3 )

When Kacchan offered to scare off pushy groupies and nosy reporters for Izuku, he hadn't realized that Kacchan was planning to lie about the two of them being in a relationship in order to do so.

Room 207 by bakudeku ( Not Rated | 8,796+ | 4/? )

No one, not even Bakugou Katsuki, could deny that Izuku was adorable as fuck.

ᶜᵃⁿ ᶦ ᵍᵉᵗ ᵘʰʰʰʰʰʰ

ˢᵒᶠᵗ ᵏᵃᶜᶜʰᵃⁿ

[Suicide Attempt]

Oh, These Aching Bones by IAmStoryteller ( T | 17,470 | 10/10 )

The cold weather rolls in and Izuku suffers unexpectedly, which leads to a series of events to make Class 1-A and a certain loudmouth childhood friend turned rival realize that despite Izuku's greatness as a hero, they have to look after him.

The Childhood Friends-To-Sweethearts Contest by Merrywetherweather ( G | 3,064 | 1/1 )

Present Mic just wanted to throw together a little event for couples and soon-to-be couples and these two 3rd year idiots come in and utterly destroy the competition while remaining 100% oblivious to everything that's going on around them.

This is more of a comedy piece than anything. I wanted to play around with the idea that Katsuki and Izuku probably still know a lot about each other and are ultimately still on the same wavelength. Like, you expect them not to know as much about one another, since they appear to not get along, but they know each other like the back of their hands.

[On Hiatus] Stay away from him, he's mine! by AShippingAddict ( E | 12,143+ | 4/10 )

Bakugou Katsuki knew Valentine's Day was just a day where everyone went crazy trying to make love happen. He didn't care for it. He especially didn't care that everyone seemed to want Deku. He didn't care. It didn't matter that people were starting to invade Deku's space. Or that people kept touching him. He did NOT care, not one bit.

Or people flirt with Midoriya Izuku and Bakugou nearly kills someone because he's jealous.

Bakugou's Childhood Sweetheart Survival Guide by Butterfree ( G | 28,333 | 4/4 )

Childhood Sweethearts is a Japanese game show series inspired by the popular book The Childhood Friends-To-Sweethearts Contest by Merrywetherweather originating as far back as 2018. Childhood friends who are now lovers from all over the world compete in what is known as the ultimate challenge to prove your love to that girl next door, or to gain confidence to propose to the boy you've been protecting since you were both toddlers. Gaining a huge following and recently signing a contract to have their show aired internationally, the organizers opted to set up camp for the fifth season off the beach that Class 3-A happened to be spending a vacation on.

“Kacchan.”

“No.”

Deku gave him a look. “But I didn’t say anything yet.”

“You were thinking it. That’s enough incentive.”

Otherwise known as that other fanfic where Izuku and Katsuki sign up for a childhood sweethearts competition while remaining 99% oblivious to their growing feelings for each other.

[Homophobia]

Dirty Little Thoughts by MariaMediaOverThere ( E | 5,680+ | 2/3 )

“Think you can take me on one-on-one, shitty nerd? Better prepare yourself, because I’ll fucking knock you up!”

“You’ll what?”

“OUT! I MEANT OUT! I'll knock you OUT!"

Or Bakugou grapples with being a Deku-vert. That's right; a Deku-pervert. That's just what he is now.

Defenestration by amarielah ( E | 1,834 | 1/1 )

A drunken Bakugou pays Izuku a visit via window. Things get messy.

Series Part 3 of Bakugou Katsuki: Human Disaster

[Dubcon]

there are a million things to run from, but i'm not one of them ( T | 3,961 | 1/1 )

Soulmate! AU Bakugou Katsuki is a firm ideologist in the belief that winners conquer everything and losers gain nothing. He's lived his life with an explosive demeanor and icy heart, and even as a model, he refuses to lighten up for the sake of public image. There is little that can change him, and nothing that can shake him- until he meets an insecure photographer whose fingers shake behind flash, but whose eyes shine stronger than anyone he's ever met before. Oh, and who makes a soulmark spring up on Bakugou's wrist the second their eyes meet. [In which Bakugou has no idea what secrets Midoriya Izuku is hiding, but he's determined to find out and in doing so discovers that sparks don't just come from cameras.]

[Past Abuse]

Drunk Confession by bombingking ( M | 4,613 | 1/1 )

In which Izuku is invited to his first college party and is oblivious to the fact that the person who invited him also happens to have a secret crush on him.

[Series] Arranged by amiluna ( Not Rated | 2 Works | Complete )

Izuku knows as a quirkless he will be married off soon...he had hoped it would be to someone he wanted, but then life always messes with him like that. Add in the childhood friend he forgot and you have one hell of a mess for the boy who just wants to decide for himself for once.

After Arranged, Izuku moves in with Katsuki. From here on out, he encounters hardships revolving his former friend and the joys of making a new friend. The only question now being will it all blow up in his face and threaten everything he has?

Forgetful by Pop_Rocks (v_love) ( E | 3,436 | 1/1 )

Normally Bakugou managed to contain his temper -- even if it was just a little -- when it came to Midoriya. Even still, his outbursts just seemed to make Midoriya laugh now, mostly because it was never over anything big and Midoriya was no longer afraid of Bakugou doing anything but make little threats that he very rarely went through.

Normally.

Today was different though.

----

In which Midoriya forgets his and Bakugou's anniversary.

Series Part 1 of Kacchan and Deku's Shenanigans

[On Hiatus] “can’t sleep love” by avalescence_hurlocked ( G | 20,782+ | 7/? )

tell me, am I going crazy? tell me, have I lost my mind?

alternatively; Bakugou's got a crush, and he's got it really bad, but he doesn't want it at all. at least, that's what he tells himself.

Only for a bet (I fucking swear!) by Dana91 ( M | 3,096 | 1/1 )

Inspired by Tinogeb's fanart

Bakugo Katsuki teased. Bakugo failed. How did he end up fucking the damn nerd?!

That’s Not It! by Pop_Rocks (v_love) ( T | 5,800 | 1/1 )

Midoriya felt distracted lately, he couldn’t exactly pinpoint its cause (although he had an idea) which was even worse. However, he found himself spending less time focusing in class and during quirk training. He found himself drifting in and out of the conversations around him, and he found that he was a little flustered.

————

In which Midoriya realizes he has feelings for Bakugou after Bakugou’s gotten a little soft.

Series Part 7 of Kacchan and Deku’s Hooplas

Bakugou Deals With Jealousy in a Creative Manner by Renex ( E | 1,672 | 1/1 )

“That fucking half and half bastard I swear to god next time he pulls some shit like that again I’ll blow his head right off his shoulders.” Bakugou practically snarled, slamming the door to his dorm room shut before tossing his bag to the ground and collapsing down onto the bed.

“Kacchan, relax. He was just helping me that’s all.”

“Helping you?” The short-tempered blonde practically snorted, sitting up on his elbows so that he could get a better look at the freckled boy standing in front of him. “The man was practically tongue fucking you.”

Distance by IAmStoryteller ( T | 32,273 | 11/11 )

Distance makes the heart grow fonder. (Izuku and Bakugou deal with living life thousands of miles away from each other in their own way)

The Way You Used To Do by edema_ruh ( T | 23,710+ | 3/? )

"We're really sorry", his father says, in that teary-eyed, wobbly way Katsuki most certainly didn't inherit from him, thank fuck. "But your friend, Izuku, he's...", he hesitates for a moment, as if trying to find the right words for that situation. "He's gone, son", he concludes, giving Katsuki's hand a squeeze. Behind him, his mother stands, face almost as impassive as ever.

Katsuki can do nothing but blink up at them for moments that feel like an eternity, eyes darting between both his parents in obvious confusion, disbelief, and, more than anything, indignation.

"What the fuck are you two talking about?", he asks, not as aggressively as he would have liked to. "The damn nerd is standing right beside you!"

During a battle, Midoriya gets hit by a villain whose quirk detaches his soul from his body. Being assumed dead from his lack of brain function, the boy enters a race against time in order to save himself from permanently dying. Much to his luck - or lack of it -, the only person who can see and talk to him in his soul-like state is no one other than Kacchan.

Tempura Spitfire by Chyme ( T | 17,977+ | 4/6 )

‘Fuck. Flowers it is. Massive, sunshine, everything-is-fucking-great yellow ones, that will make him sneeze his head off.’

Months ago, Bakugou Katsuki had had a conversation with his father that had inspired him to act on his feelings for Izuku. This is the story of how said attempt turned out.

And don't give me that look, dear reader. Things are gonna turn out fine.

Series Part 3 of Dinner and A Show (Of Explosions, Presumably)

Bad at Love by officiallytrash ( T | 102,022+ | 11/? )

Class 1-A is put to the test in one of U.A.'s classes and tests where they face a faux-villain they can't seem to win against. During the two-day fighting, Bakugou noticeably becomes more and more shaken by the faux-villain.

Midoriya wants to help him and to become his good friend once again. Bakugou knows there is more than friendship in his own head but wants to keep Midoriya close, if only to keep him safe. But with jealousy, friendships, and their dreams on the line, they have to get even closer to help the other.

[On Hiatus] Efflorescence by SleepieAsh ( T | 10,349+ | 4/? )

As beautiful as they were, he grew tired of the sight (and taste) of green chrysanthemums after the first petal fell from his mouth.

(Somewhere between the bug-catching and hand-holding, Bakugou fell for his childhood friend. In turn, he traded the relief of surgery for feelings of fondness and the misery that came with it.)

spring snow by altruisticizuku ( G | 1,008 | 1/1 )

izuku is a bit of a lightweight and katsuki might be kinda jealous.

bakudeku week 2018; day 2: romantic nights / dancing / your eyes

Series Part 2 of Bakudeku Week 2018

Broken Horns & Fragile Wings by zuccin ( G | 1,682 | 1/1 )

When Izuku was a child, he met an angel. An adorable angel that lived next door, Bakugou Katsuki. Years passed and Midoriya (or Deku) is sure his angel got even cuter by the time; he's glad they are together.

// In an universe where Angels and Demons live peacefully together, a green haired demon falls in love with an angel.

Series Part 1 of Angels & Demons

[Abandoned] Your Only One by iKrazybear (Hyuuwi) ( Not Rated | 14,258 | 8/? )

Bakugou gets pretty jealous of how much admiration Midoriya has for Todoroki.

He wants the cinnamon roll for himself.. so much that he can't control his emotions for him.

early bird gets the worm by yjslaugh ( M | 1,091 | 1/1 )

This is bullshit, he thinks. Katsuki was there when Deku shit his pants in elementary school. Since then he's made it his personal life mission to get everybody to stay the hell away from him. Partly because he hates his guts and partly because he's hopelessly in love with the damn prick. Ninety-nine and one percent respectfully.

Katsuki knows it's probably not exactly healthy to be so possessive over somebody whos not his, especially somebody he's meant to hate, but when has he ever been healthy? He's filled to the brim with trauma, anger issues and more emotional baggage than a white family going to Hawaii.

Endeavors of the Mind by KittKatt420 ( M | 44,464+ | 5/8 )

Bakugo and Midoriya both struggle with different aspects of their newfound relationship. Katsuki wants to be more open with his affections for Deku, but is hindered by his intimacy issues. Izuku covets Kacchan's affection, but is too afraid of being overbearing. BakuDeku-centric with mentions of KiriShido and TodoMomo. Yaoi. M/M Lemon flavored chapters.

[Panic Attacks]

Cookies by Dana91 ( M | 2,641 | 1/1 )

If Bakugo Katsuki receives a gift, he makes sure to say Thank you (mostly if it's a gift from Deku).

Inspired by: Cruxnix's art (thanks! (シ_ _)シ)

[Underage]

Don't Burn the Mackerels by Starpotion ( T | 1,376 | 1/1 )

Kacchan was willingly going to make breakfast.

The world was going to end early indeed.

Five times Bakugou Katsuki tried to get into Deku's pants, and the one time he succeeded by Moratorium19 ( T | 2,733+ | 3/6 )

« Is the smile included in the service? »

The waiter with the nameplate “Bakugou Katsuki” directed him the sourest glare he could muster.

“No,” he gritted out.

“Oh, good. You wouldn’t want to cheat your customers. I’ll take a light coke, a Big Mac without salad and onion rings instead of fries.” Izuku smiled, handing the menu back to the fuming ashen blonde.

“Sir” he bit out with barely restrained fury. “May I remind you that this is not Mc Donalds, but a Michelin star restaurant? Did you even have a look at the menu?”

“…No?”

“You fuckwad,” Bakugou hissed and cussed twice more internally. There went his paycheck.

(What you need to) Overcome by neerapen ( T | 2,751 | 1/1 )

Waking up in an hospital bed is normal routine for Izuku. Waking up with Kacchan's quirk still humming in his veins, however, makes him think. And everybody knows he shouldn't do that.

Or: Izuku doesn't know. Katsuki doesn't say it.

Series Part 2 of Nantonaku

[PTSD]

Not-Dates and Makeup by zuccin ( G | 2,137 | 1/1 )

Midoriya and Bakugou were hanging a lot lately. Not as a couple, obviously (at least Midoriya thought so). But the catch is: why is Katsuki so pretty with makeup?

Series Part 2 of Bakugou & Makeup

Falling by Dokuine ( G | 2,016 | 1/1 )

Midoriya Izuku did not have much experience or luck when it came to love, but he never expected it to literally knock him onto his rear one day. Not that he recognized it for what it was, not in that first meeting.

tribulation by insanityxspeaks ( T | 5,852+ | 2/? )

At least fifteen minutes of pep talk and reckless alcohol consumption later, Izuku and Ochaco stood pink-eared in front of Katsuki’s door. The duo didn’t dare look at each other. They didn’t dare breathe. They didn’t dare move, aside from Ochaco’s nerve-induced reaction of floating several inches from the ground. The only sounds that broke through the silence were the creaking of their open jaws and the creaking of the bed inside the room. Explicit utterances. Breathy moans.

A minute later, Ochaco: “. . . Those are one hundred percent the sounds of two men fucking.”

[A five-year reunion and drunken shenanigans brings Izuku to a door he swore he'd closed. A love story.]

Warm by Fitzfire ( G | 3,564 | 1/1 )

After graduation, Bakugou and Midoryia move in together. Still oblivious to the nature of their bond, and the feelings they harbor for each other, they fall into a routine.

Could a broken air conditioner throw a wrench in that?

Series Part 1 of Have Your Cake And Eat It

The Walk Home by artemancy ( G | 1,105 | 1/1 )

It's dangerous to walk around with your head in the clouds.

Workplace Relationship by bkdkwritingsdump ( T | 5,916 | 3/3 )

Izuku, the son of an extremely wealthy family, works at a high-end department store shortly after graduating college to get some real world experience and figure out what he wants to do with his life. His total jerk of a boss, Katsuki, also happens to be his old childhood friend who he hasn’t seen since middle school. And, on top of it all, his parents are breathing down his neck to find someone he can marry before he’s thirty. Katsuki overhears this… and asks him out.

Private Practice by thiefqueen ( M | 2,670 | 1/1 )

Midoriya accidentally sort of sets up a private fight with Bakugou during class after realizing he has a "problem" with the other teen. Their teachers are happy to set the fight up (and they not-so-secretly ship it).

Put It On Me by mangosmoothiecoran ( T | 31,018+ | 9/? )

Izuku has always had a passion for dancing. Looking up to the Pro-Dancers of the country, he always wished to be great. However, after moving away from his hometown and all he has known, he lost something inside of him. Fast forward eight years and Izuku finds himself in his second year at the prestigious dance academy of U.A.. Under the wing of Pro-Dancer All Might, his second year brings him face-to-face with a dance competition that will challenge his skills as a dancer and the normality he is used to. Unable to feel confident in what he is doing though, Izuku is reunited with a childhood friend who sparks a fire in him that died when he left his hometown.

(This summary will most likely change)

It's Not A Date! by otaku916 ( M | 3,672+ | 1/? )

“If he doesn’t attack you the moment you walk through the door his dick is broken.” Ochako interrupted, making Izuku and Iida both choke on their spit.

What happens when you have the emotionally constipated, gruff, socially inept guy ask out the oblivious nervous wreck? An awkward disaster of a date that's what. Go through the pain of first dates, hormones, and running away from your feelings that comes with going through puberty - all while training to be a hero!

Island by ScreamingYearly ( T | 4,825 | 1/1 )

There wasn’t any room in Katsuki’s heart for crushes or love. He didn’t want to indulge any of those things until he had the proper time, but becoming the top hero wouldn’t allow him that time, and that was something he was fine with.

So, of course, during the beginning of third year, Katsuki promptly fell head over fucking heels for Midoriya Izuku.

[Underage]

Fae Boy and Explosion Girl by Swifty_Heart ( T | 11,196+ | 2/? )

I wanted to write a story about Izuku being a cute little fairy, this is fluff and Katsuki is an adorable girl. Izuku doesn't need One For All he's a badass fairy. Mythical creatures live among humans but humans don't know this

Fate Awaits by empressrice ( T | 4,329+ | 2/? )

Soulmates are supposed to be perfect for each other. They are supposed to meet and fall in love and be together for the rest of their life.

When Izuku and Katsuki find out that they are soulmates it feels like that for the moment, but reality comes crashing down on both of them, a rift forming between the two, one that neither of them can ever see being fixed.

But when the universe declares something, it will come to fruition, whether they want it to or not.

Home Is Where Your Deepest Scar Is by Glamgas ( E | 7,121+ | 1/2 )

When Bakugou had heard that true bravery was loving the person you hated the most he could have laughed in the person's face. Doubled over in pure disbelief. How were you supposed to love someone you hated? How could you care for the person who had caused you so much pain?

---

Snapshots of Bakugou's journey in finding home in the person he hates the most.

Gift in Winter by DragonKRZ ( T | 5,854 + | 2/? )

No fucking way, it wasn’t possible. It was Deku they were talking about. The only thing Bakugou knows is that he's fucked. Kirishima should stop grinning at him and giving him thumbs up before he gets his face pummeled. Midoriya is an oblivious fluff ball while Todoroki joins the Deku squad. Tentatively set in the summer after their first year.

But I'm Batman (Deku) by theskywalkerkid ( M | 1,781+ | 1/? )

When Izuku was eight years old his parents died in a car accident and it left a hole in his heart. They left him with happy memories, company to run by himself, and his best friend/ butler Shinsou. To fill the hole in his heart Izuku started to do vigilante work under the name Deku, although quirkless he still manages to get his job done. However, when a threat against his life is made known his childhood friend and business partner Shouto, gets pro heroes to protect him. Enter Bakugou Katsuki the number one pro hero who is working with the police to hunt down the vigilantes for doing illegal hero work and also protecting Izuku not realizing that he is one of the vigilantes that he's hunting down.

Basically, a story where Izuku is Batman, but goes by Deku and works with other vigilantes to save people who he feels that the pro heroes neglect.

The Dragon Mark by multi_bnha ( M | 2,737+ | 2/? )

“Momma?” “Yes dear?” Inko asked. “Why do I have this mark?” Confused, Inko looked at her son. What is this little boy talking about? She checked all over his body and didn’t see any kind of mark on him. “What mark are you talking about sweetie? I don’t see anything on you.” “This one right here,” he says while lightly tracing above his elbow. Looking over his body again, she didn’t see anything different on him. “Are you sure there’s a mark on you Izuku?” Inko questioned one more time. “Yes momma, don’t you believe me?” Izuku said as tears started to form around his eyes. ‘Oh no, I didn’t mean to make him upset,’ Inko thought to herself. Pulling him in a hug she said,"Of course I believe you, don’t ever think that.” Sniffling he looked up at her, “Then how come you can’t see it? Is something wrong with me?” Feeling more guilty over what she said before she tried to reassure him that he’s normal and nothing seems to be wrong with him, even if she can’t visibly see it. As she’s comforting him, his tears slowly started to fall, but he made no sound and stayed in his mother’s embrace until he fell asleep.

Say you love me by Marsbears ( M | 32,919+ | 5/? ) I’m not really good at summaries but this should kinda spark your interest.

Izuku is going through his very first break up and suffering the whiplash affects of it. He very shockingly discovers he’s got a new neighbor and his name is Katsuki. They’re not the best of neighbors but by the end of the story they will be.

But basically Izuku and Katsiki end up falling in love but don’t necessarily know that they both feel the same way about one another because they’re both very slow in the feelings department when it comes to other people. But with the help of Bakugous best and only friend, Eijiro, and a lot of prolonged effort shit happens.

[Panic Attacks]

You're Always on My Mind by ariela_jack ( T | 3,034+ | 2/? )

Midoriya Izuku has a dangerous empathy/fuubutsushi quirk that could be taken advantage of, so he grows up not knowing and believing that he is quirk less.

A fic where Izuku figures out about his quirk and Katsuki helps him through it. Also, this is all going on while Izuku is battling through his mental health issues.

and/or

Izuku finds out about his quirk at a stupid class game on a field trip, with all the sexual tension there he realizes he can feel what everyone is feeling and goes red.

(I'm really bad at writing summaries, and just writing in general but I hope you like it.)

[Panic Attacks | Self Harm]

Bakugou's Aversion by Foolish_Observer ( E | 1,436+ | 1/2 )

Bakugou grew onto his classmates surrounding themselves around Midoriya since they started dating, but there was was one person who always seemed to piss him off since day one.

Chances by RyvernTerrus ( T | 2,002 | 1/1 )

Katsuki is apologetic. Izuku is shook. Both are oblivious fools.

How do we call this? by ravioligirl ( Not Rated | 2,973+ | 2/? )

Misunderstanding /ˌmɪsʌndəˈstandɪŋ/ [ (n.) a failure to understand something correctly.]

In which Katsuki and Izuku find where they fucked up and fix it

Snow and Forgotten Memories by Akira575 ( Not Rated | 938+ | 2/? )

During a trip with their classmates, Bakugo and Izuku get caught up in an avalanche! Izuku gets injured and loses his memories. Bakugo has to keep them alive during a blizzard and deal with Deku being basically useless. Will Izuku forget Kaachan forever? What will happen?

Make A Move (Katsudeku) by Death_by_Crayola ( T | 444+ | 1/? )

Katsuki Bakugou is what they would call a teenage delinquent, but he considers himself a hero. He's fighting against an oppressive government who's bargaining to create a "utopia" but who are leaving the world stifled and grey. He runs a rebellion, one of no name, and is a highly wanted person in the world he lives in.

Izuku Midoriya is a quiet mannered, rule-abiding kid, but when he sees the infamous Bakugou in person, running from the police, when he's out buying groceries for his mother, he becomes fascinated with him and his cause, and ends up putting himself at risk to know what it means to want more than what's given to you.

(Originally called Uprising Imminent, I changed it and I like this title better)

#BakuDeku #KatsuDeku #BNHA #bkdkfl masterlist #Masterlist #long post #w:underage #w:violence #w:mcd #t:s #t:homophobia #t:panic #t:sh #t:pa #t:dubcon #t:ptsd #curator jay

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andrea-lyn · 5 years

Note

Malex prompt: Time Travel AU! I keep thinking of Discworld's Wrong Trouser Leg of Time. Either a dejected Michael or dejected Alex ending up in a universe where they are happily married, in a house with a beagle mix

For every worthwhile piece in his father’s evidence, there’s four pieces of worthless trash. At the start, he’d bundled everything up in boxes and brought it to Kyle for his opinion, but then he’d found another two storage lockers of it and decided that he was going to do this on his own. When things went to shit, Alex had shifted his attention to working through Project Shepard to try and take his mind off Michael (and Maria, and leaving, and the ship, and his doubts; Michael and will be the death of him).

In retrospect? Not his best idea to go it alone when there are alien artifacts in the mix.

When alcohol had stopped doing the trick to numb the memories of imagining Michael and Maria having sex, Alex had trudged over to go over the pieces, digging into one of the boxes to find a piece that looks like it belongs with the ship, but different.

He’s exhausted, thinking about Michael leaving, thinking about him and Maria (did he stay the night with her? Did he breathe out softly the way he does with Alex, did she find out the truth about his hand), and his spirits are the lowest they’ve ever been.

It means that when he gets both hands on the glimmering piece of tech from one of the boxes, Alex’s mind is pent up and thinking, I just need to know what happens next and obsessively revolves around Michael when he feels a sharp burst of disorienting sickness.

His head is fuzzy, he feels like he could throw up, and for a long moment, Alex grips the piece tighter, for fear he’s going to break it.

Closing his eyes, he tries to bear it and wait it out. When it passes, he’s on his feet with the piece, thinking that it’s time to stop being sorry for himself and he can use this as an excuse to go see Michael.

Only, when he drives to the junkyard, his trailer isn’t there. There is a house just off the land and Alex heads there, a touch frantic that maybe Michael decided to pick up and leave town. He shifts the piece to hide it within his frame, approaching warily, and not even paying attention until a dog starts howling and barking wildly.

“Shit,” Alex says, because the last thing he needs is for a dog to get him arrested.

It’s a beagle, like the kind Mimi said he’d get, but if this howling is any kind of hint, then maybe Alex isn’t so keen on one. He’s hobbling over as fast as he can without running, shifting the piece in his hands so he can lean over and try and calm it.

“Hey,” he breathes. “Hey, it’s okay. I just want to ask your owners a few questions, okay?”

The barking isn’t stopping, so Alex moves to desperate measures, soothing and trying to get close enough to pet the animal. Behind them, the lights on the house’s porch flicker on and Alex notices, now, that the sun has started to set. How long had he been going over those pieces of evidence?

Clearly, he needs a break. Between the weird fit with the piece and this house suddenly appearing that he’s never seen before, Alex thinks he’s losing his mind.

The feeling doesn’t get better when he hears a voice from the porch – a very, very familiar voice.

“What the hell kind of noise are you making, Phoebe? You know who it is.”

Alex freezes from where his hand is on the beagle’s ears, fumbling to check her tags. He probably should have started there, seeing the name GUERIN embossed into them. Frozen, his eyes wide, he tries to hush the barking down, wondering what you do when you can’t just cover a dog’s mouth to stop it.

He still tries, though, and that’s how Michael Guerin finds him. Maybe it’s more important to mention that Alex finds Michael with a dishcloth thrown over his shoulder, a leash in hand, and wearing a wedding ring on his finger, standing outside the bungalow of a beautiful house. Still, that’s how he finds him.

Biting back his bitterness, he hates that this is probably some joke.

“What, so Maria told you about the beagle and you guys decided to get hitched and take that too?”

At least, that’s what he wants to say.

Instead, Alex tightens his grip on the piece of alien tech and stares, because Michael looks so good. His shoulders actually look a bit broader, but maybe that’s just because of how tall he’s standing, and the way he strides forward to pick up the dog calls attention to the sweatpants and the fact that Alex can tell he’s not wearing underwear from his steady gait.

There’s an amused look on Michael’s face, which only pisses Alex off more.

“What?” he snaps.

This is the last thing he needs. He’s exhausted, he’s tired, he feels a little ill and can’t place his finger on why, and now Michael is playing some practical joke acting like he’s hitched with the dog that Mimi DeLuca predicted.

“Is this the first time you found it? You never told me that story.”

Great, apparently Michael’s also gone insane.

“What are you, I don’t…”

“Alex,” Michael says softly. “Come sit down inside.”

He does, even though he’s still feeling really out of it. The beagle trots along beside him like he belongs there and when Alex gets inside, he passes a foyer filled with pictures of him and Michael, the dog, and it takes about fifteen seconds for him to realize that half the possessions here are his.

Michael’s married.

To him?

Did Kyle sneak into the storage locker and knock him over the head? Is this some kind of wild fever dream the alien artifact created for him? Whatever it is, Alex takes the first opportunity to sink down into a chair, gaping at Michael as he heads to the kitchen and turns off the stovetop’s heat, bringing Phoebe back to settle her onto the ground.

“Lucky for you, Alex of 2025 is currently on assignment, but he did say that he couldn’t travel if the one from the future was around,” Michael absently mutters as he digs through a stack of papers. “It’s sweet of you, visiting, like you know how lonely I’ve been. We don’t need to talk about the boyfriend pillow in the bed, but … ah, here it is,” he says triumphantly, digging out a piece of paper. “Here. You wrote this for yourself. He always said I’d know when to give it to you.” Wandering closer, he holds out a letter, but he doesn’t hand it over so easily.

For a long while, Michael stares at him, to the point it starts to become unnerving.

“What?” Alex asks.

“You look…” Michael hesitates. “You look tired.”

He probably does. He hasn’t slept much, he’s been drinking, and he keeps thinking about how he’s lost Michael to Maria because of his own cowardice and now he might lose him to another planet for the same reason, and even knowing that, he can’t make himself do anything different.

“Here,” he says. “This is for you. I’ll finish dinner, so come find me when you’re ready.”

Alex takes the letter and carefully opens it. It’s not new, judging by the color of the envelope, so he has to wonder at what point he’ll write this, if he even gets the chance. He’s not sure what to expect, but the opening sentence isn’t … it.

Congratulations! You’ve won a strange human ability to manipulate the time-space engine of the ship and locked it to your genetic code!

It’s Michael’s writing. Alex huffs out a laugh and can only imagine the way his other self must have been irritated when he’d gained control of the pen again, but the words past that are in his own handwriting.

Alex, it’s me. Or you, however you want to think about this. If you’re reading this, you found a piece of Michael’s ship, before it rejoins with the rest. That happened a couple of years ago, but up until then, when you hold it and think about where you want to be, you can sort of skip along like a record. I remember when it brought me to this, and it’ll help you out a few more times.

You’re going to need it again soon and it won’t be for a domestic drop-in.

It can’t take you back in time. You can’t change anything that’s already happened. The past is past, the scars are set.

Take care of Michael for me. The glass doesn’t work if I’m within about twenty-five miles. When you want to go back, just think of home. I know things might seem rough right now, but thinking about Michael always did the trick.

He reads that last line a few times because it’s a punch to the gut. By the time he’s read it for a fifth time, Michael is coming out of the kitchen bearing bowls of chicken stew, Phoebe dancing around his heels. “Come on. I made enough for two and I was planning to eat it in a sad grief-state of missing my husband, but I guess we can share and you can tell me why you look like you want to cry.”

If he thinks about home right now, he’ll think of how things with him and Michael are so fragmented and tangled. Maybe with a good meal in his belly and the promise of this in his future, though, maybe then he can head back with the hope of something to come.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “I think it’s getting better, now.”

“I knew you liked me,” Michael drawls with delight, and sits Alex down to a family dinner in a comfortable home, introducing him to what a family and a home can look like inside Roswell in the form of both a place and a person.

#insidious-intent #malex #time travel au #fic prompts #michael/alex #roswell new mexico

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shipmistress9 · 5 years

Text

FTLOAP - 39: Once Upon A Time We Had A Lot To Fight For. We Had A Dream, We Had A Plan

Fandom: HTTYD

Theme: Hiccstrid - Medieval-style AU - Romance - Angst/Hurt/Comfort

Summary: Reduced to little more than a stable boy, Hiccup, despite his noble birth, has few prospects for more in life. But when he meets a girl who came to look at the horses, being a stable boy might not be enough anymore. Together, they have tough choices to make and great risks to navigate if they want to survive and be together.

Rating: Explicit

FF-net - AO3 -

Discord-server for discussions and questions

Part 1: Prologue; Chapter 1; Chapter 2; Chapter 3; Chapter 4; Chapter 5; Chapter 6; Chapter 7; Chapter 8; Chapter 9; Chapter 10; Chapter 11;

Part 2: Chapter 12; Chapter 13; Chapter 14; Interlude 1; Chapter 15; Chapter 16; Chapter 17; Chapter 18; Chapter 19; Chapter 20; Chapter 21; Chapter 22; Chapter 23; Chapter 24; Chapter 25; Chapter 26; Interlude 2; Chapter 27: Chapter 28 ; Chapter 29 ; Chapter 30; Chapter 31; Chapter 32; Interlude 3; Bonus 1; Chapter 33

Part 3: Chapter 34; Chapter 35; Chapter 36; Interlude 4; Chapter 37; Chapter 38

Alpha/Co-author: @athingofvikings

. – * – _ . o O o . _ – * – .

AN: Okay, this was a tough chapter to write, though for once not because of the content. Let me tell you about the fourteen days since I last updated. The first nine I had writer's block and couldn't get even one word down for this story. Then followed two days where I was on quite a high and got down 7k words, which is a lot for me. And after that, there were two and a half days through which I struggled again to get anything done, which left me and my alpha-reader with less than half a day for edits. I still can't believe it's actually done by now, and if it sucks... well, then I'm sorry!

In addition, I'm not quite sure of this chapter. It got awfully long, but somehow I feel like nothing happens. I mean, I know that's not true. But still, it feels off. Well, it's something of a bridge chapter, I guess.*sigh*

This week's chapter owes its title to a friend who made me listen to The Rasmus again after many years of not thinking much about this band. And when I listened to 'Sail Away'... well, the very first lines of lyrics of that song just really hit me. They fit so well to how Hiccup and Astrid feel right now.

Also, a special shoutout to @lauracalabresi Thank you for your comments over the last few days, they were a great encouragement! ^^

. o O o .

Hiccup couldn’t remember how he’d made it back to the stables, nor how the night had passed in any specific detail. It was all just a blur of pain and sorrow, of desperation and hopelessness. It was over. Everything was over. It was true what he’d told Cami once, after all, that his entire life only revolved around her. But now, she was gone, and he didn't even understand why. He’d been so sure...

But now, it seemed as if the Gods had abandoned them, if not for that guttering spark in his chest that kept reminding him of her, cruel and unrelenting.

When Eret arrived at the stables, hours after the sun had risen, Hiccup was still sitting in his stall, unmoving, staring blankly out the small window, and registered nothing until his cousin’s broad hand touched his shoulder.

“Hey, Hiccup. You okay?”

Slowly, Hiccup turned to look at Eret, and forced a wry grin to his face.

“Hey. Yeah, I’m just… just tired, I guess. I’m sorry, I didn’t finish polishing all of your kit, but I’ll get back to that today.”

Eret gave him a scrutinising look, but nodded, accepting this explanation. “That’s fine, I won’t need it right away. But–” He paused, his eyes on Hiccup’s injured and bandaged hand. “What’s this?”

Quickly, Hiccup covered the hand with the other one. “Nothing. I cut myself, but it… it’s nothing.” At some point last night, the pain of the cut had eventually registered in his mind, but it was still too dull and unimportant to matter. All it did was remind him of her hands on his as she’d attended to the cut. Probably the last time he’d ever felt her touch… He swallowed, then made an effort to appear normal. “Anyway, what brings you here today? Don’t you need to do some training, or so?”

Eret still looked at him funny, but then shook his head. “Maybe later. But I came here for another reason. The thing is… I’m going to need my squire from now on. The hunts start tomorrow and then there’s the first small tournament in a few days, and… I already talked to father and we agreed that it will be safe enough now to keep these hotheads–” he nodded at the stallions, “– in a separate part of the main stables, now that the herd isn’t there anymore and there’s enough free space. They need to get used to that anyway. So... for the rest of our stay, you’re going to be my squire full time, which also means you’ll have to move; I can’t afford the time for you to hike back and forth to these stables. We could move to our townhouse, where there’s enough space for you to have your own room… but Grandfather’s staying there and...” he shrugged helplessly.

Hiccup needed a moment to wrap his head around what Eret had said. He seemed to be sorry for some reason, but Hiccup actually couldn’t see why. As much as he’d enjoyed the solitude of these outer stables during the past months, a change like this seemed like the best thing that could happen to him right now. It would keep him busy, would keep him from mentally tearing himself apart. It would keep him from remembering all the nights they’d spent here...

And then the rest of it registered. Oh. Right. His grandfather, who thought of him as a failure. Well, he was right, after all, but that didn’t mean Hiccup needed to hear it from the old prune.

“So what else is there?”

“Sharing a room in the squire barracks or the couch in my rooms,” Eret said apologetically, and then hastened to add, “It’s clean! I promise!”

Hiccup almost laughed – out of humour or despair, he had no idea. But he managed to keep the smile up. “The couch will do,” he murmured.

Something like a relieved smile played around Eret’s lips. “I’d hoped you’d say that. Dag and I already organised a trunk for your things and while it’s not an enclosed room, you’ll at least have a separate corner for yourself there. A little bit of privacy. Come, I’ll help you pack your things, then we can get the horses ready to be moved.”

Not having any reason to hold back, Hiccup got to work. His few possessions were quickly tossed in a rucksack – with Hiccup carefully avoiding a certain object hidden between the straw bales least Eret would ask unnecessary questions – before they turned their attention to the horses. All the while, Hiccup felt as if Eret was throwing him weird looks every now and then, but it never became so obvious that he felt like asking about it. To him, it wasn't important, and if Eret wanted to talk about something… well, then he could bring it up. Which he eventually did.

They had just started their way to the main stables – with Hiccup riding Chomp and leading Hunter at his side while Eret rode Squish and led Crusher – when Eret eventually broke the silence. "So… what do you think of these… new plans?"

Hiccup snorted. "What's there to think about?" he asked and tried not to sound as bitter as he felt. "I’m your squire and I would have needed to fully act like it by now anyway. So this is good, a change for the better.” Wrong! “And in case you meant the… the festivities... It's the King's right to entertain his people with hunts and tournaments and whatever else he's planned. It might even get interesting for us.” He forced himself to shrug nonchalantly in case Eret was still watching him.

“Yeah, interesting might be the right word.” Eret let out a deep sigh. “But that’s not what I meant. I mean this whole wedding scheme. I don’t get why Uncle Osmond thought that was a good idea. Or Daniel or my father, for that matter.”

Hiccup’s hands around Chomp’s reins tightened; it made him wince when the cut stung and the stallion snort in annoyance. Was Eret honestly asking him what he thought about her impending wedding? If he hadn’t been in danger to spill out exactly what he was thinking, he might have laughed. Instead, he just said, “Same answer. I don’t think it is my place to question the King’s decision. She’s going to marry one of these noblemen for the sake of the Kingdom. That isn’t really different from what was planned before, right?”

“True,” Eret admitted reluctantly. “But it still doesn’t feel right. And it’s certainly not right for Swanja! From what Snot said last night, she isn’t herself anymore. She lost her spark, her wit. He said she’d tried to appear unperturbed, as usual, but he saw right through her. All this must have hit her pretty hard; she was devastated at her birthday dinner. She wouldn’t even let us help or comfort her, for Odin’s sake!”

He sounded tense, worried, and Hiccup was incredibly glad that they’d reached a narrow path by now that wouldn’t allow them to ride side by side. It meant Eret couldn’t see his expression of soul-deep pain and self-loathing. Devastated… That seemed like an apt description of her the last few times he’d seen her. And it had been his fault.

Everything was his fault! And always had been… If he’d spoken his mind more firmly all those years ago, about not losing their connection to the Kingdom, his father might have stood up against their fellow tribesmen. If he’d acted more like the tribesman their people had expected him to be, they wouldn’t have been so openly against him being the heir to the High Chief’s title. If they hadn’t lost their standing within the tribes, his parents and siblings might still be alive and he would be a knight by now too. He could even participate in this competition for her hand as a ducal heir himself.

The thought was too good to be true, literally, and, unable to bear it, Hiccup pushed it aside. They all had thought they’d been doing the right thing back then, and reprimanding himself for it now, when he knew better, wouldn’t do him any good. Besides, he didn’t even need to go that far back into the past to pin down his mistakes.

He should have stayed away from her in the first place. The idea that, after all the things he’d messed up, his life could change for the better… this too had been too good to be true. Again, he’d made the wrong decision by becoming Eret’s squire just to be able to see her again, and now, she was paying the painful price for his impudence. Oh, he’d thought he’d been right back then, too. But the pain in her eyes last night was wholly and entirely his own fault, and any attempt of his to comfort her was bound to only hurt her more.

There was nothing he could do to help her.

Except…

“Don’t worry,” he heard himself say, oddly calm and composed. As if it wasn’t really him who was speaking. “What was is you said once? The Princess is a fighter. She’s tough. This whole wedding thing took her by surprise, but I’m sure she’ll accept it, eventually. She’ll come around and then you all can be there to support her when she’s ready for that.”

Eret grunted, but didn’t say any more until they’d reached the end of the narrow pass where he waited for Hiccup to take his place next to him. “You’re right,” he admitted, face turning to Hiccup, who was now focused entirely on keeping his feelings locked away as deep inside himself as possible. “But this is still different. Our fathers want her to marry one of us. How can we support her as her brothers when everyone is looking for signs as to who she’ll choose as her betrothed?”

“But maybe that’s the point,” Hiccup replied with a light shrug. “She was to marry one of you anyway, wasn’t she? Maybe it’s time to get over how you grew up like siblings and start seeing each other as what you are. An option. I… I think I know her well enough by now to say that she won’t spontaneously fall in love with one of those strangers her father presented to her. But a love match was never a likely possibility – for neither of you. And I remember what Daniel said on that first night we spent here, your accolade. He said that you would be good for each other, and… and I agree.”

Saying those words felt like a hungry beast tearing at the dead remains of his heart and soul. It hurt! But it was better this way. His own pain he could deal with, but hers? Not so much. And if it wasn’t within his power to help her directly, then the least he could do was send comfort in another form.

As they rode on, Hiccup was aware of Eret’s scrutinising gaze on him, and all he could hope for was that he wouldn’t see how Hiccup felt inside. But he didn’t say anything else until they reached the stables where a group of grooms quickly took over the horses to lead them to their new stalls.

“Hey, Hic,” he eventually spoke again once they were alone. “I know I offered to help, but… Would it be all right for you to get Markor and Cassie on your own? They shouldn’t give you any problems, after all. And I’ll take your bag up to my rooms, and…” he paused, grimacing, then shook his head. “There’s a message I have to send and I need to see whether I can find Dagur. Gotta talk to him…” He ran a hand through his hair, and if Hiccup wouldn’t be feeling so dead inside anyway, he’d be sorry for his cousin. It wasn’t only she who’d gotten thrown into this mess, after all…

But still, it was better this way.

“Sure,” he agreed with a sympathetic smile and a clap to Eret’s shoulder. “See you tonight then.”

On his way back to the outer stables, he wasn’t able to control his thoughts and emotions any longer though. He didn’t cry; after last night he didn’t think he had any tears left, but the pain still returned in full force.

It’s better this way, he kept chanting to himself. No matter how much the thought of her marrying Eret or one of her other brothers hurt, it was still the best option there was. She would have a good life with a husband who respected her as a person and not just saw her as an object, who cared for her. It might not be the right kind of love that connected them, but at least there was some form of affection, enough for her to eventually find comfort in her fate. It was all that was left for him to hope for.

And if she chose Eret… Well, Hiccup did feel sorry for him and Dagur. Even with knowing that their relationship couldn’t last, having it end this abruptly couldn’t be easy either. No wonder Eret had wanted to talk to his lover.

Once back at the outer stables, he concentrated on getting Cassie and Markor ready. It was a welcome distraction, and the familiar motions and the simple affection the horses offered gave him comfort, Cassie especially. She’d been with him for so many years now, had been his only support during trying times, and now easily adapted to his pain again. He took several minutes just scratching her and accepting her rubbing her nose to his chest, until something like a smile was back on his face. Not a happy but at least a content one.

The smile didn’t last long though, only until he entered Markor’s stall. The gelding directly looked up at his visitor, clearly hoping and then being disappointed as it wasn’t who he’d hoped it would be. The sight gave Hiccup a new sting, and he did his best to cheer the horse up by rubbing and cuddling his neck.

“I know, I know. I miss her too,” he whispered, hiding his face against the gelding’s warm fur. It was three days now since she’d last been here – a long time considering how often she’d been here during the past three months. No wonder Markor missed her, especially since he couldn’t understand why she wouldn’t come. “But don’t worry, boy. She’ll get back to you. You’ll see.”

Hiccup let himself feel comfort from the horses’ presence for a few minutes longer, before he got them both ready. He struggled a bit with which saddle to put on Markor, but then decided on the ridiculously decorated side saddle. It was the official saddle, after all, and he would need to ask Eret where to store the unofficial but more practical one.

When he was done, he let his gaze wander through the stables that had been his home during these past wonderful months, and gulped. Leaving this place for good felt like a sign. It was truly over, and their time really had only been borrowed, had never been intended to last.

He was about to leave when he remembered the one thing he’d left here before and hurried back to his former sleeping stall to retrieve it. If anyone was to find it by chance, it would only raise unnecessary questions. Hesitantly, he picked up the small swan-shaped oil pot. His chest was tightening – at the sight, at the memories, and at what it stood for. He’d been so grateful to Cami for this gift, not just because of why she’d given it to him but also because of what else it represented. He’d meant to keep it during the weeks and months of their separation, as a reminder and a promise for better times. The scent of the oil alone would have served to comfort him over missing her. But now? Now, it only hurt to look at it, the cool ceramic feeling as if it was burning his skin. All it did now was remind him of what could never be.

With a low suppressed sob, he stowed it away into a pocket, then left the stables without looking back. He tried to leave it all behind him as he once more rode down the path to the main stables on Cassie’s back, but his thoughts kept whirling around the pot and what it stood for. Why had the Gods abandoned them? He’d told her that maybe they’d been wrong, that they weren’t soulmates meant for each other after all. But he didn’t believe that, not really. She’d been right, he’d felt it too, the connection, their bond – and still felt it! All that had been real! And yet… And yet, the Gods had turned away from them, had separated them without leaving them any hope. Why? What had happened, what had changed?

A whirlwind of thoughts blew through Hiccup’s mind, thoughts that, in a way, added another layer of pain to his battered soul, but that, at the same time, made perfect sense.

It was all his fault.

With shaking hands, he pulled the pot back out of his pocket – leaving Cassie to find the way on her own – and stared at it. They’d gone too far... It made sense, now that he thought about it. This had to be what had angered the Gods. Them ignoring the rules, getting intimate before it was allowed. A part of him wanted to blame Cami for her support, for her assurance that it would be all right as long as they kept to certain rules. But Hiccup knew that wouldn’t be fair. It had been his decision to go further than he’d felt comfortable, than he’d been taught was allowed. He had ignored the rules he’d learned, had given in to his desire. He should have known better!

His breath became ragged as he kept staring at the oil pot and everything clicked into place. Them getting intimate must have angered the Gods. The timing was a clear indication. They’d gone too far, and before they’d been able to break another rule with their forbidden plan to have anal sex, the Gods had put an end to it. The timing was unmistakable.

It was all his fault!

A pained sob tore itself from Hiccup’s throat. Having lost her… that was bad enough. But now, he knew that it had been his own doing, that he should have known better. If he hadn’t been so foolish and selfish… their future would still be in reach.

Hiccup’s hand tightened around the pot – until it cracked. Without a warning, he was emerged in a cloud of intense mayweed scent, and it momentarily rendered him blind and deaf to everything around him. His mind got flooded with the memories he’d tried to hold back – of her smile, of her being in his arms, of burying his face in her hair and inhaling deeply. Of the flush on her face and her little gasps, of the taste of her skin, of holding her through the night. Of all the things that could never be.

With a pained and desperate outcry, he hurled the pot away. He wasn’t looking, didn’t care where it might land. He only wanted to get rid of it, to never relive those memories again. It was too painful.

But when he heard the splash of water, he looked up after all, puzzled. Without him noticing, Cassie and Markor had paused near the little lake that used to house her swans, and the pot must have landed in there.

How fitting, Hiccup thought bitterly as he watched the waves on the surface getting smaller and fading away. Eret had told him about the swans’ fate, how that, too, had hit her. It felt oddly right that this place now was also where all their hopes, dreams, and plans for the future were buried. Forever.

He stayed for a little while longer, gazing at the now-calm lake, and let the pain wash through and out of him. It was over, and there was nothing he could do but accept it.

He let himself wallow for a little bit longer, then forced every remaining trace of pain into a distant corner of his heart to keep it locked there forever. From now on, he had to function. Be it the upcoming tournaments and other occasions or the possibility of still seeing her regularly in case she chose Eret – he couldn’t let her or anyone else see his pain.

From now on, he wouldn’t let his emotions slip ever again.

. o O o .

A part of Astrid still clung to the hope that she would eventually wake up. Nothing seemed real; not the days she’d spent getting introduced to all her suitors, not the evening meals she was to take in the usual company of her father, the Grand Dukes, and their sons, and not the nights when she lay awake crying or too agitated to fall asleep until exhaustion took over. And now, she sat beneath a neat little pavilion, overlooking the fighting grounds that were decorated for the first of many upcoming tournaments, and still didn’t feel as if she was fully awake.

The whole setting was just… surreal. The sudden snow from the previous week had all melted by now, but it was still rather cool, and the practical part of her mind was grateful for her gloves and the warm cloak she was wrapped in – even as her heart kept recalling the warmer days from not so long ago. Around her, everything seemed dull and bland, colourless beneath the grey sky, except the brightly painted flags and banners everywhere which seemed completely out of place. It all just felt wrong to her. And the fact that the men in the arena beneath somehow believed that fighting each other would gain them her favour was just absurd.

Not for the first time, a pained outcry sounded over the crowd followed by a wave of whispers as one of the fighters fell to one knee and clutched at his thigh. Blood quickly stained his blue-and-green-coloured clothes in shades of red, and Astrid hoped that the blow from his opponent's sword hadn’t severed his main artery. It was quite possible that he’d not survive if it had.

The thought upset her even though she didn’t feel as if there was much left of her to be upset. She’d probably talked to this man during the past days, and now, he might very well be dying a pointless death. And the worst was that, if he died, he wouldn’t be the first and certainly not the last one either.

The first had been an accident during a short hunting trip two days prior. The man’s horse had been wounded by a misguided arrow from one of his companions, and the fall off his horse’s back onto the uneven ground of the forest had caused severe injuries – or something like that. Astrid only dimly remembered how the King and the other men had talked about it during dinner. It had been one of three deaths on that day, and since then, the body count had only climbed higher.

And as much as the small sane part of her mind despised these unnecessary deaths, she still had to admit that they weren’t unusual. Accidents during hunts happened. Likewise, injuries during tournaments weren’t uncommon. Many of the young men who participated considered the event incomplete if they hadn’t gotten a scar out of it. Once she had agreed with that bit of joking humour, but now? Now, she just felt numb.

So it was with a heart of stone that she watched the loser be carried off to the healer’s tent, festooned with Freya’s symbol. He wouldn’t be the last victim of these festivities, that was for sure. But as much as she loathed that thought… it wasn’t what really bothered her.

As selfish and as vile as the thought made her feel, she couldn’t bring herself to care too much for these strangers who had all come to haggle over her future as if she was nothing but a pretty adornment for their household. They had known what they were in for.

Although… with a strong sense of unease, she remembered the half hour she’d had to spend with Thuggory the other day. And even though she tried to forget his words, they still lingered.

“So here we are, Milady Astrid, in a close and intimate conversation, just like it should be. I hope you’re enjoying my company, because you’d better get used to it.”

“I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: I will never become your wife. There’s nothing you can do to make me choose you!” It had been nearly the only words she’d said for days she actually remembered.

But Thuggory had only laughed. “Oh, you naive and stupid girl. You think I can’t force you to choose me? What if there’s nobody else left? What if I remove every other candidate until you see reason? You will become my wife, whether you want it or not.”

A shudder ran through her at that memory, and she quickly buried it in the depth of her mind. Thuggory could talk all he wanted, and chances were that he’d get himself killed. She didn’t even really feel bad for hoping for that outcome. But even that wasn’t what really concerned her.

No, what truly occupied her mind was the same topic that was ruling her every thought since the moment the King had made his announcement on her birthday.

She could see him standing at the side of the battleground, holding Eret’s substitute shield and sword ready in case his master might need them. It was the first time she’d seen him since he’d fled from her in the armoury that night, and even though she’d known he would be here, the sight of him had floored her completely.

During the last few days, her heart had… No, it hadn’t started to heal, but it had become numb. She’d refused to think about him, hadn’t let her consciousness dwell on what couldn’t possibly be true. He couldn’t have been right! This wasn’t the first time they’d encountered difficulties or misunderstandings, like when they’d first started to get intimate and he’d more or less avoided her for days. Back then, they had only needed some good advice and the chance to talk openly until everything was clear again. This was no different… wasn’t it?

Her eyes were burning, her lower lip starting to quiver, and she turned her attention back to the fighting men before she would burst out into tears in public. It will all be solved, she repeatedly thought to herself. We just need time to work it out.

But deep inside, she knew that this was very different from the little problems they’d encountered before. Because they already had talked. And it hadn’t solved anything. On the contrary, as much as she hated to admit it, the words he’d said to her at the armoury were not ones she could easily dismiss.

‘We’ve already lost.’

Yes, she’d refused to believe those words, but she also couldn’t simply dismiss them as wrong. No matter how much she wanted to ignore them or how much she tried to come up with a solution… she couldn’t find one. Maybe he’d been right after all...

This was another thought she’d vehemently ignored during the past days, but now… Seeing him standing there tore all wounds open anew. No, she didn’t want to believe that their shared future had been nothing but a pipe dream. But arguing against it became harder and harder, especially with seeing the utter hopelessness in his posture. Oh, he might be trying to hide it, to appear unperturbed and focused on his work – but she easily saw through him just like he’d always been able to see through her mask. She could see how much he was suffering, saw the pain in his hollow eyes. He’d said that he still loved her, that their feelings hadn’t been just their imagination. And yet, he’d clearly given up. There was no fight in him anymore, no strength to even consider fighting. He was broken, and seeing him like that broke her, too.

Biting down on her lip, hard, she gazed down at her hands, clenched into tight fists to keep them from trembling. So, what if he had been right? She’d tried her best to find a solution, but everything she’d brought up he’d warded off as impossible, and rightly so. And he who was so much smarter than her, who was able to think so quickly and come up with solutions for every problem… had given up. Slowly and against her will, the realisation seeped into her heart.

They’d already lost…

Once more, she glanced at where he stood and it felt as if her heart was breaking all over again. It was over, really and truly over. Her hand wandered to her chest as if to catch the shards and keep them together, but it was no use. A fresh wave of pain tore through her and it only got worse when she saw him grimace and mimic her gesture, his hand pressing to his chest as if he could feel it too. For a short heartbeat, he glanced up at where she sat and their eyes met. It was like a last goodbye, a last shared moment, the acknowledgement that he felt the same but that that didn’t change anything.

There was no hope left for them, nothing they could do.

. o O o .

The realisation left her feeling hollow, even more so than the pain of the announcement and his words had before. There was nothing left for her. Nothing to look forward to, nothing to hope or to fight for. All that was left to her was a dull and empty future with a man she didn’t care for while always remembering what she’d lost, what could have been. It was a frightening thought, and for two days, it was all she could think about, making her tumble deeper and deeper into her misery, until Ruff put an end to it.

“This can’t go on,” she exclaimed when she spotted the plate of once more untouched tea and biscuits. “I get that you feel horrible and I’m sorry, I really am. But you’ve got to eat! You can’t let yourself waste away just because that boy turned your head and broke your heart. No matter how much you might despise this and how little I like to remind you about it, you’ve got responsibilities.”

Astrid snorted, the only reaction that gave away she’d listened at all with her standing by the window and looking out over Lake Vola’s calm surface. Responsibilities… Yes, that was all that was left to her. Fulfilling the expectations placed on her, marrying to keep the Kingdom stable and popping out children for her future husband until her body gave up. It wasn’t any different from what she’d been prepared for all her life, but where before she’d accepted the thought with a certain composure and even a hint of pride to fulfil this duty, it now only made her feel dreadful. But who knew… maybe she would be lucky; maybe she would end like so many other women and not survive such a life for long…

She flinched when, without a warning, a hand touched her shoulder. “Milady, you’ve got to move on,” Ruff said urgently. It could have come across as cruel and cold-hearted, but Astrid knew her maidservant well enough. Most of all, she was practical. “I know it’s not easy, but you have to. You have a few hours left before today’s hunting party returns and you’ll have to welcome them back; how about you try and get on other thoughts until then, take a break? You could visit your horse; Tuff can escort you there. Or the herb garden? Maybe there are a few plants that already grow, or you could clean it up for the warmer days?”

Swallowing, Astrid closed her eyes. Ruff was right, and she knew that. She couldn’t continue like this forever, like nothing but an empty shell. Eventually, she would have to go on, to get over him. A tiny voice in the back of her mind was screaming at her that this was wrong, that she shouldn’t have to get over him, that they were meant to be… But she ignored it and hoped that, one day, the voice would disappear. So far though, it only threatened to tear her apart – the logical knowledge that they had no chance against the denial still simmering beneath – and she wrapped her arms around herself in a fruitless attempt to keep herself together. Suddenly, seeking distraction sounded like an excellent idea.

“Okay,” she whispered weakly. A slight frown crossed her face as she thought about Ruff’s suggestions though. The idea of visiting Markor was alluring, but even with him now housed at the main stables, he was too tightly linked to all those wonderful memories she tried to forget, and she wasn’t sure whether she could stand being near him yet. No, that wasn’t an option, and visiting the herb garden wasn’t an appealing idea either; it would only remind her of these last few days at the dead royal gardens where she’d been offered like meat to a pack of wolves. But what else could she do?

Something like a small smile tugged at her lips as she remembered another option, another place she could go and hide from reality, from who she was, and where she got treated like a normal person.

“Is Tuff ready?” she asked in a quiet but somehow steadier voice. “I’d like to go visit Fishlegs.”

Ruff reacted with an approving grin. She even went so far as to pack the biscuits and other pastries to take with her, even though Astrid felt odd bringing food Heather might very well have prepared herself as a gift. However, she understood that Ruff’s main motivation was her hope that Astrid might still eat something, so she didn’t say anything, and not even half an hour later she knocked on the door to her friends’ house.

There were grunts and the shuffling of cloth audible, even through the door, but it still took over a minute before a tired looking Fishlegs opened her. When he recognised her though, his face brightened. “Astrid! Now, that’s a surprise. Uh, come in, come in.”

He stepped aside and waved her in, threw a wondering look at Tuff but shrugged and closed the door again when her warder made no attempts to come in as well and instead stayed with the chickens outside. He hurried around on his short legs to which he owed his nickname, and picked up boxes and other stuff to make room for her.

Astrid hesitantly took the seat he eventually offered to her and watched him with a worried expression. “Is everything all right? Is this a bad time for me to visit?” she asked, a little self-consciously. She’d looked forward to coming here once the plan was made, but hadn’t spared even a second to think about whether her friends even had time for her. But Fishlegs directly warded her concerns off with a smile and a shake of his head.

“No, no, don’t worry. We were just taking a nap, but it’s time to get up anyway.” As if to contradict himself, he yawned. “Uh, sorry. ‘s been a tough few days, but who am I telling this… Still, it’s good to see you. How are you doing?”

Warding his question off with a grimace and a shrug, she began to unpack the parcel of treats Ruff had given her. She hadn’t come here to dwell even more on her situation though, so she directly changed the subject. “And you?”

Fishlegs gave a little shrug, then longingly eyed the biscuits. “May I?” He reached for one when Astrid nudged the parcel toward him without a word, and ate it with obvious delight. “Mmh, that’s good. Not sure when I last ate anything.” He took another one, and only continued speaking once it was gone, too. “I’m okay. Tired. Overworked. Usually, I wouldn’t take a nap at this time of day, but Master Mulch insisted on it. He claimed that I’ve been on my feet for over thirty hours – and the fact that I don’t know whether that’s true is probably proof enough. But there’s just so much to do! It’s like these men are actually out on getting severely injured. More than one even asked whether he’d keep a ‘cool scar’ out of it.” He shook his head and helped himself to another pastry.

Or others are out to get them injured, she thought, grimacing as she again remembered Thuggory’s sneer. She shuddered, but ignored Fishlegs’ inquisitive look. “So, what kind of injuries do you have to treat? Mostly cuts, I assume?”

“Aye. Or that’s my job, at least, while Master Mulch treats the more urgent injuries,” he nodded, then intently looked at her. “Do you remember how to treat such a cut?”

Astrid chuckled, surprising herself with the sound. It felt odd, as if her being happy was some form of betrayal. But that was a stupid thought; Ruff had been right in insisting for her to get distracted would do her good. And she also was incredibly grateful for Fishlegs to catch up on her mood so quickly.

“I think so?” she replied to his question, focussing on what he’d taught her. “First, you have to clean the wound, with clear water or maybe strong alcohol. Then you put willow bark tincture on it, for disinfection and against the pain. Depending on how deep the cut is, you might need to sew it shut with a good needle. At last, you cover the wound with moss to soak up blood, put a tight-enough cast around it, and threaten the patient with your eternal wrath in case they don’t give the wound enough rest to heal properly,” she recited Fishlegs’ former lesson – even though the last bit was her own addition. It had the desired effect as it made him laugh and congratulate her on still remembering.

They chatted for a while longer, with Astrid feeling lighter by the minute, until Heather joined them. She looked even more tired than her husband had, and gracelessly slumped onto the bench next to him. At first, she eyed the pastries Astrid had brought with a slightly wrinkled nose, but then shrugged and picked one to nibble on.

“Hey, love. Had a good rest?” Fishlegs asked, then jumped up, startling Astrid. “Wait, I’ll make you a mug of that herbal tea. Astrid, what about you?”

“Sure, why not,” she replied with an amused smile, then turned her attention back to Heather. “Lots of work for you too, I guess?”

Again, Heather shrugged. “Yes, but it’s manageable, all in all. Mostly providing refreshments for those watching the tournament and preparing and preserving whatever them men bring from those hunts. It’s not like the crazy increase of work Justin has.”

Astrid raised an eyebrow at her, which made the other woman chuckle.

“Yes, yes, I know what you’re thinking. I say that, but still, here I am, looking as if I’d been up for over three days straight.” She shook her head, a soft smile spreading over her face. “But I still say it’s not the work. I’m just kinda always tired lately. Maybe I’ve caught some bug, or so. It’ll pass.”

Before Astrid could reply anything, Fishlegs returned and placed a steaming mug in front of each. “So, here you go. But I’ve gotta leave you now. I’m sure we’ll get new patients once the hunting party returns, and I need to help Master Mulch prepare for that. Bye, Astrid. Was great to see you again.” He waved at her, bent to kiss Heather goodbye, and left.

Astrid reached for her mug, and hummed. She knew that the brew was too hot to drink it yet, but she could still enjoy the heat as part of the comfort around her, and she basked in it all, in this small sanctuary.

Until Heather brutally tore her back into reality.

“So, you’re getting married,” she stated.

It wasn’t a question, and when Astrid threw her a short baffled look before quickly averting her gaze she thought she detected a strange expression in Heather’s eyes. Pity, determination, and… satisfaction? But no, she certainly had imagined that last one, she thought and shook her head, chiding herself. She, too, was overly tired and exhausted, that was all. “Yes,” she breathed, the only answer she could think of. What else was she supposed to reply anyway? It wasn’t a secret, after all. Not anymore.

Heather watched her for a minute, quietly, and then sighed. “I’m sorry,” she said, sounding weirdly formal. “I remember what we talked about some while ago, and… Well, judging by how you haven’t openly proclaimed your love yet and your gloomy mood… I guess the one you had feelings for isn’t someone your father would approve of?”

Astrid pressed her lips shut, her hands around the mug tightening. This was not why she’d come here. She didn’t want to talk about this, about him, didn’t want to think. She wasn’t strong enough for that, not yet. “No, he’s not,” she mumbled weakly. “And-and it’s over anyway.” Saying it out loud, now that she knew it was true, hurt even more, and she hoped that Heather would drop the topic now. But apparently, she wasn’t that lucky.

“I see,” Heather sighed. “Well, again, I’m sorry for you. But this is part of what I meant, you know? When you asked me about how it feels to be in love and I told you to be careful? And it’s probably better this way anyway, that it’s over I mean.” She sighed again. “Gods, I sound heartless. I’d apologise, but what I wan– what I need to tell you won’t sound any better to you.”

Astrid wanted to make her stop talking, to order her if necessary, but she couldn’t find her voice. Unbiddenly, just thinking about him made images and memories flash through her mind, of his shining eyes when he smiled, of his touch when he cradled her cheek, of his warmth when he held her in his embrace. They flooded through her, leaving her powerless to rein them back in, and only Heather’s voice – even as it had caused this in the first place – was able to tear her out of it again.

“The thing is… I know that a marriage out of love is one of the best things that can happen to a person. But you are more than just an ordinary person! You aren’t just responsible for your own happiness, but also for that of your people. And even though I wouldn’t want to begrudge you a love match… I want to ask you to make a prudent choice. Please, think of your people.”

Astrid was trembling, but with the painful memories had also come the numbness of the last few days. As if her body and mind reacted on reflex, shutting down to ward off any harm. “What exactly are you asking of me?” she heard herself ask, her eyes on the little waves on the tea’s surface.

Heather gave a deep sigh. “I… I want to ask you to marry Dagur – or his horse-crazy boyfriend, if necessary. These two… with their impossible relationship and their refusal to marry and take responsibility, they’re a bigger threat to the Kingdom’s stability that those pathetic Malarians who can’t do anything but be an annoying pain at the border. Please, I-I’m begging you. It is within your power to separate them and end this selfish infatuation of theirs that so easily can turn half the Kingdom into chaos. Marry Dagur and give him an heir. It’s w-what the people need!”

There was a heavy silence once Heather stopped talking. To Astrid, it felt oppressive, like a thick blanket smothering everything; every sound, her thoughts, her movements, even the air to breathe. Only slowly, she managed to raise her head and to look at the other woman.

Heather was clearly afraid of having spoken her mind so openly. She was watching her with wide eyes, one hand over her mouth to cover it, the other wrapped around herself in something like a protective gesture. It was a funny sight, in a way. This woman, who had adamantly fought expectations and the people who had wanted to keep her in the place she’d been born into, was afraid of her, a powerless puppet who wasn’t even allowed to choose what she was wearing? It was ridiculous.

But Astrid felt too numb to laugh. Instead, she silently gazed at the woman who she’d thought of as a friend until now. “Thanks for the tea,” she eventually whispered, let go of the untouched mug, and rose to her feet to leave.

In passing, she heard Heather mumble another “I’m sorry!” but she wasn’t in a condition to accept the words.

Tuff looked up in surprise when she appeared next to him, but quickly caught on to her mood after he caught her expression. “Guess that didn’t go as Ruff hoped, eh? What a surprise… You wanna go back?”

Astrid nodded and mutely followed Tuff back to her chambers. And all the while, her head was spinning around what Heather had said.

How dare she? How dare she ask something like this of her? Essentially, it was the same thing the King had asked of her, the same he had suggested. But marrying Dagur – or Eret or Snotlout for that matter – that was insane! How could people even think of this option? It was ridiculous, and wrong, and simply impossible.

. o O o .

No matter how much Astrid tried to dismiss Heather’s suggestion as pure idiocy, the thought kept popping up in her mind at the weirdest of moments. Over and over, she mulled it over in her head, all the reasons why it was a stupid idea and could never work out. It was annoying – but she was still grateful for it. Thinking about this kept her mind occupied and prevented her from drowning in pain. At night, she was still helpless to the onslaught of memories, crying until she had no tears left, but at least during the day she was managing better now. And during dinner two days later, she was even able to pay attention to what happened around her again.

“Hey, Dag. Could you hand me the cheese plate?”

The question came from Snot next to her, and Astrid reacted without thinking as she reached for the plate that stood right in front of her and pushed it over to him.

“Uh… thanks, Astrid,” Snot grunted, clearly perplexed.

She gave him a nod and something like a small smile, then looked around into the astonished but smiling faces of her brothers. “What?” she asked, a little defensively. It wasn’t as if she usually was too proud to help either.

Eret’s smile softened a little. “Nothing. It’s just good to have you back.” She frowned, but he didn’t elaborate and she was grateful for that. She really hadn’t been here lately, had she?

With a low sigh, she reached for a bread roll and the cheese as well. She did it out of reflex, to not get scolded again for eating too little, and only after taking a first bite did she realise how hungry she actually was. Maybe Ruff had been right after all. Maybe it was time for her to accept the lot fate had dealt her and roll with it. As always, the thought came with a hidden, painful sting, but she refused to let it hit her, to even let the tiniest of thoughts about… about this topic reach her consciousness. She might be more composed now, but she certainly wasn’t strong enough for that. So when Eret addressed the older men at the other end of the table a minute later, she happily focused all her attention on their conversation.

“Uncle Spitelout? I know I’m asking this every night, but have you received any news from Daniel today?”

At that, Astrid looked up with real interest now. Whenever Spitelout was at the castle, he happily took over overseeing the royal pigeonry for the time being. She’d never understood his fascination with the birds, but then, everybody needed a hobby, she assumed. It made him happy and also meant that he was always informed about what kind of messages had left or reached the castle through the homing pigeons. And even with how twisted her thoughts about Daniel were these days, she was still eager to hear from him.

However, Spitelout, who’d just pushed his plate away with a clearly satisfied sigh, just gave a little grunt and shook his head. “Sorry, boy, but there still was no answer. The last time we heard from him was a week ago when he informed us that everything goes as planned.” He shrugged. “Beyond that, ‘No news are good news’. Besides, who knows whether your message has even reached him yet? My birds only fly to their nests in Westhill, after all, and from there a courier would have to be sent out to find him and deliver your message – and while we know where the Prince is supposed to be, itineraries in that region can be seen as little more than polite suggestions.”

“Looks like you’ll have to wait until he’s back, son,” Eret II added with an amused smile. “Just be a little patient, he’ll be back in two weeks anyway.”

Eret grunted, but didn’t ask anything else, and instead focused on his overly full plate.

Astrid had watched the short exchange with a bit of apparently obvious bewilderment, so Dagur, who seemed to have caught her puzzled look, now leaned over to explain in a low voice. “Eret sent a pigeon with a message to Westhill, a day or two after… well, after this whole mess started. I read a part of it and it was hilarious; a collection of not-very-nice insults and the repeated demand for what in the name of Hel’s pale tit Daniel had been thinking.” He shrugged, grinning. “To be honest, I wouldn’t be surprised if Daniel chose not to answer. I certainly wouldn’t. Either way, their next meeting is going to be fun. Chippy was fuming in the beginning, and I bet he’s still not entirely calmed down, though don’t ask me what exactly it was that had set him off like that. He didn’t even tell me.”

She threw a glance at Eret, and the tight grip with which he held his cutlery and the slightly troubled grimace on his face seemed to prove Dagur’s words true. It made her wonder. Sure, she didn’t have the most sisterly feelings for Daniel these days either; his knowing about this plan and not telling her felt like too much of a betrayal. But it made little sense for Eret to have the same reasons for his anger. She didn’t get the chance to further wonder about his behaviour though.

“I’ve got to agree, it’s good to have you back among the living,” came suddenly Snot’s voice from beside her, and when she turned to look at him, he had a wide grin on his face. “And since the kitchen provided us with this dish tonight... May I suggest you try this cold venison? It’s deer prepared after a recipe our chef in Westhill developed, and it is delicious.”

Perplexed, she watched as Snot placed a piece of the rosy meat onto her plate before she could even react. Then she grimaced, and shook her head. “No, thanks. No venison for me,” she mumbled. Snot couldn’t know her feelings there, of course. But she simply wasn’t able to eat any form of venison – or meat in general – lately. Not since her birthday.

“Snot, you really are an idiot, do you know that?” Dagur commented dryly as he reached over to pick the venison off her plate and devoured it whole. The sight made a small amused smile tug at her lips. Good manners weren’t exactly one of Dagur’s strong assets – and probably never would be.

Snot huffed, but didn’t further react to Dagur. Instead, he turned his attention back to Astrid and the cheese plate between them. “I’m sorry, how thoughtless of me. But… well, then how about this?” He cut off a piece of soft cheese with a greyish-yellow rind and held it out for her with a broad smile. “Father and I brought this on your father’s request; he liked it a lot the last time he visited Westhill. It has a rich and piney flavour that only develops when the cheese gets extra time to age.”

Hesitantly and with a slight frown, Astrid accepted the offered cheese, more out of reflex than of real interest. What was up with Snot? It wasn’t as if she didn’t know this behaviour from him; focussing all his attention on one person, being friendly and observant while more or less subtly advertising himself, his family, or his home. But so far, he’d never directed it at her! Was he actually flirting with her? He couldn’t be serious, could he? Surely, he had to be joking, overacting to throw it back into their fathers’ faces… right?

She looked at him, trying to detect something in his expression, a twitch of his lips maybe or an amused spark in his eyes. But there was nothing. Still trying to make sense of Snot’s behaviour, she took a bite of the cheese, but couldn’t help but grimace at the weirdly unctuous taste. “Urgh, sorry, but I think I’ll pass this one,” she said in as polite a tone as she could muster. She kind of appreciated Snot’s attention as it served as a good distraction, but it still left a strange aftertaste.

Hoping he would leave her be now, she wanted to reach for her glass of wine, but sighed when she found it empty.

“Here, let me get you a refill,” Snot directly prompted. He reached for one of the wine carafes at the end of the table, and before she could even blink her glass was filled again. “This one is another speciality we brought from Westhill, and if I remember correctly, you quite liked this one. ‘Rich-yet-not-overpowering berry fruit flavour surrounded with hints of cassis and cherry’ was your description, I think.”

Despite her annoyance at his renewed attention, Astrid couldn’t help but feel grateful, both for the wine and that he’d remembered. She tried a sip, and couldn’t help but hmm. The rich liquid tasted wonderful and made her relax almost instantly. Before she knew how, the glass was empty, and with a low, regretful sigh, she placed it back onto the table. She didn’t want to get drunk, couldn’t afford it, but the idea of getting rid of all her problems, if only for a few hours, was alluring. And the wine really did taste good.

So she didn’t object when Snot got her another refill, and didn’t even mind him directly diving into his next story about all the formidable vineyards they had in Westhill and how much more they could have.

With a resigned sigh, she settled on sipping her wine and tried to drone out his monologue. A part of her tried to reason that he certainly didn’t mean to annoy her into anger with his apparent flirting. Maybe she was just too over-sensitive and strained right now to detect the signs of joking.

Because he couldn’t be serious, right? He couldn’t be actually flirting with her. No matter what their fathers wanted, he was still her brother! But the longer the dinner lasted, the more plain his advances became and the more she wished to get away from him. Snot, like all of her brothers, had always been a source of comfort to her, but tonight she felt the opposite.

His behaviour reminded her of the impossible implication of her marrying one of them. Although, at least Snot didn’t seem to think it impossible, even though the thought made her shudder. Marrying one of her brothers… that was completely insane!

Wasn’t it?

. o O o .

Right...Yeah, it still feels like not much has happened in this chapter, but it's actually been a lot, I think. Many little things, development, preparation...Sorry if it sucks...

And I promise this is still very much a Hiccstrid story!

*jumps back into hiding*

Next chapter

#For The Love Of A Princess #FTLOAP #hiccstrid #hiccstrid fanfiction #hiccstrid angst #romance #Royalty AU #hiccstrid royal au #medieval au #Hiccstrid Medieval AU #httyd #Hiccup and Astrid

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