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aminiatureworld · 3 years

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Injury II

Characters: Kaeya, Ningguang, Xiao, Zhongli, gn!reader

Word Count: 5,650

Warnings: Various injuries, blood, burns, minor villain death

Premise: Sometimes the pain of others can hurt even more than one’s own. In which the reader is injured.

Author’s Note: Okay so after the mind numbing fear of my computer almost dying and now maybe emitting a weird smell I’m five seconds away from pure panic. But the show much go on! Even if my word document keeps blacking out.

This is my first time writing for Ningguang! I hope I do my girl justice, she’s voiced by my fav VA, she’s a total powerhouse, I love her so much.

I tried to make all of the injuries personal to each character in some way. Funny enough Zhongli’s was the hardest to figure out. I eventually settled upon the act of you being injured causing Zhongli’s personal angst, rather than the cause of the injury. I hope it came out well!

Kaeya

Kaeya didn’t often let himself fall into fear. Not since he’d been young did he feel that he could indulge in such a sentiment. True to his vision he’d frozen that part of himself, and now when panic seized him he could feel nothing but stone cold determination, and the need to continue forward without hesitation. Fear was hardly alien to him, he could conjure up the emotion all too well, but it had been dulled and replaced by cynicism and coldness. And occasionally guilt.

Looking back on it Kaeya wasn’t even sure why the two of you had strayed so close to Dragonspine, so close snowflakes were congregating in your hair.

You’d called him a winter fairy in jest at the time, wondering if he wasn’t truly the ruler of that mountain of frost. He’d laughed then, before threatening to take you away to his fairy court. “That would be quite an easy task.” You’d replied. “You’ve already captured my heart after all.”

The two of you were strolling on the rocks that lined the river which separated Dragonspine from the greater Monstadt area. Although adventurers usually roamed the area in the daytime it was now evening, and the lack of people certainly made up for the cold in Kaeya’s mind. He could only be his true self around you after all. Otherwise it was the charming and slick Cavalry Captain, a man who always knew what to say and never harbored any doubts in his mind. Not that he wasn’t still charming around you, he loved seeing you blush from his effusive praise, loved the way you buried your head in his shoulder if the flirting and the teasing ramped up enough. But there was a sincerity to his words that one couldn’t find normally in Kaeya, and he loved to show you bits and pieces of his soul, relieved to finally have someone to talk to.

“Watch your step.” You warned, grabbing onto Kaeya’s hand as he slid a little ways along a rock.

“Thank you darling, although I daresay I’m more worried about you. After all who’s the snow fairy here and who’s the wind sprite, liable to blow away at any moment?”

“So cheesy.” You mumbled, shaking your head, though Kaeya could’ve sworn your cheeks were slightly redder than they were a few moments ago. Laughing he wrapped his arm around your waist. You snuggled into his fur lined coat. “Cold.” You murmured, though you made no move to disconnect yourself. Kaeya smiled and brought his other hand around you in a soft embrace.

“Sorry my dearest, but you’re in love with an icicle.”

“Only terms of magic.” You shot back. “Otherwise you’re a nice warm fire. And don’t you forget that.”

The two of you headed a little ways down, closer to the river. A small group of frost flowers had made it to this side of the banks, and you were adamant on picking some. “They’re so beautiful!” You explained to Kaeya. “And incredibly strong, I can’t believe they managed to grow in that permafrost. They’re simply lovely.”

“Just be careful.” Kaeya commented, standing a little ways back. He didn’t like getting near the river, a river so cold it was always at nearly freezing at the bottom. Cold water and a vision of Cryo didn’t mix well.

“I’ll be fine.” You hopped to your feet, a bouquet of pale blue in your hand. You were smiling from your victory, face full of light and happiness.

It was an expression that changed swiftly as you lost your balance and plummeted into the freezing waters.

Immediately Kaeya leapt down from the rocks he was standing on, kneeling near where you were standing a moment ago. The river wasn’t very fast, bogged down by its width and how far it was away from the waterfalls in the warmer parts of Monstadt. Still it cut off very quickly, having barely the semblance of a beach before opening into a deep chasm, and anyone who fell in it would quickly fall into cold shock. Already your limbs had started seizing, and you were hyperventilating hard. Your arms felt like dead weight, and every second that passed your head dipped lower into the freezing water.

Kaeya gingerly put his hand out to make a platform of ice for him to stand on. Whatever happened he couldn’t fall in as well, it would mean the death of you two. Fear had reared its ugly head again and Kaeya twisted those feelings into action. No matter what he had to act fast and sure. Hesitation was fatal.

Plunging his hand into the water, sucking in a deep breath as the ice that still coated his palms and fingers made contact with the freezing river Kaeya hauled you up onto the icy platform. Taking off his coat he wrapped you up. Removing your gloves so the frozen water wouldn’t be in contact with your already freezing skin Kaeya cursed as he ran towards Springvale, the nearest place he could think of. He’d lugged you onto his back, and could feel the freezing water through his shirt. As he ran he kept up a stream of slightly shaky conversation, rattling off what little he knew of hypothermia.

“It’ll be alright darling, I promise it’ll be alright. You’re just going through shock right now, okay? You’ll be alright, I promise. Just stay awake a little while longer. I know you must be tired from all that excitement, but just stay awake a little longer, just a little longer and then you’ll be nice and warm, just stay awake right now okay?” His voice became more and more desperate as his fear started to tumble out of his grasp, but he kept moving. He wouldn’t lose control of himself now, not until you were safe.

Finally he arrived at Springvale and you’d been rushed to the village doctor. Kaeya was told to go and wait somewhere else, and preferably change out of his freezing cold shirt, but you’d grabbed his hand as he turned to leave and after that he refused to budge, instead borrowing a shirt from the village. He’d reimburse the people who let you two borrow their clothes later.

The entire process was a terrifying one, as you were slowly brought back to warmth. Kaeya took the opportunity to learn as much as he could, noting that you shouldn’t massage limbs back to warmth for fear of heart attack and – much to his chagrin he later joked when the situation was far enough in the past – alcohol was too much of a depressant on your system and could lead to death. All throughout he kept talking to you, even though there were times you didn’t seem to hear, times when he thought his heart would split in two.

Still it was evident you were going to survive and when you’d finally finished being warmed up Kaeya thought he could cry in relief, if only he’d been numbed from such an act for so many years. You’d run into some sort of rock in the water, and the long gash down the side of your leg was later determined by the doctor to reveal torn muscle. It’d take about a month and a half for you to recover. Kaeya thought he should’ve felt worse about it, but in the moment he felt nothing but relief, utter relief in the knowledge you were going to be fine. Utter relief that came with having almost lost you.

Kaeya had carried you back to Monstadt, much to your consternation. All the ways back you mumbled about how his penchant for drama seemed to have increased tenfold. Kaeya simply shook his head, not bothering to ask how you would’ve gotten back otherwise with your leg in the shape it was. Still it was a relief to both of you to see the city walls. Even more of a relief when you finally arrived home, safe and sound.

“I’m so glad you were there.” You confessed as Kaeya sat you down on the couch, propping up your leg and pulling a chair up next to you. “I don’t know what I would’ve done had I fallen and you weren’t there.”

“You probably wouldn’t have been there in the first place.” Kaeya remarked, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice. You brought your hand up to his cheek and he leaned into it slightly, grateful for the contact between you two. It’d been hours but the panic that he’d felt still tugged at his consciousness, as if any moment you might slip away again and leave him panicked and alone.

“Were you afraid?” You asked.

“Of course I was afraid.” Kaeya’s reply came swift and sure. “I was terrified, terrified in a way that I haven’t been in years.” Kaeya’s eyes clouded over, as if reaching deep into his memories. He brought your hand up to his lips, kissing your knuckles and then your palm. “I thought that you might die, and in that moment I was ready to curse the world all over again.”

“But I didn’t die.” You said solemnly.

“No, you didn’t.”

“And that’s because of you. Because you reacted quickly, because you had the magic with which to do so, and most of all because you never hesitated. And because of that I’m alive and well now. Injuries aside I’ll be fine. I promise.”

Kaeya knew you were right. You were alive. You weren’t going to go where he couldn’t follow. The fear coiling in his stomach began to subside. He’d been so afraid, yes, and in that fear he’d managed to find the strength and determination to save you. But now you were safe and he no longer needed to rely on that strength; he could give into his relief. Realizing this, realizing how frightened he’d been and how that was now part of a past he could move forward from, could truly forget, Kaeya could only marvel at his relief. Only then did the tears begin to fall.

Ningguang

If there was one thing Ningguang wasn’t expecting out of today it was your leg collapsing and her winding up in the waiting room of the Liyue hospital, mind replaying the last week or so, wondering where she might’ve realized something was wrong.

It seemed like the kind of thing Keqing would make a joke about. Here Ningguang was, the Tianquan of the Liyue Qixing, the most powerful woman in the trade capital of Liyue; here she was, her world completely gone awry, completely shattered by your injury.

A stress fracture, the doctor had said. It was the kind of injury that developed slowly and came about after weeks instead of in moments. The initial strain was usually something mundane, a sprain, a bruise, maybe you’d walked on your foot for too long. But after sometimes weeks of ignoring pain and swelling your body couldn’t take it any longer. Ten weeks, that’s how long you would be laid up. And Ningguang couldn’t help but feel every one of those ten weeks was her fault.

She should’ve noticed it. That train of thought continued all throughout the process of you being treated at, and eventually discharged from, the hospital. You weren’t just one of the people she worked with daily, weren’t just her closest colleague. You were the person that Ningguang loved more than anything in this world. How could she possibly not have noticed the signs?

Ningguang found herself obsessively trying to connect the warning signs that must’ve been there. She knew that your foot had been aching for some time, but though she’d been vaguely concerned she’d said nothing other than a simple “be careful”. She’d never thought to check after you later, sure that it was nothing. Now she felt nothing but shame, both that of a personal and of a greater kind. How could she manage looking after all of Liyue if she couldn’t even look after you?

You noticed Ningguang’s silence as you two made your way out of the hospital and towards the apartment you shared. Although Ningguang was perhaps seen as a reticent individual you’d found her surprisingly open, always ready to discuss things that were of interest either to you or to her. She wasn’t the kind of person to walk along in silence; not when she was around those that she cared for, not unless she was thinking about something important, not unless…

Finally you two arrived home. You collapsed on the couch, tired and ready to either read or nap. Ningguang was preparing some tea and a various array of fruit, not that there was much food in the lavish apartment you two shared. Considering the workload between the both of you it was perhaps unsurprising that there was nothing much to eat. That would have to change, Ningguang noted; she’d make sure that you were recovering in the most comfortable way possible. It was the least she could do.

“Are you feeling well?” Ningguang asked, placing the food and tea on the table in your room. You nodded.

“I feel fine, although I’m not looking forward to the walk to the Qixing headquarters. I have to admit dear this might be the only time I’m a bit glad that I don’t have to make my way to the Jade Chamber every day.” Ningguang smiled at that, but it didn’t reach her eyes. She sat silently, sipping her tea slowly. Your expression clouded over. “Hey, can you tell me what’s wrong?”

“Oh it’s nothing my love.” Ningguang spoke up quickly, leaning over and kissing you on the cheek. “I’m just sorry to see you like this.”

“Well you can’t blame yourself. You know that, right?”

Ningguang found she couldn’t bring herself to lie to you. Your gaze, though soft, seemed to pierce right through all her excuses and all her bluffing. She sighed softly. Maybe it would be better to be upfront about it, clear and concise, how one should always be. At least then she could apologize properly.

“In truth I do blame myself. I can’t believe I was so neglectful of your health, so blind to your pain.” She shook her head, staring at the hand that was holding yours. A disconnected part of her thought of how well the two fit together, fingers intertwined softly, your palm warm and comforting.

“If you were blind to this then so was I.” You spoke softly but firmly, refusing to sugar coat your words. Ningguang admired you for it, even if she didn’t believe you, something painfully clear in the expression on her face. “You cannot blame yourself.” You continued, “I won’t let you. I don’t want you beating yourself up for something that neither of us predicted. If you feel the need to blame yourself for this you must also blame me; I was the one walking on the injury without paying enough attention.”

“But – ” Ningguang paused, realizing the truth behind your words, slouching slightly she sat in deep thought. “I… I realize there’s not a lot of logic behind my thinking.”

“Well feelings are hardly logical.” You pointed out, squeezing her hand. “And because they’re illogical they don’t go away quickly. But I at least want you to try and combat your guilt with what I’ve told you. Because just like you hate seeing me in this cast I hate seeing you in pain.”

Ningguang nodded, heart filled with a deep sense of love and tenderness. Leaning over to give you a kiss she smiled softly. You did too. For a moment you two basked in each other’s presence and happiness, before you smile turned mischievous.

“Although… I won’t object to a little pampering.” Ningguang chuckled, shaking her head. But her smile was real this time, and you wouldn’t ask for anything more.

“You’re lucky I love you so much.”

“I know I am.” You replied. “And you’re lucky I adore you.”

“I am.” Ningguang’s reply was just as sure, was full of quiet but strong emotion. She was lucky. And she would never take you or your love for granted. No matter what.

Xiao

By the time he’d met you Xiao had long come to the conclusion that he’d never find it in him to like humans.

Humans were dirty, they were untrustworthy and full of darkness, they broke things without thinking about it, mangled their own people, their own families and friends and countrymen. Humans slaughtered one another without thinking of how it might stain them, and when they weren’t killing they were stealing and lying and ruining the land around them. How could he, a being designed solely to destroy the darkness in the world, ever find in himself the will or the ability to look past all that?

When he’d met you and had fallen in love in earnest this view had still changed ultimately very little. But even if you’d admitted that what he said was mostly true, you’d found that you still wanted him to learn to care at least a little bit about humanity. I mean you were ultimately one of them at your core. It didn’t feel right to prop yourself up as the one great exception, not when there were other people who were certainly like you in mind and in morality. Xiao silently disagreed with this analysis; to him there never was and never would be someone like you, in all of Teyvat. Still, he felt compelled to try, though more for your sake than for his, and as the weeks had gone on he’d begun to look at humanity not with any sort of respect or hope but with a sort of begrudging curiosity, and an admittance that maybe, just maybe, there was a bit of that light you saw in it.

What a fool he’d been.

Although Xiao was aware of the growing threat of treasure hoarders across Liyue – so widespread that they’d even managed to eat away at the tranquil lands surrounding Jueyen Karst – he’d never considered them a serious threat. So when the two of you accidentally ran into a group of them while exploring some of the older Liyue ruins Xiao didn’t bother to do much more than wrap an arm around your waist, sure that even the most idiotic of treasure hoarders wouldn’t be so foolish as to pick a fight with either an adeptus or their beloved. You seemed unfazed at any rate, explaining that the two of you were simply passing by and had no desire to pick a fight; if they’d be so kind the two of you would be on your way.

Perhaps the treasure hoarders were well aware of the fact that you could report them to the Liyue Qixing. Perhaps they were simply in a bad mood. Either way your words apparently did nothing. Xiao was becoming tenser and tenser, feeling as if something catastrophic was about to happen. That moment came to pass when one of the treasure hoarders pulled out a knife and threw it, lodging itself with deadly accuracy into your torso.

At that point Xiao felt himself overcome with a supernatural sort of calm, a calm which raced to cover up the anguish and rage that was coursing through him, threatening to burn him from the inside out. He only paused to make sure you didn’t hit the ground hard, before summoning his spear. Ignoring the cries of the treasure hoarders he made quick work of disposing of them, for what was a measly human, a piece of trash, when compared to that which had slayed countless demons? A small part of him cried out against the act, pointing out the fact that every time he wielded his polearm to kill it might bring him closer to the precipice, the fact that you were hurt mattered more than revenge, the fact that he was going to regret killing in front of you. He ignored it. At that moment there was nothing in his mind, it was as empty and staid as a clear pool of water. The only ripple in it was the way you’d jolted back in surprised, and the way you’d let out a cry before crumpling.

Xiao didn’t look back to see the havoc he’d wreaked. Instead he ran to your side. Peeling off his gloves, worried that they might bring infection, he pressed his bare hands to your wound, desperately trying to staunch the blood that was spilling out, ignoring the shocks that jolted through his hands, the result of the dagger somehow being infused with electro. The feeling of blood, your blood, beneath his fingers was nauseating, and for a moment Xiao felt his head filling with static as the pure panic that he’d felt began to overcome the initial rush of adrenaline. Snapping out of it when you let out a groan of pain Xiao looked into your eyes. They were clouded, and for a moment the adeptus was afraid you might be on the verge of passing out – had you really lost so much blood? Holding you tightly, one hand never leaving your wound, Xiao summoned a burst of air. His thoughts were still too chaotic to be processed, there was only one thing connecting them all. Let them live. If there’s any justice in this world, please let them live.

Verr Goldet had grasped the situation as soon as she saw Xiao appear on the balcony, face contorted in fear. Taking you to her room, she’d instructed Xiao to get one of the doctors from Liyue while she and the resident apothecary took care of you. Xiao did the task without thinking, and once he’d arrived with the doctor he refused to leave your side. Xiao knew death better than most adepti, certainly more than most humans. It was cold and unfeeling, and had a nasty habit of leaping onto people when they least expected it. It didn’t matter to him that all three, Goldet, the apothecary, and the doctor, said that you would be fine; Xiao was going to be there the entire time.

Eventually you managed to rouse yourself from the pain induced stupor, and when you did you saw Xiao first, eyes wide with fear and relief, tears threatening to spill down his face.

In the end you’d been lucky. Although the dagger had ruptured your spleen Xiao had acted quickly enough to avert catastrophe. You were going to survive, though it’d be 12 weeks most likely until you were completely recovered. The moment of crisis having passed the two of you were finally given a moment alone.

“Are you alright?” Xiao immediately asked. You didn’t make a move to answer, instead cupping Xiao’s cheek before moving to take his hand. At that moment how Xiao remembered. Oh; the blood. Quickly moving away he ran to the nearest basin of water, scrubbing furiously. As the water turned red a faint smell of iron filled the air; it was the most disgusting thing Xiao had ever smelt, and he scrubbed even harder. You waited silently as he finished cleaning his hands and disposing of the water. Finally he came back to sit next to you, still hesitating a moment before placing his palm in yours.

“I… I don’t understand how you could ever like humans.” That was the first thing Xiao could think of. “They betrayed you. Without even blinking. That man, all those men and women, they would’ve ended your life without even thinking about it. They would’ve killed you and lived without ever having such a thing weigh on their conscience. Humans never think about the weight of their sins. They just keep committing atrocities.”

“And what about you, Xiao. Will their deaths weigh on you?”

“As much as all the others.” Xiao wished he could be matter of fact about it, but he found that trait of his had somehow disappeared. Instead an emotion washed over him, so unfamiliar and unexplainable it seemed to choke him. “Perhaps more.” He managed to get out, before beginning to cry in earnest.

You would’ve died. If he hadn’t been there you would’ve died. For you he gladly shouldered the weight of human life, would do so again and again if only to ensure your safety. And yet it was such a heavy weight, and no matter how many Xiao killed it wouldn’t heal you.

“I’m sorry.” He choked out. You shook your head.

“Xiao I always knew that you weren’t going to be able to see humans as I see them immediately. And I know that you have a relationship with death and killing that most humans, most beings, will never have. I’m not going to blame you, nor will I turn on you. I cannot pretend that what happened didn’t make me angry. In retrospect it made me incredibly angry. It’s also true that – had you not been there – I would’ve raised my own weapon in self-defense. But now I’m going to ask you for one thing, and one thing only.”

“What?”

“Help me recover. Help me recover and let me help you recover. If there’s one thing I don’t want to happen now it’s for you to turn away from me and from everyone else, to let yourself be consumed. I want you to have somewhere you can let your feelings exist, and I want somewhere I can feel happy and comfortable as myself. You make me feel that way, so even if it’s selfish I don’t want you to turn away. And I don’t want you to grieve for me. Injured as I may be I’m not dead.” There was a pause as you let yourself catch your breath, having gotten more and more excited as you went on. “I realize that’s more than one thing.” You concluded, a bit sheepish.

Xiao said nothing for a while before leaning towards you. “May I?” He whispered. You nodded and Xiao pressed his lips to yours. The kiss wasn’t one of fire or passion. It was different, defined within the parameters of fear and relief, there seemed to be a sort of desperation in it, yet it was surprisingly sedate. Pulling away Xiao buried his face in your neck, careful to make sure he wasn’t touching where you’d been stabbed.

“I will. I promise.” He whispered. You nodded, smiling softly. But Xiao couldn’t bring himself to smile, not just yet.

Xiao couldn’t understand humans. They were dirty and cruel and lived without fear of consequences. Their actions haunted him and he found them easier to hate than to understand. But for you he’d try, because to him there was one thing strong than all, strong than fear, stronger than mistrust, stronger than hatred.

And that was the love he held for you.

Zhongli

If there was one thing Zhongli hadn’t been prepared for when it came to falling in love with humans it was their combination of fragility and utter ignorance to said fragility.

One of Zhongli’s favorite things to do was to simply sit and listen to you talk about your life. Humans fascinated Zhongli, it was one of the reasons he’d ultimately given up his place as Rex Lapis; inside him lived a desire to interact with humanity in a more intimate way, to know what made people behave as they did and to perhaps grow closer to them in the process.

But despite all that he still wasn’t ready for the utter fear he felt when listening to the stories of you getting hurt. You’d laughed off scrapes and bruises and fractures. The time you’d accidentally ripped off your nail was a painful yet funny anecdote, and the fact that you’d fractured your kneecap as a child was something you now looked back on with an odd sense of nostalgia.

Zhongli didn’t understand why these stories frightened him on such a visceral level. Such injuries were nothing to gods and adepti. Although the idea of a broken bone was certainly an irritation there was nothing more in it, and the kind of injuries that could easily kill humans would to Zhongli be the kind of thing that would be unpleasant for its novelty, not for its potential fatality.

He didn’t bring up these thoughts to you, feeling as if they’d somehow place an undue burden on you, or perhaps he was afraid you’d stop telling him about yourself. Still it lurked at the back of his mind, the fear of what might happen to you.

The fears that Zhongli harbored were proven in the most mundane, and thus most poignant, way. The two of you had been preparing a meal when suddenly you’d stumbled on an uneven part of the floor. Reaching your hands out to steady yourself your arm had landed flat on the hot stove, the stove which had been heating up for the past fifteen or so minutes. The scream that you let out sent a shock through Zhongli which shook him to his core. It rang through his ears incessantly, a terrifying reminder of how breakable humans were.

You’d immediately yanked your arm off from the stove but the sight that met both his and your eyes was a ghastly one. The skin on your arm was charred various colors, white blisters mixed with black flaky skin, all outlined in a terrible circle of red. You were shaking, and you face had turned a frightful ashen color. Springing into action Zhongli wracked his brain for all he could remember about burns. If the burn is serious enough go to the hospital. Never try to treat intense burns yourself as the burning has gone deeper than the initial layer of skin, raise your burn above your heart. Go to the hospital. Slinging your arm around his shoulder so that it was raised, whisper soft words of reassurance as you let out a shriek of pain, Zhongli half walked half carried you to the hospital, all while the same thought was running through his head.

How fragile humans are.

The doctors had insisted you stay overnight. Apparently the burn was bad enough to require surgery. Zhongli’s stomach had dropped as he was told that, but he managed to nod in response. Walking back home Zhongli felt all in a daze. He barely made it in the door before he collapsed, fear having seeped the energy out of him. The world pressed down on him, heavier than it’d ever been before. At least you’d be okay, he reminded himself. If he had anything to cling to at least he had that.

Zhongli was the first visitor to arrive at the hospital, having given Hu Tao the run of the funeral home as he spent as much time as possible with you. You were well enough, although a bit bogged down from the painkillers you’d been given. You’d once offhandedly commented that although magic infused medicine tended to be safer for the patient – more successful and less addictive – it was also more powerful; now Zhongli could see you weren’t kidding.

Your burn was wrapped up carefully, the doctors had managed to take the charred skin of, you’d explain, but now the burn had to be treated with the utmost care until the surgery later in the afternoon, infection was no joke.

“Well this’ll certainly be an interesting anecdote.” You let out half a laugh. “Not that I’m happy this happened, but at least this will shut up the next person who complains about how cardio was the most painful thing they’ve experienced.”

“I don’t know how you can be so cavalier about it.” Zhongli replied, tone soft and introspective. “It seems to terrifying to me, how easily humans are hurt.”

“Hey, I’ll be fine.” You assured him, voice soft but firm. “I understand how to adepti and archons and gods this might be terrifying. I’d be the first to admit we can’t really keep up with you in terms of pure healing and resistance to injury. But we’ve continued on this far haven’t we?” You smiled softly. “I promise I’m not about to die from something like a kitchen accident.”

“But what if next time it’s not your arm?” Zhongli replied. “What if it’s your neck or your chest? What if you cut yourself too deeply, what if your cut becomes infected. There are so many things I haven’t thought about until now, so many things that could hurt you. It frightens me terribly.”

“I’m very grateful that you’re worrying for me like this. But Zhongli?” You waited for his eyes to meet yours, smiling once more when he faced you. “You cannot be consumed by your anxiety. Believe me humans worry about these kinds of things. What if I tripped and fell and broke my neck, what if I scratched myself and developed and infection, what if I choked on an apple? These fears live with us, sometimes constantly, but we cannot let them consume us. As much as I’m flattered and glad you care for my wellbeing so much, I also don’t want you consumed by it, nor do I want to be treated like glass.”

“I cannot understand how you’re so resilient.” Zhongli replied after a short pause. You shrugged.

“We are because we must be.”

Zhongli knew in his heart that these fears he harbored weren’t going to go away. He knew that they were going to become more and more apparent through the month of your initial recovery, and through the longer period too as scar tissue formed and subsided.

Humans were indeed fragile. But if there was one thing stronger than said fragility it was their even greater determination to supersede it. Humans may be fragile in body, but they were stronger in spirit even than the gods.

That was something Zhongli wasn’t going to forget. Not for a very long time.

#my computer's about to die but this was totally worth it #also I never want to learn that much about burns again oof #tonight was wild #also I love ningguang so much aaa #kaeya #ningguang #xiao #zhongli #kaeya x reader #ningguang x reader #xiao x reader #zhongli x reader #genshin impact #genshin impact fanfiction #scenarios #my writing

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husbandohunter · 3 years

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Stardew Impact [Genshin+Stardew Valley/xReader]

Part 1/3 Kaeya, Diluc

Synopsis: “A mysterious phenomenon brought you and your s/o to an unfamiliar world: Pelican Town! Without the power of Visions, the two of you begin to learn the life of what it takes to be...a farmer?”

(DOMESTIC FARM LIFE YIP YIP)

Coming soon...

Albedo and Childe

Zhongli and Xiao

(A/N): So the brainrot was real in this one. I planned to add Albedo for a Mondstadt edition but kinda went overboard so I gotta split this one into parts too. Wordcount_almost 2k spspspsp

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Diluc

• Already has the whole year planned in his head. Literally if Diluc were to play this game, he'd have a booming farm within year ONE. Calm and collected through and through, though the new environment raises alot of questions, as long as you were still with him, Diluc ain't complaining

• The town welcomes you two with open arms. It was all thanks to the attire. Diluc wore his usual dark coat adorned with regal gold while you had a dress made of Liyue's finest silk, one that he bought for you. Needless to stay both of you reeked the aura of rich aristocrats (Mayor Lewis is pleased that greedy bastard)

• Once the farm was permitted to your owndership, Diluc began to think of ways to turn it into a vineyard. He was a businessman afterall. Although the staff back at the Dawn Winery were the ones who tended the field, Diluc still knew a few things about planting due to his childhood days Master Crepus would bring him out to their yard and demonstrated the process of gardening. He still remembers those days clearly, doing the very same this moment with you.

• Occasionally works at the Saloon bar. It was the perfect opportunity. As you took care of the farm side, Diluc continues to look for more ways to increase the income while gathering information from the folks around town. Gus LOVES to have him over, like he's just so efficient and reliable! They soon become good friends saying if Diluc were ever to own a wine stock, he would gladly buy from him.

• This is why Diluc would stay a little later due to just chatting with the people from the bar. One time you walked into the Saloon only to the front desk with Emily alone. Turns out the others were in the other room, too busy playing a game of pool. You decided to leave him be since it was rare to have Diluc so relaxed in leisure activities. Thus in the end, you spent your time chatting with Emily until a whole hour has passed before your lover notices and apologizes for losing track of time.

• Everything felt like a dream because it was his dream. To live a life undisturbed from chaos, his duties and the dangers that lurk in Teyvat, Diluc grew fond of the domesticity. There was nothing he loved more than to spend his hours by your side, day after day, returning home to your freshly handmade meals.

• Spring: Already up and early planting the parnersnips (I'm very soft for gardener Diluc you see). What do you expect from a workaholic? Even during his leisure time you would often find him near some plant as he does consider this hobby quite therapeutic. But when it rains, Diluc would be standing beside you with an arm around your shoulder, smiling contently as you lean into his touch. He gazes through the dripping window and silently admires the current progress you both made on the farm.

• Between the two annual spring festivities, I would say the flower dance. Diluc is a private man and would prefer to take things where no eyes were on sight. But with a little bit of nudging from Gus (your wingman), he gives in and leads you to the center stage. Elegant. Graceful. The way you two moved together became the talk of the event. Though, Diluc was already used to people staring by now, all he needed to do was to ignore them and keep his focus on you.

• Summer: No blankets in bed. Nope, its bloody hot in Pelican Town. He tends to stay indoors or anywhere with shade, in other words, his work hours in the Saloon increased.

• Diluc always has a nice cold drink prepared for you if by any chance you were to pay a visit after a whole day of labour. It's a habit he's made subconciously as if it would be a natural occurance for you to enter the door. His colleagues would ask him who did he make that drink for? Honestly so cute i cri

• Moments like these remind him of Mondstadt, where he quietly wipes the glasses while listening to you talk. Your voice is soothing. Sun rays peek from the side casting onto the umber tables, reflecting a rich golden light as the radio plays a soft song in the background. It's so peaceful, the town was small hence not many people visited the bar, Diluc came to appreciate this warm privacy (plus no Venti and Kaeya which is a huge pog realization).

• Autumn: Harvest time baby. The kegs are full and the sheds are full of kegs. This season was huge stonks and the house ended up getting an upgrade. Diluc is the type of man who wants to make sure that his spouse wouldn't have to work another day of her life. I reckon this is why he's so ambitious because he wants you to have the best and you deserve the best. (Husband material. Slap a ring on him ladies).

When there was no more work left to do, time would be spend peacefully exploring the woods. While you skipped a few steps ahead as the leaves crunched beneath your feets, Diluc follows slowly from behind. He sees your back but his eyes stares somewhere far beyond whats in front of him: His future.

It was such a stark contrast to the one he envisioned before. One filled with uncertaintly, blocked by darkness with no silver lining in sight, endlessly wandering as he drags the claymore against the ground. There was never a day in which the Darknight hero wouldn't think of Mondstadt. Leaving the city in the incompetent hands of Ordo Favonious while Abyss Mages continue to lurk fuels him to find a way to return as soon as possible and yet...

"Higher big sis!" Jas tightens her hold on the ropes as you pushed the swing with all your might. She laughs, like a child, it was full of innocence and joy. Later Vincent came in and nugdes you, asking when his turn will come.

"You wanna go too? Alright alright don't worry," waiting for Jas to come down, you lift the boy up so that he was seated safely on the chair, "3..2..1 go!"

He wonders if he could just be a little selfish for once.

• Winter: Best man to have in this season. Every morning Diluc would find himself restricted in movements due to a pair of arms around his waist and legs entangled with yours. Turns out you've been doing it subconciously because he's just so warm (Diluc keeps it lowkey and pretends to sleep longer cuz of it)

~~xx~~

Kaeya

• Haha looks like the portal is gone, guess we'll be stuck forever :)). No kidding Kaeya would be so down to stay here for the rest of his life and the best part is to spend it with you. He doesn't show a shred of concern regarding Teyvat, not like he's easily shaken by events that are abnormal, but you can see that Kaeya is truly and genuinely happy. (You're stunned).

• Oho we also have this marvelous landscape just for the two of us? And a cozy little cabin to go along with it as well? This should be fun~

• Of course Kaeya would also know a few things about planting, just the basics since he did grow up with Diluc. When they were kids, Crepus would give each of them their own pots so they can grow their own plants. It eventually became a competitive thing where whoever's plant grows the fastest gets to eat the other person's dessert for a year (no one wins. They end up sabotaging each other which Diluc started first, thinking it'll be funny as a joke).

• You are, and will be going on dates with him. In fact, the amount of dates you two went on increased since then. The townspeople would call you two "lovebirds" since he's practically by your side 24/7.

• I mean he doesn't have the responsibilities as a Cavalry Captain anymore so what else is there to do?

• Would attend all annual events no matter what season.

• Evelyn constantly gushes how much of a wonderful pair you and Kaeya make and often is the one who provides Kaeya a fresh bouqet of flowers for him to use as a gift. George on the otherhand just rolled his eyes mumbling something along the lines of "youngsters these days" and "crazy hormones."

• Befriends Pam. Love for beer plus somewhat cynical attitude? They get along real swell! She starts sending some recipes into the mailbox of course saying if yall ever need a hand, let her know.

• Spring: I can see Kaeya be switching back and forth between caring for the farm or taking quests posted on Pierre's bulletin board. He likes to keep things interesting, learning the ways of the new world while also getting to know the people around town.

• Would NOT return Mayor Lewis' shorts in which he found in Marnie's room. It's such high quality blackmail material. Kaeya is currently plotting what is the best way to use it to his advantage.

• He didn't tell you of course.

• Summer: There are no blankets because he is your blanket. Since your cabin was small so was the bed. That's why he has to hold you so that no one falls off when rolling over. Either he hugs you with your nose close to his neck, or your back against his chest while spooning you or holding hands if sleeping on your sides became too much. Yall need a serious house upgrade.

• For some reason Kaeya becomes more energetic in the summer. He lets you rest in the shade while handling the farm work for the time being. If you guys got a pet it would be a cat. Hes the first one to refill their bowl every morning outside.

Another day passes as summer comes to an end, the town’s Mayor invited you and your lover to see the annual Dance Of the Moonlight Jellies. Kaeya being the opportunist was delighted to come along. Locking the door of your house, you follow him down the path and made your way to the beach.

Everyone from town was already gathered by the docks when the sun had disappeared down the horizon. You stood by his side in a space far from the others, watching the candle boats set off to ride the waves, lighting up a small ray of light for creatures to find.

“Wow,” your tone almost above a whisper, “If only our friends back home could see this too.”

“Perhaps,” he says. Kaeya slips his fingers into yours and you shot him a curious glance, “But let us enjoy this moment shall we? Just the two of us.”

And there they were. A sea of luminescence radiating colours of brilliant blue with hints of green like a city of laterns floating in a world below. Their image reflects in the star of Kaeya's eyes as he wonders, where would they go? Where would the light lead them? They were so free with nothing to worry, so serene just like the sea and unknowningly, he squeezes your hand. It was a sense for confirmation. One to remind him that this moment was indeed a reality he wishes to keep.

Autumn: Finally a house upgrade and a kitchen!! Because it was harvest season, you guys end up making a set of delicious meals with all the recipes the townspeople gave you. Kaeya can cook since he lived by himself back in Mondstadt. Most of the stuff he learned to make were food that can be accompanied by alcohol though...

• Ahah remember Mayor Lewis' lucky shorts? He found a use for them. It was displayed on the stands during the Stardew Valley Fair (Oh my how did this get here? Must be the wind). Ends up buying a Rarecrow for the farm when Lewis bribes him not to tell this to anyone.

Winter: This was mostly an indoor season for the both of you. With the existence of television, nights would be spent until morning while watching movies at the couch. A blanket drapes around your shoulders as extends to his. Oh and don't forget the hot chocolate!

#genshin impact #stardew valley #genshin impact headcanons #diluc x reader #kaeya x reader #diluc #diluc ragnvindr #Kaeya #kaeya alberich #genshin x reader #genshin headcanons #genshin imagines #genshin scenarios #nya-writes #genshin impact scenarios #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact imagines

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ficsnroses · 3 years

Text

𝐓𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡 - 𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧𝐧𝐲 𝐒𝐢𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐅𝐚𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐜

Johnny Silverhand x female! V.

summary : johnny holds V when she feels overwhelmed, leading to a realization.

warnings : all fluff, some angst. very minor anxiety, nothing big! 1.7k words.

notes : felt like writing some soft johnny content after the smut fest from last week, hope you enjoy! comments and feedback appreciated.

Morning will come, they say; It has to.

It’s all wrong.

She’d sensed it in the air, tasted it on her tongue; known it through the uneven beat of her weary heart.

She wasn’t supposed to wind up here. It wasn’t supposed to get this fucked. A tightness stills in her chest, a dark loom, frayed grey clouds thud inside. Fear gnawed at her heart, boiled in each vein; gnawed and gnawed and gnawed. Within the deep folds of her apartment, she stands at the kitchen counter; an untouched pour of crystal water cold at her fingertip.

As if a drink would subdue, sate the tremble inside.

A grey cloud persists as she tries to blink, little by little, desperately trying to rid the blades that cut, the ones that sink into her skin with each breath.

“You know,” He begins, voice buttery, cynical. “Standing isn’t gonna do anything.” He appears often, this holographic parasite chained to her wrist. The ruins of a man who once ruled the world, now, just a speech in her ear. Someone to assure her she was still real. Still alive; or so she’d hoped-

that dagger cut the most; she wasn’t even sure she really existed. If he even did, if anything after the black really unfolded.

She wonders how she got here. How things got this way; how she let them snowball this way. Above all, above most, an epiphany rung true, a realization simmers in her veins.

Somewhere along the way, his voice had begun to feel warm.

Began to feel like home. Somewhere through blurred lines and sour regrets, a companion he’d become. Someone to feel un-alone.

“People who want something go out and grab it.” The tone of his voice holds a deep ring, something hoarse, thick. “Get it done”. The words, syllables, vowels merely reach her fraught ears, the sounds dying as they brew in her head.

A deep breath in, she exhales.

A tense of hands, they fall to her sides.

A gulp, heavy swallow in her sore throat, fingers nipping over the tense lump.

She crumbles. A mountain of a woman crumbles, feared for what would be to come.

Something churns inside her stomach, and he notices. He can feel it too, her dread, the heft in her lungs. Just the same, he hadn’t planned on being bound. Her memories blend with his, her vulnerabilities mirror. Somewhere along the way, he’d forgotten which feelings were his own. Two damned souls, filled with anger. Somewhere within the muddle, he felt it too. There was hatred, part of him thought she’d hate him forever. She’d want him gone, out of her head.

First impressions are always hard to undo. Memories don’t come and go so easily.

Yet within the muddle, he felt it too.

Companionship. The world forgot him, but she remembers. She hears, she sees. She feels the shell of a man that once was, hears him through all his rage, his hurt, his fury.

There’s good in her, he knows. He feels it in his bones.

And maybe in another lifetime, this could be something more. They could be, something more.

Maybe in another lifetime, they’ll fit together.

His silver gaze glints, monochrome eyes shone as he takes a step forward, a noticeable ease in his gait as he moves to her leisurely, hesitantly. “V?” Slow, cautious, he watches her from a distance. He’d never seen her this way before, devastated. “Hey,” Closer and closer, his footsteps thud. They near, yet she doesn’t move, doesn’t flinch. A weight sears inside, a burn in each inhale. A deep baritone flows softer as he nears, vigilant. His stare falls threaded, scanning each inch of her worn limbs. Blankly, her eyes fix the floor, empty, stoic. “V.” He offers again, this time, a statement more. Guarded, he gazes the irregularity of her breath, the way a gentle chest flows uneven with shallow, fortified inhales.

The ground beneath her is fading away, he knows. He feels her in his bones. “V?” An inquire again, dust eyes seem almost opal through the dew, she finds it difficult to move. Move, whispers her head. Move. Move. Move. “V!” There had been an almost forceful shift beside her, Johnny growing increasingly alarmed; and she’d felt an primitive fear spear her heart, squeezing her lungs for a moment too long.

It had been the type of fear that couldn’t be stopped. An irrational purge of something a worn mind couldn’t explain, couldn’t comprehend.

The rich of his voice halts in her ears, the call of her name a seemingly helpless plea and consolation, all at once. “V, listen to my voice.” He speaks, assured, calmed. The vibrations flow steady through her body, the wave of his tone a special solace she’d never thought she’d find. Her eyes find his at last, lip quivering ever so slight. The gaze settles, piercing into his in plea, and the look haunts him.

Haunts him, before it’s had time to sink into his fretful realization.

She was breaking before him. “Hey, kid,” he allows, voice softer than ever before; a beautiful velvet of concern rich on his tongue. “You’ll be okay.” His cocoa kissed hair falters in hues under warm apartment lights, and he inches closer, heavy hand reaching, for her. She doesn’t move, she doesn’t flinch.

She holds back a frown; she clenches her heart inside her chest. She bids to feel numb. The pain had become achingly familiar.

Slow, gentle; his hand finds her back, supporting a fragile frame; his spare moving to hold hers. For the first time, his larger fingers thread with hers, they lace. He holds her fragile hand in his, he holds it with care. Pained eyes stare at her, expression unfolding, and she still seems lost. Lost within the jumble around.

He hadn’t been used to this; this phenomenon of touch. Affection.

But maybe, just maybe, surely, he gave a fuck about her. His eyes soften, a faint smile curling his lips just for her. A hope to offer relief. To show her someone; even if merely an apparition, was there.

Someone has her. Gently, cautiously, he grips her tight, secure, leading her drained frame to a hoary couch. He holds her hand with sincerity, he leads her with regard. He could get used to this; touch.

Smoothly, he guides her, urging to sit, finding place adjacent right beside her; and in the tenderness of the moment, his arm finds itself traveling, finding refuge wrapped to her back, his other finding form around. Within the softness of the moment, he cautiously, carefully, envelopes her, and she crumbles into him.

She nestles into his chest, eyes closing as she slowly leans heavily into him for support, her own tattered arms wrapping tightly around him in return. Wet cheeks press to his bare collarbone, and his ghastly heart aches. Beats painfully, for her.

Fingers soft, gentle, he runs them against her skin, breathing deeply at the way she curls into him further, a mellow weep escaping the depths of her throat. “I…” She begins, breath uneven still. “I had this feeling, so peculiar…” The firmness of his jaw tightens as he holds her, offering gentle strokes to her skin. “I know.” He speaks quietly, guarded. “I know, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart. The first wave of contentment simmers in her veins.

His hold on her body seemed to fill the void.

The moments pass, punctuated by soft sighs, the rise and fall of his broad chest under her form. Warm, his skin feels right against hers; his heart quietly fumbles in his chest. It had been far too long since he’d held someone this way, since he’d been held in return.

To be held; something so simple, yet so direly powerful. Heavy arms wrap around her waist like irons, strong, unbending, drawing her secure back against a warm chest.

She hadn’t known Johnny was warm.

She hadn’t known something kind resides within him.

Gazing up, she meets his stare; his eye gleam with something that makes her sigh softly. Something that makes that ache inside her chest feel, that maybe, just maybe,

in his arms right now, there was no place she’d rather be.

no other blues in the world would do.

The hand that holds her waist loosens, opting to swiftly, gently caress hers in his, fingers intertwining as he lays it to his gear glad chest. “You’ll be okay, kid.” He breathes against the shell of her ear, a shiver, a shudder vying down her spine at the low baritone. “I’ve got you.” he holds her small, brittle fingers. The same brittle fingers that reached, reached feebly for him. They reach, they reach, they reach all at once, nestling closer, his skin pulling her in further than she’d already been.

and to a hum softly off her colour stained lips, the twitch of her mouth quivers apparent as she rests her cheek against his chest, feeling him plant a small, lingering, genuine kiss to the crown of her distraught head; lost in the sea of her hair.

A kiss to her hair. An ode to what could have been.

Perhaps, he’d been imprudently hoping to mend the cracks in her soul. Perhaps, his heart remembers what they took from him once.

Perhaps, perhaps.

Perhaps with her, he can simply…be. The firmness of his jaw loosens, and his arms only hold her tighter.

In this moment, she seems surreal. This smaller, vulnerable, force of a women curled into him seems surreal. The words he feels bubble inside, the delicateness of his realization feels far too heavy; and her shoulders seem far too frail.

he loves her, he knows. He battles, coils, toils within, but he knows.

And to her, in his arms;

yellow, the world seemed.

golden, yellow.

Sleep comes slowly, slowly, all then all at once.

She’d fallen asleep in his arms, somewhere along the reveries passed.

His realization had come; all at once. With her in his arms, his realization had come; an ode to sleep he whispers.

He felt himself smile faintly into her hair. In his arms tonight, she hurts, withers, wilts. And he feels himself bleed,

for her.

yellow,

red,

black. He feels them all,

he bleeds them all.

But morning will come; it has to.

➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴

hope ya liked it! I have a permanent taglist I use for all stories, which are mainly for John Wick. if you would like to be tagged in just future Silverhand fics, lemme know and I can add you to that!

#johnny silverhand #johnny silverhand x v #johnny silverhand x reader #Johnny silverhand x you #Johnny silverhand imagine #Johnny silverhand fanfic

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roger-that-cap · 3 years

Text

meet me in the gardens

summary: being the widow of a decently wealthy lord and sitting on a large plot of land automatically meant that you were a candidate for the program that you couldn’t say not to; the hosting. you had to sponsor a knight and keep them in your home for an entire year, which was troublesome enough on its own. but you never expected your knight to be a woman, and you certainly didn’t expect to have a full on illegal love affair with her, either.

warnings: lots of emotions, feelings, slightly cynical and bitter reader- she’s honestly just being a realist, we are chugging forward, did not check for typos, format could be fucked up bc i’m posting from my phone quite literally minutes before i clock in- PATHETIC LMAO

word count: 2.7k

this is a short chapter by my standards, but it felt long to me because of the things in it??? this is part five! all other parts can be found on my masterlist, it’s my pinned post!

“What’s got you smiling like that?” Wanda asked while she tied your corset, not even needing to ask whether it was too tight or loose. You looked up in your vanity and immediately tried to wipe your smile away, but it was too late. She knew you better than anyone, and she had yet to see a thoughtful smile on your face, ever. Pietro, who had caught you going back inside the previous night, caught on to the fact that you looked more carefree, and that you just seemed to look like you were carrying around less.

“Nothing.”

“Hmm,” Wanda hummed, an entertained look on her face. Something told you that she already had an idea of what was going on, even though there was no way she could have. Besides, you hardly even knew what was going on. “I’ll ask again later.” She looked you in the eyes through the mirror, a slightly mischievous smile on her face. “Maybe then you’ll tell the truth,” she said, flicking you on the side of the head, and then letting it rest.

§§

Natasha was out in the village doing whatever it was the knights did one night, and she was planning on spending the night at a bed and breakfast before coming back in the morning. As disheartened as you were about not being able to see her for your stargazing, you were partly glad for it. You missed being with the twins.

You had dinner with them alone, sitting and laughing about old memories and scheduling times to make new ones together. You loved the way you could be with them. Your laughter was allowed to go over the volume of a giggle without them looking at you like you had grown seven heads, your silverware were allowed to take a tumble onto your plate with a clatter without a second glance, and you were allowed to use whatever language you pleased. You missed the comfort that you felt with them, the comfort that your brain and the part of you that would always be the farm girl felt with them.

“And Pietro chased him all the way off, you should have seen how terrified he was,” Wanda recapped, and you couldn't help but grin at Pietro, who was sipping wine with his charming grin. “That boy will never lift another skirt, I can assure you of that.”

“I’m glad,” you mused, shooting Pietro a look that made him laugh.

“Enough about me,” he said after swallowing a sip of his wine that was much more like a gulp. “We’re not going to talk about how you’ve been walking on the clouds for weeks now?”

You nearly dropped your fork again. “What do you mean?”

“We’ve both realized,” Pietro said, motioning with his buttered knife towards his sister, who had a soft smile on her face as she observed your reaction. “That you have been significantly happier. Even with the circumstances-”

“Pietro,” Wanda hissed, but you just snorted and shook your head.

“It’s like you found your own little pocket of happiness. We were worried about you, but, you’re doing alright.” Ever the blatant one out of the three of you, he leaned forward with his trademark smirk, eyes full of curiosity. “What do you know that we don't?”

You hesitated for a second, mouth opening and closing twice as you grappled for anything to say, even a lie. And then, you settled on just shrugging your shoulders with a grin, shaking your head. “Honestly, Pietro, I know nothing. I don’t know anything.”

§§

Your heart was beating faster than normal as you looked at the woman next to you, your hand subconsciously itching closer to hers as you sat on the ground, ass on the blanket that you had brought out. “I would like to… show you something.”

It was probably the twentieth time that you and Natasha had met with each other, and still, you were entranced by her and everything that she did. And you were entranced while you stared at her and waited for her answer, just a little nervous as to what she would say.

As if she would ever say no to something you said.

“Show me anything you’d like me to see,” Natasha urged on, and you fought back a smile. You stood up, and she did the same, and then you were picking up the blanket and walking side by side with her. It was quiet the entire way there as you walked in step with her, hand brushing against her every few steps and sending tingles down your arm every time it happened.

The feeling that you got when she touched you made you feel both alive and scared to death. You weren’t stupid. You knew what you were steadily collecting more than friendly feelings for her, and that she may have been on the same page you were on. The game you were playing was a dangerous one, the risk threatening to swallow up the reward more and more by the day.

You had known that being with her by yourself was bad judgement, ever since the first time you did it. Hell, the look you gave her the first time you met her was far from appropriate. Every single conversation that you had with her was a risk, and both of you knew it. And now that your soon-to-be husband was approaching, it was even more scandalous. No one knew and you hoped no one would ever find out, but hiding forever wasn’t a choice. But what would you be hiding if there were no true feelings?

You hated yourself for falling for her and her pretty words.

“I used to come here to escape,” you started, pulling yourself out of your thoughts, voice low as you passed the tree line to get into the thick of the woods. You narrowly missed stepping in a particularly muddy spot on the ground. “This was my spot, before I got the garden of course.”

“The woods?”

“No, Nat,” you said, slightly amused as you stepped over a fallen branch. You smiled a bit when the sound of running water hit your ears. “The stream.”

You knew the exact second that she saw it, because her eyes widened and her breath hitched. “That’s not a stream, that’s a river.”

“It’s the forgotten part of the main river,” you explained. “It’s much skinnier and more shallow, and it doesn't have nearly as much fish coming through, so people forget about it.” You looked towards her and saw how intrigued she was by it, so you judged her armor free body with a slight smirk. “What? Never seen running water?”

“I lived in the capital, all they had was the ocean. And even then I was never allowed on the harbor if I wasn’t selling clams, and I didn’t sell clams much.”

You felt silence start to grow between the two of you, so you said the first thing that you thought of. “You don’t look like a clam seller.”

He looked away from the river and to you, a slight grin on her face even as she talked again. “And you don’t look like a petal kisser, blossom, but look where we are today.”

Your heart raced in your chest. “Blossom? Is that what you’re calling me now?”

“It’s only payback for calling me ‘cherry’,” she said, and you stifled a laugh at the retired name, glancing up at the red hair that you had gotten inspiration from.

“You didn’t actually mind it,” you said, looking off into the distance, only looking back at her when a warm hand slotted over yours. You blinked and looked down at your hands, which she had intertwined, and then back up at her again, only to see that she was staring straight ahead in the dark at the way the moonlight hit the water.

“How could I?” She asked softly, a subtle breeze picking up.”You were the one saying it.” She looked at you, and in the dim lighting, you could have sworn that her eyes were saying, you can call me anything in the book, and I will own it proudly. And then, the look changed to something else, something less devoting, and something more passionate. It took you a few seconds to understand what the look meant, and before you could fully register it, she was leaning forward.

A few seconds came and went where you could feel your heartbeat all over, and you tried to look somewhere other than in her eyes. You couldn't. “Don’t look at me like that.” When all Natasha did was tilt her head to the side and give you an even more intense version of the look, you let out a small sigh. “Please.”

“Why not?”

She knew why. She knew why probably better than you did after living in the capital. She saw what happened firsthand to people who committed crimes, and those who committed second degree adultery. If you two did what you were wanting to do with your entire heart, you would fall right into that category. “I know where this is going,” you said softly, “and this won’t end well.”

“Why not?” She asked again, and you turned your head to the side, shaking it slightly and closing your eyes.

“Because, I’m about to get married,” you hissed, and though you didn’t mean to sound so angry, you did. Natasha was hardly affected.

She lifted her arms and let them fall against her clothing with a soft slap that still echoed in the night. “You’re not married right now.”

“But I will be, Natasha,” you said, gripping her hands and squeezing them softly, begging for her to understand you. “What’s going to happen when I get married to a man who already has a streak for murdering his wives, and he finds out that I have feelings for you? He’ll kill me. He’ll kill you. And if he doesn’t, we’ll both be hung for adultery, after being put into torture camps for being… together as women.”

“I’m not going to let anyone hurt you, Y/N, you know that.” The fervency in her tone nearly shocked you as she took a bold step forward, nearly surrounding you in her scent and energy. “I would never let anything happen to you.”

“You’re too important for me to condemn to death and dishonor just because I have feelings for you. It was selfish of me to meet with you in the first place, but I can’t let myself do this. It’s a bad idea,” You said, voice hushed even though no one would have followed you. You were trembling, hand shaking more than anything else as you tried to understand how fast everything was moving; forward and backwards, sewing together and ripping apart all the same. If you were any more attentive to her expression, you would have seen the grin that lit up her face as your confession. “We were just about to cross a line. We’ve crossed quite a few dotted ones, but this one? It is bold and blaring.”

“Blossom,” Natasha started, and you just shook your head and kept going.

“And-and what we were just about to do? That crosses the line. We cannot.”

“Do you really think my feelings for you are going to change depending on whether or not we kiss?” She asked, her voice slightly deeper than usual, almost sounding insulted. “You’re telling me to close my heart off from you, not to not kiss you. And you know that.”

“What if I am?” You asked, eyes starting to burn with tears. “I’m doing it for the right reasons, Nat. I’m trying to save us from a world of hurt when reality finally sinks in.”

“That isn’t today.” She took another step forward and this time, you couldn't find the strength in you to step back. “And it isn’t tomorrow, and not even within the fortnight. You and I have something, and I know that you know it’s different. It’s special. We would be so stupid to ignore it, so stupid.”

“I know, I know,” you said, voice tapering off into a whine as you slowly felt your resolve come apart, even though you thought it was stronger. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” Natasha said after a few minutes of pure silence, and you found yourself exhaling. “I just wish things were different.”

“I know,” she said, and you turned to look up at the sky, tears threatening to come down on your cheeks. The stars seemed to twinkle and wink at you, talking amongst themselves about a future you had no idea about just yet.

“Guess they’re never gonna line up,” you murmured to yourself, and then you heard Natasha grumble something from your side, and then she was coming closer, a barreling energy force full of passion and intent, and you knew exactly what she was coming for. For less than a split second, you thought about it. And then you turned your head and met her halfway.

You would have been surprised by the passion in it if you weren’t just as desperate for the contact. You twisted in her arms, already wrapped around you as she drew you in close, closer than you had ever been with her, and the tears that were welling up before were now escaping for a different reason. Your lips were pressing into hers, moving fluidly and with an air of fervor that she matched equally. You felt wanted, and needed, and you felt loved. You felt the tenderness of the moment with every brush of her fingers on the back of your neck and with every rub of your back over the thin material of your night dress.

Your legs were shaking, and she noticed before you did that you were getting weak in the knees. She held you up and pulled back slightly, just enough for you to feel her lips brush against yours while she asked if you were okay, like she wasn’t willing to take herself from you just yet. And honestly, you weren’t ready for her to leave you, either. You nodded, and she leaned in again, much slower, and then you had time to think.

Her eyes weren’t the same shade they were when the sun hit them, they were almost an eerie pale blue, but they were still just as gorgeous to you, especially now that they were slanted with desire. Her hair wasn’t perfect like she somehow always managed or it to be, and you realized that it was because you had gotten a hand to run through it despite the way that she had previously held you like a lifeline. Her lashes were long, and you swore that she was close enough that you could count them. Her cheekbones were accentuated in the lighting, making her look like something straight out of a fairy tale, like a floating fae creature that led people to safety. In that moment, you could have sworn that she was the answer to every prayer you had ever whispered, to every question you had ever asked your etiquette teachers. In that moment, and in every moment to come, she was your ending and beginning, your creation and destruction, your sunrise and sunset. She was Natasha Romanoff, and in that moment, no wedding or murderous man even held a candle to the way you felt about her.

What a beautiful person.

“Now you’re looking at me strangely,” Natasha said, her voice quieter than you had ever heard it as the both of you treated over the moment carefully, trying not to break it and leave it in shambles. “What are you thinking about?”

“How I’m going to have to pretend like this never happened in a few weeks,” you said softly, and part of you hated yourself for bringing up the bad part of the future so soon after you both had just lost all ties to reality.

“You don’t have to,” she said, stroking your hair. “We can just keep doing what we’re doing, sneaking off in the night and coming back in the morning before anyone realizes. Nothing really has to change, I just want you to know that I… that we can be whatever you want us to be.”

“As long as we’re in the confines of the garden walls.”

“And now the woods,” Natasha said, and you couldn’t help but laugh in her arms.

“And now the woods."

****

this is short, but i couldn’t see anything being tacked on to this. we’re at an important part, and from here it’s gonna be fun!! thank y’all for reading; if you liked it please drop a like and a reblog bc it makes my day!! comments also make me ascend y’all

tags!! : tags! : @teenwonder @saamwilscn @procrastinatingsapphictrash @fayhar @8plasma @slut-for-nat @dontmindmejustreading @swords-are-cool @200605chaeng @thescottishavenger @antidaytime @jenny-song @madamevirgo @natasha-danvers @blackxwidowsxwife @shycucumbersandwich @dailyavengering @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @ima-gi--na-tion @chickenhavewisdom

so sorry if i forgot anyone!!!!!

#natasha romanov x reader #natasha x female reader #natasha romanoff fluff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #lgbt marvel #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction #marvel au #my fics #natasha x reader #knight!natasha #knight au #lesbian!natasha #natasha romanoff x female reader

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perriewinklenerdie · 3 years

Text

Married (Ethan Ramsey x MC)

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x Claire Herondale

Word count: 2,4 k

Summary: Parts of Ines’s wedding told from Ethan’s perspective feat. E&C dancing, staring at each other during the wedding, basically being a married couple and everyone calling them out for it. OH3 Chapter 11 added content.

Warnings: None, it’s fluff town all the way

A/N: I feel scammed by PB. All the golden opportunities - wasted. So I fixed it.

His shoes sank a bit in the sand as he began walking towards the venue. More and more people were beginning to arrive, sounds of conversation and laughter increasing by the minute. He recognized his coworkers with ease and approached them. The first to notice him is Tobias, his eyebrow arching slightly at the sight of him.

“You came alone? Where’s Herondale?” he asked, looking over Ethan’s shoulder to search for the blonde resident.

“She helped me fix my tie, then kicked me out of our room. And refused to let me see the dress.” He explained, shrugging with a helpless laugh. Harper laughed along with him, clapping her hands gently.

“That’s wife behavior. Are you sure you two aren’t married?”

“Dude, if you two eloped, I’m not going to be working out with you anymore.” Bryce chimed in, acting as though he was offended, a serious look overtaking his face.

“Where would you- why would you- “ Ethan started stumbling over his words, realizing only after a moment that everyone was smirking at him teasingly. He huffed, fighting a blush that creeped onto his cheeks anyway. “I see. You all think you’re funny.”

“You make it too easy, Ethan.” Harper giggled, shaking her head.

“And we know we’re funny, Ethan.” His mentor put his hand on his shoulder sympathetically.

“Hilarious, even.” Baz added.

A small sound of an incoming message caused everyone to stop talking. Sienna unlocked her phone, her eyes scanning the screen.

“Claire just texted me a photo of her in a dress.”

Immediately, everyone jumped to her side, long before Ethan could even move his finger. Once he woke up from the daze, he took a step towards the young doctor that he considered his friend. Zaid stopped him in his tracks with a hand pressed to his shoulder.

“She said to not let you see the photo.”

“Why?”

Her voice rang from behind him. “I wanted to see your reaction myself.”

Ethan turned around and, at once, his breath caught in his throat. His gaze dropped to her shoes and dragged up her body slowly. The gentle flow of her skirt, pink silk that he knew for sure would almost spill through his fingers. The bodice, snug against her chest, accentuating her curves and making his male brain run wild. Careful to not linger on her chest too long – he would not get crap from their friends for this – he finally looked at her face. She was grinning smugly with a bit of a nervous spark.

He stepped up to her, resting his hand on the dip of her waist, tracing the floral patterns under his touch. With his other hand, he grasped hers in a gentle manner, raising it to press a warm kiss to her fingers.

“You’re taking my breath away.” he muttered, staring at her intensely.

“Hypoxia is dangerous, maybe I should go.” Claire teased, leaning away a fraction of an inch. He immediately pushed on her back to stop her, their personal spaces merging.

“Not having you by my side is fatal.” He dropped his voice to a low rumble, her grin melting into the soft smile. Their lips met in a slow kiss, no heat to it, just pure emotions.

They remained like that for a prolonged moment, his hands carefully pressing her to his chest. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, making their bodies move in a swaying motion.

Jackie burst their bubble. “You, lovebirds, the brides are about to arrive, cut it out.”

Ethan pressed his lips to Claire’s one last time, then leaned away. Their noses brushed against one another as their eyes met. He whispered gently. “I’ll come find you after the ceremony.”

She pecked his cheek sweetly. “Can’t wait.”

He wasn’t particularly a fan of weddings. He wasn’t invited to a lot of them, either. If combined with his dislike for big social gatherings, one would come to the conclusion that Ethan Ramsey was miserable right in that moment.

Nothing could be further from the truth.

As Ines and Angie exchange vows and talk about their love for each other, his eyes find Claire. Sitting in her chair across the aisle, she’s holding Sienna’s hand and passing her a tissue. She’s all anyone could ever ask for, and the mere sight of her makes him fall down into the void of memories.

How far he’s come as a person. A cynic that dreaded what a new year would bring along with a new batch of interns. A man that had only two people in his life that he could call friends. A man that went to the bar every night to forget the day behind him, only to go back to his empty apartment. All of that was so long ago that he barely recognized that version of himself anymore. He was so different now.

He smiled more. Laughed, even, and found that he didn’t find stupid jokes Lahela made all the time half as annoying as he once did. He didn’t spend every waking moment at work. Instead, he enjoyed his time off. Still at a bar, but not to drink away his worries. Not alone – not anymore.

Now, he had someone to come home to.

Claire shook her head as she laughed at what Zaid said and Ethan’s heartbeat quickened. They grew together as people too, and along with that, their relationship evolved.

From the night they spent together in the NICU, when her head slowly fell onto his shoulder and he couldn’t find a single cell in his body to tell him to lean away. Because he wanted her to be close. It was the first moment in which he thought that maybe this brilliant woman was meant to be more to him than just an intern – and right after that, he squashed the idea back down.

Every hold of her hand, every silent sign of support, he cherished it all. Unknowingly falling deeper for the woman that would become the center of his universe before he realized what was happening.

Their kiss in Miami would be at the forefront of his mind in his every living second until he kissed her again. Growing stronger with each time his resolve broke and their lips met, softly or with wild abandonment.

The first time he could call her his – the first time he had her to himself. He knew in that moment that he was ruined for everyone else. No one would ever make him feel that way, ever again. He knew it damn well – and yet, he still fought against it.

Absence makes heart grow fonder. He now knew it was true. Months he spent away from her, keeping her at arm’s length, taught him as much. How could he deny those words when the moment he pulled her closer to him outside his apartment and their lips touched, he felt his mind go blank and his heart stop. He vowed to never let her leave again. To never lose her.

And then he almost did.

The thought alone made his muscles spasm, and he was a millisecond away from running to her side, just to feel her warmth and hear her heartbeat. Leaving her side now, even if only for a moment, even to do their job, caused a silent voice to go off in his head. A wave of panic usually followed, staying with him until he saw her again.

Thankfully, nowadays, she was within his reach most of the time. She never asked why he sometimes needed to pull her close and just hold onto her – she knew.

He felt the corners of his lips rise on their own accord. She was radiant in every second of every day. In that moment, she was the most beautiful person there. The idea that it was him that she continuously chose to be with, day after day, only made him smile wider.

This was it for him. He found his one and only, as cliché as that sounded – he knew it for sure. Guess weddings really did make people reflect on love after all.

Ethan was very much aware of how lovestruck he must have been looking in that moment. With his eyes on Claire, he was a picture of a man in love – and he was finally ready to admit that he was. He loved her.

Almost as though she could hear his thoughts, she turned around to look at him. Their eyes met and a brilliant smile bloomed on her face. His lips moved as he mouthed the words, her smile becoming gentler.

“I’m yours.”

She mouthed it right back to him.

Music wasn’t as obnoxious as he anticipated it to be. That didn’t, of course, mean that he condoned every dance move he saw the guests do. He decided to not complain, though – it was a day to be happy, he wouldn’t bring anyone down with his opinion on their questionable choices of moves.

Currently, he was seated by the table, nursing his whiskey. Mirani twins, Tobias and Naveen sat beside him, all five men watching their colleagues party with wine glasses in their hands.

“How long, do you think, will it take for one of them to break a glass?” Baz asked, leaning out of his seat to see his friends better. Zaid grinned, taking a sip of his drink.

“Any second now. And my bet is on Varma.”

“Why?” Tobias’s face twisted in confusion as he turned towards him, intrigued. Zaid shrugged.

“Because she can.”

Ethan tuned their conversation out, choosing instead to look at his girlfriend. She danced with Sienna, laughing as they sang along to the song. Her dress moved with her, flowing through the air elegantly. He felt the urge to stand up and walk up to her.

“Ramsey, you do know you can just walk up to her instead of sitting here and pining for her, right?” Tobias snickered, punching Ethan’s shoulder playfully. He scoffed, leaning away with a hint of a burn in his cheeks.

“I’m not pining for her.”

“You are.” All four of his companions replied.

He was so distracted by their words that he failed to notice an approaching form. Her hand landed on his shoulder softly, the tips of her nails scratching the back of his neck. Knowing who it was, he leaned into her touch, breathing out deeply.

“Sorry, gentlemen, but I’m stealing him.” she mused happily, dragging her hand down his arm until her fingers tangled with his. Ethan let her pull her up, looping his arm around her waist.

“Stealing is bad, Herondale.” Tobias shot back, moving his eyebrows suggestively at the couple. Claire opened her mouth to speak, but Ethan beat her to the punch.

“She can’t steal something that’s already hers.” He grinned at them, then turned towards her. Claire’s jaw dropped in surprise at his boldness, her posture softening enough for him to pull her away from the table, smirking. Faintly, he heard Tobias’s words.

“Married. For sure.”

Ethan’s arms wrapped around her, fingers hooked onto her hipbones. She threw her arms around his neck, staring up at him with a soft smile. A slow song began playing and one look at where the DJ was situated told them who was behind this change. Ines grinned at them, giving them thumbs up and a cheeky wink.

“Is it just me, or is everyone trying to tell us something?” Claire giggled, nuzzling her nose against his jaw. He kissed her nose gently.

“So, you noticed it too?”

“Kinda hard not to. Girls said we’re acting like a married couple at least twice today.” she traced the lapel of his jacket, laughing quietly at the recognition in his eyes.

“Guys did it too.” Ethan muttered, tightening his hold on her. She laid her head on his shoulder.

“And how does that make you feel?”

He was silent for a long while. They swayed to the song, tuning out everything else. To her surprise, he didn’t tense up – nothing about his posture spelled out the doubts he once told her he had.

“Not as terrified as it did before.”

Claire leaned back to look at him. Their eyes met, tender understanding in them. Ethan leaned down, capturing her lips in a kiss, perfectly soft and not nearly deep enough. She clutched his lapel in her fist, creasing the fabric with how strong her pull was. His fingers dug into her back, skipping past the coarser material of her bodice and gripping the soft silk of her skirt. A voice in the back of his head told him to loosen up the hold or he’ll mark the fabric, but the overwhelming need he felt for her overshadowed everything else and he couldn’t bring himself to let her go.

The song ended and with it, their kiss. Foreheads pressed together, they caught their breath, standing in the middle of the dancefloor. Blissfully unaware of how much attention they gathered with their tender moment.

Ethan opened his eyes and finally allowed his mind to register the music again. Some sort of a fast tune that made people around them go mad. His girlfriend stared at him with an unspoken question, and he got the meaning perfectly well.

With a definite move, he dipped her onto the floor. She giggled, the sound breaking through the loud music to reach his ears. Ethan smirked, throwing her back into his arms. With his lips against her ear, he mused hotly.

“I have a few tricks up my sleeve.”

Her leg wrapped around his thigh, pushing their bodies closer. His voice broke off and his breath shuddered at the way their bodies clashed and the suggestive smirk she sent his way. His hand fell to her ass, all inhibitions gone.

“Ethan!” she exclaimed, laughing at the carefree smile he gave her. He moved his hand a bit, albeit begrudgingly.

“Can you blame me? You’re irresistible.” He muttered, kissing the shell of her ear. Claire hummed, then twirled out of his hold and back into it, jumping into his arms with her legs wrapped around his hips. Ethan groaned deeply in his throat, making her smirk.

“I have a few tricks up my sleeve too.”

Notes

This is a part 2 to the Mile High Club fic. As I said, PB could have made the chapter so good with all the wedding themes that I’d lose my wig. Writers apparently don’t know how to do basic research into fiction themes, but that’s okay (kinda). It just means I have more material to work with.

Round two smut is coming soon.

Thank you for reading! <3

Tagging separately

#ethan ramsey #open heart #playchoices

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batgurl1989 · 3 years

Text

The Premiere

Summary: You and Henry are at your music video premiere, and Henry feels a little jealous

Pairing: Henry Cavill x Latina reader

Word Count: 1813

Warnings: none

A/N: this was a request by @stephartrave for Henry to get jealous of his latina singer girlfriend who has awesome dance moves. If you want to be added to my taglist, let me know. This has not been proofread, so all mistakes are my own.

Taglist: @rmtndew @henrynerdfan @cynic-spirit @princesssterek @daddys-littlewhitegirl @diegos-butt

The music was blaring, but I couldn’t expect anything different from a party with Daddy Yankee as the star and host. The beat already had my toes tapping and my hips swaying, and I hadn’t even made it to the party yet. Henry stood beside me, clearly enjoying the beat but not making a move.

“Come on, Henry. It’s just me.” I begged, taking his hand. The elevator was still lifting us into the sky for the rooftop party, so we had a few moments to ourselves. Henry’s eyes tracked my moves as I danced beside him, trying to entice him into a few moves himself.

“Sorry, love, you know I don’t dance.” Henry smiled apologetically down at me. I found it a small triumph when he lifted his hand so I could spin under it, dipping myself.

“I know, mi vida, and I know this isn’t the type of party you normally would come to.” I stood on my tiptoes, even though my shoes already gave me several inches, so I could plant a kiss on his cheek. As per my request, he hadn’t shaved, and his five o’clock shadow rasped my lips. “Thank you for coming with.”

“Like I could resist you.” A playful glint danced in his eyes, and he lifted my small frame, hugging it to his body. I wrapped my legs instinctively around his waist, briefly not wanting this elevator to reach the roof. Henry leaned his forehead against mine, rubbing noses with me. “And just because I don’t dance, doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy your dancing or singing.”

“Maybe, if you are good, I will give you a private dance after the party.” I promised, winking at him. Henry growled, his lips meeting mine in a deep kiss.

The passion between us had never dwindled over the years. I think the fact that we both were so busy with our careers and couldn’t see each other all the time helped. What’s that saying? Absence makes the heart grow fonder. This last separation had been a long one, between his filming schedule and my collaboration with Daddy Yankee. This was the first real time you got spend together.

“I promise. As soon as the video premiers, we will drink the champagne and get out of here.” I cupped Henry’s face, looking deep into his blue eyes. I could always get lost in the vast sea I saw in his gaze. He may only be here because his girlfriend was one of the stars of the night, but I also wanted to get out of here as soon as possible. I would have much rather been home, spending quality time with the boyfriend I was seeing for the first time in months.

Slowly and by degrees, Henry let me slide down his body. I could see it in his face that he hated to let me go, but the elevator was only a floor away from arriving at the party. The beat was soul pounding, and I couldn’t help the swishing of my hips as it started to take over, causing my short dress to swirl around my hips.

Then the doors opened.

Nothing ever prepares me for entering a party like this. Even with Henry whispering how amazing I am in my ear all the time, I couldn’t believe I had finally made it. And not only that, but I had done a super hyped collaboration with a very famous Latino rapper. As soon as the doors to the elevator opened, the people at the party lost their minds.

Ramón—Daddy Yankee— was on a raised stage across the pool, a mic in his hand, pointing at me. I missed what he said as I was swarmed by people congratulating me, but they cleared a path so I could make my way over to him. Henry stuck to my side like glue, saying hi to people as they recognized him. It wasn’t a secret that I was dating Henry Cavill aka Superman, but this was my world, and here I was the more sought-after star.

Henry kept a hand on my bare lower back, escorting me through the crowd to the stage. The hand was warm and reassuring, letting me know he was here if I needed him. Of course, I needed him. Henry had been my rock through all of this, and I was beyond excited that I could share it with him.

“Hey Henry! Glad you could make it, man.” Ramón greeted us as he hopped down from the stage, leaving the microphone on the edge. He shook Henry’s hand before pulling me into a hug. “Thanks for bringing my star.”

“Wouldn’t miss this.” Henry had to yell over the driving music.

And that was all we would see of Ramón until closer to the music video premiering. Now that he was off the stage, he was quickly swept up by the crowd. The music was trying to suck me in as well, but I wasn’t prepared to leave Henry’s side just yet. I laced my fingers with his, his large hand engulfing my petite one in that way that always made me feel safe.

“Go dance.” Henry leaned down; his breath warm on my ear as he whispered into it. I was surprised he was insisting I go out to dance, knowing he would be left alone. Though he knew enough of the people I worked with, they were also all dancing, so he would essentially be left alone at this wild party. His arm wrapped around my back, his strong fingers planting themselves on my hip, squeezing it. “As I said before, I enjoy watching you.”

A blush painted my cheeks as I glanced around. I knew no one could hear what he said over the music, but how Henry said it, it came off as more sexual than I was used to in public. Usually I was the one being overly forward in public, but that was my nature.

I gave myself an internal shake. This was my party, and if Henry wanted a show, he was going to get one. Raising my eyebrow, I was positive that he saw the moment I accepted his challenge. Pulling his head down to meet my lips in a fiery but quick kiss, I backed into the throbbing dance crowd, not breaking eye contact with Henry.

It started off with a simple body wave to get myself warmed up to the entrancing beat that swelled through the air. A cheer went up from the dancers surrounding me when they realized I had joined them on the makeshift dance floor. The cheer fed my soul, waking a confident attitude inside me. I dropped lower into the wave, popping my booty out before rolling back up as I got more into the beat of the music.

Shaking my long curly hair down my back as I tilted my head back, I belted out the words to the song the deejay was playing. My right hip popped to the beat as I travelled in a circle, making sure to add a little extra sway for Henry.

I watched his eyes darken right before I felt a pair of hands on my hips. But the music still had a hold on me, and I couldn't stop dancing. I hoped Henry understood that this was completely innocent. I didn't want to cause a possible scene by pushing the man away. It was no secret that I was not single, so dancing was all it was ever going to be.

Unfortunately, Latin hip hop dancing has a tendency to come off as sultry and close. What was that line from Dirty Dancing by Black Eyed Peas? 'Me and my girl dance with so much passion. It looks like we having sex but we just dancing'. It was a fairly accurate description of what it could look like.

And this guy was certainly not a bad dancer as our bodies moved together in perfect harmony to the music. But it didn't matter how well we danced together, my mind and body was wishing it was Henry dancing with me. Every time my hips shimmied, I knew I was doing it for Henry and no one else.

"Excuse me?" My head snapped around when I heard his low British accent rumble. His nostrils were flared, and his eyes were a stormy blue, a possessiveness in lighting in them that turned my insides to mush.

"Sorry, man, we were just dancing." My dance partner caught the look in Henry's eyes, and immediately let go of my hips and backed off.

A flash of anger ripped through me at the idea that Henry had only come out here to drag me off the dance floor. Had he braved the crowd simply to ruin my fun? That dancing was way more innocent than the dancing he was about to witness when the music video premiered. It wasn't often Henry got jealous, so I couldn't be sure what his plan was now that he had scared off my dance partner.

His large hands were warm through the thin layer of dress covering my hips. He spun me so I was facing away from him. It was clumsy, and I knew he was embarrassed that his dancing wasn't as fluid as those surging around us. But my heart leapt at this rare chance to dance with my boyfriend.

I needed no more encouragement and took matters into my own hands as I dipped in a body wave , popping my booty against his crotch on my way back up. Henry, being the trooper that he was, committed himself to doing the two step I taught him.

"That's right, mi Vida, let me do the work for us." I whispered in his ear when I faced him, rolling my curvy petit body against his. He nodded, his eyes burning me as they travelled down my body, watching every move I made.

I dropped low again as the song changed, twerking my booty to the beat. Leaving a little space between us, I grabbed Henry's hips, breaking him out of the two step. Smiling up at him, I moved his hips to the beat along with mine. It was clumsy at first, but soon we fell into a rhythm that worked for both of us. Henry's hands glided over my back and to my booty, pulling me a little closer as he became more comfortable with the movements.

If this was the result I would get every time Henry got jealous, I would have to make him jealous more often. He always told me what I horrible dancer he was, but I guess he just didn't have the right motivation before. I secretly wondered what he would be like after he saw the music video, and relished the idea of finding out.

#henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill x latina reader

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zeta-in-de-walls · 3 years

Text

Hey guys, do you know how easy it is to interpret Tommy’s character in an angsty way? Just to be clear, this is from Tommy’s perspective.

I think presently in the story Tommy’s character tries to act like he’s alright, but underneath his tough exterior, he’s developed a crippling lack of self-worth. We saw how his character became suicidal during the exile arc and he’s not fully recovered. He hides his issues better now, but they’re still there.

Tommy’s character has always been the sort who demands attention. He wants to be acknowledged, to be respected, to be wanted. And he’s always been very clingy about his closest friend, Tubbo. Tommy’s always been fighting for approval (while watching those around him receive it so easily.) Tommy gives love and affection quite easily - that’s why he always gets so strongly attached to everything - but he has a hard time receiving it.

Back around the L’Manburg war, he had a thirst to prove himself which Wilbur recognised it, pushing him to be better and fulfil his potential. At first, he told Tommy to work harder, that the others were contributing more and he wasn’t sure if Tommy was really cut out for revolution. Tommy took this as a challenge and took Wilbur’s ideals to heart. And Tommy did indeed prove himself - though initially he failed by fighting as he lost the duel, he gave up something he loved - his music discs - and saved the day and made Wilbur proud of him. And Wilbur’s approval meant the world to him!

So Tommy was happy as Wilbur’s right hand man, doing his best to be a good Vice President for him; he was feeling a sense of belonging as a citizen of L’Manburg. It was a nation he’d helped build, and that he’d given up a lot for. So he tried to be like Wilbur and be a good responsible second-in-command.

But then things went wrong. He and Wilbur got banished together. They’d failed L’Manburg.

Still Tommy was by Wilbur’s side. They could fix things. But... it wasn’t working. Tommy was still just himself and still had good intentions... however, no longer was Wilbur so proud of him: “You’re proving yourself to be too much of a loose cannon. There is a reason why you are not the president and never will be!”

Tommy was extremely hurt by this. Here’s some of his rambling about it. His tone is light but the words are not. “That was uncalled for. I thought I was getting all tough and then he dropped that bomb on me and I go ‘oh I’m just nothing, I’m just nothing. I’ll just, I’ll just continue. He’s right, he’s right. I’m not good enough, I’m just not good enough. Maybe I’m not that tough.”

Tommy doesn’t let that get him down for long though and becomes more attentive, trying to do better for Wilbur and support him even as he spirals. They still cared about each other and Tommy tries to be there and wants Wilbur to trust in him even if they disagree. Things are nearly okay as he struggles to get through to WIlbur.

Then Wilbur and Technoblade betray him and blow up L’Manburg, and Wilbur dies. Tommy doesn’t even really know how to process any of this. He’s quick to move on and tries to rally the others and affirm Tubbo’s presidency and that all was not so lost. If they had each other then they still had L’Manburg. He’d failed and lost Wilbur but he was not alone.

So, Tommy no longer had Wilbur - the person who inspired him, tried to make him be the best version of himself. He goes back to being himself. He still cared about others, he hadn’t forgotten L’Manburg but he wanted to take a step back and just be himself, focusing on his own personal goals. He’s already given a lot and lost a lot.

And here’s where Tommy’s self-worth issues really begin as his actions in robbing George’s house are met with serious punishment. It’s unfair - he’s being held to a different standard and he is aware that Dream is trying to provoke him- but it still hurts.

Tommy - he’d helped build L’Manburg, fought for it more than once, given up his discs for it and had been secure in the knowledge that he belonged there, he had his friends’ respect for all he’d done. But he was wrong. In one single incident, he’s called ‘the biggest liability they had,’ he’s seen as a problem they have to deal with.

He doesn’t want to be a problem, he hadn’t intended to cause that level of harm. Nothing he’d done warranted that manner of response from Dream - but of course Dream wasn’t looking to play fair, he wanted Tommy to suffer. It seemed like everyone was buying into the narrative - that they ought to appease Dream even if it meant giving up Tommy.

Tommy of course wanted to fight because this was wrong and unjust but everyone seemed happy to let Tommy be punished. He was the problem for getting angry and making things more difficult for them. Tommy hated this - he absolutely didn’t want L’Manburg to suffer for his actions - he’d even tried to explain how he had wanted to distance himself from L’Manburg thinking it was fine now that Tubbo was in charge.

And of course, it wasn’t just the nation - it was his best friend. Tubbo calling him a liability, Tubbo considering exiling him. Tubbo, whom he’d trusted above all others. What good was he if even his best friend found him too much trouble? Did they care about him?

The reason he was getting exiled was because he was supposedly the one who caused all the conflict and wars. That without him around, the server could finally have peace. Tommy’s selfishness was the problem. Tommy, who after all the conflict and trouble really did want to have a more peaceful life - once he’d been hungrier for war, but he’d changed and now really wanted peace. His greatest desire was to live in his home with his best friend and listen to music discs while watching the sunset. But that was too much, that was too selfish.

So when Tommy got exiled, the loneliness hit him hard. Did anyone really care about him? Did they like him for who he was? Did they want to spend time with him, give him the affection he so desperately craved? In exile, Tommy was entirely reliant on others coming to him rather than being able to go and talk to them. All the things he did during his exile were about getting others to come and visit him - he made bridges through the nether, made his island prettier, arranged a party, built a guest tent - anything to get people to come over - and stay.

But Dream slowly convinces him that no one cares but him. He tells him how L’Manburg looks nicer now that Tommy’s in exile, how it doesn’t take that long to travel over, that everyone decided not to come to Tommy’s party. And Tommy also becomes more cynical, concluding that they pity him enough to visit but they don’t truly care. After his failed party, he remarks that no one cares about him because he has no power anymore, suggesting that people only ever cared when he was part of L’Manburg and had a position - and without it, he’s nothing.

And Tommy’s so desperate for any positive attention that he ends up clinging to Dream, even though he is still vaguely aware that Dream’s his enemy and was responsible for many of his problems. Tommy just doesn’t care, as long as Dream is there for him. He wants to believe its real, even though deep down he’s always known it’s false.

He runs away from Logsteadshire, holding onto the knowledge that Dream didn’t really care and had just been trying to control. But the damage is still there. Tommy tries to be himself again, tries to act normal and ignore his problems. He quickly grows attached to Technoblade for being there and even supporting him against Dream. Technoblade was kind to him, even as Tommy was increasingly aware that he wasn’t really useful to him, Techno cared but didn’t really respect him for being just himself. And Tommy tried to be better again, this time being more aggressive, being more destructive as he helped terrorise L’Manburg.

And then Tommy realised he didn’t even respect himself anymore. “I’m worse than everyone I didn’t want to be!” “I know what I’ve done and I hate me for it.” For so long, Tommy had been clinging to the fact that he was still a good person deserving of the love and affection he so desperately craved. The trouble was in convincing anyone to pay attention to him. But when he found himself fighting Tubbo, he realised that he was wrong, maybe he’d been the one at fault all along and he’d been just blaming everyone else, like the selfish person he was.

So he tried to change, this time he was changing for himself, accepting himself as the one at fault in all his relationships. He apologised and got his priorities in order. And felt better about it, resisting Techno when he asked for his axe back, insisting that yes he was worthy. In admitting fault he’s able to repair his relationship with Tubbo, and for a brief time he’s able to feel like he belongs once more.

But no good deed goes unpunished. No sooner does he give up a disc for Tubbo than Dream says everything he’d done was for the disc and now he was going to destroy L’Manburg - the thing they’d been wanting to preserve. And he’s ruined his relationship with Techno, who agrees to help Dream destroy it.

Tommy gives everything for L’Manburg. And almost no one shows up to help fight. Dream practically says he does this all to hurt Tommy, because its fun. He destroys the things Tommy cares about purely because Tommy cares about them.

Then Dream almost kills Tubbo in order to hurt Tommy. Dream tells him his masterplan is to use Tommy’s love of things, the way he gets attached to things and causes others to get attached to control everyone. The way he desperately clings to people and things is being used against not just him but potentially everyone. Punished once more for caring. And Tubbo’s the one to suffer.

(Tubbo doesn’t blame him though. Tubbo cares. “What am I without you?” “Yourself.”)

All hope is not lost though - the rest of the server do come for him, they come to save him and maybe they do care? Dream was the problem - Dream’s the one who ensured no one came to his party, Dream’s the reason for everything - not him. When it really, truly mattered, the others came for him and Tubbo and locked Dream away.

It’s a good end. Though Tommy’s still struggling. He is not fully recovered from everything and his sense of self-worth is still very low. Everything he does now is in the pursuit of getting people to like and accept him for who he is. Tommy avoids joining Snowchester as he doesn’t want another L’Manburg. He just wants to stay neutral and spend his days talking to people, messing with them and having fun. He wants to care and trust people again and have them like and accept in return.

His hotel, he asked Sam to build it for him so it would look good but he does indeed care about it and has put in plenty of time and effort into making it happen. He wants people such as Philza to see it and be proud of him. He wants everyone to feel welcome - why he even sent out an invite to Dream his worst enemy which is... very worrying but definitely shows how much he wants it to be a friendly place for everyone regardless of their allegiances.

And he seems open to the idea of reconciling. Techno and Philza destroyed L’Manburg but he sent them an invitation anyway and seems like, regardless of what went on in the past, and he doesn’t really regret choosing L’Manburg but does feel guilty for leaving Techno, he doesn’t want to stay bitter enemies with anyone. He wants to fix things.

And finally, he couldn’t bring himself to destroy the egg. He couldn’t bring himself to destroy something that other people loved. He couldn’t allow himself to start another war - as he blames himself for every war he’s been a part of. Tommy’s been the victim of people destroying the things he loved for too long and has grown to hate war. His hotel is meant to be a safe place. And he is still desperate for love and attention. If that means taking a piece of the egg so those who like the egg might come to see him, then he’ll do that.

#long post #tommyinnit #meta #analysis #dream smp #it wasn't meant to be so long....#xD #exile arc #uh didn't really say it but tommy shouldn't need to change for others to the extent he has #he's allowed to just be himself #why does he fill me with such pain?#oh and i didn't even mention how niki and jack hate him #uh yeah thats gonna end badly when tommy realises #and if him sparing the egg leads to disaster #tommy's going to be wrecked #he only wanted a peaceful life #and to be accepted

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abluescarfonwaston · 4 years

Text

Lettenhove Au

Part 1

When somebody loved me.

Geralt was staring at the clothing the staff had placed out for him. It likely wouldn’t fit. Not until they had it significantly tailored. He turned when he heared him enter. Relief. Hope. Fear. He could catalog each emotion perfectly as they flit across Geralt’s face.

He’d had plenty of time to learn.

“You may stay until spring.” He stated. “You will act as my bodyguard until then and in return I’ll make sure you two get safe passage to Skellige. Nilfgaard won’t find you there.”

“Jaskier-“ He started. Stepping towards him in his towel.

“Names are important.”

Everything was beautiful.

“Julian.” He grit like a curse. “Come with us. You hate this place.” He looked around like he expected a monster to jump from the wooden paneling. “I know that.” He said like he meant I know you.

He plastered on the noble smile that was all politeness and cruelty. “Come now. We must all face our fates eventually. You’ve found yours. I have mine.” He pulled his bathrobe from the drawers and handed it to Geralt. “We’ll have your uniform tailored in the morning.”

Every hour we spent together lives within my heart.

“Julek!” His mother crossed the room to hold him in her arms. It always struck him how much smaller and greyer she was even after all these months. “You finally listened to me! Thank you. You’re doing my old heart such a kindness. I know you don’t think you’re in danger but-“

It wasn’t that he didn’t think he was in danger. He just didn’t care. Nilfgaard would overtake them in a year or two anyway. No bodyguard would save him or his people from their destruction.

“Of course Mother. Hired the best of the best. Rest easy.” He kissed her crown and waltzed her back to the desk. “What else needs doing?” Because there was always more that needed doing. Even though he was just a Viscount.

She looked down at stacks of papers that had accumulated on the desk in the years since his Father had passed. Then back up at him. “You’ve done enough for one day.” But not enough to make up for all the days he’d missed. “Will you play for me tonight instead?”

His heart twisted in his feeble chest. Not tonight. He wanted to say. You can burn the fucking lute. Said another part of him.

“Father wouldn’t like that.” He weakly protested.

“I won’t tell him.” She promised. Hope, excitement in her eyes.

His shoulders fell. “Alright. I’ll hold you to that Mum.”

And when he was sad. I was there to dry his tears.

“They took my cloak Geralt! It’s all I had left and they took it and-“

He knocked quietly. They stopped. It opened.

“Jas-“ He cut himself off. “Julian.”

He stepped in around him and closed the door. “In the morning you two will have to play your roles well. You will do your work eagerly and without complaint. Kerack does not have the army to protect you if Nilfgaard realizes you’re here. Lettenhove certainly doesn’t.”

The poor girl look exhausted. On the verge of tears.

He knelt in front of her. “Princess I can’t give you your cloak back but I will send it ahead to Skellige and it will be waiting for you there.”

“Why?” Geralt asked him. “It’s just a cloak.”

He looked at the floor next to Geralt. Keeping him in just the corner of his eye. “It’s Cintrian blue. I could tell that even through the mud. It makes you a target if nothing else. It makes this entire country a target.”

They couldn’t afford to be a target.

He stood to his full height. Turned to Geralt at last.

His hair was shorter now. Matts and dirt and perhaps even lice had necessitated it. A younger version of him would have apologized. Ran his hands through it. Spent hours trying to salvage its length. Geralt kept it long for a reason.

He didn’t know the reason. But he knew there was one. That was enough.

“I promised you a place to stay if ever you could not make it to Kaer Morhen for the winter.” He knew that was why Geralt had come. The trust or hope that despite it all his promise from years ago still held true. “But I’ve also promised to protect these people. Do not make me choose which to uphold.”

His eyes were solemn when he nodded.

And when he was happy so was I.

“Why does your Mother think you need a bodyguard?” He asked when they were alone in his office.

“Dangerous times.” Was all he offered.

He didn’t talk about the assassin who’d pressed the blade to his throat until a kitchen worker had crushed the man’s head with a frying pan. Or the meals that had left him pallid and shaking. He did not explain how court was at least as dangerous as any bog or mountain they’d traversed over the years.

“More heartbroken ladies huh?” Geralt remarked offhandedly.

He stopped reading. Forest. Was the last word. It burned into his eyes.

“Ah yes. I am a cynic, a lecher, a womanizer, and a liar. There is nothing complicated about me.” He echoed Geralt’s words from an inn they’d shared long ago. “How could I forget?”

“Jaskier-“

“You will address me by my title or you will not address me at all.”

“You’re still mad at me.”

Of course I’m still mad. You haven’t even bothered to apologize. You’ve made no effort at all. You’ve shown up at my doorstep pulling favors that you should have lost the right to when you took life’s one blessing. Hissed the part of him that was.

He looked out at the dark varnish of his father’s office. In a few years’ time this place would very likely be his grave as Nilfgaard claimed this land with blood and fire.

He didn’t care.

This place would be his grave and he didn’t care.

It was here or at some cuckholds hands or at the bottom of a bottle of wine.

Death had always nipped at his heels. He was just done running.

“What’s the most important thing in the world?” He’d rambled in Geralt’s direction once. “Friendship.” He’d answered himself. “Friendship and love. Oh and wine.”

Well look how all of that had worked out. His closest friend was a man who did not care for him. Every woman he’d loved he’d cheated on until they could love him no more.

Because he wasn’t made for any of that. Not love. Not friendship.

“Duty. Honor. Our people.” His father had said. “Get your head out of the clouds and think of them.”

At least he always had the wine.

“No.” He answered honestly. The hollow in his chest outweighed the spark of anger a thousand to one. “I know you. I know why you said it. I know the motivations and pain and fears that spurred every word.”

He dipped the quill in the ink-pot and signed. Geralt stayed silent behind him.

“I know you, Geralt of Rivia, perhaps better than you know yourself. So I am not mad.”

He let Geralt brood behind him as he read the next document. Shook his head and moved it to the reject pile. He’d have to write a letter altering the terms later. They didn’t charge Witchers that much for food.

How dumb did they think he was?

“You’re upset. I know it.” Geralt ground his teeth together. “I know you.”

He sighed. He was so tired. “Did you? Do you?” He shook his head. “What do you want Geralt?”

He knew what Geralt wanted. There were several answers and he knew each one.

To keep her safe. Warm. Fed. That was perhaps the most honest answer he could give.

To not be alone. To face raising his daughter on his own this winter without the support of his family. He was terrified and seeking support was another.

I want nothing. He could lie. It was a favorite lie.

“We needed help.” He answered honestly. They did need help. More than he could provide. “And. I missed you Jaskier.”

Did you? Did you miss me? Or just what I provided for you in coin and comfort?

“I will help you, as I have promised.” He began to draft a letter to Baron Oliwier. “But there is no one here by that name.”

He could hear Geralt’s jaw clenching in protest.

“I told you. If I go home I will never come back.” He plotted out the words in careful tongue. “There is no running from destiny. This is mine.”

“Have you given up on poetry then?” Geralt snapped. “You plan on being a miserable old man?”

No. I plan on dying young. He didn’t say.

“You always told me I needed to grow up.”

The fireplace crackled and his quill quietly moved across the page. It sounded like a thousand nights they shared under a starry sky.

And it felt as if he were still all alone in the world.

When he loved me.

#geraskier #geralt x jaskier #lettenhove au #geralt #jaskier #tw depression #also like not straight up suicidal thoughts but like. being okay with dying.#idk what yall who wanted more expected #He's clearly severely depressed in part one did you think part two was going to be happier?#i'd post this on ao3 but idk how to give it a happy ending yet so not going to til i figure that out #and also if i can finish it #:p #also the only reason i ended up writing part 2 was cause i thought of this song and was like WELP #so.... if you want part three drop me some song suggestion? gr. How to give this a happy ending #writing

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fireolin · 3 years

Text

The Wishing Hunt 𝕏𝕏 Ch 8 𝕏𝕏

Ch 8 on A03 or below

Rating: M (mature themes)

(Chapter 1 on AO3 and Tumblr or back to Chapter 7)

About: Before he’s roped in to rule Whale Island, Prince Gon Freecss seeks a single personal wish that can only be found in the treacherous fae region of Aiai. If he is to return safely, he needs a bodyguard. Killua Zoldyck has no desire for such a job. He is an ex-fae assassin who hides his dark past. All he wants is a good night’s sleep, then to travel onwards to see his sisters. However fate has other ideas.

Aiai is full of romantic dangers as fae seek to lure humans. As they travel, Killua and Gon embark on a fake relationship to help keep them safe from fae advances. Neither are looking for love, but the biggest romantic challenge for them both turns out to be each other and the terrain of their own pasts.

THIS CHAPTER: Gon and Killua arrive at the village where they seek a room for the night and a reliable map. To stay safe, they must play their fake roles.

𝕏 8 𝕏 COME AND PLAY YOUR ROLE

When Gon took the abysma, he tried not to embarrass Killua and to be as deft as possible, especially when Killua’s hand started shaking, which was worrying. Thanks to the enchantment, the hardest part was letting go when he was done. But then a tingling cold washed through him like a mist, dulling the pain in his temples. When he looked up, the unearthly shimmer around Killua’s eyes had gone, and the pearly glow from his skin. He looked normal. Normal for him. Still striking, with a mystique Gon couldn’t explain now he’d gotten used to the kohl Killua wore, which he might have otherwise blamed.

As they trudged back through the forest to the road, he didn’t grasp Killua’s hand. Best they take a break from their pretence. Without the enchantment fooling his senses, he could see Killua was suffering. If he’d thought Killua was worn before, now he looked positively haggard. Rougher skin, hair more straw-like than silken, his gaze duller than when they’d left Sweetwater.

When Killua had leaned weakly against the stone cairn, Gon had thought the abysma had affected him, but maybe the cuts on his back had become infected and he was feverish. That would explain his hand shaking. Gon resolved to buy medicines in the village.

They were no longer alone. Other trails and narrow paths met the road, and they greeted a handful of human travellers passing in the opposite direction. As they approached the rocky outcrop with the towers, the trees closed in above, forming a leafy avenue. The festive sounds of pipes and drums grew louder, putting an extra spring in Gon’s step despite the miles they’d covered. Scattered deeper among the trunks, moss and vine-covered huts seemed to grow from the landscape. Trails of bright flowers led from the road towards them.

“To entice unwary adventurers.” There was a cynical twist to Killua’s lips. “How are you feeling now?”

“I’m not dying of thirst whenever I look at you, which is a relief. So… I hope you’ll feel comfortable again, pretending to be boyfriends.”

Killua gave him a reassuring smile. “I’ll be fine.” He offered his hand, a sign of good faith; and Gon took hold.

“But…” Gon hitched his satchel. “I’d like to change something. To be more convincing.”

“Oh? We convinced Rose.”

“Nothing physical. Just verbal.”

“Freecss…I really don’t think we need to declare our fake love in public, if that’s what you’re thinking. I’d be no good at that.”

“No, no.” Gon waved that away. “Nothing that dramatic. Huh, I’d be terrible at that—I couldn’t stay serious, unless I really meant it. No—I thought we should plan pet names. The ones we used last night didn’t convince Rose. He didn’t like ‘dumpling’. Not that I liked his alternative—I definitely don’t want to be your ‘sweet prince’. But you keep calling me ‘Freecss’. And that’s not what someone close to me would call me.”

A baffled frown. “But, that’s your name.”

“My friends call me Gon.” The words spilled in a rush. He really wanted Killua to use his name, even when they weren’t pretending. Having friends use his name more often was a small but important freedom he’d gained while travelling. “When you call me ‘Freecss’, it feels like you’re keeping me at arm’s length. I guess that’s fine as my bodyguard, although if we weren’t pretending, you might call me something more formal. But it feels wrong for my boyfriend.”

“Oh.” Killua shrugged, his focus on the road ahead. “How much more formal? Like, ‘Mister Freecss’? Or Lord Freecss?”

Killua’s casual manner couldn’t disguise the fact he was digging. Gon smiled. The urge to confess more about himself after Killua had saved his life was enticing, but he hoped for something in return. “Will you tell me more about your past?”

“No.” Killua sighed. “All right. I’ll call you ‘Gon’, if that will help.”

“Good.” A shame he wouldn’t learn more about Killua, though. Gon hid his disappointment. “And we should also choose pet names. To be convincing.”

Killua squinted at him sideways. “You are not calling me ‘my lord honey cake’.”

“And you’re not calling me ‘dumpling’.”

“I thought I did well with that.” Killua sucked in his cheeks. “You shouldn’t listen to an incubus’s opinions.”

Yet Rose had been uncannily accurate about ‘prince’. He was good with names. “Incubi know about seduction. They’re probably the best source of advice. And he was right about ‘dumpling’. That’s not flattering. Dumplings are lumpy.” And now, despite himself, he’d made it obvious this was personal. He could feel himself blush.

“Oh. Well, I think they’re tasty. Not that I was thinking about that.” Killua fidgeted with the collar of his cloak. “I was focussing on how to fight Rose. I’m better at fighting than pet names. I’ve never used them.”

“Never? For any of your partners?”

“Nope. You know…you’re assuming a lot about me.”

“Enlighten me, then.” Killua fell silent, so Gon moved back to the point. “You didn’t even use ‘honey’, or ‘sweetheart’, or ‘love’?”

“Do I look like I’d call anyone ‘love’?”

If looks could kill… Gon grinned. “I guess not. But to Rose, even pet names have meaning. So some fae read things into them, which might help us convince them.”

“I suppose it could help. But you didn’t like my suggestion.” Killua rolled his shoulders. “So, what should I call you?”

“I can’t choose what you’d call me.”

“You should, so I’ll get it right.”

“I don’t know what I want.” But it should make him feel good when Killua said it. “Is there anything you’d like me to call you?”

“Um…” Killua stared up at the canopy. “I can’t do this. It’s too embarrassing.”

“See? Best we suggest names for each other. It doesn’t have to be embarrassing, because we know they’re fake.”

Killua hunched and scowled at the road. “Okay. But I’ll kill you if you laugh at me.”

If he didn’t make this easier for Killua, they’d never get past ‘dumpling’. What name would he hate? Gon dropped Killua’s hand and mussed his hair. “Fine… Fluffles.”

Killua knocked him away. “Fucking asshole.” But his lips quirked. “That’s awful.”

“Just trying to get a rise from you.” Gon bit his lip and waited.

Killua eyed him speculatively. “Randy.”

“Not anymore.” Gon bumped Killua’s shoulder. “Droopy. Since you’re never interested.”

Killua shoved him back, sending him staggering across the road. “Because you’re wrinkly.”

“Spotty. That’s you. Spotty banana.”

“Fuckface.”

Gon burst out laughing. “Do you mean that as an insult or a compliment?”

Killua’s mouth fell open. Then he said, “I thought your shamelessness was just the enchantment. I’m a fool.” His gait shifted to a nonchalant saunter, and he folded his hands behind his head. “All right then.” He examined the flowers along the roadside. “Dreamboat?”

“Oh. That’s an improvement.” Enough for a single butterfly in Gon’s stomach. “Shame you couldn’t stop at ‘dream’. Must you compare me to a boat…honey cake.”

“I told you before, I’m not sweet.”

“You could be ‘sugar plum’. Both sweet and hard.”

“Hard is right... Hey—!” Killua cuffed Gon’s head before he could dodge.

“Oww! You’re here to protect me!”

“I said, don’t laugh. You’re trouble, that’s what you are. In all kinds of ways. But I’m letting you off lightly, because your dumb jokes keep making me smile.” Killua covered his mouth. “I know what to call you.” He blinked at Gon.

Gon tried to replicate Killua’s previous nonchalance. “Go on.”

“You’re…” Killua tapped his lips. “I…I want to call you ‘sunshine’. Because… Is that okay? Sunshine?”

“I like that.” He felt warm as sunshine, with Killua’s blue eyes wide upon him. And despite its straw-like appearance, Killua’s hair had felt soft, and no matter how he protested, there was a sweetness to him, which reminded Gon… “You can call me ‘sunshine’, if I can call you ‘kitten’.”

“Kitten?!”

“Yeah.” He bit a smile. Even the way Killua snuggled into him at night sometimes, without realising. But he’d reject the name if Gon mentioned that. “Not because you’re sweet. Kittens aren’t—not really. They kill as soon as they can, using their claws and teeth. Like you, fighting bare-handed with your nails and teeth.” He caught Killua’s hand up to display his black-painted nails. “And...kittens like sunshine.”

“...I guess they do. How apt.” Killua returned his gaze to the road, but wove his fingers though Gon’s. “All right, Free—I mean, Gon. Sunshine."

Ahead, a stone bridge covered in crumbling carvings stretched across a ravine. On the far side, stone huts and wide-spreading trees coiled around the rocky outcrop below the stone towers. A veil of water sprang from a sheer cliff beneath one side of the towers, cascading into the gorge. As they crossed the bridge, the breeze carried bursts of the pipes and drums. Tiny figures whirled amidst the trees. “Look,” Gon said. “Dancers!”

Killua scoffed. “We don’t need to dance to look like boyfriends.”

“Ha, no. I didn’t suggest we would. I only want to see everything I can.” Anyhow, Killua still looked weary.

Their first challenge arrived a few strides past the first hut, with a soft thud. A ball flew across the road. A woman chased it, and leapt straight into them—or would have, had Killua not caught both her arms. She glanced between them. “Sorry, sirs, I didn’t see you!”

If she’d really been chasing the ball, Gon thought, she would’ve charged past a few paces ahead. Her approach seemed exactly what they’d designed their ruse to protect them from. She had milky pale skin, large, tilting brown eyes, and loosely upswept black hair. Unruly strands curled past her pointed ears. Her smile charmingly revealed her pointed teeth. The top of her leaf-green bodice sat very low upon her generous bosom as she gasped for breath.

Gon looked after the ball, which must have landed somewhere in the patch of nasturtiums nearby.

“My sister and I are playing,” she said. “Please—kindly honour us with your company.” A low hedge surrounded her hut. Behind it, another girl who could have been her twin stood waving eagerly.

Killua gently pushed her back. “Another time we’d jump at the chance. But I’m afraid my boyfriend and I must tend to other arrangements.”

“Other affairs?” Her smile became a disappointed pout.

Killua slid his arm around Gon’s waist. “Yes. We’re already engaged. Come on, Sunshine.”

The back of Gon’s neck prickled as they left her behind. But he had to raise an eyebrow. “Engaged? Kitten, you should have told me.”

“Figure of speech,” Killua said softly. “Though I’m sure the suggestion helps. By the way, you shouldn’t stare at women’s bosoms while we’re pretending.”

“I didn’t stare.”

“Hm.” They continued to the distant sound of the pipes. Then Killua said, “I guess I assumed things about you, too. For no reason, I imagined you were only into men. But, you like women?”

“I like both. Why do you ask?”

“Um…I wouldn’t usually need to know. But in Aiai, as your bodyguard, it's important information if I’m to protect you.”

Gon supposed that made sense if Killua needed to be aware which fae might seduce him. But, they were approaching a long staircase. At the base, a group of three fae men yelled and whooped, fighting with wooden swords. The tallest, clad in bright blue, his blond hair pulled back with a matching ribbon, executed a dramatic lunge and disarmed his opponent, then leapt and caught the man’s sword before it hit the ground. Turning, he flashed Killua and Gon a triumphant smirk that made Gon wonder how much of that performance was for their benefit.

The fae’s gaze flickered down them. “A pair of fine swordsmen.” He flipped the sword he’d caught and extended the handle towards them. “Gentlemen—care to try me?”

Now that was tempting. He appeared both strong and skilled. After being so helpless against fae magic, Gon wouldn’t have minded proving himself in front of Killua. But he’d learned the hard way not to be so foolish. “A worthy challenge, sir.” He let his tunic sleeve fall back, revealing his bandaged forearm. “Shame we can’t risk more injuries without spoiling our honeymoon.”

The fae murmured his disappointment, but bowed with a flourish and let them pass.

Killua whispered near Gon’s ear. “Well said.”

The warmth of his breath made Gon’s cheek tingle. Their pretence was not only working, but enjoyable. He slung his arm over Killua’s shoulders and gazed at him like a love-struck fool as they continued to avoid more fae and climb towards what sounded like the market. Watching Killua was remarkably pleasant. He pondered Killua’s earlier question. He’d momentarily thought Killua might be jealous, and almost regretted that he wasn’t. However, since he’d broached the subject, Gon wouldn’t let the opportunity pass. “So what about you, Kitten? I had the impression you’re into men. But really, you give little away.”

Killua exhaled a sharp breath. “Me? My tastes don’t matter. I’m just your bodyguard.”

“Since I’m pretending to be your boyfriend, it could help to know if you’re really only into women. Plus, I threw myself at you this morning. Maybe I wouldn’t have, if I’d known I had no chance, even though I was enchanted. Fair’s fair—I told you about me.”

Killua’s shoulders rose and fell under Gon’s arm. “Fair, huh? I guess. If you really want to know…I suppose I don’t care what sex my partners are. I rarely find anyone attractive.”

Gon thought back over everyone they’d met so far. Not a big sample, but they were all attractive, and Killua hadn’t openly admired any of them. “Those two women?” he prompted.

“Pretty, but they don’t move me.”

“Those men we just passed?”

Killua smirked. “What men?”

Gon felt slightly sea sick. “You don’t feel attracted to anyone?”

“I didn’t say that. Once in a blue moon, I do—for no rhyme nor reason I can foretell.” Killua paused. “You should probably know, the longest I’ve been with a human partner is one night. I said I’d do my best, pretending. But I’m making this up as we go. I really don’t know what I’m doing, in terms of human customs.”

“Oh.” Gon swallowed. “Maybe I asked the wrong question. Are you attracted to fae, rather than humans?”

Killua bit his lip thoughtfully as he studied Gon. “I—I don’t think so.” Then he shrugged. “Just don’t ask me what it’s like being with a fae. Only know I don’t recommend it. Getting involved with any fae could be your death.”

The stairs opened to a village square bordered by trees and filled with a chaotic mix of sellers with handcarts, baskets, and sacks of wares. Despite the challenges of travelling here from anywhere, the market was full of fae and humans mingling indiscriminately. Acrobats and magicians performed to cheering admirers. Beyond, a tall arch in a stone wall led to the tower, which from this close made Gon feel antlike. He guessed the runes etched around the tower’s every opening must be protective wards. Crystals set into the crenellations and walls reflected the sun, brightening the dark stone.

Killua beamed as he looked around. “So many things. Spirits—an ice staff! Haven’t seen one of those since I left home.”

Gon had never seen one. “Let’s go look. We should enjoy ourselves while we’re here.” Gon moved towards the nearby handcart, where a staff impossibly made of plaited wood and ice lay among a bunch of carved wooden staffs. But unexpectedly, Killua tugged him back. “Oh—is it dangerous?”

“No, it’s relatively safe.” Killua pulled him under a nearby oak. “It’s just…you don’t need to look at things for my sake. Or, enjoy yourself for my sake.”

“Killua…I’m interested!”

“But I’m just your bodyguard. We shouldn’t get confused.”

“Confused?” Gon lowered his voice. “I know we’re not really boyfriends. What are you saying? That because you’re my bodyguard, we shouldn’t enjoy ourselves together?”

Killua folded his arms and wouldn’t meet Gon’s eyes. “Don’t you think, maybe that’s weird? You’re my client, if not my boss. I’m here to protect you, not to have fun.”

“Yesterday, you said ‘keeping me out of trouble’ is fun.”

“Yes, but that’s work. Whereas this feels more like…something a friend would suggest.”

“Oh. I get you.” There was a pang in Gon’s chest. This was disturbingly familiar. All his life on Whale Island, except for one or two trusted servants in private behind his castle walls, people he liked had felt they shouldn’t relax around him or weren’t allowed to because he was a prince. Or so he told himself, because the alternative was depressing. And to think Killua didn’t even know his rank. “To be honest, I don’t think of you as just my bodyguard. You already told me I don’t command you. You only took my job because, really, you work for Alissander. It’s my good fortune you’re here.”

“True. But you’re still paying me.”

“You deserve that. But I see you as my equal. The fact is, Alissander forced you to come. You’re my unwilling companion on this journey. For what it’s worth, I’d like to make our journey more tolerable for you.”

“You don’t have to feel sorry for me.”

“I sympathise with your position. But don’t worry, you’re too strong for me to pity.” Gon smiled. “Thing is, I admire what I’ve seen of you, or I wouldn’t have offered you the job. And, I’m enjoying your company—I like you. I hope I can be a decent companion for you, too. I don’t see why we shouldn’t have fun together when it suits us both—and I don’t think that’s weird.”

“No…not when you put it like that. Except, you shouldn’t like me.” Killua winced. “You’re deluded, you know.”

“Because of your dark past I know nothing about.”

“Exactly.”

“Even so. We’re travelling companions. Our pasts don’t matter right now. If we want, we can be friends for the length of our journey.”

Killua stared at the ground, considering, then met Gon’s eyes. “Friends. Just for this journey. That’s all right.” The breathtaking smile Gon occasionally glimpsed lightened his face. “Buy me honey cakes?”

“As many as you’d like.”

Gon bought all the honey cakes that would fit into a large paper cone. He held the cone for Killua as they wandered through the stalls pretending to be boyfriends and dodging random overtures from fae. Killua seemed more relaxed, tugging Gon over to stalls that interested him and openly sharing his opinions on a variety of fae talismans and weapons they passed, all of which were, apparently, useless against truly powerful fae. Doubtless, including the one Gon sought, Killua insisted pointedly.

An inn sat on one side of the square; a substantial, two-storey building covered in flowering vines. Hopefully, they’d find the private room he’d promised Killua there. At its entrance, a fae child played a lively tune on a pipe—a welcome change since it didn’t make his feet itch.

The interior of the inn bustled with patrons. Herbs hung from the walls, scenting the room with lavender and thyme. Mage-lights hovered in mid-air over the long wooden tables and above the bar, shifting as people filled the seats. Sunflowers in tall vases slowly turned their faces, as if showing off to those drinking nearby.

“Human enough for humans, and fae enough for fae.” Killua grinned, clearly enjoying Gon’s reactions. “You like all this?”

“It’s fascinating!” A dozen ravens preened in the rafters, cocking their heads as though they watched and listened to the patrons below. He wondered if they might speak. A ginger cat curled contentedly on one end of the bar, ignoring them.

After checking with Killua what might be best to order, Gon approached the bartender, a plump, cheerful, and apparently human woman of middling age, and ordered two elderberry wines. He paid with some of the coin he’d made arm-wrestling, biting back his reflex to thank her. “And who should I ask about a room?”

“You can ask me, sir,” she said, “but I’ll tell you we have none left. There might be space in the common room, or you might stay with local fae. I can point you to one or two who might help. You’ll pay in coin or service, so careful what you promise, unless you’re looking to stay awhile.”

Killua nudged him. “Take the common room, rather than risk the local fae. I don’t mind.”

Hogwash. Gon had seen the longing in Killua’s face when he’d confessed he’d love an actual bed, and at the thought of not having to share with six others. He untied his pouch from his belt, found a sapphire, and showed the bartender. “Does this make a difference?”

She scrutinized it. “Well, I’ll murder a crow. If that’s real, you could try the fort. Mind, they won’t take kindly to you if it’s not.” She lowered her voice. “If they’ve no beds, return here. My mistress loves pretty jewels. She’ll throw someone out for that.” Killua looked amused. Since she was so helpful, Gon was about to ask where he could buy a reliable map, when she continued, “Now, I see you jigging, sir…”

Kick, tap. Kick, tap. As he rested on the bar, he was rapping his boots to the drumming entering the inn from the windows over the garden. He hadn’t realised.

“Be sure that music doesn’t beguile you,” she said. “Those musicians aren’t from here. Word is, they’re luring unbonded humans to Lady Moonflower’s castle to dance at her birthday banquet. If they pull you into their dance, you’ll dance for her for a year.”

Gon stiffened, clenching the edge of the counter to hold himself still. “And then what?”

“You fall down dead, of course. But by then, you’re only a dried up skeleton.” She chuckled. “Only if they pull you in, mind. Otherwise, you’re quite safe. We’ll shut the doors if they come up here.”

“Good of you to warn us,” Killua said. Gon pushed an extra generous sum of coins across.

Since the market would remain open into the night, they stayed for two rounds, until the musicians outside had dispersed. Although Killua still looked worn, his manner was bright while they drank and refreshed themselves. He made sure Gon missed none of what he described as the everyday magics around them and laughed as Gon teased reactions from the nearest vase of sunflowers. By the time they left, the sun was heading to mid afternoon.

Maybe the market would close early, since Gon could now smell rain on the horizon. First priority was securing a bed, but they scanned the stalls for the rest of the goods they needed on route to the fort. Plenty of potions and charms, but no books, scrolls, or maps. As they approached the archway leading to the tower courtyard, they passed two fae selling kisses. They were a tall, attractive pair who might have been brother and sister. They beckoned to passersby, showering them with compliments. Their smiles showed their pointed teeth.

A human woman wearing boiled leather and a sword tossed a silver coin into the basket between the two fae, who both smiled a welcome. She approached the fae woman, who cupped her face and kissed her, long and lingering. She caught the fae’s shoulders as if she needed help to stand.

“Expensive,” Gon said, “but that looks worth it.”

Seeing him watching, the fae man blew him a kiss. Before he could react, Killua hissed and pulled him through the arch by his shoulders. Something a bit more substantial than a butterfly fluttered in his stomach. “What was that, Kitten?”

“Nothing.”

“You hissed.” He replayed it in his mind. Killua had sounded like a cat.

“I’m supposed to be your boyfriend,” Killua whispered in Gon’s ear as they mounted the steps to the tower. “Was my reaction not appropriate?”

The wine, the feel of Killua’s waist shifting beneath his hand, the warmth of Killua’s breath on his neck combined to a dizzying effect. “It felt possessive. You surprised me.”

“You seemed interested in kissing them.”

“I wasn’t—I’ve had enough fae magic. But, I hear fae are possessive. You’re used to their ways.”

“Yes.” Killua ducked his head.

So strong, and yet awkward. Gon wanted to make him feel better. “Nevermind, Kitten. Around here, I trust your instincts more than mine. But if you really were my boyfriend, I wouldn’t want to kiss anyone else.”

“You can’t know that, when we haven’t—” Killua halted, a light blush infusing his cheeks, perhaps from the wine.

Gon’s mouth fell open, the corners tugging up. He glanced at Killua’s lips, an appealing suggestion hovering in his mind. But no one had enchanted him this time, and Killua had caught himself. They entered the tower in silence.

A guard directed them to speak to an administrator in a small, richly furnished side chamber. The short, green-skinned fae checked a thick ledger and announced that they were in luck. A room overlooking the distant mountains was available if they had the gold and would willingly climb seven levels. Gon accepted immediately and exchanged a sapphire for a brass key and two gold pieces in change.

Killua slapped Gon’s back as they left. “Glad you persisted. I mightn’t have bothered.” Returning to the marketplace, they both ignored the kissing stall. “If we hadn’t succeeded, would you truly have had the inn throw someone out?”

“Sure. I would’ve paid my victim off with a sapphire, so they wouldn’t get mad and thump on our door.”

Killua gave a surprised laugh. “You’re profligate with those, Sunshine.”

“Mm.” It was a comment, not an overt question, but Gon didn’t mind explaining. “They’re an unwanted gift. Paying for my travels is the best use for them. If I have any left when we’re done, I’m giving them away.” He chuckled, as though he were joking.

“I’m amazed you’ve gotten this far without thieves targeting you. Or did you fight them off?”

“I’ve dealt with common thieves, of course. But nobody knew I had these. I first used one to pay Bisky, and then at the Wild Fae, where only a fool would attack with her present. And since then, I’ve been with you.”

“You’re not an idiot, then.”

“Nope. There’s method in my madness.” The hint of an earthy scent in the air caught his attention. “That rain smells closer.” However, only a few clouds had gathered above. While they still needed to find a map and information on the fae Gon sought, nothing felt so urgent that they couldn’t enjoy the market.

He discovered Killua liked purple crocuses as they paused over a basketful. They reminded Killua of home—which meant he must have come from somewhere alpine and cold. Gon had promised to buy him anything he wanted, but he tamped down the urge to give him flowers. Too potentially romantic—he’d only embarrass Killua again.

Killua was enormously helpful when Gon found a peddler selling used clothes. Gon generally found finery a restrictive nuisance, and preferred quality practical clothes. Today he only needed an under tunic to replace the one he’d turned into bandages, but the number of embroidered vests, fancy coats, mage robes, and exotic fae garments in the peddler’s cart proved overwhelming.

Killua rifled through them easily, pausing when he found a garment Gon wouldn’t have known to consider made of lightly embroidered fae spider-silk. Despite its gossamer appearance, it could apparently turn a blade. “My under tunic will be the finest thing I own,” Gon observed.

“It’s lovely.” Killua’s brow furrowed. “Just don’t wear it on its own in front of any incubi.”

“I won’t.” Gon smiled weakly. But then, the thought hit, and his smile grew. “You think I’ll look pretty good in this.”

“Um. I guess.” Killua cleared his throat, and glanced down at Gon’s feet.

Kick, tap. Kick—

He caught himself, willing his boots into submission. A piping melody had struck up again somewhere downhill. It wasn’t affecting Killua. They exchanged an aware look. “They’ve avoided the market so far,” Killua said. “I think it’s okay. If we have to leave in a hurry, we’re near the tower.”

As they looked for a map seller, Gon studiously controlled his feet and asked at various stalls for any information on the fae he sought, who granted wishes. She went by the name Dorian and appeared at random intervals, often years apart, at a random tarn in the mountains. But while some vendors knew of her, none could say which lake out of hundreds she’d chosen as home this time.

Tap, kick—

Stop, dammit. Harder this time. What had changed?

It took Gon a moment to realise the fae child piping outside the inn had stopped playing. Her music must have interfered with the enchantment cast by the musicians beyond the square. Their drumming was growing louder. He wasn’t the only one struggling with his feet—other humans moved nearby.

Killua pulled him close as they walked, a sign he didn’t take their safety for granted. However, they saw no dancers yet. Ahead, under a tree, a bearded fae man sat on a half barrel beside an open chest that overflowed with scrolls and parchments. Surely some were maps. Although, the cracked and blackened bottom third of the chest didn’t bode well for its contents. “By the way,” Killua said, “all the human vendors are making themselves scarce.”

Gon glanced around. Although the square was still busy, maybe a third of the stallholders had pulled covers over their carts or taken their goods and left. Clouds now covered the sun, and a breeze was picking up. “That rain’s arriving soon. It could continue through tomorrow, which means we mightn’t see this seller again. But it’s your call, Kitten.”

“A good map could save our lives. We have to ask. But quickly.”

They approached, and Gon explained he wanted a map that showed the route to the fae Dorian’s current home. The seller wore a dour expression, although his black hair sparkled with coloured glass beads. He stroked his beard. “A tall order, son. You’re not the first to ask for that today. Just as I told that rat-faced bastard this morning, you’re out of luck. While I believe Dorian has returned, which tarn she’s chosen is anyone’s guess. So far, I’ve heard at least ten rumours. Possibly all mischievous, to lure treasure hunters to their deaths. Hopefully including that turd.”

Killua jabbed Gon’s ribs. “See? If you don’t believe me, believe him.”

“Do you have anything reliable showing a safe route to the mountains?” Gon asked. “Or a map of all the lakes?”

“I had the one.” He kicked the chest. The dead-sounding thud set Gon rocking on his heels again. “Worth everything in here. Rat-face stole it and tried to burn the rest. This is all I can offer now.”

Gon imagined locking his soles to the ground, which helped.

Meanwhile, the man rummaged in the chest and pulled out a charred tube, from which he withdrew a scroll that he carefully spread open over the flat top of the barrel. Tiny burnt pieces lifted from the parchment, scattering across the artistically inked outlines of a mountain range. The tarns were easy to see, washed in azure blue ink. But charring and cracks obscured half of the map.

“Practically useless,” he said. “I don’t know how much was only the artist’s imagination. It’s already five years old. Truly, I’d only recommend it for decorating some lord’s library. You could invent an exciting story about saving it from a dragon’s breath. Make me an offer.”

Gon considered. A good map could save them, and a bad map could cost their lives. He’d already experienced the way magic enlivened the landscape in Aiai as they’d passed through the forest, and he’d heard of even more such marvels. Trees could block routes that had once been passable; islands in swamps might float around. Wonderful for predatory fae; terrible for humans. Even rocks could shift, revealing themselves as trolls that had slept for decades. Not to mention the magical battles that shifted earth, rock, and ice. A five-year-old map might contain disastrous errors.

“I have equally burnt maps of other regions,” the man said. “Or, unburnt papers and quills and ink, if you wish to record your own.” He patted the satchel he wore, his yellow eyes showing their first spark of enthusiasm. “I’ll assess it and pay you its value—if you return.”

“That’s a ward, right?” Killua casually pointed his boot at what looked like a piece of polished quartz set into a blackened corner of the chest.

“It was. Rat-face’s rapier cut straight through it. I suppose without it, everything would have burned.”

“He set your chest on fire using a rapier?”

“Indeed. If you’re looking for the same fae, you might run into him. I suspect he’s formidable with that weapon. I wish you luck. I hope you kill him.”

“Was he human or fae?”

“Human—in appearance.”

The scent of ash irritated Gon’s nose. Poor old bugger. He fished out the two gold pieces the tower administrator had given him in change. “Here. We’ll take your map.”

The man stared. “Are you sure? That’s more than it’s worth.”

“Absolutely.”

“My, oh my.” He swapped the scroll for the gold. “I cannot turn down such kindness.” For the first time, he smiled. “But I won’t remain in your debt. If you’re set on seeking this fae, find a seer. Not just any seer, mind. You need to find the fae, Palm, in the tower.” He tugged a yellow bead from his hair. “Even if she’s elsewhere, you’ll be safer and faster finding her, rather than guessing where you must go. She won’t help every human that asks, and she’ll want an exchange. But give her this and tell her Amis sent you.”

Gon said goodbye, and slipped the scroll and Amis’s bead into his satchel as they left. Tap, kick, hop. That infernal piping. He slid his arm around Killua’s waist, as much to fight the music as to aid their pretence. This was getting embarrassing. Yet Killua hung back, watching a black and pink butterfly that flitted between the stalls.

“What is it?” Gon asked.

“Nothing. They’re rare, that’s all.” Killua resumed their pace.

Odd. But at that moment a drumroll echoed across the square, and rather than question him, Gon couldn’t resist turning. Two fae playing pipes leapt into the sky from either side of the staircase he and Killua had taken earlier. They descended impossibly slowly on magnificently spread wings. “Gods! Killua—they can fly!”

“Fae who can manifest wings are the most powerful. The last kind we want to see. Come on.”

But now, Gon wanted only to stare. The spectacle overwhelmed any fear he should have felt. Their wings were feathered, their clothing glittering and gossamer light. Flowering wreaths decorated their hair. Dancers whirled up from the stairs between them, bursting into the crowd, dispersing throughout the stalls. He had to tear his gaze away as Killua hauled him by his elbow. The piping melody made his heart float, so Killua’s grip seemed all that tethered him to the ground.

Tap, kick, tap, hop—he laughed, and caught Killua’s shoulder. “Dance with me!”

“What? No! Just hang on to me, okay?”

“Of course. You’re the one I want to dance with.”

Killua stared at him. He pulled Gon close with an arm around his waist and leapt sideways. A dancer shot past them with a trill of laughter. Gon’s shoulder smarted—she’d tried to snatch him. She caught a man two paces ahead, taking both his hands. As she swung him around, his smile turned fixed, his eyes glassy.

A stab of icy fear punctured Gon’s elation. Kick, hop, kick, hop, leap—

“Gon!” Killua jerked him by his jaw, and glared into his eyes. “Focus on me!”

For an instant, Gon looked into profound blue shadows and the music faded. The illusion ceased so fast he might have imagined it, and the music returned in full swing. He’d returned to his senses though. “I can only move in time,” he said. The beat was like the rhythmic swell of an ocean capturing his body. He couldn’t move without its influence. But as in the sea, he could still control his direction and effort. “Run!”

Killua maintained a claw-like grip on his arm as they sprinted in time to the music towards the archway that led to the tower, but the crowd became chaotic, like tossing jetsam. Laughter rose from humans succumbing to euphoria. Others shrieked, evading the dancers’ grasping hands.

Winged fae musicians descended and blocked every way from the square. Whatever Killua’s strength, surely he’d be no match for those most powerful of fae. A drummer blocked the route to the inn, but a path emerged through the dancers to the archway, where two drummers played a penetrating beat in unison. Each wore a lavish wreath of hand-sized blue poppies. Their arching wings dissipated, no longer needed, feathers scattering and vanishing like dandelion seeds in the breeze.

“We’ll have to push through them.” Killua’s voice cut through Gon’s stunned paralysis at the sight. He slammed Gon against an abandoned cart—a giant of a man rushed past, slashing his sword at a dancer. She leapt clear, and he raised his sword and sprinted at the drummers. “But, not like that numbskull!”

Blood sprayed from the back of the man’s neck. He faltered and sank to his knees. His sword fell with a clang. He landed face down beside the kissing stall. A bloodied drumstick protruded through his hair below his nape. His head rested at an unnatural angle, another drumstick jutting from an eye.

“I didn’t expect they’d kill anyone.” Gon drew his dagger.

“Sheathe that,” Killua said, “or they’ll kill you next. Of course they’ll defend themselves.”

One drummer plucked two new drumsticks from thin air and resumed playing. The fae siblings at the kissing stall withdrew a few paces sideways, along with the four humans they now held, one possessively tight in each arm. Gon had wrongly assumed they’d care nothing for the fate of random people, but they acted protectively. They kissed their humans, who had eyes only for them, seeming oblivious to the surrounding danger. In fact, the musicians and dancers were leaving them alone.

The cart provided some protection, but when three dancers whirled past, one lunged for Killua from behind. Gon yanked him around the corner of the cart and Killua’s eyes widened in surprise.

“I won’t let them grab you either,” Gon said. “I know they can’t enchant you, but a group could overwhelm you if you fight.” Or maybe the drummers would kill Killua if he showed he was a threat. Nearby, a bunch of human adventurers jigged in a circle, caught in the music but aware of their danger, as they faced defensively outwards. Gon pulled Killua into the group, lowering the odds that the dancers would single them out.

“I can fight past those two drummers,” Killua said, his hand locked around Gon’s. “But stay close; I can’t hold you at the same time. And you can’t draw a weapon or they’ll kill you before you can use it.”

“We could get separated. It’s risky—” He lurched back as he spoke, as the man beside him threw a punch at an approaching dancer. She grabbed his fist, extending long, sharp claws, and dragged him off. His face went blank as his resistance vanished. Gon’s stomach churned. The man was built like a brawler for hire.

Their group continued to circle. Killua said, “When I defeat the drummers, more fae will attack. But if a dancer targets either of us now, I’ll end up fighting anyway. Whereas, if I fight those two, we’re only a quick dash to the tower. I’ve a better chance of getting you there in one piece.”

“What about getting you there in one piece?” Gon frowned, disliking the omission. “Can you really fight two of those winged fae?” Killua’s lips tightened. Gon pressed his point of concern. “Is it your plan that I crawl into the tower like a tortoise, with your dead body as my shell?”

“Let me do my job,” Killua said crisply.

Hop, kick, tap, kick. The beat was insidious. They were turning towards the inn—spectators watched from the safety of its upper windows. Soon they’d face the swordsman’s corpse again, and the kissing stall, and then the archway. And then Killua would attack, and he and Gon might die, skewered by magic drumsticks.

“I have a better idea,” Gon said. “We join the kissing stall.”

“What? That’s a terrible idea. I’m not giving you to a strange fae.”

“No, no—you pretend you’re one of them, and I’m your human.”

“I…what? Gon—I can’t pretend I’m fae.”

Any discomfort Killua might feel paled against the greater safety of Gon’s plan, especially as they faced the skewered man’s body again—his head now lay in a pool of blood. “Bullshit. You’re an expert in how fae behave. You’re as tall and slender as those two. You could pass as their cousin and pretend I’m your human.”

“I—I won’t pass as fae.”

“Believe me, you will.”

“Why are you so confident?” Killua shot him a distressed look.

“Because, if I didn’t know better, sometimes I’d think you were fae.” Gon ignored Killua’s dismissive snort. It was time to enact Killua’s plan, since they faced the archway again, however Killua was listening, which showed even he didn’t like its chances. “You said fae are possessive. The fae at the kissing stall are acting like they own those humans—and the dancers are leaving them alone. I think they’re only snatching humans who don’t belong to other fae, perhaps because Queen Moonflower doesn’t want a war with the locals.”

“That’s…plausible.”

“You said deception is better than a fight in Aiai. You’re my bodyguard, Killua, but I’d rather you don’t die for my sake. If this works, we needn’t risk either of our lives. Please. I know you’re good at lying. Act like you’re fae and you own me—until this dance finishes. If we fail, then we fight. We’re near the tower, we can fall back on your plan.”

“Spirits, you’re stubborn.” Killua glared, a last act of defiance, since his expression softened. “Fine. Act like I’ve enchanted you, okay? No matter what I do, you can’t resist.”

“I trust you—”

Killua ducked and caught Gon’s waist, sweeping him up over his shoulder like a sack of grain. Gon swallowed a yell and kept a tight hold of his satchel. This wasn’t a game. Killua swung around, shouting and fending someone off. Gon glimpsed a whirling skirt; bejewelled, dancing feet; then everything slid by in a blur. Next, he was sliding down Killua’s chest, back onto his feet as Killua caught a fistful of hair at the back of his head, preventing him from glancing around.

Killua stared into his eyes from a hand’s breadth away. “Look at me, nowhere else. Like you’re bespelled.” There were no fleeting illusions this time as Gon obliged. Killua pulled him close with a possessive grip around his waist, and he gripped Killua’s shoulders in turn. Killua’s blue eyes were beautiful, but as opaque as the specks of kohl on his cheeks. “To blend in with them, we have to kiss.” Killua’s blink betrayed a hint of nerves. “Um. Don’t use your tongue, or I’ll stop. It’s too intimate. Even if I use mine. By accident, I mean.” His gaze dipped to Gon’s mouth, then he leaned in.

Pain shot through Gon’s upper lip, and he yelped. Killua jerked back an inch. His bangs shielded his eyes.

“Careful,” Gon said. “We might be doing this for a while.” Killua was definitely nervous. The pain was fading, though. Gon’s blood thrummed with anticipation that he usually only felt before he threw himself into a challenging fight. He licked his lips and contemplated Killua’s cynical, but warm, mouth.

“Remember, this was your idea,” Killua said. “I have to kiss you like a fae.” But he leaned in with more caution. His mouth quivered against Gon’s. A thread of warmth shot through Gon’s stomach. He cupped Killua’s neck, and Killua’s fist tightened in his hair. Oh, gods… He was kissing his bodyguard—no; his friend. And nothing he’d imagined prepared him for the rush, like a fierce summer wind moving through him, as everything contracted to their mouths.

Moments later, they broke to catch their breath, and Gon found he couldn’t speak. His mouth tingled. Killua’s gaze had softened, bathing Gon in heat like a thermal spring. Ba-dum, ba-dum. The drums rolled nearby, but that wasn’t the sound that filled his head. As his body jerked against his will, Killua became his rock, holding him firm. The grip in his hair felt possessive. No dancer had touched him, though the chaos of the dance flickered at the edge of his awareness. He closed his eyes and sought Killua again, a crazy pride swelling in his chest when he thought he elicited a moan—and Killua’s kiss grew more intense. His teeth caught Gon’s lips, his fingers twisted against Gon’s scalp; the tiny bursts of pain intoxicating with the elderberry wine flavour of Killua’s mouth. He thrust his tongue deep past Gon’s teeth.

Gon groaned as his whole body weakened. Liar. This is no accident. Something exploratory in Killua’s delving made him wonder if Killua had kissed a human before. It was as though Killua sought more than his mouth; as though he would know Gon’s very nature. Ba-dum, ba-dum. His heart responded, yet he trembled as he yielded. White heat flashed through his limbs, curling his toes. Was this how it felt to be kissed by a fae?

The laughter and shouting, the piping and drumming, faded. The beating of Gon’s heart grew louder; the only dance that mattered became the mutual dance of their mouths and breath. He clutched Killua, trying desperately not to use his tongue, hating that Killua might stop. And yet, Killua’s kiss and hard embrace made him feel owned, utterly certain that Killua would never forsake him.

Ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum. Cruel to feel this, when it wasn’t real—he might break.

Vote: Thanks to Gon's brilliant idea, he and Killua will soon escape in one piece, and enter the Tower. Their room awaits them, along with the fae seer, Palm. Your vote will shape these challenges for the next couple of chapters!

Vote closes at midnight UTC time, Saturday 31 July, 2021

#hxh #killugon #hxh fic #the wishing hunt #killua zoldyck #gon freecss #hope you all enjoy this chapter!#it took me a while but i think it's better for the wait #also I have endless trouble with tumblr formatting so am thinking I'll just post on Ao3 after this chapter #the scene separators look enormous on some screens and i can't reduce them no matter what i try #let me know if going to Ao3 will cause you an issue - everyone should be able to view as a guest

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n0-eyedtaissa · 3 years

Text

Don’t You Forget About Me (Outer Banks OC x The Pogues): Chapter One

Special thank you to @reggiemantleholdmyhand-tle for beta reading this for me!

tagging: @hughstheforcelou @thecaptainsgingersnap (if you wanna be added to the list just lemme know!), chapter two can be found here!

Part One: 1 Year before the big move

key event: clementine’s seventeenth birthday party

“I didn’t even want to have a stupid party anyways” Clementine complains, tugging a brush through her thick hair as she looked at herself in the mirror. She smooths the back of her dress down, trying to pull it down farther to cover up her skinny legs.

Her bedroom is a mess from the hour it took her to figure out her outfit, with most of her closet now laying in wrinkled heaps on the floor. Clementine had done about a dozen outfit changes only to put back on what she had been wearing initially. She walks back over to her closet for a final review and trips over a discarded high-top sneaker in the process.

“Oh c’mon, you know it’s more for dad that it is for you...” Kimber raises one of her unkept eyebrows at her little sister. She grabs a tube of lipstick that lay forgotten on the dresser, uncaps it and gestures for Clementine to turn towards her and stay still. “He’s outside tying balloons to the mailbox and everything”

Clementine scoffs, already dying to wipe off the thick-feeling, waxy lipstick that Kimber was smearing over her lips. “I just don’t get why we’re having a party, everyone in this family hates parties...”

Kimber leans in close to the mirror, wiping her finger under her eye to fix her eyeliner. “At this point you just have to let it happen, little sister. There’s gonna be presents...and cake!”

It was true that both of the Adams sisters tended to be on the more reserved side when it came to being the center of attention, but Kimber was always ranting and raving about the importance of breaking out of your comfort zone because that was the only way you could truly ever grow. Yeah it was scary, and yeah it could be painful sometimes...growing pains, Kimber called them, though more in reference to the pain of emotional growth rather than physical.

Clementine grabs a tissue and starts to blot away some of the red lipstick away but Kimber swats her hand. “Plus, what’s there to be celebrating about turning seventeen anyways? I mean, at sixteen you can get your license, at eighteen you’re a real adult and you can like, vote or whatever, but seventeen is the most bullshit middle-of-the-road age”

Kimber shrugs. “God, you’re definitely sounding way too cynical for it to be your birthday, Clem...” Her eyes light up as she gets an idea. “Follow me” She pulls Clementine by the hand and the two of them stealthily make their way into their shared bathroom, ignoring the hustle and bustle of family and friends starting to arrive.

“What’re you girls up to?” Lyle Adams, the family patriarch and begrudging party host yells at his daughters, flicking his dish towel over his shoulder as he grabbed up the tray of burgers and other food that needed to go on the grill.

“Not now, dad, this is a makeup emergency!” Kimber shouts, shoving Clementine into the bathroom before their dad could notice.

Kimber smiles wickedly at her sister, like she always did when she had a good bad idea. Clementine knows that look and she trusts it, so when Kimber reaches into the buttoned pocket of her denim vest and pulls out a tightly rolled joint, she already knows what the routine is: Her job is to light up the strong smelling candle that sat on the lip of the sink, while Kimber was busy shoving her fluffy bathrobe under the door jamb so that no smoke could seep out. Kimber grabs the air freshener and keeps it on hand as she sits down in the cold basin of the porcelain bathtub, tangling her legs with her sister’s as they both got as comfortable as they could.

“For the birthday girl” Kimber holds up the joint for Clementine, who graciously accepts, leaning into the flame of the candle to ignite the thin rice paper. Clementine breathes out a lungful of smoke and smiles dopily at her sister.

The two sisters sit side by side in the empty bathtub, passing the joint back and forth as it dwindled down to nothing. Clementine would take a hit and blow the smoke out into the balled-up hand towel and Kimber would spray a spritz of artificial-smelling air freshener just in case.

“Where’d you get this shit anyways?” Clementine giggles, rubbing at her bloodshot eyes.

“It’s part of your birthday present from us,” Kimber explains “When Gat gets here you’ll get the rest”

Clementine has to refrain from scowling in distaste at the word ‘us’. She coughs on what’s left of the joint and carefully lifts up the lid of the toilet, flicking the end of the joint into the bowl and listening to the embers fizzle out as they hit the water.

“Gat’s coming?” Clementine asks, making sure she heard correctly.

Kimber looks at her younger sister like she doesn’t understand the question. “Of course he is. It isn’t really a party without him, right?” She chuckles and stands up quickly, her stiff knees cracking as she steps out of the empty bathtub and offers Clementine a hand to pull her up.

As if on cue, both Clementine and Kimber’s ears perk up as they hear a boisterous laugh coming from the kitchen. They both know that their dad only laughs like that around one person only, Liam Gatwin, Kimber's long-time boyfriend and the first mate on their dad’s boat.

“Divine timing!” Kimber giggles, refreshing her lipstick quickly in the mirror before abruptly exiting the bathroom, leaving Clementine all alone.

Clementine looks at herself in the bathroom mirror and scrubs a hand over her face, not used to the layer of makeup that Kimber put on her when she promised it’d look good for pictures. She sees her face and has a hard time recognizing herself, too busy noticing how sickly and washed out she looked under the harsh fluorescent light.

“Speak of the Devil and He shall appear...” Clem mutters under her breath, giving herself a once-over before following her sister and finally joining the party.

There’s a handful of aunts and uncles all milling around the array of appetizers that were littering the dining room table, with crock pots plugged into extension chords, and dishes that stilled needed stirring. There’s an orange balloon tied to each of the dining room chairs — Clementine’s favorite color. A couple paper gift bags and envelopes are shoved into one of the rickety wood chairs and Clementine thinks that she can probably guess what’s in each one. Her dad stopped trying to buy her presents a long time ago but she knew that there would be a wad of twenties stuffed in a card along with a message that was sure to make her cry. Uncle Greg probably got her a surf shop t-shirt that was at least three sizes too big for her. Everyone else was pretty hit or miss, but Clementine just appreciated the effort. She hikes herself up onto the kitchen counter and grabs one of the party sized bags of chips littering the counter, snacking as she consciously observed everyone and everything around her.

From outside the sliding glass door she can see her dad Lyle gesturing wildly with his favorite spatula, flipping a row of burgers until they’re well-done like Clementine likes. He and his younger brother, Uncle Greg were reminiscing rather loudly about younger, better days while Kimber and Gat half-listened, too tangled up with each other to care about anything else.

“You’d love it, man, North Carolina is unlike anything else. It’s a little island, a nice tight-knit group of people.” Uncle Greg pauses to take a sip of beer from the six-pack of fancy IPAs that he brought with him. “There’s lots of good jobs in Kildere County, might be good for all of you to have a change of scenery...”

Greg Adams had just returned from a few months over in the Outer Banks, where he worked at one of the big marinas, chartering boats and doing maintenance. He was social enough to be good at his job and had no issue rubbing elbows with the rich yacht owners if that meant getting himself a better tip.

Lyle sighs, scratching his head under his well worn hat. “I’ll think about it, okay?”

The conversation fizzles out because everyone knows that an ‘I’ll think about it’ from Lyle was a softer version of a no. Lyle Adams was someone who existed within the confines of his comfort zone. He was a man of habit and routine, and packing up the house that he and his late wife bought together to raise their girls just to move over six hundred miles away to the Outer Banks was as far out of his comfort zone as he could go.

Clementine watches her father’s face fall and she takes this as her opportunity to come out and make an entrance, to liven up the party a little. She drops down from her spot on the kitchen counter with a light thud and makes her way towards everyone in the backyard.

“Are you guys having a party without me?” Clementine asks, grinning slyly with her hands on her hips.

“It’s the birthday girl!” Uncle Greg yells happily, picking Clementine up around her waist and spinning her around as she squealed. “How’s seventeen treating you?” He sets her down, immediately grabbing his lower back and groaning.

Clementine has to think for a minute, checking in to see if she can feel anything different about herself. “I dunno yet” She shrugs, “Talk to me tomorrow and maybe I’ll have a better answer” Everyone that was milling around the backyard laughs and returns to their surface level conversation, asking Kimber about community college and talking to Gat about what it was like working on the boat with Lyle.

The party continues into the evening, when the sun goes down and the orange glow casts over everyone and everything. It’s Clementine’s favorite time of the day: When it’s not too hot but it’s not too cold, when the wind is still, when you know it’ll be dark soon but it’s not quite there yet. She walks across the dry grass to the rickety old swing set that sat rusting away in the corner of the backyard. Clementine can remember when they got the swing set for Christmas when she was seven and Kimber was nine, they were blissfully unaware of how early their parents had to wake up in order to secure it all together before the girls woke up. The seat of the swing is still warm from the afternoon sun beating down onto the plastic and it sticks the backs of Clementine’s bare thighs as she sits down to start pushing herself. She’s too busy pumping her legs and trying to get some air that she doesn’t notice Gat walking across the backyard towards her.

“Happy Birthday, Tiny” He smirks, pulling a cigarette from behind his ear and lighting it up. Gat tosses a rolled-up paper bag in Clementine’s direction and she rushes to catch it.

“Don’t call me that” Clementine sighs, unrolling the wrinkled paper bag to find another ziplock bag filled with fragrant buds of weed.

Kimber walks up to the two of them, kicking up clods of dry and yellowed grass under his big combat boots. “God, you couldn’t have put a bow on it or something?” She laughs, taking the bag from Clementine and smelling it.

“Where the hell d’you think I’d get a bow from?” Gat mumbles around his cigarette, looping his arm around Kimber’s waist and hugging her close, like he was scared that if she went too far away she wouldn’t come back.

Kimber leans up to give him a kiss on the cheek and it makes Clementine want to gag. “Remind me to never leave you in charge of presents or decorations” She rolls her eyes before turning her attention back to her little sister.

“It’s about time that we head out, okay Clem?” Kimber asks, though she wasn’t really asking. Kimber had a habit of doing that. She often worded things as though they were questions, but if someone were to disagree with her or go against her wants it would be a big deal to her.

“You’re leaving?” Clementine tries hard not to sound like she’s offended, even though she was. It was her birthday party and her sister couldn’t even be bothered to spend the evening with her because she was too wrapped up in her stupid boyfriend and his no-good friends.

A strange expression crosses Kimber’s face, like she couldn't believe that her actions were being questioned. “You’ll cover for me, right?” She raises an eyebrow, her gaze even as she looks Clementine in the eye. Over the years the two sisters had set a sort of precedent for themselves, making up their own set of rules so the two of them could evade any trouble and cover their own asses when needed.

Rule #1: Whatever happens, we don’t tell dad.

Clementine swallows the knot in her throat and nods in confirmation. She would cover for Kimber like she always did, even if that meant getting in trouble in the process. She plants her feet on the dirty ground, no longer feeling like swinging.

Kimber untangles herself from Gat and shoulders her little sister in a half-hug. “Save me the best piece of cake, okay?”

“Yup. The one with my name on it” Clementine nods, forcing a tight-lipped smile onto her face as she unstuck her legs from the seat of the swing and made her way across the backyard, preparing a distraction big enough so Kimber and Gat can make their french exit and leave before the rest of the family could notice.

#fic: don't you forget about me #obx fic #outer banks fic #obx s2 #outer banks oc #obx oc #obx ocs: various #obx oc: clementine adams #obx oc: kimber adams #obx oc: liam gatwin #obx oc: lyle adams

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writer-ish · 3 years

Text

hopeful hearts

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x f!MC (Brooke Spiers)

Word Count: 2,515

Rating: T (for now)

special thanks to: @openheartthot for being lovely and supportive and the inspiration for this piece, in part due to all the hard work she does with the chapter scripts each week. ♥️

Notes: This takes place during the Gala, before and after Ethan and MC’s very public kiss.

I wanted to flesh out this beautiful scene in a way that breathed new life into it, delving into the psyche of these characters and further detailing their thoughts and feelings in those lovely moments. PB gave us a lot with this chapter... but sometimes, it still doesn’t quite feel like enough.

In other words, please enjoy my self-indulgence.

Dr. Brooke Spiers sighs heavily as she shifts from foot to foot, hoping to ease the ache that is beginning to grow in her toes. The shoes she had touted as “so comfortable!” just a few hours earlier now seem like devices specifically designed to torture her into revealing state secrets.

She is tired.

The night is wearing thin, the sheen of such a spectacular display starting to dull around the edges. She finds herself longing for the more ascetic hospital she’d grown used to over the past two years. The decor is already tiresome; she craves the familiarity of its former sterility.

I should be walking these grounds saving asses and not kissing them, dammit.

She sighs again, her eyes casting about, looking for a reprieve of some sort.

She finds it almost immediately in one Dr. Ethan Ramsey. Exactly the familiar and welcome sight she’d required. It still amazes her how finding his form in a crowded hall or room can immediately set her at ease. As though something just clicks into place whenever he’s near.

Ah, says her soul each time. There he is.

She watches as the donor Ethan had been speaking to walks away. Continues to watch as Ethan’s shoulders sink, the man physically deflating before her eyes.

He looks exhausted, she thinks, a pang in her chest as she briefly allows herself to consider how full his plate of worries is. She watches as he heads to the bar and she finds her feet taking her in the same direction, practically of their own volition.

He looks up as she approaches and she catches the slight softening of his gaze, even as his full mouth stays in a hard line.

“Holding up okay?” she asks, hearing the gentle sympathy creeping into her tone.

“Ask me once I get this next drink,” is his curt response, as he gestures to the bartender.

“That bad, huh?” His abruptness no longer bothers her. She recognizes the surface-level gruffness for what it is: a shield. To protect a man who already has the world on his shoulders from caring about too many things all at once.

He proves her correct when he performs his telltale stress maneuver: squeezing his eyes shut and pinching the bridge of his nose. Something is bothering him.

She waits patiently for him to tell her what it is, like she knows he will.

“I just wonder…” Bingo. “How did we come to this, Brooke? We should be solving cases, not rubbing shoulders with smug idiots in bowties.”

She nods slowly, resisting the urge to run her hand over his tense shoulders.

“I know how much you dislike this sort of thing,” she says softly, looking up at him through her lashes.

His breath catches almost imperceptibly as he stares back at her.

“For whatever it’s worth,” she continues, “I’m really proud of you for stepping up anyway.”

She can see how her words impact him through the way his nostrils flare, the piercing blue of his gaze narrowing with the dilation of his pupils.

He clears his throat and blinks the expression away quickly, turning back towards the bar. When he speaks again, his tone is dry. Back in control.

“Stepping up, as you put it, is necessary.”

As he speaks, the bartender slides him his drink. Ethan catches the glass and lifts it to his lips in one fluid motion, throat working as he swallows in a single swig.

“I always told myself I'd do whatever it took to save lives,” he says after a pause. “Whatever extreme measure was required. Which is why I'm compromising myself this way. You showed me that 'whatever it takes' includes making moral sacrifices, too. In fact…”

He pauses again, his eyes catching hers once more. She allows him to gather his words, sensing the weight of them.

“Somehow,” he continues eventually, “you've managed to make them without weakening your convictions or becoming jaded and cynical.” He shakes his head, as though the thought of it is a marvel to him.

“Ethan…” God, the way he makes her feel. There had never been a man like this one when it came to the effects of his fleeting words of praise. She would bend over backwards for a single throwaway acknowledgement, every time.

How embarrassing. Clearing her throat, she tries to gather the shards of her scattered thoughts (and dignity).

“Everyone knows how much you do to save people.”

He lets out a humourless laugh. “In the diagnostics office, sure, but have I really done everything I could? If I'd listened to you sooner, would we really be in this situation right now?”

The stark, self-directed derision in his tone gives her pause. Had he ever doubted himself in this way before?

Her hands itch to reach for him, but she holds back out of the agreements they’ve made, unspoken and not. Instead she settles for saying his name again, the syllables falling off her tongue like a caress. “Ethan…”

She sees how it hits him, in the way that his eyes close briefly and a slight, almost indiscernible shiver runs through him. She doesn’t realize that she’s caught her lower lip between her teeth until she feels the sharp pain of it.

Until his eyes catch on it and he swallows hard, before tapping the counter for another drink with a sigh.

“Honestly, it's not even the shilling for money that's bothering me. It's letting Naveen down.”

The words send a shock through her. Naveen? “What? What are you talking about?”

He rests his elbows on the bar, leaning forward as he waits for his drink, and stares at some distant point beyond them both.

“When I lose a patient, I stay up half the night turning possibilities over in my head. Things I could have done differently.”

She knows this. Knows how she does the same.

“And I can't help but wonder what would be different now, with the hospital, if I hadn't been so damned stubborn.” He rakes a hand through his hair with an aggravated sigh, then drops his clenched fist to his side. “Now that I see what I could have done…” He shakes his head. “How will I tell Naveen that his legacy fell apart...because of me?”

The vulnerability in his tone almost cracks her composure. She opens her mouth to respond, to tell him how ludicrous, how irrational he’s being, when a new voice chimes in from the side, fond amusement evident.

“I suppose you would say exactly that!”

Brooke and Ethan both turn, mouths agape at the sight of Naveen standing right behind them.

Ethan recovers first and remarks dryly, “You know it's rude to eavesdrop.”

“True,” Naveen acquiesces, the cheeky grin never leaving his face, “but I never could resist a juicy conversation. Besides, I think this concerns me fairly closely, don't you?”

Brooke silently looks over to Ethan, who is staring at his mentor with a furrowed brow and conflicted gaze. He doesn’t speak and neither does she, both waiting for Naveen to continue, likely for different reasons.

He doesn’t disappoint.

“Ethan…” His tone is soft now, though the good humour and affection remain, “you do know that what I built here, what you helped me to build...it was never about my legacy, or even about Edenbrook.”

Ethan is already nodding. “It was about the mission. For the people with nowhere else to go.”

“Precisely!” Naveen exclaims, as though Ethan has once again proven himself to be a diagnostic wonder. “And no matter what happens to Edenbrook, that mission will never end.” A grin splits his weathered and jovial face. “You'll carry it on wherever you go.”

Brooke feels her heart soar, as though Naveen’s words were meant for her, too. She knows what this validation means for Ethan - what it has always meant. Tears well up in her eyes as she looks over at him and sees the emotion in his own face.

“You really believe that, Naveen?” The question is quiet, though the gravity of it remains clear to them all.

Naveen shakes his head fondly, before stepping forward and wrapping his arms around a shocked Ethan. Brooke sees how it takes him a moment to register the embrace, before he fiercely brings his arms around his mentor in return. The men slap each other’s backs once, twice, in a masculine acknowledgement of brotherhood, understanding, and even love.

After a moment, Naveen pulls back and holds Ethan at arm’s length, strong hands gripping broad shoulders.

“My friend,” he says, “it's the most important belief I hold. And for maintaining that legacy?” There’s a twinkle in his eye as he speaks his next words: “I couldn't be more proud of you.”

Ethan’s own eyes glisten as Naveen gives him one final pat, before turning and walking back into the gala, a smile on his face.

They’re alone once more. Brooke glances over at Ethan, unsure of what kind of emotion she might see on his face. It surprises her to see him clear-faced, eyes bright. He stands tall, taller than before as if that were even possible. He looks suddenly unburdened. Reinvigorated.

“So,” she begins and he almost visibly startles as he looks at her. The heat of his gaze washes over her, his eyes sweeping her up and down, the way they had when he walked into her apartment for the first time that afternoon. She swallows, feeling her nipples peak beneath the bodice of her dress, even as she tries to ignore her body’s response to him.

Clearing her throat, she continues: “What's next for Dr. Ethan Ramsey now that he's not so 'damn stubborn' anymore?”

Her lips quirk in a smile, even as she watches him closely, finely attuned to his next move—the way she would watch a tiger let loose from its cage. A thrill runs through her at the look in his eyes.

“I…” When he speaks, his voice is hoarse, and his body leans towards her almost unconsciously. “The thing is, I've been meaning to…” He shakes his head suddenly, as though frustrated with himself. “Oh, to hell with it.”

She barely has time to gasp before Ethan’s hands are on her, the tips of his fingers weaving into the loose curls at the nape of her neck. He draws her to him forcefully, loose limbed and sure of himself, and she has nowhere to go but along for the ride.

Their lips meet and it’s not the first time or the second or the tenth, but it’s revelatory nonetheless, an absolution and a celebration all at once.

She’s dimly aware that an audience is growing, but she can’t bring herself to care, focused instead on wrapping one arm behind his back and carding the other hand through his hair, his clipped locks silken beneath her fingers and slightly stiff from whatever product he’d used.

She tightens the hold she has on his hair and he groans softly into her mouth, wrapping his arms around her tighter. The kiss is soft, open, and wet, and she feels the lazy trail of its spark make its way from her lips, down her chest, and further still until she presses against him even harder, heated and restless.

“Ooooh!”

“Oh my god…”

“I knew it!”

A cacophony of exclamations around them slowly bring them back to reality. Brooke feels her feet gently touch the ground once more and Ethan’s strong arms loosen their hold on her slightly. He pulls away after a moment, breathing heavily, seeming as reluctant to part from her as she is to let him go. Their breaths intermingle as the last few wolf whistles and catcalls die down and the Gala attendees go into their dark corners to gossip further about what they’ve just seen.

Brooke is dimly aware that a song has begun to play, only because the tune almost feels as though it’s an extension of their kiss, slow and melodious as it is.

Ethan strokes her back and pulls away completely, before offering his hand.

“Shall we?”

She resents him his composure, looking only slightly mussed and otherwise perfect, his bowtie barely askew, while she is certain she resembles a feral raccoon, emerging from the dumpster.

“I don't know, Dr. Ramsey,” she murmurs, attempting to regain the upper hand ever so slightly. “I thought this wasn't even a date.”

She likes to throw his own words back at him, even good-humouredly, as a reminder that he best not deny what they have any longer. That he is as inextricably tied to her as she is to him.

He grins unabashedly, immediately taking her meaning.

“Just shut up and take my hand.”

The commanding tone in his voice sends a pleasant warmth zinging through her and she finds herself placing her hand in his before she’s even aware of what she’s doing.

He leads her out to the dance floor and wraps an arm around her, his hand resting on the small of her back. She can feel eyes on them both and it makes her tingle a little unpleasantly. She’s dimly aware of the knowledge that this was what he was trying to protect her from, all this time.

“I can’t believe you just kissed me like that,” she breathes, leaning into him ever so slightly, “in front of the entire hospital.”

He squeezes the hand he has in his own and softly presses her further into him. She inhales the scent of his cologne, masculine and sweet, and realizes that, despite her discomfort at being the centre of attention, there’s no place she’d rather be in this moment.

“It just doesn't feel like I need to pretend anymore,” he admits, his deep voice a gruff whisper as they sway.

“That was a very public way to get over your concerns.”

He shoots her a crooked grin that leaves her breathless. “It felt freeing, didn't it? There are some things crowds are good for,” he adds, slyly.

His hold tightens on her and she tries to get even closer to him, shifting restlessly, her breasts pressing against his chest. She has a sensation that surpasses contentment - a crawling need for the man before her, a need to be near him, even closer than she already is. Perhaps closer than they’ve ever been.

“Then again,” she whispers, her voice catching slightly. His gaze zeroes in on her mouth. She can feel his body, hard and alert, flush with hers, “there are some things crowds aren’t as good for.” She looks up at him, slightly breathless, watching as he captures and holds her meaning.

“True…” he murmurs, leaning forward and bringing his mouth to the shell of her ear. “But that's why they invented private offices. No need to pretend there. Or worry about who's watching.”

She swallows hard, her breath shaky.

She knows everyone’s eyes are still on them, awaiting their next move. What leaving now would mean for them, for her, in the eyes of the hospital and her peers.

The real question was: how much did she care?

✨✨✨

[if you’re interested in reading the “office scene”, feel free to let me know... I might just be persuaded to continue this thing ☺️]

#open heart #open heart fanfic #open heart fanfiction #ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey x mc #ethan x mc #open heart 2 #choices open heart #oh #oph #my fics

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obligatorynasty · 3 years

Text

ObligatoryNasty’s Starker Prompt Graveyard (pt. 1) ✨~I’m cleaning house ~✨

So I basically fell off the face of the internet for like a year and left a bunch of unfinished prompts in my wake. (I know, I kinda suck for that) But it’s been so long that a lot of them no longer spark joy and I’m so sorry!! 😔😔😔

I decided to just post some of what I had written from before and give some meta of what I would’ve done with each prompt. Apologies for any typos! ❤️

The Vibration Situation (Peter x Tony)

Peter’s heart thrummed in his chest as he dashed through the crosswalk. He was running late today; partially due to the delayed bus but mostly due to the instructions Tony unexpectedly texted him this morning. Not that he was complaining but getting a thing like that to fit comfortably takes a little bit of time. Even with his efforts in the shower, it still felt tight, especially as he hurried down the New York sidewalk.

As he finally made it down the two blocks, he approached his destination: Stark Tower. “Hi Tones!” He called out with a wave as he jogged up the steps, catching his breath with a smile as he stopped in front of Tony. “Sorry, we’re you waiting long?”

“Not at all,” Tony smiled, pulling Peter into a hug and locking his fingers at the small of Peter’s back as they talked. “Signed a few autographs, took some pictures with the adoring fans, the usual.”

Peter hummed, shifting his weight to his toes to press to quick kiss against Tony’s cheek. “Everyone’s favorite hero,” He whispered into another kiss.

Tony grinned, “Pretty sure Capsicle has me beat on that front.”

“Well, you’re my favorite hero.” Peter pointedly said, smiling sweetly.

“And you, mine,” Tony reciprocated, returning the smile in earnest before suddenly being interrupted by a paparazzi.

“Mr. Stark, Peter, over here! For the Bugle!” The man with the camera called out, interested in snapping a shot of the media’s favorite new couple. Their names had been in the news for weeks now after that first lucky paparazzi photo of them kissing in their suits. How the paparazzi managed to get that rooftop top photo, they would never know.

Tony smiled, shifting his stance to pose for pictures, arm around Peter’s waist. And as the camera flashed, he leaned over, whispering with a smile, “Did you bring it, sweetheart?”

“Yes, sir,” Peter whispered back, waving with one hand and slipping a small remote into Tony’s jacket pocket with the other.

“Good,” Tony nodded, gripping tighter at Peter’s waist. “Just keep smiling, Pete.” He said as he switched on the remote, a playful test to see just how obedient Peter was.

Peter flinched, catching a breath in his throat, fighting the urge to moan as the vibrations pulsed within him and massaged his prostate. In any other situation, he would have screamed. But not in front of the paparazzi. No, in front of them, he remained poised, gripping at the back of Tony’s jacket like a lifeline and whining low through his teeth. He was grateful that he decided to wear a longer coat today, or else the headlines would have been riddled with pictures of his ever-growing bulge.

“Alright everyone, Mr. Parker and I have reservations. No more pictures please,” Tony waved the paparazzi away, clasping his hand in Peter’s and leading him the car.

As Tony ushered him into the car, Peter focused on walking and how much he didn’t want to anymore. Each step made the toy press harder into his sweet spot, firing pleasure up his spine that made his eyes sting with tears as he choked back moans. Once they were finally in the car, Tony let up, switching off the toy with a grin as he pulled the car away from the curb. “You did well, Peter.”

“That was a lot, Tones,” Peter spoke between exhales as he tried catching his breath that he didn’t realize he was holding.

“When we get to the restaurant, can I take it out?” Peter asked, genuinely convinced they were done.

But Tony just laughed, it was almost sympathetic. Almost. “You won’t be taking that out until the end of the day, my love.”

A/N: That was all I had for this one. But, in a perfect world, I would’ve had them go to a fancy restaurant. And of course, Tony being Tony, he turns the vibrator on again as Peter is ordering. Peter is a stuttering and blushing mess, maybe the waiter starts to catch on, but Tony plays it off and orders for them both. Toss in some “Good boy, Peter”s and some “Thank you, sir”s.

Then they would’ve gone to a movie premiere. Maybe walked a red carpet. Tony would keep putting his hand in his pocket like he’ll turn it on but he doesn’t. (He’s just playing mind games lol.) Instead, he turns it on once they’ve been seated. The theater is small so they’re relatively far from others. This time, he doesn’t stop it. Just keeps it on low until the louder parts of the movie. The ups and downs start getting to Peter, and when they head to the after party, he really starts to beg to cum whenever they get a second alone. And as they mingle with the others, Tony practically tortures Peter through that as well. Then Peter starts to fall into subspace, which is Tony’s cue to finally leave the party and head back to the Tower. Promising that, “We’re still not done, sweetheart.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Unexpected but Inevitable. (Penny X Tony) TW: character death

“Penny Parker, is it?” Tony hums, claiming the adjacent bar stool as his own, wordlessly gesturing to the bartender for a drink. It is only after glancing up and down the span of her body did he stare into Penny’s dark eyes, relaxing his tie with a short tug and taking the whiskey neat without brandishing thanks. His frame is powerful and expecting; the bustle of the elite after-event unable to cloud the glint of arrogance hiding beyond his playful eyes.

Despite his efforts, Penny doesn’t take the bait. Instead, she smooths her hand against the black satin of her dress, flattening the ripples across her thighs. As she moves, so does the light refracting off the studded clutch hanging from a chain on her shoulder. She sits silently, swirling the last sip of her metropolitan before finishing it and placing the lipstick stained glass against a napkin. As the bartender takes the glass, she smiles and speaks a clear, “Thank you.” The bartender nods and moves to serve other patrons.

The interaction has Tony’s ego bleeding outward. “Ignoring the man that invited your company is in poor taste, Ms. Parker.”

“Don’t speak to me about poor taste with the likes of Hammer on the invite list.” Penny quips, rotating her bar stool and throwing one leg over the other, letting the slit of her dress cascade open at the knee. “It seems to me that you’ve taken a clear stance on the value of my company.”

Tony laughs. It’s earnest and only quelled by the burn of whiskey against his tongue. “A preconceived stance, yes,” He admits, grinning as his gaze strays in favor of Penny’s show of skin. “Your presentation at the conference was actually impressive but don’t let that go to your head. People tend to do that when I say the ‘I’ word.”

This time, Penny just barely leans in, gives a soft smile and slight tilt of her head. She lets her bobbed curls bounce against the corner of her mouth before tucking them behind her ear. Each movement is careful, reciprocal and seductive. “And what exactly did you find so impressive, Mr. Stark?”

Tony moves closer, forearm against the bar, hand cradling his drink. “The strength of the synthesize material, its elasticity, its practical and combative use cases.” His voice dipped, somewhere sultry, “And Ms. Parker, watching you deliver the presentation was – well, I’ll definitely be inviting your company to more suitable events from now on.”

Penny averts her gaze, giving the bustling room a once over as she fights against a grin tugging on the corners of her mouth. “I’m sure my employees will be thrilled.”

“And you?” Tony reaches forward, placing a careful hand atop Penny’s.

Her eyes flicker down at the touch then flash upward to meet Tony’s. “I appreciate the sentiment, Mr. Stark.” She whispers as she stands, heels colliding with tile as she pulls a hundred dollar bill from her clutch. “But don’t let that go to your head.” She adds with a smile, placing the money against the bar. “For mine and his,” She calls to the bartender, who nods with a kind smirk.

Tony scoffs, abandoning his drink as he stood. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“We all do things that we don’t have to do,” Penny insists as she starts towards the crowd. “Kind or otherwise.”

“So you’re the selfless type,” Tony remarks as he quickens his pace to keep up with her strides. “Or is it all for your company? Just how many generous donations has Parker Industries made to rain forests, world hunger, and whales?”

Penny shakes her head as they exit the hotel’s ballroom. “You’re quite the cynic, Mr. Stark.”

“I’m quite the believer in a good PR team,” Tony retorts as they make their way down the hall, through the reception lobby, and stop in front of the elevators.

Penny reaches forward, pressing the up arrow before shifting her weight to one side and standing with her arms crossed. “Your PR team—“ She breaks the silence as the elevator opens and they step inside. “—Have they solved your issues across the pond?”

Tony smirks, tapping his room key against the scanner before pressing the penthouse button. “As far as I, and anyone else, is concerned, those issues are for the greater good.”

“And the bodies?”

“What bodies?”

Penny shakes her head at the casual denial she but manages a smile with her eyes, “Fair enough.”

“Which floor, Ms. Parker?” Tony asks as the doors close and the elevator starts ascending.

“Fifteen.”

Tony presses the button and moves to stand at her side, “I was sure this went without saying but—“

Penny breathes a low laugh, “It went without saying?”

“—You’re invited to continue our chat upstairs.” Tony’s grin is as mischievous as it is suggestive. “I promise it will be very in depth and... pleasurable.”

Penny tucks a curl behind her ear, glancing at Tony before focusing her gaze on the elevator’s doors. She stays quiet, keeping a soft smile as the numbers above the doors increment: twelve… thirteen... fourteen... and finally, fifteen. The elevator slows to a stop and the doors slide open with an audible ding!

But Penny doesn’t move. Instead, she watches as the doors shut and listens as Tony releases a pleased huff of air like his hypothesis had been proven. So arrogant, Penny thinks.

When the doors open again, it’s to a mostly glass penthouse suite, complete with a grand piano, high ceilings, and a balcony pool. The bar’s selves are stocked and the coffee table is covered with an assortment of treats courtesy of the hotel’s staff, who are no doubt thrilled to have the room be booked. As Penny steps inside, she makes a point to move through the space unimpressed. She removes her heels in the entrance way and places her clutch atop the bar.

“What do you think?” Tony asks as he pulls his tie away and tosses it onto the couch. “Too much?”

“To clean, perhaps,” Penny jokes and Tony laughs.

“You’re an interesting one, Penny.”

“One,” Penny repeats as she unclasps her necklace and removes her earrings, placing them inside her clutch and pulling out a small metal bracelet, which she slips on when Tony isn’t looking. “Implying many.”

“I’ve had experiences,” Tony notes as they move into the bedroom.

“All good, I hope.”

“There’s always someone better,” He asserts, his voice just as sultry as before.

Penny almost rolls her eyes – actually, she is so certain she will that she turns around to hide it and plays it off by sweeping her curls to one side, revealing her dress’s zipper. “Would you?” She asks but Tony is already there; one hand smoothing across the curve of her hip, the other pulling the zipper down her spine.

As the dress falls away, all that’s left is simple black lace set and the metal bracelet adorning her supple honey cream skin, speckled lightly with freckles and soft to the touch. Penny spins on her heel, her hands tracing up Tony’s chest and smoothing downward, undoing buttons on her way.

A/N: I literally had a break here that said: “Write sex scene. Tony’s great at sex. Penny is better.” I’m so so sorry 😅😅😅 But just imagine Penny riding the hell out of Tony and then getting close orgasming and then:

And as that stream rushes through that final barrier, Penny’s muscles tense and her voice is caught in her throat and suddenly, she is shaking and the biggest burst of pleasure is quickly followed by waves that have her moaning so loud it echoes in the vast room. She still rocks her hips with the sparks of euphoria, chasing the waning feeling, her hands still braced against Tony’s chest as he grunts and a liquid heat explodes inside her warmth. She smiles, gliding her fingertips across his nipples, along his neck and face, and through his short locks.

“There’s always someone better,” Tony breathes out with a satisfied smile.

Penny’s expression flattens then and, with her hand still threaded in Tony’s hair, she lifts herself up and moves to straddle his chest. He’s still smiling, so lost in his pleasure that the way she shoves his head back and grips at his throat is nothing.

“Feisty,” Tony mutters through a strained breath.

Penny shakes her head, “You’re deplorable.”

“And you’re divine.”

Fitting lasts words, Penny thinks as she sprays webbing across his nose and mouth. She watches as the playfulness drains from his eyes; watches the concern, worry, and fear sink in. He starts struggling for a moment but then stops – smart enough to conserve his breath.

Penny leans down, petting a soothing hand through his hair and whispering sweetly, “I’ve been hired to kill you, Tony.” She presses a kiss against his forehead. “Those issues across the pond – all of the bodies you’ve ignored – they have ghosts and they are angry.”

And Tony lays there – struggling for air and overcome with regret – staring up at a goddess of death as his vision blurs and he is forced into meeting an unexpected yet inevitable demise.

I’ll be posting more tomorrow in graveyard pt. 2!

#starker #peter parker x tony stark #tony stark x penny parker #obligatorywrites #nff #unfinished starker prompts #obligatorynasty's starker prompt graveyard

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agapaic · 4 years

Text

[19 days] sin city

this drabble is a gift to one of my dearest and biggest supporters, @geoviki, who requested a bonus ‘second kiss’ continuation scene between he tian and guan shan in the ‘sweet tooth’ universe (a crazy rich asians-inspired fic), and i sincerely hope you enjoy it, viki! all my love, xxx

Guan Shan hasn’t set foot in God’s house since he was a kid. His mother goes every weekend when she doesn’t have a double shift, but he can’t bring himself to go with her. Too busy, too cynical. He knows he can’t struggle with his faith when he’s lost it; he doesn’t know if he ever found it. He knows without a doubt that he sins.

As it is, he isn’t burnt in the service, isn’t poisoned by the communion. He thinks that if anyone were to be dealt retribution then he wouldn’t be first in line. Singapore’s elite have bigger, dustier skeletons in their closets than Guan Shan, half-disintegrated with age.

He tells himself this through the readings and prayers and hymns he’s forgotten the words to, glances routinely through the stained-glass windows for a glimpse of an outside reality he can’t see. He can hear it: the rush of mid-morning traffic beyond the grassy verges of the church, neatly protected from the central business district by iron fencing and a half-acre of flower beds and rain trees.

Beneath the lip of the pew, where copies of the testaments, old and new, have been neatly placed and the firm, embroidered hassocks hang off metal hooks, He Tian squeezes Guan Shan’s hand.

‘Nearly done,’ he murmurs, while Father Joshua delivers his sermon on godliness in children and parental obedience.

Guan Shan's gaze slides to his. It’s one of the only things He Tian’s said the whole service.

‘You believe all this?’ he asks, whispering.

‘They do,’ He Tian replies, his lips barely moving.

Fans move lazily above them from the high steepled ceiling, their chains rattling over the din of the priest’s solemn tone. They don’t offer much: the inside of the church is still sticky with heat, and members of the congregation attempt to cool themselves with the service pamphlets or paperback copies of the Bible with broken spines and annotations in the margins.

From the seat in front of them, Guan Shan watches a bead of sweat slide down a woman’s neck, dampness collecting at the high laced collar of her Chanel dress. She has her own bamboo fan, painted with pretty avian sketches.

Guan Shan pulls his gaze away. ‘Which godly child are you?’ he asks He Tian quietly. ‘Absolom or Samuel?’

He Tian tries to hide a grin. ‘Destroyer of kingdoms or a monk?’ he questions, angling his head as if looking behind him. His breath is cool at Guan Shan’s ear. Guan Shan lets him lean close, breathing in sandalwood and khus oil. ‘Are those my only choices?’

Guan Shan sets his eyes forward. ‘Nothin’ else seems to be acceptable.’

‘Yes—they’re a stern lot.’

‘They should put their money where their mouth is.’

He Tian snorts quietly. He releases Guan Shan’s hand, and Guan Shan says nothing when his hand moves instead to rest innocently atop Guan Shan’s thigh.

‘He Tian…’ he starts to warn.

He Tian keeps his expression plain. ‘I told you if you came I’d make it worth your while.’

‘That’s not—’ Guan Shan bats his hand away. The gesture elicits a harsh smacking sound, and a few heads turn. Guan Shan presses his lips into a hard line. When eventually their attention shifts away again, Guan Shan hisses, ‘I’m not doin’ that.’

‘I thought you didn’t care much for His wrath,’ He Tian says, pointing discreetly upwards.

‘That’s got nothin’ to do with…’ Guan Shan breaks off. He Tian’s eyes are glittering. He’s joking with him. Guan Shan clenches his jaw. Murmuring, he says: ‘You shouldn’t mess with people like that.’

‘But you make it so much fun,’ He Tian whispers.

Guan Shan glares at him. He endures the rest of the sermon in stoic silence. Absolom, he thinks. He Tian, the destroyer of kingdoms—and young men’s hearts.

///

They linger outside after the sermon. The air is thick and charged with the aftermath of a morning thunderstorm, the ground wet with rain and the smell of petrichor. Guan Shan breathes in deeply, stepping back while He Tian greets strangers and allows middle-aged women to offer both cheeks for him to kiss, their husbands noticeably absent. They run their eyes over Guan Shan and the suit he’s going to make He Tian return by the end of the day, and He Tian politely evades their desire for introductions.

He knows everyone, Guan Shan realises, but it doesn’t surprise him. He’s seen the He family work a crowd at a party or a charity function. The lingering congregation of a Sunday mass is only another opportunity to schmooze and gossip.

‘Just another five minutes,’ He Tian murmurs at Guan Shan’s ear. ‘My father will have my hide if I don’t show my face for a decent length of time.’

‘How long’s that? By his standards?’

‘He’d have me go to brunch with someone’s mother and their daughter if he had his way.’

Guan Shan fingernails bite into his palms. The thought of He Tian being palmed off to some socialite’s offspring makes him bitter with jealousy. He’s seen He Tian only a few times since the charity function at the She estate, communicated with him mostly in veiled text messages and late night calls.

It’s been weeks since they’d shared the feeling of each other’s lips in a quiet room at the She mansion, weeks since they’d shared kueh with their legs dangling over the edge of a jetty across from Sentosa island. Most nights, Guan Shan still tastes both on his lips.

He’s got little stake to claim over the young heir of the He fortune, but he can’t help himself. He goes where He Tian asks him to, wears the suits He Tian buys him. Fuck, he’s started smoking his brand of cigarettes, too. And if He Tian wants to take him to church one Sunday morning so he has better company than a band of middle-aged women wanting him for themselves more than their daughters… Who is Guan Shan to say no after the first three times?

‘What are you thinking?’

Guan Shan blinks. Another church-goer has come and gone, and they’re alone. He Tian is watching him closely.

‘I want a cigarette,’ Guan Shan says. Technically, it’s not a lie.

He Tian snorts. ‘In the courtyard of our Lady of the Veil? Blasphemy, Mo Guan Shan.’

Guan Shan shrugs. He remembers their exchange at the threshold of the church, where two children no more than ten stood with a coin bowl held out, covered in pool-table green cloth and more cash than Guan Shan earns from a month’s tips.

‘I’m not a Catholic,’ he’d told He Tian, feeling strangely compelled to tell him with an even stranger degree of anxiety about the fact, as if it were a make-or-break moment for something they had that could neither be made nor broken.

He Tian had snorted then, too. ‘Don’t worry,’ he’d said, stepping through the doors, palming the children a few bills to line their pockets. ‘Neither am I.’

Now, Guan Shan watches as He Tian reaches into the lining of his suit jacket and pulls out a carton of cigarettes from the pocket. It’s too warm to stand outside in their Sunday best for long, and He Tian tugs Guan Shan over beneath the shade of an Indian-almond tree, its boughs offering some cool relief to a small section of the church courtyard.

Guan Shan watches He Tian light a cigarette between his lips, the flame close to his fingers. It catches; there’s a cherry red glow. Smoke blooms between them, and then He Tian plucks the cigarette from his lips and holds it out as if it’s a newly picked flower.

‘Here,’ he says. A moment passes, where Guan Shan doesn’t take it. ‘I thought you wanted it.’

‘I do, I just—’ Guan Shan can feel his cheeks starting to redden. He swallows. His throat has gone dry. He can hear the voices of men and women standing before the church. He knows some of them are watching, wondering, eager to know who his family is and where he’s come from and how he has captured He Tian’s attention with such painful, singular attentiveness.

‘You’re not—’ He Tian breaks off with a laugh. ‘You’re not worried that I’ve touched it, are you?’

Guan Shan looks away, and He Tian’s eyes widen.

‘Oh,’ he says. His smile grows wider. ‘Mo Guan Shan,’ he croons. ‘I didn’t know you were such a puritan. How proud He’d be.’

‘Shut up,’ Guan Shan mutters.

He Tian’s stance shifts, intrigued. ‘If I’d known it took an indirect kiss to make you blush, Man Upstairs be damned, I’d have put my mouth elsewhere a long time ago.’

‘Shut up.’

He Tian’s laughter is deep as he takes a drag of his cigarette. Some of the women are frowning at him. The hot breeze carries the smoke in their direction, and they waft it away with their fans and paper service pamphlets, rouged mouths pursing tightly. He smiles at them, all affable apologies, and they can’t begrudge him long.

‘They want you to fuck them,’ Guan Shan mutters.

He Tian’s eyes flick to his, and his smile grows indulgent. ‘I know,’ he says.

‘You’re not gonna do anythin’ about it?’

‘Like what?’

Guan Shan grits his teeth. ‘Like—tell them to fuck off?’

He Tian snorts. ‘They’re old friends of the family. And you forget they haven’t made me an offer, sweetheart.’

‘And if they did?’

He Tian considers him carefully. His playfulness begins to fade. ‘You’re jealous,’ he says. ‘Of them?’

‘They’d divorce their investment husbands if they knew they had a chance with you.’

He Tian taps cigarette ash to the ground. He looks away, squinting at the skyline, considering something, before taking a step forward.

‘Firstly,’ says He Tian, his voice low, ‘if they had a chance with me they’d know it. Secondly, there’d be no divorce or marriage to a man twenty years their junior because their reputations wouldn’t survive the scandal. And thirdly: what the fuck would I want with them when I have the prospect of a whole indirect kiss with you?’

Guan Shan glares at him. ‘Gimme that,’ he says, snatching the cigarette from He Tian’s fingers before putting it to his lips. He nearly chokes on the inhale, eyes watering, and smoke seeps from the corners of his mouth before he can control it the way he wants it to. There’s nothing attractive about it, but he catches He Tian watching him with an indulgent smile.

‘It’s been five minutes,’ He Tian says, taking a glance at his watch. ‘We can go now. I promised to buy you brunch. You’re still happy with Orchard Road?’

‘I’m not finished,’ Guan Shan says.

He Tian’s brows lift. ‘You can’t smoke and walk?’

‘I didn’t mean that.’

He Tian tilts his head. ‘Oh?’

‘I meant—it’s not really fair, is it? It’s always—always you kissin’ me, and shit.’

‘Always?’

‘Yeah, with the—distractin’ the guards at She Li’s house and with—’ He makes a vague gesture. ‘—the cigarette and—’

‘Guan Shan—’

‘—it’s only fair that I get to prove my own fuckin’ point too—’

‘Mo Guan Shan—’

‘So will you just shut up and let me kiss you?’

He Tian stares at him.

Then he swallows.

‘If you really want to,’ he starts, ‘I suppose I’m in no position to—mmphh!’

It isn’t tender or soft, and Guan Shan is vaguely aware of the cigarette burning to ash between his fingers. He lets it fall, hopes he’s ground it out beneath his foot properly and remembers to pick it up after or risk a fine, but first: this. His fingers tightly locked in the dark strands of He Tian’s hair; He Tian’s lips bruising against his own, the sharp gasps of the women loitering by the church doors.

It’s exactly as he remembers from last time. A crushing pressure, the sense of being caught unawares. No finesse. Guan Shan knows it could be slower, that they could take their time, a pilgrimage of vulnerability and one body learning another, but something possessive in him has taken over—this is a crusade.

He Tian’s answering kiss twists into a grin against Guan Shan’s mouth. Guan Shan swallows He Tian’s amusement down, finds the feel of He Tian’s smile against his lips unfairly alluring. He does his best to try and rid He Tian of it, crowding close until He Tian’s back hits the trunk of the almond tree and He Tian is groaning beneath the pressure of his lips. He tastes the acrid smoke of their shared cigarette and He Tian’s breath mints, feels the humid beat of the mid-morning sun—and He Tian’s hand pressing gently at his chest.

He pulls away, staggering and breathing hard. With satisfaction, he notes that He Tian is, too.

‘I think we’re even now,’ says He Tian, a slight rasp to his voice. His eyes are bright and he runs his thumbnail over his lower lip, which has gone swollen and red. ‘You’ve suitably convinced your audience.’

Guan Shan looks away. ‘Dunno what you’re talkin’ about.’

‘Oh?’ He Tian asks, amused. ‘That wasn’t you staking your claim?’

Guan Shan hesitates. Part of him can’t bear to look behind him. ‘Are you gonna be excommunicated?’

He Tian chuckles. ‘I’m sure I can find my way back in. Father Joshua is particularly fond of He Cheng’s hideously curvaceous Bugatti.’

‘Guess that’s somethin’,’ Guan Shan mutters.

In answer, He Tian sweeps a hand through the loose strands of Guan Shan’s red hair that have slipped down across his forehead. The touch is fond and familiar and makes Guan Shan swallow hard.

‘You know,’ says He Tian. ‘You can do that any time you want. Not just to prove a point.’

‘You haven’t,’ says Guan Shan, an accusation.

‘I didn’t want to scare you off. I realise last time I was a bit—’

‘Forceful?’

‘Abrupt,’ He Tian corrects delicately. ‘But still—I don’t want you to think you’re any less mine.’

Guan Shan looks at him. ‘Thought you couldn’t have anythin’ you wanted.’

‘Ah…’ He Tian drops his hand, leans back on the heels of his Louis Vitto’s. Almost boyishly, he says, ‘I thought it was a done deal. You and me.’

Guan Shan neither confirms or denies. Instead he asks, ‘Who’d you trade with to get that impression?’

He Tian nods his head upwards. ‘Did it work? I sold my soul for it. ’

‘And they still let you in?’

He Tian’s look is sinful. ‘They let the worst of us through.’

Guan Shan rolls his eyes. He wets his lips. ‘Well,’ he says. ‘I think you’re on a decent road to redemption.’

‘Is that your way of saying it was a worthwhile bargain?’ Tell me it worked.

‘Is that your way of askin’ if I’m yours?’ Guan Shan asks. All these riddles and metaphors—sometimes he has to bring them back to the ground, make sure they’re on the same page.

‘I—Yes.’

Guan Shan nods, then jerks his chin in a challenge. ‘Make me believe it and I might be.’

He Tian’s eyes flicker towards the church just for a moment, but then he smirks, reaffirming their closeness with one step. ‘Mo Guan Shan,’ he murmurs, angling his head down, ‘I thought you’d never ask.’

#19 days #tianshan #old xian #he tian #mo guan shan #sweet tooth #crazy rich asians #my fanfic

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