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sinnaminsuga · 3 years

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Title: Money Counter Part 2

Summary: Just the filthy continuation of the first part of this mess

Word Count: 2629

Warnings: smut, power struggle, slapping, choking, rough sex, a tad violent, a little blood, daddy!kink, i think that's it if i missed something let me know!

A/N: hello again! the beautiful @connieisland popped into my messages and inspired me to make a part 2 to my latest fic and this is what i came up with! feedback is appreciated! thank you for reading! ❤️

Link To Part 1: right here

Tags: @october505 @infinite-shite @hope-to-hell @inlovewithhisblueeyes @littlefreya @viking-raider @wolvesandhoundshowltogether @foodieforthoughts @raspberrydreamclouds @wendimydarling @oddsnendsfanfics @its--fandom--darling @the-soot-sprite @connieisland @feralrunaway @oddduckthatgirl

There was no mistaking the groan and shudder that ran through that dangerous man’s body when you spoke softly into his ear. “Now. Let's talk about your punishment for doubting me. You'll be a good boy for me, won't you darling?”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Henry’s grip tightened on your waist. “I demand control in all aspects of my life. I don't give that up easily.” he growled.

“So I'll just take. What. I. Want.” you hissed, shoving him backwards swiftly, his broad back hitting the sturdy wood of the table with a muted thud. His eyes widened in surprise at the quick change of his position. Before he could really even adjust, you straddled his waist and leaned down to suckle at the soft tender skin of his neck. You wedged your hands between the already straining buttons of his dress shirt and pulled as hard as you could, sending the buttons flying in every direction. Henry groaned as your lips continued their assault down his now bare chest. You moved slowly and lapped at the skin above his waistband as your hands palmed at his solid length through his pants.

“Well fuck! Are you going to do something or what? I'm dying here!” He all but whined, hands scrabbling for purchase, meeting nothing but loose hundred dollar bills. You giggled to yourself as you fondled him, doing no more and no less than you had been. His hands crumpled the copious amounts of money and as he became frustrated with your lack of desire to do anything but fuck with him, he threw the cash as a feral scream tore from his throat.

Suddenly you were the one at a loss for words as your body was pulled up and flipped over onto your back, thrown into the position Henry was just in. Henry hovered above you, eyes frantically scanning your dress clad form. “Too much.” was all he ground out, not unlike a caveman, before using one hand to tear your dress right down the middle, and making quick work of your panties as well. “HENRY! Do you know how much that dress cost?!” You shrieked, slamming your fists into his chest.

He caught your flailing limbs and pinned them on either side of your head. “Don't care. Get you a new one later. Fuck baby, I can smell you. Like raspberries. And sugar.” Henry moaned lowly, running his nose along your jugular, sharp teeth grazing over your buzzing skin. You couldn't stop the shiver that wracked your body, your sensitive core pulsing around nothing.

“Needy little thing aren't you? You want me? Tell me you do. Because I want you. More than anything. Say you want me, want this, and I’ll take you to levels of ecstasy you’ve never even thought of. Would you like that?” Henry whispered, his knuckles running over your steadily weeping entrance. You whined out a “yes”, lifting your hips looking for friction.

As soon as he got your permission, Henry was on you, his thick strong tongue diving into your lush cavern. You fell victim to his honey coated tongue and soft hums rumbling from his chest. He repeatedly flicked his tongue over your sensitive clit with the vigor of a starving man, pulling sugar sweet moans from your throat. He used his thumbs to pull your folds apart and marvel at the depraved sight that was your aching cunt. You flinched a bit when you felt the pads of Henry’s fingers ghosting over your most sensitive place. He ran his fingers through the sticky sweet slick dripping from you, coating them thoroughly before raising them to his mouth and sucking them clean. The animalistic growl that tore its way out of him was something you’d never grow tired of hearing. When he sank his tongue back into you and curled it in such a way that it rubbed against that spongy flesh inside you, your hand flew to his thick mass of curls atop his head. You could feel him grin against your damp flesh before he lifted his gaze to meet yours.

“Come on sweetheart. Beg me for it. Beg me to cum.” He hissed with a grin. The smile on his face wavered just a fraction when he felt your sharp nails dig into his scalp, sending sparks of pain shooting down his spine.

Tightening your fist around the handful of his hair you had in your hand, you pulled his head up and met his eyes with fury burning in yours. “Fuck you. I don’t beg for a goddamn thing. Never have. Never will.” You ground out between your teeth. Never breaking eye contact with you, he huffed out a laugh and said “Then I guess, I'll just. Take. What. I. Want.”

With a speed you've never experienced, you were flipped over onto your stomach, breasts mashed against the now forgotten money. You attempted to push yourself up onto your forearms but Henry’s broad hand quickly shoved you back down. The lack of control agitated you and you turned as much as you could in his grasp, wriggling your way into a half turned position. Henry attempted to turn you back onto your front and your palm connected with his cheek with a resounding CRACK that echoed in the room.

The force of the slap you delivered had split his lower lip after it collided with his bottom teeth. Henry brought his thumb to his mouth to assess the wound, blood coating his fingertip. You raised an eyebrow at him as if to say “What are you going to do about it?”. A wicked grin split his face, baring his glittering white teeth to you. “Oh you little bitch! You asked for it.” Henry bellowed, his hands once again finding your waist and manhandling you to your front where he had you before. The only difference was his massive hand pressing the side of your face into the wood of the table.

The metal clanging of his belt coming undone sent your body into a frenzy, your pussy clamping down hard around nothing but air. The soft rustle of fabric being pulled down was followed by the sound Henry moaning just a bit as his hand made contact with his engorged manhood. You managed to turn your head under his hand just to get a glimpse of his glorious cock. You knew it would be massive, no one carried themselves around like Henry did if they weren't packing some serious heat.

His erection stood proudly at the apex of his thighs and you shuddered at what you saw next. He held his length out steady, and let a mouthful of spit pour out from between his pillowy lips to land directly onto his shaft. He wiped the excess drool from his mouth with the back of his hand before using it to pump himself, his own spit slicking the way. You keened, watching him intently. When he was ready, he leaned in close so his mouth was against the shell of your ear and his tip notched against your opening.

“I want to fuck you now. But I don't know if you deserve it. Submit to me, wildling,-” you stiffened beneath him, ready to fight him off again, but he continued speaking with his hushed tone. “-and I’ll make you touch the stars. It doesn't make you weak, to let someone else take care of you, you know. I know what you want, what you need, sweetheart but I need to hear you say it. Let me give it to you. Cmon baby.” he murmured.

You weren't ready to say anything just yet and he could tell, so he slowly slid the tip of himself into you, punching out a whimper from your chest. But then he stopped. No movement, nothing. “You can have the rest if you use your words, love. Cmon. Just say it. I gotta hear you say it. Please please please.” Henry rambled, his forehead pressed to the side of your head. Your cunt squeezed around what small piece of him had pushed inside of you, attempting to suck him in further. You burned with need, the ache almost becoming painful. You gritted your teeth, trying to wait him out for about another minute. Then you gave in, the need coursing through you taking over and making you a soft, pliant, whimpering mess. You fell limp against the table and tried to push back onto him.

“Oh god please! I cant take it anymore! I cant go another minute without you inside me! Please oh god please Henry please fuck me please I’m begging you!” you cried, begging was foreign to you and it caused shame and tears to soak your cheeks. Henry brushed your hair behind your ear as he tutted at you. “See? Was that so hard darling? I’ll give you what you need. Shhh don't cry. I'm gonna make it all better okay?” He cooed, lapping up the briney tears that streaked your face as he pushed into you. He bottomed out inside you and you howled with the feeling of being so complete. He pulled back and slammed into you again, his tip kissing your cervix.

“Jesus fucking christ woman you're so tight. Like a god damn virgin. You take me so well. Do you feel me? Here?” Henry splayed his massive hand over your lower stomach. You were unable to form coherent thoughts or words so you nodded as best you could. His palm once again slid up your back and sunk into the hair at the back of your head. He roughly yanked your head back causing you to gasp and sputter. “I'm going to fuck you like an animal. I’m not going to be nice and i'm not going to be gentle but that's what you want isn't it?” Henry spat, his hips beginning to piston his cock in and out of you at a rapid pace. He kept spewing filth into your ear as he moved in and out of you, grinding your clit against the table causing the most delicious sensation that teetered on the razor thin edge of pleasure and pain.

“I’m going to fill you up over and over and over again until your hungry little hole is spilling over with my cum. I want to see it drip out of you. Maybe I’ll give you a baby, would you like that, little one? Yeah I want to see you round with my child.” Henry spewed his heated words as his heavy length plundered your channel. Your walls squeezed him, attempting to force him out but also suck him back in at the same time. Your body moved against the table but your brain was mush. He hooked his hand under your left knee and pulled your leg up to rest on the table, opening you further. He tipped his hips at just the right angle, hitting that spot inside you causing you to scream out.

“Oh god yes Daddy!” rolled off your lips and you felt Henry’s rhythm falter.

“Oh sweetheart, I could get used to that. Say it again. Let me hear you.” he moaned.

“Fuck me Daddy! P-please! I-i need to c-cum!” you whined, pathetic and broken. Henry stopped moving for just long enough to gently turn you over onto your back, never slipping out of you. He picked up his pace once again before answering.

“Go ahead pretty girl. Cum on my cock. Yeahhhh just like that baby. Fuck! You're squeezing me so tight” he snarled, massive hands tightening and bruising your waist. You felt the coil in the pit of your stomach snap as you came around him, sparks of unbelievable pleasure shooting up your spine and radiating out to the tips of your fingers. Bliss took over your body and a strangled cry clawed it's way up your throat and out into the hot air between you two.

Henry kept fucking into you as you rode out the aftershocks of your orgasm, drawing little “Ah!” sounds from your sweet mouth. He halted his movements long enough to lift your naked form into his arms to continue fucking you while in the air. You noted the fact that you were moving around the room but you didn't know where and to be honest you didn't really care as most of your attention was firmly focused on the slick rod impaling you repeatedly. Suddenly your back met the wood of the door and Henry’s right hand snaked it's way up and settled around your vulnerable throat, applying a good amount of pressure.

“Cmon baby give me another one. I know you can. Give it to me. Give it to Daddy, yeah?” Henry barked through clamped teeth, hammering up into you harder and harder with every thrust. His hand on your throat tightened, limiting your speech. That hand left your neck and weaseled it's way between your bodies to rub fast tight little circles over your clit causing you to gasp. Henry rushed forward and licked into your open mouth and your hands flew to his shoulders, sinking your nails into the supple flesh. Neither of you realized how hard he was railing you against the door until you heard the splintering of wood and the crash of metal as the locking mechanism in the door gave way at the same time that you came around his throbbing length once again. There was now a hole in the door but neither of you gave a fuck. Henry pulled you tight against his chest and continued to piston in and out of you at a near punishing pace, now chasing his own high.

“Fuck! I-i’m gonna cum sweetheart. I’m gonna cum inside you. Fill you up real good. Put a baby in you. God fuc- shit! Oh my god!” Henry roared and thrashed like an animal as he shot deep inside you, soothing your aching womb with his seed.

He lowered you both to the ground so you were straddling his lap, still full of him. You rested your head on his shoulder, the both of you panting desperately attempting to fill your lungs with the sex-thick air. Henry's fingers danced up your spine as you relaxed against him.

“We made quite the mess, young lady.” he mumbled, nudging you to turn your head and look. The money you had been tasked with counting now littered the entire room, your supplies for banding the stacks of cash strewn about the floor.

“Yes I suppose we did. Wanna make another one?” You snickered, tightening your walls around his softening length inside you. He let out a low hiss before delivering a light snack to your ass.

“Let me get you to my bedroom first, you heathen.” Henry remarked with a grin as he planted a kiss on your shoulder. “Well cmon then Daddy. Show me what else you got.” You giggled with your hands on either side of his face.

Henry’s broad frame shook with his laughter before he looked you in the eyes, his glinting with mischief. His tongue ran up the column of your throat, lapping up the salty sweat glistening on your skin before whispering “Oh I’ll show you what I’ve got darling. Don't you worry.”

Your response died on your lips as his teeth sank into the meat of your shoulder. This man had ruined you for anyone else. And you couldn't find it in yourself to even pretend to be mad about it.

THE END

#henry cavill #the cavillry #henry x reader #henry cavill smut

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ohmygodtheywereparabatai · 3 years

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I am back from the dead, I guess???

Yes but I don't know how, but I had the idea of La yelling at Yue and bursting into tears when the Zhayu wedding happens.

idk, it came to me.

BESTIE WELCOME BACK!! BRO I 100% want you to share all your amazing ideas when the @zhaozaipalooza kicks off the last week of July.

Hmh, now Zhayu is very much out of my comfort zone 😭😭 LuZhao all the way BUT I’ll give this one a shot, as a treat!!

cerulean

It’s the first color that springs out at him. Blue poppies, morning glories, puckered forget-me-nots. Imported, preserved in frost, and immaculately placed, a fire lily tucked in the center. Its brilliant red shade casts over the rest, and there’s a tremble in his palm when he cradles it, inhaling through his nose.

“You’ve outdone yourself. Morning glory, forget-me-not? To remind me of…”

Home.

The woman bunching the bouquet nods brightly, flicking her chin outside of the room they’re standing in. It was her idea.

Of course.

It’s the cerulean he noticed first.

It’s her eyes that are flooded with blue that bursts like juniper tart on the tongue, that overtakes cloudy skies and glows with day.

The tremor in his hand stills.

She finally descends the steps, in iridescent silks and a dusting of furs, haloed in a sheen like the princess’s flame. The old comfort arouses that their worlds weren’t so separate. Her curiosity tangled deep with his longing, sparked a sincerity that was as much a gift as the rest of her. It left Zhao with the faint pangs of a much worse ache.

Cerulean. The rapture of summer islands and petering waves in her warmth, the grace that still came crashing forward at high tide, bright with anger. Her braid is pricked with flowers tempered in white sands, enduring dry soil and high winds - stubborn, beautiful.

It’s the simplest litany of all, but it won’t leave the whisper in his voice as she nears him: Yue. Yue. Yue.

The celebration lasts well into the evening.

Food, dance, as the North glitters.

It’s late, late enough to perch on the balcony or her favorite bridge and point out the stars - when they notice the clouds.

“That’s strange…”

Dawn is a sliver past the far ice shelves.

“What? It can’t be sunny whenever we feel like it.”

“It’s just that-”

Zhao has to steady her when the ground quakes. Ripples tossed into froth lash against the ice. The crack rings out in the dark. Winds unfurl, beating, howling, frowning down on the city.

Moments later, it begins to pour.

Yue shrieks, gloved hands reaching above her for cover. The sound is laced with laughter, as if she understands something he has not - yet.

“La!” She chides. “Oh La, La, La!”

Yue had tucked the fire lily behind his ear, and when it’s whisked free, he chases it down, grabbing the thing just a little too fast. It crumples in his fist, and Zhao huffs - eyes widening before the princess skids to a halt beside him. She’s giggling madly. “Oh, poor La. Has he burst into tears?”

Zhao is fairly certain his wife’s soundness is compromised.

At least now he can guess why, a line of sight cleared between two buildings: a hulking shape thrust out of the far ocean, watching intently, flickers of light catching on the picture of wrath.

He pales.

“No worries, no worries!” Her hand takes his, squeezing. “I had dreams about this for many nights. We came to an understanding. He’s just bitter. He won’t hurt anyone, I promise.”

Zhao is no less pale, arms braced against the deluge and a stinging wind. “What understanding?”

Her smile messes with every wild, bouncing nerve of him. “You’ll see.”

He’s not done, barking over the roar, “Why didn’t you say anything? If these nightmares were hurting you…”

“It’s for the surprise!” She releases him, poised, flyaway strands glued to her face.

And in front of his naked eyes, she starts to shimmer. Starts to lift off the ground. Starts to appear somewhat timeless. When Zhao looks up and down, he is, too. “Wh- wait! What’s this? What’s happening?”

… Pawing for the smooth ice walls as he’s tugged to her height, swallowing a pitched yelp. He clings to a jutting ledge, bent fingers and flailing feet to her nonplussed witness. Light spills into their periphery before the storm settles. Zhao touches the pathway as the canal water simmers to a cool. He’s panting, the betrothed’s outfit rumpled to his neck.

“Wh…” A mesmerizing glow sinks through the skin of his palms, lost between one blink and the next.

He feels a permanence brush over him like clouds, same as the flowers encased in a waterbender’s delicate coat of ice.

Zhao’s eyes slip closed.

When his senses surface, Yue is beside him. Crisp as the cerulean-tinted sky. The glory of the morning pinkens the wisps of faraway cirri, and a drizzle remains. How long has it been…?

Her finger lights above his lip.

“The Moon Spirit’s equal changes with her form.” It drifts to his chest, above the heart.

“In this life, it’s not the black koi. It’s you.”

He can’t speak.

“You mean, I… we…”

The responsibility!

As if pleasing a wife wasn’t hard enough - he changed the tide and dictated the storm, carved the seas, sent monsoons, pushed the world as she pulled?

“… we can sail as far out as we want? Just the two of us? The wind and the waves, they’re both unpredictable - but under us, led by us…”

She nods, her brow raising as a breathless laugh escapes him. Zhao glances around, the brisk gale in his lungs filtering without a telltale itch - a sore throat, numb face, stung nose. It’s an even exchange, like the cold air finally minds him.

Then his arms wrap underneath her and lift her into the air. Yue startles, bubbling with laughter, and he’s unafraid, unabashed, heels spinning, surefooted on the ice, reeling with the possibilities.

“We’ll go sailing - we’ll travel to the ends of the earth and back again. I’ll show you every place you asked to know. I’ll show you my home, we’ll make it our home… All the world’s our adventure now, princess. All the world!”

They stop - she holds his face and smashes a kiss to it, tasting salt and sweetness, woodsmoke, warmth on their skin and within it, wonder.

Their foreheads press, arms knit. Yue shivers.

Don’t you know? “All the world to me is you.”

#thanks for the ask!! wb!#me: ahaha no i don’t really ship zhayu #also me: zhAO AS SPIRIT GO BRR #it’s about the GOD COMPLEX #(wow this got unnecessarily long i am clown)#fried fish #zhayu #sailor moon ☯️#your local clown writes!

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croesow-moving · 3 years

Text

Adreffe’s Appeal for @wallace-cup !!

Choreographing the appeal had been difficult for Molly. She wasn’t a dancer by nature, and neither were her pokemon. Where Margourette could spin and glide like she was the tiny doll in one of those music boxes every child seemed to have, Molly stumbled and hesitated and tripped over her own feet. It was frustrating beyond belief, and yet she pushed forward through all of that.

Adreffe was supposed to be a region of learning, of getting out of your comfort zone and trying something new, and what sort of teacher would she be if she couldn’t hold herself to the same struggles her students were expected to undergo?

Still, perhaps it’d be easier to focus if her feelings for Margourette hadn’t been skyrocketing ever since the start of this Cup. There was simply no getting around it - Margourette was beautiful, even after their pavilion showing had ended and she’d been exhausted, her dress covered in Skitty fur and Togekiss feathers and with half-melted chocolate smeared across her baking apron. Her hair, long since having fallen out of its pristine bun, had glittered with all the rainbow lights still filtering through their icy pavilion walls, and her eyes had glittered with the tiniest hint of mischief as she’d flopped down against Molly and sighed dramatically:

❝ So exhausted, amie! You must carry me back to the hotel. ❞

Though she’d (probably) been joking, Molly had simply lifted her up with a fond smile and carried her bridal style out of the pavilion, lulling her to sleep in the process. She’d hoped at the time that Margourette’s arm, draped so delicately across Molly’s chest to rest upon her shoulder, hadn’t been able to feel the frantic beating of her heart hidden just underneath her sweater dress. She’d prayed to Magearna above that Margourette hadn’t felt the gentle brush of fingertips against her scalp as her hair was freed from its tie and brushed out, nor the feather-light ‘goodnight’ that had been whispered as Molly left for her own room.

She definitely hadn’t had that safety during their practice sessions, though. The music Molly had chosen was almost waltz-like (she really didn’t like to make things easy on her tender heart, did she?), so naturally it meant that the two women had to spend a lot of time pressed pretty closely together as they danced. While that had done wonders for their synchronisation, these flimsy ballet costumes did nothing to hide how fast her heart was going. Margourette had been kind enough not to mention it (outside of the occasional check-in to make sure Molly had enough stamina to get another rehearsal done), but now her crush was so obvious that she was having trouble looking the ballerina in the eye without that telltale blush creeping up her cheeks.

Even as she stood there now, backstage, playing with her puffy white tutu that contrasted amazingly with Margourette’s black one, she found herself staring at the floor rather than admiring how the stage lights made Margourette’s blonde hair glow like a halo.

There was a soft squeeze on Molly’s hand.

❝ Ready to begin? Our audience is waiting. ❞

❝ Oh- I- uh, yeah! Yeah, let’s go. ❞

Pokemon List (ik there’s a lot, but bear with me): Togekiss - Dazzling Gleam, Aura Sphere, Air Slash, Fairy Mist Alcremie - Mystical Fire, Sweet Scent, Decorate, Magical Leaf Morelull - Confuse Ray, Sludge Bomb Florges - Wish, Flower Shield, Petal Blizzard, Sunny Day Slurpuff - Thunderbolt, Sticky Web Cubchoo - Rock Tomb, Sheer Cold Glaceon - Sand Attack, Blizzard, Rain Dance, Iron Tail Sealeo - Water Gun, Aurora Beam Smoochum - Sing, Ice Punch

Music: Merry Go Round of Life from Howl’s Moving Castle

As soon as the women stepped out on stage and took their places in the center, the music started. The starting notes were simple, and so they kept their dance at a simple waltz, never straying far from the dead middle. This gave the pokemon time to form a circle around them, some of them standing more gracefully than others, and start using their moves.

Glaceon called out to the ceiling, summoning a gentle Rain Dance to patter across the stage. This water got Cubchoo’s attention, who wiggled in place for a moment as he remembered what he was supposed to be doing, and then released a breath of Sheer Cold. This move wasn’t anywhere near the strength a Cubchoo could let out, mainly toned down for the comfort of the audience, but it was chilly all the same. This colder air froze the wet ground on the stage, forcing Margourette and Molly to move from a waltz into more of an ice skating routine. Margourette took most of the attention here, her ballet training coming in useful for a balancing challenge such as this, and Molly used that as the necessary distraction to nudge the pokemon circle into moving, following her around to the back of the stage.

There, Sealeo’s Water Gun was fired against Smoochum’s Ice Punch, each connection creating a thick pillar of ice. This continued all the way around the left side of the stage, then the right, leaving a total of nine pillars on each side. Their final connection was the biggest one yet, leaving a block of ice about as big as a dining table jutting out from the back of the stage. Apparently content with what she was seeing, Molly left to go rejoin Margourette in her dance at the front of the stage, Florges sealing them off from the pokemon with a Flower Shield. A Fairy Mist courtesy of Togekiss leaked out from behind it, the pink smoke trailing across the stage and down into the audience, and by the sugary smell drifting up from it, it looked as though it had intermingled with Alcremie’s Sweet Scent. The Rain Dance was wearing off now too, the floor now thoroughly coated in a layer of ice.

Molly’s hands found Margourette’s, and before she knew what was happening she was getting tugged into an elaborate dance of twirls and spins, their bodies pressed so close they were little more than a blur of white and black. This definitely hadn’t been part of their rehearsals, and yet Molly couldn’t find it within herself to pull away and get them back on track. Especially not when she was suddenly dipped, the toes of one foot ghosting across the ground, the rest of her weight kept suspended in Margourette’s arms (and how hadn’t she noticed those muscles before?) In a moment of whimsy, she plucked a white rose off of the Flower Shield and slipped it into Margourette’s bun, nuzzling her shoulder as she pulled away. The ballerina breathed out a huff of laughter (what a lovely sound!) and returned the gesture, slipping a black rose into Molly’s brunette curls. They could have stayed like that forever, wrapped in their own little world, but the music was lulling and that meant it was time for their second half.

They straightened up, Margourette slipping off to kneel down one side of the stage and Molly the other, and waited for the shield to drop and give their pokemon back the spotlight. Once it did, eighteen tiny ice Duckletts were revealed sitting on top of the ice pillars they’d made before, as well as a Swanna with her wings outstretched, perched proud in the center slab of ice. If the people in the audience had attended the Adreffian pavilion, they’d no doubt have a pretty good idea of what was going to be happening next.

The pokemon lined up behind their Trainers, already having agreed it’d be easier for the judges if this next part was done one-by-one, rather than all moving at the same time. Togekiss was first to break the line, floating over to the leftmost Ducklett sculpture. She flipped in front of it, looping backwards again and again until she’d built up a neat circle of wind around her, and then she released it in an Air Slash. Rather than slicing through the Ducklett, it was caught underneath it and the icy pedestal it sat on, levitating the duck in a gentle up-down motion and swirling through its shell of a body. The air whistled as it whipped through, a happy accident that gave that particular Ducklett a voice.

The next Ducklett was given the power of the Fighting type, Togekiss glowing neon blue with the stored energy before bumping the ice sculpture with its Aura Sphere, careful to feed the energy inside without accidentally destroying anything. It glowed beside its wind-surfing brethren, the Aura Sphere flitting over every crevice of the icy container but never able to actually break through.

For the third Ducklett, Alcremie was called over with a gentle chirp. Togekiss unleashed a Dazzling Gleam, the move bouncing off of all the ice on stage and shining outwards across the audience in all directions. The Ducklett was left shining bubblegum pink, glittering with Fairy power, and Alcremie completed the look with a Decorate. Strawberries and globs of frosting were held up for the audience to see before being dropped down into the icy shell, the ensemble soon beginning to smell incredible.

Togekiss floated backstage, her part in this show finished, but Alcremie continued on. The next Ducklett was greeted to a Mystical Fire, the flames dancing about inside its body but never burning hot enough to melt the exterior.

That had been a nightmare to correct during their training, so much so that Molly had lost count of how many times they’d considered scrapping this idea entirely, but she couldn’t help but give a proud smile over to Alcremie. The little thing just looked so happy with itself, pointing at the Ducklett as if it, too, couldn’t believe that it had worked.

Molly turned her back towards the crowd just as Florges got up to float over to Alcremie, easily scoping her up and carrying her over to the next pillar. This Ducklett was treated to a combined attack, a mix of Alcremie’s Magical Leaf and Florges’ Petal Blizzard, and the resulting look was a gleaming mess of leaves and flowers, caught in some sort of endless whirlwind. Florges then joined Togekiss backstage, setting Alcremie down with a barely audible splat of ice cream against the floor.

The next Duckletts continued in this fashion, each new typed move hitting a new ice sculpture until seventeen of them stood completed, each one more dramatic than the last as the mythical Swanna’s love for her chicks grew.

The Ghost duck sang with the eerie notes of Morelull’s Confuse Ray, the whistling harmonising nicely with wind still coursing through the Air Slash duck from before. Morelull’s Sludge Bomb attack had left another Ducklett oozing thick purple liquid, congealing around the base and dripping slowly down the ice.

The Rock and Ground ducks had been completed simultaneously, Glaceon’s Sand Attack clinging to the surface of one while Cubchoo’s Rock Tomb had filled the shell of another. Glaceon was one of the few pokemon still left sat on stage now, its Iron Tail reflecting nicely in all the lights and onto the body of another ice Ducklett, making it appear to have a metal coating.

The Electric duck still crackled with Slurpuff’s Thunderbolt, a violent thing that had shot down from the heavens and illuminated the entire stage for a split second. A candyfloss Sticky Web had ensnared another, stuffing the duck with layers of pink wire that pushed more of that same sugary sweet smell out onto the stage and into the audience.

Not all the Duckletts had had exciting creations (the Water type, for instance, was just slowly getting filled with the ice that was melting off of it), but the music was reaching its final part and they couldn’t afford to waste more time here.

Immediately after the second lull, as the crescendo started, Smoochum started to Sing along to the music, her voice perfectly matching the notes. Sealeo’s Aurora Beam combined with Florges’ Wish (she’d returned to the stage during the creation of the Duckletts) and sent a beam of rainbow light skyward, just as the Swanna had done when she’d wished for her chicks to be given life. The beam hovered against the ceiling, spreading out across it as it desperately sought some sort of answer to the prayers it carried, before Glaceon interrupted the moment with a yowl. It was the only warning she gave before unleashing a brutal Blizzard, feeding off of the Sheer Cold from the start of the performance and really letting the harsh winter seep in.

Molly and Margourette were dancing again, had been ever since Smoochum’s song had started, but their movements were more laboured than before. The cold was setting in, chilling their joints unpleasantly, eventually forcing them to cuddle together just to avoid the air whipping all around them. Ballet dresses were not the best insulators in the world, and yet the women braced themselves to endure it. They knew what was coming next in this story, and if it went according to plan it’d all be worth it.

They waded through the Blizzard snow until they came to kneel at the base of the Swanna sculpture, sheltering beneath her wings.

Finally, finally, the storm was split apart by Florges’ Sunny Day, lighting up the stage and warming everyone in the room. Smoochum’s song had hit its closing notes, the snow was rapidly melting and sending waves of water down into the audience, but none of that was the center of attention. Instead, as Molly and Margourette stood up once more, their costumes were illuminated by the rainbow light of the Swanna behind them, who was in turn illuminated by all the colours of her chicks surrounding her. Every ice shell had been filled with a different move to create a colour representative of its type, and the rays of the Sunny Day were now hitting them from all different angles, sending the light bouncing across the floor and straight into the figure of their mother.

It was beautiful, made more so by the way it made their contrasting costumes dazzle and shine, but Molly couldn’t tear her eyes away from her dancing partner. Margourette had one hand on her cheek, the other on her waist, and though no words were spoken Molly knew what was going to happen. As the music died out around them, the remaining pokemon leaving to join their teammates backstage, the two women were drawn closer and closer together until their faces were mere centimetres apart.

❝ Margourette, I… I-I’ve always- ❞

❝ Shh, mon ange. I know. I feel the same. ❞

And so, with the rainbow light of a mother’s love shining over them both, Molly and Margourette shared their first kiss. Not as friends, or Adreffian colleagues, but as lovers. Two souls devoted as deeply to one another as the Swanna was to her chicks.

Unrehearsed, cliche, but perfect all the same.

#wallace2k21appeals #↪ gym leader molly.#↪ gym leader margourette.#↪ in character.

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maria-scribbles · 4 years

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glitter + crimson (let’s start a riot)//part three

summary: while mother nature isn’t very kind to the obx, jj’s dad is even worse to him. sailor sees the aftermath, relives a day that changed her life forever, and realizes she’d be down with murder if she could get away with it. between nutella sandwiches, story time, and a shared bed, an unspoken thing slowly starts to become a little more real.

word count: 6.9k+ (oops 😅)

ship: jj maybank x oc (sailor flynn)

warnings: abuse/neglect, blood, mentions of parental abandonment/gambling addiction, swearing, whump, hurt/comfort, fluff, blatant references to hocus pocus, the little mermaid, percy jackson and the olympians, and mean girls (and a teeny, subtle reference to stranger things, see if y’all can catch it! 😉)

a/n: i was so excited to write this part, not gonna lie (if you couldn’t tell, just look at that word count). hurt/comfort is my shittt and i’m a pretty big slut for physical comfort/touches so i kinda went ham with it lol. i’m also very happy to finally introduce everyone to peyton, who’s a character i really love and enjoy writing, especially her relationship with her gf alison. both of them will get some time to shine in this part, peyton in the present and alison in the past! as usual, this is unbetaed so all mistakes belong to me. enjoy!

gif credit to @sci-fi

~Masterlist~

part one | part two | part four | playlist

part three: storm surge

It rains the entire week. Scratch that -it storms: the whole island buffeted by howling winds and blanketed by a thick layer of dark and angry clouds that make life just shy of miserable. For someone who spends 99% of her time outside like Sailor, miserable doesn’t begin to cover it. And to think, it’s only the beginning of hurricane season.

The redhead props her chin in one tan hand as she leans against the cool marble counter of The Butterscotch Bonnet Ice Cream Parlor, watching the rain pound against the shop’s bay windows. Across the street she can just make out the rough, gray surf of the Atlantic through a tiny gap in between two buildings and she sighs wistfully, thinking about all the beautiful shells getting tossed onto the beach by the waves. She’s half tempted to just throw off her apron, hop the counter, and make a break for the sand, storm be damned.

She’s almost positive she wouldn’t even be missed. There isn’t a customer in sight and there hasn’t been one since she started her shift three hours ago. Peyton was still in the back kitchen, messing around with whatever convoluted ice cream flavor she thought up for this week; her boss definitely has a knack for concocting weird combinations that somehow work together, at least most of the time. Sailor thinks back to a few weeks ago when they debuted that delicious blackberry balsamic that sold out every day without fail, then followed it with a cilantro lime that was hit-or-miss (a definite miss in her opinion, as cilantro just tastes like soap to her; Peyton had just smiled her infectious smile, shrugged her tiny shoulders, and said, “Can’t win ‘em all, I guess.”) This week’s flavor involves mascarpone and peaches and she can’t wait to steal a sample because if the wonderful smell coming from the kitchen is any indication, it’s gonna be bomb, even though it probably won’t upset the shop’s namesake flavor from the top of her list.

Thinking about ice cream makes her kind of hungry, on top of the fact that she has a terrible habit of eating when she’s bored, so she dishes out a small scoop of Butterscotch Bonnet and grabs a spoon before leaning back against the counter, digging through the cup to find the best part: salted caramel-filled chocolate sea shells, made in house. The days Sailor gets to help make them are her favorite days to come to work, when she and Peyton commandeer the kitchen and have the time of their lives, blasting music and dancing as they slave away. Of course, the little bag of chocolates she gets to take home is a pretty big plus, too.

“That’s coming out of your paycheck, Sail.”

Spoon halfway to her mouth, she sheepishly glances up from her snack as Peyton emerges from the kitchen, fondly shaking her head and sending her inky black braids dancing across her shoulders.

“What am I gonna do with you?” She continues with a wink before starting to make herself a milkshake, dropping two scoops of their tiramisu flavor into a malt cup.

“Sorry, you know I can’t help myself!” Sailor knows the other girl was joking but she apologizes anyway and opens the cabinet to grab a cup and straw for her, setting them on the counter beside the old-fashioned milkshake machine. As far as bosses go, Peyton is one of the all-around best to have and the redhead loves working at her shop. While the Buckleys are rich as shit and total kooks, the family’s youngest daughter is down to earth, kind, and prefers to work hard for what she wants instead of flaunting her parents’ wealth and The Butterscotch Bonnet is proof that, despite her last name and penchant for the finer things, she’s a pogue at heart. It’s no wonder Alison’s head over heels for her.

“I also know you’re bored as shit.” Peyton calls over the sound of the blender, sending a knowing smirk toward the younger girl, who rolls her eyes and shovels another spoonful of ice cream in her mouth as she replies, “Obviously. This weather fucking sucks.”

A loud clap of thunder seems to shake the very glass in the windows and she gestures toward the storm outside, her point proven. Peyton glances around the deserted shop, still bright and cheery despite its lack of movement and life, then back to the relentless downpour, before shrugging and turning back to finish blending her milkshake. “Wanna go home early?”

“Seriously?”

“Why not? You’ve already cleaned this whole place from top to bottom and I don’t think we’re gonna be getting customers any time soon.” Ignoring the paper cup, she plops the straw straight into her drink and takes a big sip, then nods in satisfaction before adding a huge swirl of whipped cream on top.

“Have I ever told you that you’re the best?” Sailor asks, smiling excitedly as she grabs her bag from under the counter and tosses her empty cup into the trash.

“Only every day,” the older girl replies cheekily, smiling as she’s pulled into a one-armed hug of thanks by her employee.

“Well, you’re gonna hear it again: you’re the best.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Peyton pats the redhead’s shoulder with one deep brown hand and then gently pushes her toward the kitchen. “Now get out of here, brat. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yes, ma’am!” Sailor throws a peace sign over her shoulder as she heads out the door, cackling at her boss’s offended call of “don’t call me ma’am!” After clocking out, she fishes her keys out of her bag and dashes through the downpour to her beat-up clunker of a truck. A hand-me-down from Alison, Flounder’s nothing to look at with all the dents and chips in his blue paint, but he gets her where she needs to go and has room for surfboards in the back and two other pogues up front on the bench seat -and the other two unlucky ones riding in the bed, hiding under the boards- so she’s not complaining, even though she wishes his radio worked more than half the time.

(Two reasons why John B’s almost always the group chauffeur: the fact that he can legally drive all five of them around without breaking the law -not that they’ve ever gotten caught in Sailor’s truck but anyone with a brain knows that where one pogue goes, the other four aren’t far behind- and good music flowing from a perfectly working stereo.)

Unfortunately, it’s on the fritz today so her drive home is spent listening to the sounds of Flounder’s windshield wipers and the pounding of rain against his roof. She heads inland from the beach, away from Peyton’s shop in the outskirts of affluent Figure 8 and its kook mansions to the more homey, laid-back Cut, passing by the turnoff to the Chateau and through the woods before pulling into the empty driveway of her tiny house. The fact that her mother’s car is no where to be found doesn’t surprise her in the slightest. Waiting for her on the porch is Binx, the stray black cat she’s taken to feeding and more or less adopted, stretching on the blanket she left out for him.

“Hey, handsome,” The redhead says, kneeling down to give him a loving scratch behind the ears; he meows in response and rubs his fuzzy face against her ankles, weaving between her legs as she slides her key into the lock. “Come on in.”

The front door closes behind them with a hollow bang that echoes through the empty house like the thunder outside. Sailor hangs up her keys and follows Binx down the hall toward her room, ignoring the closed door that leads to her mom’s room and a bed that she assumes hasn’t been slept in in months. Not that she would know: she’s made it a habit to spend as few nights as possible alone in the house, instead crashing at the Chateau or Kiara’s place and hoping her mom’s comfortable in her makeshift room at The Sandbar where Carmen doesn’t have to deal with the teenager she’s supposed to be caring for (Sailor’s always been an independent girl and has no trouble getting by alone but fuck, that doesn’t mean she wants to.).

Her father’s green eyes, the same color as her own, stare back at her from a picture hanging on the wall of a better time, when everything was alright and her family wasn’t so broken; the three of them on the beach with a twelve year old Sailor in the middle and surfboards in hand. Carmen looks like the mother she remembers and misses so bad it hurts, and while Ryan wasn’t always the most caring of fathers and only acted like a dad when it was convenient, she’d still do anything to have him back, terrible parenting skills and all. She turns away from the picture and the complicated mess her heart becomes when she thinks about him, continuing down the hall to her room.

Complicated doesn’t even begin to cover her feelings about her dad, though. She’s always believed she was an afterthought to him, never first on his list but still good enough to tag along for company when he was doing something he wanted to do. He was a man who liked the idea of having a kid but never wanted to actually step up and parent when things weren’t all fun and games, instead deciding to take off to Atlantic City for a month or two at a time to gamble away whatever money they earned at the surf shop.

She wants to hate him. She should loathe him and in a way, she does. She hates the way he still makes her feel like everything’s her fault, even when he’s not around. She hates the person her mother becomes when he disappears, someone distant and cold and so unlike the good, caring mother Sailor remembers. She hates that home doesn’t feel like home anymore and it’s all his fault, and she hates that despite everything he’s put her through, all the hurt he’s caused, she still can’t find it in her big, bleeding heart to truly detest her father. After all, he could’ve been worse. So, so much worse.

The only place she can get away from everything is her room, her own little sanctuary from the cold emptiness of the rest of the house and constant reminders of Ryan’s absence. It’s warm and bright, the walls painted a sunny yellow that reminds her of lazy days relaxing on the beach. Her first surfboard hangs on the wall above her bed, tucked away in a corner, doubling as a shelf for her massive shell collection while pictures of her and her friends dangle underneath, pinned to a long piece of twine. Her current boards stand propped in another corner, leaning against a wall plastered with all types of movie and music posters. Through the windows covered with curtains as light as sea foam, the rain steadily pours but in here, she’s safe. In here, she can breathe.

Sailor strips off her uniform, tossing it along with her bag onto the chair by the door and slips out of her worn red high-tops before pulling on a pair of sleep shorts and the first long-sleeve shirt her fingers find in the closet, then flops onto her bed and pulls the soft blue blanket around her shoulders, reading glasses and well-loved copy of The Lightning Thief in hand while Binx curls up at her feet. Every summer without fail she rereads the series (why, she’s not exactly sure: maybe its nostalgia, maybe its because she lowkey relates to water-loving, steadfastly loyal Percy) and she’s fallen behind this year, so she fully intends on reading as much as she can tonight before bed. The storm provides perfect background noise and soon she’s five chapters in before a sudden loud knock on her window causes her head to snap up in alarm.

Oh no. Without bothering to save her place, she tosses the book and her glasses aside and scrambles from the bed to the window, tearing open the curtains to reveal a sight she always dreads seeing. Her best friend stands outside in the rain, soaked to the bone, hand pressed against his side, and the sight of bright red blood trailing down his face and staining the collar of his gray shirt makes her heart drop to her stomach. Wordlessly, she opens the window and helps him climb inside before closing it firmly and drawing the curtains, once again blocking the world from her -now their- sanctuary, then grabs her blanket from the bed and wraps it tightly around JJ’s shaking shoulders after he kicks off his sodden boots.

Her hand slowly moves to cup his face and her heart breaks a little more when he tenses, blue eyes carefully tracking its movement until he seems to remember who it belongs to and lets himself lean into her touch, cheek resting against her palm. Sailor runs her thumb under his split lip and and wipes at the crimson staining his tan skin, her mouth curving into a small frown when she only succeeds in smearing it further.

“Come on,” She breaks the silence with her gentle voice, barely above a whisper, and reaches her other hand out to take his, “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

His fingers hold so, so tight as she leads him down the hall to the bathroom and she’s so laser-focused on the way they tremble against hers that she doesn’t notice the blood left behind on the handle when she opens the door. After flicking on the light she turns to face him and gently pushes the blanket from his shoulders with her free hand, letting it fall to the floor in a damp heap, then blindly reaches behind her to turn on the shower, cranking the heat as high as it’ll go.

“Sorry about your blanket.” JJ says at last, his voice quiet, and Sailor shakes her head, running her thumb in circles on the back of his cold hand.

“I don’t care about that, J.” She replies just as quiet and before she can stop herself, before she can think about what exactly she’s about to admit, she adds, “I care about you.”

The corner of his mouth lifts in a barely-there smile and while it may be tiny, it’s a smile nonetheless and she feels the tight knot in her chest begin to loosen as she lets go of his hand, reaching for the hem of his shirt. “Can you lift your arms for me?”

He does as she asks but his pained wince doesn’t go unnoticed by the redhead when she pulls his shirt over his head and tosses it on top of the discarded blanket, and her jaw clenches at the sight of deep purple bruises in the shape of his father’s fists marring the skin over his ribs.

“Let me know if this hurts.” Oh so carefully she reaches out with one hand and gently touches the darkest mark, where she’d seen him clutching at outside her window, her fingers delicately feeling for any damages.

“A little.” He admits, shaky breath warm against her forehead and she does her best to keep her hand steady as she checks over the rest of him, then feathers her fingers back over that first bruise.

“It doesn’t feel like anything’s broken or cracked, so that’s good.” She says, allowing her hand to linger for a second before letting it fall from his side. “A rib or two might be a little bruised, though, so we’ll put some ice on them later, just in case. Sound good?”

JJ nods and watches her with those ocean blue eyes as she pulls her own shirt over her head, leaving her in a plain black cami and shorts, before grabbing his hand once again and pulling him into the shower with her. The water’s just a tad too hot and it instantly starts turning her skin red but Sailor doesn’t mind, instead choosing to embrace the heat and the way it burns everything away, leaving behind brand new skin that’s ready for a new day, new adventures. She reaches up and gingerly wipes the blood from her best friend’s face; in a mirror of earlier, he leans his cheek into her palm, eyes slowly closing while both arms wrap around her waist and pull her close.

“Sail,” He whispers her nickname into the humid air between them and she barely registers the tremble in his voice before his knees buckle, sinking them both to the shower floor until they’re face to face, sitting in between each other’s legs. He clings to her, arms even tighter around her waist and face buried against her neck, and she feels the shake of his shoulders when she winds her own arms around them. One hand moves to steadily run through wet blond hair, over and over, comforting in the best way she knows how, the fingers of her other hand tracing circles on the bare skin of his back as water continues to rain down on them like the downpour outside.

She’s eerily reminded of another time they sat like this, sobbing in each other’s arms five years ago, the first time she saw just how cruel his father could be, the first time she realized she’d do absolutely everything and anything to keep him safe, and it was both one of the best and worst days of her life.

Eleven year old Sailor shoved her math textbook into her cluttered locker and kicked it shut with a scowl. She hated math, her math teacher, and especially whoever made her schedule- who in their right mind would put math in eighth-period? She swung her backpack onto her shoulder and grunted softly at the extra weight it carried. JJ hadn’t come to school that day and Sailor had volunteered to take his missed work to him; it made sense, considering she lived closest out of the pogues and it’d make her feel better if she got to check on him herself -there was a reason the rest of the group called her the mom friend, after all.

She’d already collected assignments from the classes he shared with Pope and Kiara as well as herself, so now she was just waiting for John B to drop off his own. As if summoned by her thoughts, the brunet boy rounded the corner and waved, weaving his way to her through their fellow middle-schoolers. “Sorry, you know how Mr. Jefferson likes to go on and on and on...” He said, pulling some papers from his backpack and handing them to the redhead. “Do you remember where J’s house is?”

Sailor rolled her eyes and carefully slid the homework into her own bag. “Considering I live, like, five streets away, I sure hope so.” She fired back, ignoring his cackle of laughter as they joined the rush of students, excited for the weekend, flooding out through the double doors of Kildare County Middle School. She lingered by her friend as he unlocked his bike from the rack and then climbed on, asking, “You’re helping out at the shop on Saturday, right?”

She nodded, scanning the sea of waiting cars and waving when she spotted her ride. “Yeah, why?”

“My dad and I are gonna hang out at the beach that day so we’ll stop by and say hi.” With a casual salute in her direction he slowly started pedaling down the road, calling back over his shoulder, “Tell JJ he can come too if he’s feeling better!”

“Tell him yourself!” She yelled after his retreating back, not surprised in the slightest when he didn’t turn around and disappeared into the trees. Alison’s beat up blue truck pulled up to the curb seconds later and the older redhead leaned out the open window, a shit-eating grin on her face as she joked, “Get in loser, we’re going shopping!”

Sailor laughed and climbed into the passenger seat, dropping her backpack on the floor with a loud thump. Alison winced at the sound, raising her eyebrow as she waited for the younger girl to put her seatbelt on. “What the hell do you have in there, rocks?”

“One of my friends missed school today so I have his homework. Do you mind driving by so I can drop it off? He only lives a few streets away.”

“Sure,” Alison replied, flicking on her turn signal and merging into the stream of cars leaving the school’s parking lot. “So who skipped: Smarty Pants, Bandana Boy, or Surfer Bro?”

The eleven year old giggled at the nicknames -she’d never admit it, but they were honestly pretty accurate- and replied, “Surfer Bro. And his name is JJ, Ali.”

“Rightttt, JJ. What do you think it stands for, huh? Jesse James? John Jacob?”

“Oh my Godddddd!”

The high school senior continued to come up with names, each more ridiculous than the last until Sailor exclaimed “There!” and directed her to park near a small, run-down house on a quiet road. She pulled a folder from her backpack and was out the door before the older girl could blink, calling over her shoulder, “I’ll be right back!”

The redhead slammed the truck door behind her and made her way toward the porch and what she assumed was the front door; she’d never been inside JJ’s house but he always came out to meet them through there so she figured it was a safe bet. The smile fell from her face, ears registering the sound of horrible, angry yelling just as she brought her fist down to knock and she anxiously fidgeted back and forth on the step, her heart starting to beat fast in her chest. What the hell was going on?

"Fucking hell!” An enraged shout came clear as day from inside and as she heard the person’s stomping approach, something in her, a feeling, urged her to hide the folder in her hand behind her back. She jumped in surprise when the door was suddenly ripped open, revealing a fuming, red-faced man who glared down at her with heavily lidded eyes and one hand clenched in a fist at his side, the other holding the threshold in a white-knuckled grip. “What the hell do you want?”

“H-hi, I’m Sailor, one of JJ’s friends? He wasn’t at school today so I came by to check on him.” She said, proud of herself for keeping most of the tremble out of her voice while she studiously avoided his cruel gaze, instead subtly trying to peer behind him and hopefully catch a glimpse of her friend. The man, who she realized with sheer horror had to be JJ’s dad, was absolutely terrifying, with breath reeking of booze and mouth curled into a vicious snarl as he moved to block her view into the house and snapped, “Kid’s fine. Now get the fuck outta here.”

“Can I just see-”

She was cut off when he slammed the door in her face with the hand that had been by his side and her eyes widened, stomach sinking with dread as she caught sight of the splotch of bright crimson left behind on the wood. Oh, God. This could not be happening. She remembered John B’s warning about JJ’s dad, saying he wasn’t a very nice man when she became friends with them last year but she didn’t recall him ever saying anything about this and it hits her like a freight train: he probably didn’t know. Her heart pounded against her ribcage. If JB didn’t know then Pope and Kiara definitely didn’t and a sickening feeling started to churn her belly, both at the thought of JJ facing all of this by himself and the fact that she alone had the power to help.

Inside the house, she heard his dad resume his screaming, every other word accompanied by a sickening thumping noise she’d only heard in person once before, a few years ago on the beach with her parents when two drunk tourons started wailing on each other over a spilled beer: the sound of a fist hitting flesh. Sailor started to panic, both hands flying to cover her mouth in terror. Underneath the screaming and punching, she couldn’t hear anything, any cry or yelp or whimper from her friend and, mind racing with million terrible, awful thoughts, she turned and ran back to the truck, flinging open the door and scrambling inside to grab Alison’s arm, folder in her hands falling to the floor.

“Ali, please, we’ve got to help him-”

“Whoa, where’s the fire?” The older girl joked as she looked up from her phone, smile falling from her lips when she caught sight of the eleven year old’s pale face and wide eyes. She reached over and placed her hands on Sailor’s slight, trembling shoulders. “What’s going on?”

Her lip quivered terribly as she told Alison everything she saw and heard, watching her expression slowly twist into outright dismay, the fingers on her shoulders tightening their grip when she finished, “Ali, what’re we gonna do? We have to help him right now!”

“Fuck, okay, first off let’s calm down- don’t give me that look, kid! We can’t just burst in there like Wonder Woman or something, let me- oh, look!” Alison pointed through windshield, where JJ’s dad furiously stalked from the house to his truck, climbing inside and violently slamming the door before taking off in a cloud of dust. Sailor quickly ducked when he drove by and stayed down until the older redhead gave her the all clear, “He’s gone. That was perfect timing, huh?”

She didn’t reply or even wait for her to unbuckle her seatbelt, taking off at a sprint and bounding onto the porch in no time, furiously knocking against the door. “Hey, J, are you there? It’s Sailor.”

There was no reply and her heart dropped to her stomach. Alison joined her on the front step, her face blanching when her eyes landed on the blood stain on the corner of the door. One of her hands reached out to grab the handle while the other found Sailor’s smaller one and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

“Come on,” With no hesitation and the bravery Sailor wished she had, the eighteen year old pushed the door open and pulled them both into the dusky house. The younger redhead wrinkled her nose at the sight of beer cans and pill bottles littering a circle around the couch but she pressed on, calling his name as the girls moved room to room.

“Sail?” The sound of JJ’s pained voice coming from the room at the end of the hall made her heart skip a beat and she dropped Alison’s hand, running forward and bursting through the door in a rush, not even thinking about what state her friend might’ve been in. Feeling like she’d just been sucker punched right in the gut at the sight of him lying face down on the floor with a small puddle of blood forming under his mouth, she dropped to her knees beside him and delicately took his hand in both of hers, nearly crying in relief when his fingers gripped tight to her palm. Behind her, she heard Alison’s sharp intake of breath as she entered the room, darting over to kneel on JJ’s other side and place a gentle hand on his shoulder, and together they carefully helped him roll onto his back, then up into a sitting position with the older girl’s arm behind him as a brace.

Her jaw trembled as she tried and tried to say something, anything; her head was filled with so many questions -what happened, how could he do this, when did this start?- but the only thing she managed to ask was a simple, “Why?”

“It’s just what he does.” He replied with a shrug, wincing at the movement, “I’m sorry, Sail.”

“What the hell are you apologizing for?” She asked incredulously, then followed his finger as he pointed at a pile of jagged yellowish-brown pieces on the floor by his bed.

“He broke the shell you gave me.” He looked so upset, so distraught over the broken whelk and she felt her heart swell with waves of affection for her friend, who was more concerned about her broken gift than he was about himself.

“Hey,” She said softly, turning away from the mess to look him in the eye with a small smile, her hand reaching out on its own accord to brush a lock of fine blond hair away from a cut near his temple. “It’s just a shell, okay? I’ll find you another one.”

The sight of blood on his teeth when he returned her smile reminded her of the task at hand and she shook her head, wrapping her thin arm around his waist. “Let’s get you out of here. Think you can stand?” At his nod, both girls put one of his arms around their shoulders and slowly stood, shuffling out the door with all the grace and speed of an old man with two bad knees, but hey, they were moving and getting JJ out of that terrible place, so she’d go as slow as they needed to, even if her anxiety was getting worse and worse with each passing second they spent in the house.

After loading the kids onto the bench seat of the truck, Alison quickly drove them to the empty Flynn residence -Carmen and Ryan still working at the shop- and helped Sailor move JJ into the bathroom. “I’ll go grab you some towels and dry clothes, okay? I think some of your dad’s old stuff might fit him.” She said, watching as the young girl kneeled beside her friend and started untying his shoes.

The eleven year old nodded at her older friend and sent her a small smile. “Thanks, Ali.”

“No problem, kiddos.” With a quick smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes she was gone, heading down the hall toward the laundry room.

Sailor reached over and turned the shower on as hot as possible. “Okay, um, take as long as you need, I guess. I’ll wait outside.” She jerked her thumb toward the hall but before she could even take a step, his hand darted out and grabbed her wrist.

“Stay.” It was more of a demand than a question and JJ seemed embarrassed to even be saying it, the uninjured parts of his face turning an endearing shade of pink. “Please?”

She just nodded and reached a leg out to gently kick the door shut, her mind racing. She stayed but what the hell should she do now, keep her back turned? Get in the shower with him? From the way he was fidgeting back and forth and avoiding her eyes, he was probably thinking the same thing.

“Oh, come on.” She finally said after a minute or two of decidedly not looking at each other and kicked off her sandals, darting forward on impulse to grab his hand and pull them both under the spray. The water uncomfortably soaked into their clothes and made their movements sluggish as they clumsily shuffled around -stepping on each other’s toes and mumbling identical apologies- before finding a position that was only a little bit awkward in the confined space, his arms on either side of her waist and bracing against the wall, her hands tentatively resting on his shoulders.

“This okay?” She asked, feeling her cheeks reddening from more than just the steam curling around them and frizzing her hair, and JJ nodded, swallowing thickly and blinking away a droplet of red-tinged condensation that slid down his forehead. Her hand, moving on its own accord, slowly reached for his face until her palm gently came to rest against his flushed cheek, the tip of her pointer finger just brushing a small cut that sliced through one eyebrow.

“How...” Sailor shook her head, taking a deep breath before finally asking the question that’d been on her mind since this whole thing started, “How long has this been happening?”

Once again he avoided her wide-eyed gaze, eyelids fluttering shut as he answered hesitantly, quietly, “I...I don’t remember a time when it didn’t.”

His answer chipped away the last brick in the dam and the floodgates broke. She flung herself into his chest, arms wrapping around his shoulders and fingers twisting in the sodden fabric of his shirt, sobbing into the warm skin of his neck. He froze in her embrace, whole body stock-still until something in him seemed to break too, and his own arms encircled her waist, bit by bit, pulling her close as he buried his face into her shoulder and two sixth graders slowly slumped to the shower floor in a tangled mess of limbs.

“J, why didn’t you say anything?”

His body trembled in her arms and she inhaled sharply at his reply of, “Because I’m not worth it.”

Pulling away from his neck to rest her forehead against his, she cupped his face in both hands and forced him to look her in the eyes, her voice quiet but adamant, insistent as she said, “Don’t you dare say that again, got it? You are worth it. So, so worth it.”

The look behind his red-rimmed, ocean blue gaze was made of pure, unadulterated disbelief and Sailor, at a loss, wracked her brain for something, anything she could do to make him see himself the way she did: loyal, adventurous, funny, and oh so brave, already a beloved, dear friend to her in the short time she’d known him. How could she help him realize he was so much more than his father’s abuse?

‘What can I do to make you believe me?’

An epiphany came to her like a bolt of lightning straight to the heart. It was more than a little crazy and the thought of actually doing it was lowkey terrifying but she’d seen it work beautifully for Alison and her girlfriend Peyton that one time and hell, she was so desperate to help her friend that she’d do just about anything. And so before her anxious mind could start to overthink she surged forward, both hands still holding his face in a gentle grip, and firmly pressed her lips to his.

JJ’s eyes were almost comically wide while he stared, frozen still at her touch, and her own eyes were just as huge as she held the kiss for a few seconds and then abruptly pulled back, her face slowly changing into a shade very similar to her hair.

“Y-you, I-” He stuttered, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water as a deep pink flush started to color the tan skin of his neck. “Wh-why-”

“Because you are worthy, J. Promise me you won’t forget that.” Her words were as fierce as the hug she pulled him into, only letting the tension bleed out of her when she felt him gradually return her embrace and nod against her shoulder.

“I promise, Sail.”

“Good.”

And with that they fell silent, holding each other tight until the shower ran cold.

Sailor didn’t know it at the time but that hadn’t been just her first kiss but JJ’s too, as they never talked about it until two years later, during a game of truth or dare with the rest of the pogues. Neither actually told the truth, both giving a vague answer about a bet that seemed to placate their friends enough to let the matter drop, never to be brought up again.

The only kiss that happens today is the light brush of her lips against his forehead as she holds him close, even as the water slowly begins to lose its warmth. His embrace is tight, their limbs intertwined so fully that it’s hard to discern where one ends and the other begins and when he speaks, she has to strain to hear the words mumbled against her neck over the pounding spray of the shower.

“I don’t know how much more I can take.”

His confession cuts her deep. Hearing him admit something so utterly heartbreaking and vulnerable, coming from the side of him Sailor alone gets to see, ignites a fury that simmers under her skin and burns her from the inside out, thoughts turning venomous and, dare she say, downright homicidal. Fuck his dad. Fuck his dad and everything he’s ever done to hurt her best friend, both with and without fists.

“If I could get away with murder, I would.”

It’s true. For JJ, she’d do anything and everything to keep him safe without hesitation, up to and including maiming his dad so he could never touch him again (and if she happened to take it a little too far and straight up kill the bastard, she’d most definitely be fine with it.). He laughs, but it’s empty, hollow, and sorely lacking the joy, the carefreeness, the pure life that it normally radiates.

“You’re not the only one.”

Some time later, after the water raining down on them turns ice cold and their tears have dried, they reluctantly disentangle themselves from each other and towel off before making a quick detour to the kitchen to grab an ice pack for his ribs and have a meager dinner of sandwiches made with the last of her bread and a near empty jar of Nutella. He laughs, for real this time, when he reads the note she writes herself on the fridge future sailor, as much as you want to, you can’t live off just nutella and sheer spite, okay? please go shopping. love, past sailor <3 and grabs the marker out of her hand, adding +past jj and a little smiley face that makes her smile brightly.

They return to her room where they change, back to back, into dry clothes -one of her dresser drawers is full of his things she’s stolen acquired over the years- and, after throwing everything wet, including their discarded shirts and blanket retrieved from the bathroom, into the washing machine to be dealt with some other time, they lie on her bed side by side, shoulder to shoulder, wrapped up together in a spare throw stashed at the bottom of her closet. Binx slinks up from his spot at their feet and lazily drapes himself across their laps, purring like a motorboat when Sailor starts running her hand along his back.

“I almost sat on those,” JJ says, handing over her glasses, “and this.” He holds her forgotten book in his hands, casually flipping through the pages before turning it over and scanning the back cover.

“Have you read it before?”

He shrugs, a barely-there grimace briefly twisting his features as the motion jostles his sore ribs. “Started it, never finished.”

“Well,” She starts, slipping her glasses on and snatching the book out of his grasp, “how about we fix that? I’ll read, you pet the cat.”

Sailor’s voice is soft and steady as she starts to read aloud, a content smile on her face that’s echoed by the boy lying beside her when she settles against his side, head pillowed on the arm he curls around her shoulders without a thought. JJ’s the near perfect listener, only snickering once or twice at her total butchering of some of the more difficult Greek names (how come she can say Hephaestus just fine but gets tripped up on Dionysus?) but otherwise hanging off her every word and the relaxed ease with which he runs his hand through the ends of her damp hair fills her with a warmth, a happiness that she can’t describe but never wants to stop.

Hidden away from the rest of the world, curled up together on her bed, they forget the day’s past horrors and replace them with bright hopes for the future, exchanging comforting touches, deliberate yet played off as unintentional, in the soft glow of the bedside lamp -a caress of knuckles here, a brush of a palm there- as she reads into the night, until the cloudy sky darkens to black and they’re both fighting off the languid pull of sleep.

“I think that’s enough for today.” He plucks the book from her hands without waiting for a response and marks their place with a gas station receipt she was using as a makeshift placeholder, and setting it on the beside drawer.

“It’s your turn to read tomorrow,” He takes her glasses off with gentle fingers as she speaks into what little space still exists between them (that’s not otherwise occupied by Binx), smiling at the slow graze of his thumb along her cheek and nestles further against his side. “I’m done botching the names of deities for a while.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Damn it, Sailor kind of hates it when he says that cause it makes her feel things that she’s not quite ready to think about yet. Thankfully, her blush is swallowed by the darkness as he turns off the light and settles down beside her, arm slung low over her waist; her hand carefully brushes against his bruised ribs over the old shirt he wears, ice pack long ago thawed and thrown somewhere onto the hardwood floor.

“How do these feel? Better?”

She feels JJ nod, his chin brushing the top of her head. “Much.” There’s a pause, long enough that she starts to feel like she’s about to nod off, then he whispers, “Thank you, Sail. I know I don’t say it enough.”

She takes a deep breath, fingers stilling on his side, “Because you don’t need to, J. Remember what I said earlier, in the bathroom?”

He nods again but doesn’t reply, instead drawing circles on the small of her back, so she takes it as a cue to continue, “I care about you, okay? You don’t have to thank me for that. I’m just...doing what feels right.”

After a beat, the arm she’s using as a pillow curls and pulls her tighter against him as he says quietly, almost shyly, “I care about you, too.”

The rain outside had slowed to a drizzle without either teenager noticing and the gentle pitter-patter against the roof casts a somnolent spell into the air, dazed and dreamy. It wraps around the pair, not unlike the way they wrap around each other, and slowly, easily, safely, they drift off as one.

let me know what you think!

taglist ❤: @jiaraendgame @hmsjiara @heavensalreadyheres @obxsummer @maysbanks @alexa-playafricabytoto @sunflowerbecca @obxlife @obx-adventures @sexualparkour @mortifiedposts @coltonparayyko @miawantsapuppy @jjmaybanky

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katsitting · 4 years

Note

"Anklet" For the one word prompt, please?

AN: So, I received two prompts with the same word so I’m responding to both. I hope you’re the same anon. This prompt got a little spicy, hope you enjoy :)

Ship: Harrymort

Rating: E

Warnings: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Voldemort Wins, Voldemort Manages to Kidnap Harry During the Malfoy Manor Scene, Explicit Sexual Content, Non-con/ Rape Elements, Dubious Consent, Under the Influence of Horcruxes, Voldemort Doesn’t Know Harry is a Horcrux, POV Third Person Limited

You can also read it on AO3 here.

_____________________________________________________________

It always began with a kiss.

A brush of lips on the jumping pulse at Harry’s throat, and then, it was a slow descent into madness that Voldemort was powerless to contain, was helpless to stop even when he understood that it was unacceptable, that it was beneath him to indulge in that noxious wrench of desire in his stomach.

It was impossible to control, these urges. They grew more powerful with each passing day, with each moment he had the boy in his care.

At first, it was something he ignored.

A brush of fingers on the boy’s neck, a tap on the boy’s leg with his own feet. Innocent touches. A show of possession, of ownership. All things that the boy had long since acquiesced to when his mind had been suppressed to…stymie some of the more upsetting traits the boy possessed.

He was no puppet; Voldemort had not yet achieved absolute control, but what they had, though flawed, sufficed for his purposes.

A boy that worshipped the ground Voldemort tread on, that both admired and sought to save him. Voldemort had sneered at that, but now—

As his fingers roamed over the roll of Harry’s spine, counting the bumps beneath his fingers as he explored the near flawless skin, Voldemort did not complain.

There was something about this boy, something that he could not quite put his finger on.

There was a connection, no doubt. It wasn’t skin deep, wasn’t something as crass as desire and want, as ridiculous as love or care. It was difficult to describe, to quantify.

The boy shuddered beneath his fingers, back arching to accept more of Voldemort’s touch, to indulge the Lord that the boy had unwittingly accepted into his own heart from the moment Voldemort had snapped that anklet on his leg.

Harry laid naked on his stomach, his arms bound above his head on silken sheets. Voldemort had not bound him, had only arrived to find his pet in this compromising position when he’d returned from his meeting in Bulgaria.

It was…astounding, even now.

“Touch me.”

There was no question there.

Voldemort still did not understand why he had closed the door behind him and entered the room, why he had glided through the darkness without breaking eye contact with the boy’s intent stare. He had complied, had climbed onto the bed and began to touch, to savour, to worship.

There was something beneath his skin, a compulsion, a murmur.

Touch him.

He should have been upset, should have been perturbed at this sudden need to lean forward and kiss along the naked slope of the boy’s neck, tongue devouring the salty sheen of sweat on the boy’s flesh. Voldemort didn’t worship. No, they worshipped him, pleasured him, honoured him.

But—

Touch him.

Voldemort’s fingers roamed over the boy’s shoulders, caressed the quivering skin until he reached Harry’s ribcage. Softly, Voldemort worked through Harry’s body with his hands. Voldemort’s mouth followed the winding path that his fingers made, lingering longer where Harry released a low moan, where Harry’s body writhed and twitched most.

No place went untouched.

His neck, his nipples, his back, his ribs.

Voldemort explored each one, kissed each one, worshipped each one with the same religious quality that one did a wand—one point at a time.

His fingers twisted and tweaked Harry’s nipples, teeth grazed the reddening skin of Harry’s neck. A slide of his tongue, a whisper of his lips, a cruel yank on the boy’s nipples, and Harry was a sobbing mess.

Then, he moved lower, pace steady and resolute. Intent. His skin was hot, his palms itching. Voldemort couldn’t contain that steady thrum in his heart, in his veins. He had to touch, he had to—

His buttocks, his lower back, his thighs.

Voldemort kissed along the boy’s spine, relishing the soft mewls of pleasure that the boy couldn’t contain. His fingers curled over the flesh of the boy’s buttocks, squeezing and releasing the skin. Massaging the flesh until it was red, Voldemort didn’t stop until he was spreading Harry open and diving in there too.

Touch me.

Harry’s words echoed in his mind, intoxicating and alluring. Spell-binding. He pushed his tongue into the boy’s furled entrance, spread him wider beneath the weight of his hands. The boy cried out, writhed and shifted.

A finger wedged its way inside and curled, and Harry was choking on his gasps and cries. Voldemort drank them in like fine wine, emboldened. Another finger, another insistent push of his tongue along the outer seam of the boy’s entrance, and Harry was coming undone beneath his hands.

Voldemort couldn’t get enough.

In and out.

Voldemort pushed his fingers deeper, and kissed the swell of his arse. There wasn’t a single centimetre of skin that remained unmarked. Wet with saliva, red with arousal, Harry was rutting into the sheets, spreading his legs wider. The boy’s head was shaking too and fro, unable to remain still.

Harry’s words were garbled, incoherent. Voldemort still understood what the boy wanted, could still hear the words in his own head as he devoted his time to Harry’s entrance, teased and pleasured that tight ring fluttering around him.

Touch me.

Voldemort fucked him on his fingers, on his tongue, until the boy shuddered one final time around him, until he was spilling into the silk sheets beneath him. A stream of white in a sea of black, Voldemort admired the sight with something akin to awe.

Voldemort hadn’t touched his length, hadn’t grazed his nails across the pulsing vein beneath the shaft.

He didn’t need to.

That was the extent of Harry’s arousal, the extent of his devotion to Voldemort. To come only from behind.

Beautiful.

A suckle, a kiss, a bite, and Voldemort worked his way lower still. The back of the boy’s thighs, the concave of the boy’s knee, the hard muscle of the boy’s calves: Voldemort’s palms massaged them, teased at them until Harry was writhing again. He wanted to break Harry open, to take him apart one limb at a time.

Gorgeous.

All that Harry could do was quiver, let out sharp intakes of breath. Voldemort took in each sound, tucked it away for later review at another time, for when his own need became too much and—

When Voldemort reached Harry’s ankles, it was like the world narrowed to a single point.

The anklet glittered beneath Voldemort’s scrutiny. Winking. The compulsion, the urges cresting at the centre of him, sharpened. His jaw ached with its force, with the suffocating need catching in Voldemort’s throat.

Voldemort’s hands massaged the boy’s calves, thumb applying pressure on the muscle, nails dragging along the skin. Harry writhed, groaned, but didn’t say much else. He rarely did.

Not while Voldemort touched him in his chambers

Please.

There was a voice in Voldemort’s head, one he both did and didn’t recognise. It was a distorted sound, a shrill cry.

Please stop. Stop.

Over and over again, it begged. It wanted this to stop, wanted Voldemort’s hands to pull away from the temptation of Harry’s flesh, but Voldemort did not, could not even if he’d wanted to.

There was something about this boy.

His insides had never felt more alive, his chest so full.

Voldemort’s lips found the boy’s ankle, tongue curling to taste the skin hidden inside the anklet. Harry convulsed beneath his hands, toes and legs tensing and relaxing, tensing and relaxing.

Please stop—

Touch me.

Two voices. Two different desires.

Voldemort’s fingers seized the boy’s twitching leg, caressing the boy’s ankle and stroking along the golden metal until the boy was keening. By the sound of it, Harry was nearing his limits, on the brink of coming again.

It was strange how such a sound was enough to make his own stomach pinch, for his own blood to travel south in a steady thrum, thrum, thrum. Voldemort’s teeth ached, too wet and too empty now. He wanted to bite, to chew and gorge himself on that ankle, to—

Do it.

Voldemort froze and then pulled away from the boy, stomach acrid with horror, with realisation at what he’d done, had allowed himself to be seduced to do.

At what I had almost been manipulated to do.

The ankle twinkled innocently at him, but Voldemort paid it no mind. His mind was screaming, bellowing with rage and fury, with fear and want—

So much want.

Voldemort didn’t stop pulling back until he was a safe distance away from the boy, near the door. His heart was racing, his own length straining in his robes with his arousal, with his blood lust.

The urge to curse Harry was heavy on his tongue.

How dare he?

Voldemort wanted to howl, to break everything in this room, to break the boy lying in that bed, unmoving.

The anklet restrained Harry, suppressed his true self beneath muscle and bone. It couldn’t be removed. There was no undoing what was done, not without severing a limb. Harry could not escape, but—

He had tried and almost succeeded.

Voldemort’s lips twisted with a sneer, ignoring the prickle of something soft twisting along his senses, a something that was almost a whisper but was not.

The boy was clever, far more intelligent that Voldemort had given him credit for. To have influenced him, to continue, to influence him, even now, when Voldemort had taken it upon himself to separate himself from the boy was unacceptable.

Admirable, but unacceptable.

“You’re not going to escape, Harry.”

The boy in the bed did not respond. Voldemort did not expect him to. That wasn’t who he was speaking to. That boy on the bed already belonged to Voldemort, heart and body.

No, he was speaking to the soul.

The last of Harry’s resistance.

The ankle didn’t glimmer, wasn’t capable of speech with this much distance, but Voldemort was certain that the soul buried in that metal, containing all the wild spirit that Harry Potter possessed, had heard. The sensation of what felt like fingers on his skin, of an influence that went deeper than Voldemort could begin to describe, was evidence enough.

“Tempt me all you like, but in the end, it is I that will come away the victor.”

Voldemort said into the room, turning away from the boy that had all but passed out on the bed. A snarl worked its way on Voldemort’s lips. The body might have been nothing more than a shell of Harry’s former self, but there was still resistance there, still—

Voldemort had to keep his distance.

At least, until he learned just how to deal with the Boy Who Lived, until he owned every part of him.

Mind. Body. Soul.

#tomarry #harrymort #I did a thing #one word prompts #I am no longer accepting prompts at this time #Anonymous

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alias-b · 4 years

Text

sins of my youth. 013

Billy Hargrove x OC! Evie Fenny~ Also posted to my AO3

Summary: It was common knowledge that Billy Hargrove hated Hawkins. Hated Cherry Lane. Even loathed the strange girl next door. Evie Fenny wasn’t too fond of the chaotic Cali transfer either. An awful high school tradition sparks a chain of events that changes everything, ultimately bringing two frayed souls together.

Hey all!! Evie attends a party to get back into the swing of being a messy teen and the night doesn't go as expected. Billy opens up about his past in California with a story Evie finds all too familiar. TW: Slight sexual refs, teens drinking/smoking, talk of past s*icide/death, and addiction. TAG LIST OPEN. Always open to chatting about the fic, thanks!!

Chapter 13: Almost Paradise

“Are you sure about this?” Heather spoke over Evie’s shoulder.

“We always hit the mid-winter break parties. Why wouldn’t we, Heath?” Evie applied her favorite shade of cherry in the mirror. Makeup still only covered so much that next night. But, with the swelling down, she hoped it wasn't that bad.

“Figured you’d be hanging with Billy.”

“We haven’t done anything...much. His dad is grinding him to stay in. He'll...also be at the party I'm sure.”

"That why you put on the new bra?"

"It's not new..." Evie fixed her sleeve to hide the black strap. Blushed a whole garden of strawberries. "Like I said...haven't done anything."

“Haven’t had the chance, hm.” Heather plopped down and stole some mirror space. Relenting as she applied a lustrous pink shade to her lips that matched the scrunchie holding her curls high. “I know you’re hopelessly into him. All the eye fucking over the movie last night. If you hadn’t have passed out on the couch-”

“Would...you be mad?” Evie looked up.

“I’m just coming around to him again. If you trust him, I will.” Heather smiled. “I just have to be the bitchy best friend. Make him sweat it out for my own enjoyment. Cute how he tucked you in last night through, looked like he might not leave you.”

Evie lowered a brush doused in gold glitter from her eye.

“I am sorry...about the whole-”

“You don’t have to be sorry about him, Bowers is the one that should be sorry.” Heather frowned. “I’m not mad you didn’t tell me. Honest. I get it. I can’t imagine what I would have done.”

“You wouldn’t be in that situation because you’re smarter than me.”

“No, I’ve made poor boy choices too. We both know that.” Heather beamed. “Can I borrow your earrings? The little cherries you made.”

“Sure, keep them. You get more mileage out of them than I do. I can make more.”

Heather squealed and went to steal them. Evie thought it funny, her friend would rather wear her craft projects than the baby diamonds in silver and gold her parents were always buying.

“Hey, I… My mom’s been lying to me. About my dad.” Evie admitted. “He’s trying to call and give her money, I think. I don’t know if he asks about me. Where he is. I’m just… I don’t know what to do with it all, Heath.” Her voice broke and leveled out. Slowly the brush came up again. “You ever feel like you remember things differently? Like maybe we never see things as they are, we just see things as we are?”

Heather turned to see, still putting the earrings in.

“I’m sure Mona’s trying to protect you. She’s always been so much.” She pressed her lips and tilted Evie’s face to check her work as she always did. “Covered it nicely. How’s your head?”

“No pounding anymore. Not getting dizzy, I think I barely avoided a concussion.” A beat. “I just wonder what exactly she’s protecting me from. It’s eating me.”

Felt like too appropriate an expression.

“We’ll figure it out, but you put way too much pressure on yourself like you’re alone, Eves, and you’re not.” Heather pulled Evie in to hug her. “You have me and Steve. Friends at school.”

Blue hopped up on the desk to meow loudly, both girls broke to giggle.

“Yes, you too, cutie.” Heather scratched the kitten’s chin. “And Billy, I guess. Whatever.”

“Yeah, I don’t know what we’re doing. But, I don’t mind it so I guess I’ll chase that.” Evie thumbed Heather’s lipstick at the corner. “You’re set.”

“You, too. Let’s head out.” Heather winked and stood up.

Blue trailed after them so Evie filled her dish. Grabbed a prized jacket she used to be too afraid to wear for how loud it was. Red leather and fringe. Bitchin'. A signature piece of clothing. Undoubtedly Evangeline. Fredrick didn't like it so it was packed away with all her sharp edges.

Heather beamed as her friend donned it. Completed Evie's look with a black skirt and graphic shirt tucked in. Vaguely mesh pattern tights and her warm boots. Gold hoops gleaming and her little music note necklace. Plucked piece of juicy fruit and a hard pit for good measure. Curls bounced, almost obscene.

“Think Brock and his shitheads will crash?” Heather waited for the door to be locked before they got into her car.

“I’m not worried about Brock after what happened with Fredrick.” Evie stared at the empty place in the Hargrove driveway where Billy’s Camaro usually sat. No doubt he was already there raging. Evie got annoyed with the flame in her stomach that flickered at the thought of running into him there with all the dancing they’d been doing. Every little maybe and almost. Syllables rolling off tongues to tangle.

Loch Nora rangers were undoubtedly the best.

Evie still liked parties. Liked the stimulation. The noise. That beautiful overlapping noise to wash her world out. The drunk idiot teens wandering to dance or do dumb shit. All technicolor. Even liked them better than what Fredrick would take her too. Annoying how Fredrick had become this constant life point of comparison. Physically out and still here to set the scales.

Time for some liquor.

She peered around and realized Steve never came to them anymore. Heather even asked him and he just declines too politely. Three drinks sank into her stomach so Evie went out back to where some meathead with no shirt was pouring. Moved through sprightly bodies to get another cup. Smoke and sweat in the cool night air.

“Fenny, you hear Tannen got a DUI?” Nameless meathead poured.

“No, shit?” She took her plastic cup back. Black and gold glitter nails clicking the artificial red.

“Swear to god! His dad’s basically paying everyone to make it disappear.” The guy chuckled. “Lucky, the idiot didn’t crash into anyone.”

“Yeah, he’s a mess.” Evie tipped her cup in thanks and watched teens bop around the covered pool to booming music. Rich house on a hill, no one was calling the cops. Cold and slush weren't stopping the festivities, it only made them turn up the noise and heat. Her outfit combated the lingering winter well enough. Perks of being a bigger gal. Thick skin to combat the weather and assholes. “Thanks.”

“Plenty more to go around.”

Evie caught a bunch of metalheads thrashing around a huge trampoline. Jumping from the lowest part of the roof to it and climbing all over. Billy among them spitting beer and cackling. A hungry wolf against the bright moon. Readied to toss his head back and-

“Evangeline!” He howled and she rolled her eyes below, drinking. Cup lifted to acknowledge them. Billy flashed his teeth, glowed there at her. Still among his following.

"You clean up well, Fenny!" One boy cooed so Billy shoved him into one of the many seat cushions that had been stolen to line the perch.

"Why not join us? Stay awhile." Billy crouched at the edge. Admired Evie glittering and that outfit. Tassels constantly in motion, she looked like a song leaping off unworthy pages. They echoed the calls and she laughed outright, went back inside to a chorus of whines wanting her to stay and indulge them in their debauchery.

“They out of the hard stuff already?” Heather approached and offered a tiny joint to Evie that she caved and puffed. “Tammy’s asking. I’m switching to water.”

“Beer only it looks like. It’s raining boys out there though.”

“Oh, maybe I’ll catch myself one.” Heather winked and wandered outside with the smoke.

Evie got squished in between her and Tammy moments later. Talking school and beauty and graduation getting closer. Across the way, Billy had a whole room entertained with his California stories. Evie lingered to see his eyes flicker over to her.

The strange radar he had when she was around. Always on high. He smiled bright and animated his tale, kept them all hooked and laughing because he was just too badass. Too good. A firework in this boring town. Perched on the table with a smoke in hand.

Spinning tales around the way he spun her under confetti.

And they kept peering at each other. Billy got more persistent as Evie made it a point not to look. To stay reeled into Tammy gushing about the car she was almost saved up for. This baby pink bug she dreamed about. Robin joined them and Tammy blushed as they shared a freshly rolled joint. Heather and Evie shared knowing looks.

Billy decided he wanted attention from Evangeline and left the stories behind to cross toward her. Evie felt sparks when he plucked up her hand, nodding aside. One tug and smoldering eyes. She didn't move and played a pout.

“I’m having an important discussion with the girls about the principal's clearly fake mustache, Hargrove.” She lifted her eyes, biting her lip as if that might curve her intoxication. Curled a smirk he matched.

"Thrilling. Something tells me it ain't getting mileage." Billy didn’t take his eyes from Evie. “Ladies?”

“We just finished actually, Evie was about to get herself another drink. You look like just the soul brave enough to help with that.” Tammy, oblivious but a wingman to the end, cut in so Billy pulled Evie up.

Heather flashed a guilty smile as they went off because Evie was aimlessly bickering. They didn’t go out back for a drink. Billy climbed the steps with her hand. Slowly Evie adjusted to lace their fingers. They moved over bodies and went down the hallways into a vacant TV room with beaten couches and thick screens.

“What are you doing?” Evie dropped her arms as Billy bit his tongue with intent eyes and crossed into her space for a kiss. Tasting of some green apple schnapps the boys outside had downed with all the hard stuff.

“Just something I thought about for a while.” He cupped her face for another and Evie felt dizzy for the first time after her drinks. Billy and his lips. Tasting her. Pulling her back into a couch with him.

“You mean like a day?” Evie had giggled. Breaking the kiss to see his pupils spread.

“Hey, it was a long, long day.” Came a shrug, eyes on her pretty tights that were sending him. “I can only say so much over the phone.” Hands worked under the skirt. Melted Evie down while she came in for more of him.

Straddling Billy’s hard thigh, she combed his hair back and ravished him in turn. What could she say? She liked to kiss him. Liked his mouth and his palms and his heat against her. Scorching. Billy adjusted, taking her hips to press his leg up into her.

Evie rocked unconsciously. Gave him a little moan. Let him untuck her shirt. She came out and felt his hand on her bra. Fingers sunk under the fabric while they locked eyes. Rolled her nipple until another moan lulled. Evie still pulling at his hair, lips opening.

“No bad kisses yet, hm?” The hum hitched as Evie pressed into him. Kissed him deeper. Not worried she might squish him with the shameless, signature way he touched her.

“Let’s try a few more.” Evie about whimpered into his tongue. Brow furrowing. Breath quicker. Something ready to churn in her belly.

Billy gripped her hips to encourage her on. Shifted down the line of her jaw. Silken mouth trailing to release warm sighs. Evie had her hands pressed against his grey tee. Skimming under the leather jacket to feel the hard lines. Miles of him to trace and explore. Shifting, one hand came to his left shoulder. Finger pressed and Billy gave a jerk, breath catching as he pulled back to hiss.

Evie narrowed and yanked away the moment he looked in pain. Avoiding her eyes as if he wasn’t just trying to turn them over and finish this.

“Are you okay?”

“Fine.” Billy leaned back in for a kiss she barely responded to. Thoughts racing. “It’s nothing.” He cupped the back of her head. Lips all over Evie’s neck. Fingers slipped to push his jacket aside and Billy grasped her wrist. “Evie, it’s nothing.”

“You’re hurt.” She frowned. Billy gripped her arm still, searching. He opened his mouth to speak and the door burst open, giggles sounding at the same time Evie threw herself out of Billy’s lap. Practically to the other side of the couch. Shamefully tucking her shirt back in.

“Oooh, this one’s taken,” Tommy backed up and processed who was in there again with Carol under his arm, “Billy and Fenny? No fucking way, you two. Ha!” He cackled and Billy gave an agitated breath.

“We’re busy, shut the door, man.”

“No shit, you’re busy. I’m shocked. I thought Fen wasn’t speaking to you ever again after-”

“Hagen, we’re talking.” Evie slid her eyes to Carol who’d gotten dead silent. Eyes bright and full of hate. Piles and piles. A tremendous build of fire and loathing directed at Evie for existing in the same space.

“Talk away. Have fun, kids!” Tommy only found it funny. Jeering in his annoying way before Carol shoved off him and stomped out. “Hey Carol, what’s your problem?” He smacked the door shut following his upset girlfriend down the hall.

“Shit, asshole.” Billy rubbed his shoulder. “Where were we?” The purr made Evie turn her head, thoughts elsewhere. Billy crawled to kiss her again and Evie stood. “Hey, where’re you going?”

“I just, I feel weird now.” Evie stumbled around the coffee table. Cheeks bright and rosy. Not sparing him a glance because Carol’s eyes gnawed her. Created an incessant buzzing around her brain. Billy jolted to follow but she was out the door. Looking around for Carol and Tommy’s loudmouth. Boots hurried down the steps after Tommy, still trying to coax his girl back to the festivities.

“Carol, hey,” Evie pushed beyond Tommy once Carol was out a sliding door, “Hey, can we just talk?”

“You are such a fucking loser, you know that?” Carol spun on her heel to direct some teenage rage in Evie’s direction. A few outside by the kegs noticed the tiff, pausing to see.

A crack.

“Why do you hate me so much?” Evie dropped her shoulders. Billy slipped out and stepped up behind Tommy, pausing at the standoff. Carol staggered. Clearly intoxicated. Cracking a huge, watery smile. Reckless. She stepped toward Evie so a burst came. “Why! I'm not mean to you! I've never been mean to you! I only talk back and I still feel guilty, but you're so... Why?”

"You're nice to me?" She made it sound unreal and laughable.

"Yeah, actually! I don't understand it, I've tried to be kind to you." Evie felt a tear slip down and stayed level. "No one deserves to be treated the way I see you treat others. So, why?"

“Because!” Carol shot back, welling too. “You’re so fucking kind and...playing innocent...and you're good! And I..." She stopped with another deafening crack. So loud, it rang. Carol really stopped to reflect and hated what she saw looking back at her. But, Evie was here looking too so the hate rerouted.

"Good?" Evie breathed and so much ugly spread in her veins like a disease.

"And...And you get all this attention! Acting like you don’t know! And just look at you! Do you really think you’d get that attention if these boys didn’t feel sorry for you?” Carol stumbled and pointed a finger in Evie’s face, furious and shaking. Too close.

Evie got silent. Dropped everything she felt.

“You’re the one I feel sorry for.”

Carol buzzed with rage and reeled back to slap her so hard, the force sent her into Tommy.

"Girl fight!" Came some yelps.

“What the hell, Carol?” He caught Evie on pure instinct, not understanding either. Billy charged forward and Carol kept pushing as Evie found her footing.

A chorus of shocked gasps and awe came from the drunk teens near the pool. The music blared.

“Hit me back, you bitch! Yeah? Do it like you did to Tannen. Think you’re any better than me!” Carol was near sobbing. Eyes crinkling with tears as she shoved before Tommy got in front of her. Looped an arm around her waist.

“That’s enough, Care, c’mon.” He and Billy separated the girls, but Evie wasn’t trying to hit back. Just stared with huge eyes and a palm against her hot cheek.

"Hey. Hey, you okay?" Billy stood in front of her now, tugging. Evie wasn't budging. Enthralled. Stuck. Sinking. Not good. "Let's go. She's wasted."

“Evie!” Heather was racing across the grass to help. “Carol, back off her.” She planted her feet between them and Carol sneered, struggling against her boyfriend.

“Ooh, Princess Heather to the rescue. Admit it, you just like being the pretty friend.” More hissing channeled out.

“Just, shut up!”

“How about you tell Fenny why Tannen even tried to chase her skirts that night? Yeah?” Carol broke free and tackled Heather into the grass. "Tell her what a shit friend you are, baby!"

“Another girl fight!” Teens howled across the way. Billy and Tommy shoved in to pull the clawing women apart as they rolled around and pulled at hair.

Evie heard herself shouting to stop, barely audible over the crowds that closed in on them to cheer and chant.

“Tell her, sweet pea? Tell her that her dear B-F-F set her up with some animal. I was at that party, I heard you, bitch!” Carol skidded as Tommy pulled her off. Billy had Heather by the arm, trying to yank her up from the grass. She began to sniffle. “Perfect Heather. Little priss who can do no wrong. Perfect body. Perfect life. The teen dream. Tossing bones to us lowly folk when you're done.”

Carol laughed and cried all at once. Even the crowd slowed to watch her. Evie felt a coldness spread at the display.

“Oh yeah, Heather, you’re a real carpenter’s dream!” Carol mocked relentlessly. “Flat as a board and needs a screw! Go on and tell Fenny what a great friend you are. You brushed Tannen aside and pawned that puppy off on someone easier.”

“I didn’t know he was like that yet, okay! It was stupid.” Heather admitted, tears falling. Evie froze at that, didn’t move toward her.

“Heath, what’s she talking about?” Evie hated how wounded she sounded.

“I just thought maybe he’d cheer you up, we all were drinking and, Tannen, he...he was nice at the time. So I thought. I just...you know-”

“Just, what?” Evie leveled out. Billy let Heather go once he brought her up from the grass so she came to Evie. Crowds all but hushed.

“Can...Can we not talk about it here?” Heather tucked her hair aside, sounding too small.

“No, I love an audience! Talk.” Evie’s spine went rigid.

“I just...nudged Tannen your way. You just broke up with that guy over the summer and your dad left. Tannen was, I don’t know, it was stupid. He was nice and...and good looking. I thought he’d make you feel better. I didn’t know he was like that yet. I just was trying to hook my friend up.”

"Please, you alluded to owing him a favor after. He ate that up. You talked up a desperate animal in need of a hot beef injection. You said Fenny could barely thread a needle these days." Carol bellowed. More shock. More awe.

"I was super drunk!" Heather covered her eyes to rub them

“So, you told him to try fucking me! Told him I was desperate for it!” Evie’s voice rose and Heather quelled with shame.

“You were so sad...I thought he’d give you a good night.” The tone trailed off.

“I’m fat, but I can get laid on my own, thanks. I don’t need your fucking help, how little do you think of me?” Evie’s curls shook around with the same fervor. Heather just held herself and stared at the grass. “Do I really seem that pathetic to you?”

“No, it’s not that at all-”

“It feels like that,” Evie stepped back, “keep me around because I make you look like the Queen Bee and toss some asshole with a reputation my way out of pity if I cease to function.”

“Evie, it’s not like that!” Heather wept and got her hand shoved off when she tried to touch her friend. Evie wiggled through the crowd because it split for her fury.

“Get off me,” she went around the house, “get away from me, Heather! I don't need you!"

Heather stopped on the lawn and just stood there to see Evie follow the street lamps off.

Carol watched them go, sagging into Tommy who was definitely too drunk for this.

“Jesus, what’d you do?” He pulled her in another direction. Back to the house. Away from the excitement resuming. “Shouldn’t start that shit.” They got back inside so he led his girlfriend into an empty bathroom. “You okay?”

“I am now. Bitches. I just...I can’t fucking…” Carol sniffled and cleared her throat. "I don't know why I hate her, okay, I just do! She just gets...everything."

“This is about your mom getting back with that asshole.”

“It’s not about that!” Her defense went up. “I’m just tired of Fenny acting like she can get everything she wants. Throwing herself at Billy, fuck. Wondered why he all but dropped everyone else. I thought he and Vicki had something. Gotta be kidding me.” Carol crossed her arms to lean back into the counter as Tommy washed his face with cold water, nauseous.

“I don’t even think Fenny’s gonna go for him when she’s already got a thing with…” He perked. Lips sealing. Carol noticed.

“Thing with who?”

“Nothing, I just...I saw something...and I’m drunk. I’m fucking drunk, Care.” He got his shirt tugged.

“Tommy.” She sucked her cheeks in and he knew he’d be caving. “What did you see?”

“Evie’s been seeing Bowers, I saw her leaving his place all roughed up. Not the first time, I live a street away. Saw them in his driveway shouting at each other once. It was so dark. They kissed and she...well, her head dropped down for a bit. Thought I was having a nightmare there. I tried to forget it and just act like... I didn't believe it was her until I saw her on that bus. I'm drunk, fuck...” Tommy blurted in one breath. Carol’s lips opened.

“No fucking way.”

“Listen, I could be wrong-”

“We can’t let them get away with that. I mean, he’s a teacher. What if he really hurt-”

“You’re not doing it to save, Fenny, you’re doing it to make her life worse. Just...forget I said anything. I’m fucked up. Shit. I fucked up. I fucked up so bad.” Tommy rubbed his eyes. Let them dart. Carol slid her gaze away and crossed her fingers behind her back.

“Fine. Whatever you say, T. We'll forget it.” Another pull brought him in for a kiss. Tommy caressed her arms and felt Carol trying to make herself small. “Can I stay at your place tonight? I can’t go home to Jason on our couch again. I just...I can’t. I can't do it, Tommy.”

She trembled so he tucked her under his chin.

“You know you don’t have to ask, babe.”

*** ** **

Evie was down the hill still stomping under barely lit streets. Teens ranging to music still in the distance. Forgetting her. Intent, she marched over frozen sidewalks covered in slush. The tip of her nose and ears grew chilled pink. Heather had shouted after but stopped the pursuit at the end of the lawn. Ruefully, Evie wouldn’t weep, she already cried enough this damn week.

She just wanted to be better. Higher. Then all of it.

The unmistakable rev of Billy’s Camaro rolled up behind her.

“Evie, don’t make me come out to steal you. Just get in.” The window came down. “You can’t walk home in that skirt with the snow. We don’t have to talk about it.”

She paused to hear him. Eyes on the wind sweeping frosted shrubbery about across the perfectly trimmed lawns. Rich people. Cozy in their homes burning bags of money on nights like this.

“Are you going to be all the same to me, Billy? Tell me right now, I swear to god. Pretty face trying to get its way with words that are just...empty. You gonna get mad if I don’t put out and try to grab at me like Tannen? Why are you bothering with me?” Evie sniffled, hands out and dropping as he watched her. Brow furrowed. “You saw them looking at us funny.”

“Evie.” He reasoned. “Where am I right now? Am I back there shotgunning free liquor or am I freezing my balls off coming after you? Again.”

“You’re here with me. But, how do I know this isn’t some weird game for you with a prize at the end. Kids like us, we don’t go together. Are you trying to win a prize so you can move to the next? Can’t blame me for thinking it.” She approached the car. Still guarding herself. “I can’t let that go.”

“I like you, Evie, and I can tell you that a hundred times. But, it means nothing if you won’t let me.” Billy leaned over to click the door open. “You don’t let anyone like you.” He waited as she didn’t move, hands gripping the wheel before he sighed. “Didn’t notice the other kids, if you really care. I’m the Keg King.”

A cold breath puffed out her nose, almost amused.

“I was enjoying the view.” Billy drew those glittery blues to her expression.

“What makes this a view?”

“You.” A shrug pulled along with her heartstrings. “Get in, let’s go somewhere.”

“Where?”

“Anywhere you like. Just as we planned, remember?” Billy winked at her and Evie’s walls lowered. She looked back at the house party echoing and got in to buckle herself.

“How much have you had to drink?”

“Relax.” He sped off. “Barely anything and I even drank water. You proud?” He fiddled with the radio. “Wasn’t feeling it tonight.”

“Looked like a party on the roof.”

“Well, I still gotta impress the following.” Billy gestured to the glovebox. “Put a tape in, will you?”

“You and your hair metal...and...oh?” Evie skimmed the selection while they whirled away from Loch Nora. “What is this? Fleetwood Mac. I’m so impressed.”

“Ugh, that must be Max’s, she keeps leaving her tapes in my car. Throw it out.”

“Wow. Apologize to Stevie.” Evie gasped and mocked. Cupped her hands over the sacred tape. “He didn’t mean that.” Billy peered over to crack a laugh at her jabbing. “Alright, alright. Can’t go wrong with a little Queen.”

“Fair enough.” Billy let her slip the tape in and mess with the volume so they could still hear each other. “You really mad at Heather?”

Evie went flat.

“Yes and I’ll stay mad at least until school starts back up.” She crossed her arms, relaxing as the heat picked up. Too good just as Carol said.

“Where am I taking you?” Billy turned down another road, flying beyond the trees and Evie stared at his profile. Intent on the road for once.

“You opposed to a little more cold?”

“I have blankets in back. Might have to get cozy.” He slid those eyes over and Evie sucked her cheeks in.

“Take a left up here. I know a secret spot.”

** ** **

“You didn’t say anything about hiking through a dark forest,” Billy whined with his arms full of blankets. "If Michael Myers reams my ass-"

"Maybe I'm a Thing like the movie and I'm taking you somewhere to assimilate." Evie teased ahead of him.

"I actually like the sound of that, Angel. Proceed. Assimilate with me all night long." Suggestive.

She just laughed, loathing him.

“It’s not far. I'll protect you, Billy. You hear the water and ice cracking? Chicken.” Evie flicked a flashlight they snagged from his car after parking in the thrush. “Just up there. C’mon. I promise it’s worth it.” She hurried up, leaving him behind to watch her silhouette in starlight

“Someday, I’m gonna stop chasing this girl,” Billy uttered under his breath, hurrying to follow because that was the biggest lie he'd ever told himself. “The whole ‘no murder’ deal stands.”

“Naturally.” Evie giggled and stepped over a log. “Here.”

They walked along the train tracks going both directions. Came upon the cliffs where the bridge was laid out. Billy looked out at the frozen water yards below. At the moon and stars bathing the space in an ethereal glow. Frozen water framing the rocks. Looked like a castle full of magic.

“Down here.” She went to the edge and climbed down under the steel and wood tracks. Into the space that was suspended over the great fall.

“This is your spot?”

“You'll see why.” Evie reached for his wrist so he didn’t trip. Snagged the blankets from him. “Prettier with all the icicles. Look.” Billy did. Admired the iridescent, dewy glimmer. “And now we wait.”

“Wait?” He came to Evie, lighting a cigarette. “For what?”

“You’ll see, I said.” She settled a blanket around her shoulders and gave him one. Playfully covering his shoulders.

“Wait to freeze to death.” Billy had grumbled as Evie paced farther, stepping over boards and balancing on steel beams.

He saw the moonlight stream through the tracks into her curls. Admired her when she peered back to press a genuine smile. His cigarette dropped. Cherry glowing all the way down. Air whistled.

"Tell me more about yourself, Billy Hargrove." Evie cocked her head at a dewy spiderweb. "Favorite fruit? Favorite insect? Are you fonder of chocolates or-?"

"You think I'm interesting." He decided.

"I think you're here with me." Evie curled around a steel post to see him.

"Tangerines," Billy replied after a beat, "and favorite bug? Do scarab beetles count? Just think they look cool as shit."

"Naturally. Good choice, I suppose." She sized him up and tapped her chin when Billy gestured across the way. Neither moving. "Pineapple and luna moths."

"Luna moths?"

"Yeah," Evie hummed to herself and hid away behind the beam, "I always thought they looked like they were fluttering straight out of our dreams. Don't you?"

Billy took one step. Really watched her shift in ethereal lights. Luminous and bathed utterly.

"Evangeline." He mused as she teetered across a board and came to the edge. Eyes on the water far below. "Why a singer?"

"Hm?" She faced away from him. Seemingly in a dream herself. Billy imagined moths glowing around her pretty hair. Fluttering to follow her into the dark. He wished she'd extend a hand to him so he could join. Follow her right into it.

"Why do you want to be a singer?"

"Always liked it. Growing up, I just felt right, I guess. The most like me. This girl I wanted to be and she's on a stage under too many lights. Singing her heart out to miles of crowds. Touching them all in a way. Connecting." Evie trailed her fingers over chains that hung down, clicked them together like wind chimes. Billy edged up after her. Not getting too close. Wondered about what was ticking in Evie's soul.

"Nice to be heard when you put music out into the world," Billy observed and she seemed to like that. Curls bouncing softer with her voice. Evie unfurled for him there and she was breathtaking.

“I wanna write music that lifts people so high, they’ll have to look down to see heaven." Evie gasped gently, heart-soaring while she came to the other edge on the opposite side. Almost leaning too far.

"Yeah?" He felt her tug tender cords in his soul. Didn't take his eyes away.

"I want to write something that makes others understand they’re not alone. Not small. You know? One great song before I...” Evie trailed off with a sober sort of melodic call beckoning and looked far below to the great fall that was one stumble away. One step. Fingers opened. Her arms lifted enough to drop the blanket behind her and feel the wind. “You think I can write a song powerful enough to help me fly over this bridge, Billy?”

One hand lifted higher, lips open and unable to stop. Unable to look away from the edge. Steady as can be, Billy slid his palm against her. Skin awakening. Reminded her that she was here. That he was with her. That they weren't alone and the song was alive. Fingers laced and Evie seemed to reel back to him, brown eyes glinting to see his face there. Freckles all glowy. Curls spun of gold shifting just right.

"You're beautiful." She observed there.

Billy surely would have followed her to the edge, but he didn't want her to go. Stay.

"You're strange." He'd found this sentiment before and it sounded all the more lovely tonight. Billy gently pulled her from the edge. “Come here, Angel, warm me up.”

Billy draped himself in the other blanket again. Shifted her under it as if it were a cape. A shroud that would keep them both from harm's way. From the edge.

“Okay, Dracula, easy.” She stumbled into him. The diamond lines of Billy’s chest cut into her. “Wait, you feel that?” She watched his earring shift while he looked around. “The vibration.”

“Yeah, I do.” He muttered suggestively.

“Not that kind. Just listen. Feel it.” Evie stepped out, almost giddy as she plucked her blanket up and felt around. Billy welcomed it in his chest. The smooth vibrations generating from above. “Get ready.”

“Ready?” He laughed, coming toward her again. Billy stepped into her space as Evie reached back to curl her fingers into his leather jacket. Head tilted up toward the tracks.

“Lie down with me.” She began to tug and Billy felt this drunkenness take him over at Evie and her smile brightening. They reclined together wrapped in blankets and Billy realized it as the horns called over Evie’s wild laughter.

“You’re full of surprises, Fenny.”

“It helps to scream it out, whatever you want. Just let it go with the train.” She kept snickering as the bridge really began to shake. Billy watched her face. Alight and wild. Red lips against the moonlight pooling to spill over her and illuminate the glitter in her makeup.

“You’re beautiful.” He said then. Unsure if she really heard him over the howl of the oncoming cars.

Billy laughed with her. The roar of a train began to charge above. Blaring horns and steel wheels cranking fast. Her nose crinkled as the windswept their hair. Lips opening to scream with it. Billy couldn’t help joining her. Both of them calling out against the rumbling that never seemed to end.

Icicles fell around the edges and reminded Billy of confetti. Falling so slow and sweet to decorate the space. Shattering colors. That night he first danced with her and kissed her long and hard. Spinning round and round.

Evie pulled herself up and climbed higher into the beams. Head tossed back to give a call like a siren.

“Fuck you!” She saw Billy stand and peered at him. “Keep yelling! Anything you want at anyone! Really let ‘em have it!”

“You first!”

“You left mom and me, you selfish fucking prick!” She raged up into the air for her father that wasn’t around. Hair whirling up into the gust of wind. The train took her syllables with it. Shouting back. "You can't just make people and then abandon them! They'll think they did something wrong forever!" Billy felt his chest tighten. Joined her. Heart bursting.

“Why didn’t you just let me fucking save you! Why wasn't I enough!” He didn’t yell for Neil who beat him senseless. Perched upon steel Evie saw Billy tense. Burst again. “I hate you!” He cried that. Evie's fingers pressed harder into steel. Lost in him. Billy heaved for fresher air. Having never faced it all.

The train ended as they stared at each other. Both breathing into the frozen air. Heaving to gasp.

Evie slipped down and tossed her arms around Billy’s shoulders. Kissed him back into cold steel as if she was trying to comfort him. Kiss him all better. Luna moths landing delicately on their bodies to open and close their lovely wings.

"Why'd you do that?" Billy asked of her for the first time. Evie beamed at the turn in the phrase.

"Because at that time, you weren't going to." She brought him back in. Wanting more. Cupping his face. “Feel any better?” Evie drew out, leaving him to look fluttered. Unsure, Billy swept in so he didn’t have to reply yet. Miles of kisses hot like the cherry of his smoke he let tumble below.

“Felt good.” He murmured, pulling her into him. “If anything.”

“You can’t tell anyone about this place. It’s my secret. Our secret.” She pecked his lips and Billy drew out because they both were too cold to continue. The heat in her belly wasn’t enough.

He tilted his forehead against hers, lulled forth when her weight shifted back and the loss. The loss of her ached Billy down to his marrow. This almost paradise they constructed together.

Curls fell into his face before he lifted to glimpse Evie once more. Wondered how she’d look swaying with lush moonbeams in her hair always. Pretty goddess draped in starlight. Painted in pearly shimmers.

Enough to take his breath, Billy gasped for it back and gave this distant chuckle. Nodded to promise he wouldn't tell a soul. Evie caught him wincing as her hand moved over his shoulder again so she left him completely.

“Sorry.”

“It’s nothing.” He turned to go, eyes elsewhere. Anywhere else they could dart. Not on her. “Let’s just head back.” Billy felt like he was in a dream. Spinning and dizzy all the way back to the car. He realized as the locks clicked that Evie had been speaking.

“Are you alright?” She swallowed and Billy looked at the car keys in his hand. Little scorpion keychain glinting. “Were you talking to your mom back there?”

“Yeah. I just…” Billy shook his head and turned the engine on. “I don’t know where it came from.”

“I thought it’d be Neil.”

“I guess I can’t even stomach dreaming of him.” He replied. “I know it’s not a dream if he’s there. Even if he’s getting his. You know?”

“Yeah. I, uh… Do you…?” Evie squirmed in her seat, worried he’d close up on her as he stared at the road and drove at a steady speed for once.

“Do I, what?”

“Hate her?”

“No.” He skidded at a red light, almost sounded defensive. Shoulders fell. Knuckles went white on the wheel. “Sometimes.” Evie felt her cheeks burn and tried to sound even, it still came out as an airy whisper.

“What happened to her, Billy?”

“She just died.” He sighed to calm his own tone from sounding hot. “She died when I was fourteen.” Finally, he corrected himself. “She killed herself.”

“I’m sorry.” Evie tried not to stare at him. Fear it made him uncomfortable quelled, but she couldn’t look away. Billy closed his eyes at the next red light to breathe, opened them.

“It happens.” He said. “People wake up one morning and decide they don’t want to wake up ever again...and they act on it. And they succeed.” It felt like he started to drive slower the closer they got to Cherry. “Doesn’t matter who they leave behind.”

Evie carefully extended her hand over to touch his in his lap. Because it does fucking matter and it always will. The fingers on the wheel flexed and Billy didn’t tear away.

“She had a lot of problems. Like my dad. Maybe they tried to fix each other once. I don’t know.” Billy continued. Too tender about it all. “They divorced when I was nine. All the back in forth. The visitations. Courtrooms making me choose and I just...I wanted her. I wanted it to stop too. I know she was messed up, but she tried to get better… You believe me, don’t you?”

His blue eyes glistened. Jaw tensing. Billy pulled up between their houses and neither moved as he cut the engine.

“Yes, I believe you.” Evie found the syllables around her tongue.

“You believe people can get better, Evie?”

She almost welled with him. It struck her heart with lightning.

“I really hope so.” She had to or she was lost just as well. Evie sniffled and tried to be stone again when all the emotion came into her voice to cloud it.

“She never hit me though. Dad drank and beat the shit out of her. Made her drug habits worse and worse. Liked when she was some coked-out zombie. Pills and needles, it just… Fuck, Evie, she just kept falling back. They fought for custody the whole time and I really thought she was getting better. Dad acted like a fucking hero, rescuing me from an evil druggie.”

“You’re worth getting better for.” Evie felt Billy slip from her hand so he could clear his throat and rub his eyes.

“I found her, you know?” He shuddered and stared at his open palms in his lap. Saw red on them. “It was her weekend and I took the bus home from school like I always did. We were going to go to the boardwalk.”

His head tipped back and he gave this grim smile. They never made it to that boardwalk, Evie realized.

“The smell of that house, I’ll never… Just rotten...and I couldn’t even see her face at first because of all the flies.” It was Billy who reached out aimlessly for Evie’s wrist. Something to stay rooted, she figured. “My mom was beautiful and she always smelled like oranges. Like the big orchard she worked at. But, the fucking house just smelled like shit and piss and vomit and rust when I came in. Like death. I found her in the bathtub all bloated and ugly and the water was already brown. She sat in there alone decaying and no one...”

Billy kept rubbing his eyes again until they were too swollen to cry. Evie had his hand in both of hers, clamped tight to keep him alert. Unwavering.

“I didn’t know what to do so I called for help. I couldn’t lift her out, I wasn’t strong enough and I kept screaming... Then, I tried my dad three times, and...fuck, I ended up calling Susan. They’d started dating a couple of months before and I didn’t like her. Or her kid. But, she was too nice and gave me a number to call if I needed her after they’d gotten serious. I don’t know why I kept it in my backpack. She came when they were loading my mom up. Kept trying to hold me and I wouldn’t let her until I was too weak to fight it.”

“She does care about you. She’s scared, too.”

“My dad cleans up his act well from time to time. Plays the perfect father and boyfriend, she fell for it. In too deep now with no way out. He'll bleed her dry, too. My dad, he likes it when people don’t have a way out. Mom found a way though, spite him.” Billy dropped his head back again, chest sinking before he looked at Evie. Quivered there. “I just get...so mad.”

“I know.” She sank into the seat a little to watch him.

“She left a note that said sorry. That she loved me. Left this for me, too.” Billy fingered his pendant. “Wasn’t enough. Sometimes, I walk into my own house now and that smell… I can’t escape it. I’m always in that house. In that room with the flies covering everything.”

That shook Evie. They weren’t perfect kids, but they didn’t deserve to be trapped in that house. In that room. Where trauma was fed on a loop. A haunted house where they were the ghosts doomed and trapped to wander. To relive what killed them from the first.

“I tried so fucking hard to make her better, I took care of her and I wasn’t there. I let my dad drive her to-”

“Billy, it’s not your fault.” Evie had his hand pressed against her chest at that. “It’s not.” Both painfully sober, they just looked at each other. Leveled out. “I’m sure she tried so hard for you. Some people, they just… Addiction is…”

Evie felt this ice swell up her stomach. Addiction is a harsh cycle. It never really ends, you work at it and fight it, but it’s always there in the back of your memories urging. Once you start, you’re always an addict. Recovering or not. You can’t stop.

You can’t stop.

“Getting help is so hard when you’re sick.” Was all Evie could manage. Unable to portray how profoundly she understood. “Your job was to be a kid.”

“All I wanted was to go back to California and now, I’m not sure if I ever can. Just knowing she won’t be there again. Sometimes when I’m here, I just pretend she’s alive and still picking oranges on long, hot days.” Billy swallowed. “My dad just...shut down for the first time when he showed up to get me from Susan’s. I asked him if he was gonna hug me. Susan had for a long time. And he just tensed and told me not to be soft. That I can’t act like a pussy and mom was just too fucking sick to get better. But, I knew she had a chance. I knew it was enough. I...” Billy’s voice cut over. He tried to gasp for some clear air so Evie pulled him over the seats into her arms.

“You’re enough.” She said. Plain and simple. So easily.

Billy vibrated in response.

"Sometimes I think you navigate the world like something bad is coming for you and you're waiting for it, Evie," he muffled into her, "and I don't want you to go, too."

"I won't go." Evie held steady, eyes flickering beyond him at dead space. "Promise."

Hands came up like he might shove her off before Billy shattered. Melted into her heat. The soft slopes of flesh. Arms went under his so she could hold him close. Billy hitched a sob and stopped anything else that dared creep up his throat. Fingers wrung into her clothing. Evie let him squeeze her tight. Within inches of breath. Make her a balmy slice of paradise he could sink into.

Billy closed his eyes. Face pressing into the line of her collar. Inhaling perfume and lotion. Flames bubbling up from her skin.

“Come to bed with me,” Evie’s lips touched his ear, “nothing funny. I just don’t want you to sleep alone tonight.” Billy felt himself relent, only nodded into her hair.

They snuck out under street lamps and went into the Fenny house. Cleaned up without words to dress down for bed. Blue wiggled in with them atop the pillows and Billy faced away.

Evie wished she had something better to say, but she just told him goodnight. Gently murmured it against his spine as she tucked in behind him.

“Evie.” Billy shifted after a long beat. Turned over to face her there. Barely awake at that point, her eyes cracked.

“Hm?”

“Thanks.” Billy moved again on his back because it always seemed to get her nuzzling into his side. “What I told you. Don’t tell anyone else. Please.” Arm stretching so Evie could take her place and mumble something he didn’t catch, a nod followed. Nose pressing to the cotton tee he left on, Evie slipped away first. Left Billy to his thoughts as he watched the dim lights pull between the blinds and curtains to make patterns along her ceiling.

He knew he was consumed and he wasn’t sorry. Not one bit. Evie tumbled deeper into her dreams. Not stirring as fingers played with her curls. Petting them softly. Billy mulled over it all and he just wasn’t ashamed and he couldn’t figure out how to make her see it. But, he was willing to keep trying. Evie was worth trying for, too. Plain and simple. Sighing out, Billy let himself begin to slip too.

“Anyone…” He couldn’t help uttering, almost melodic. Lashes fluttering. “...who knows what love is…”

Billy peered down at Evie’s face, peaceful and relaxed against his chest. Cheek pressing hot through the fabric as his fingertips ran a barely-there line down the silky skin.

The rest of the lyrics never came. Tangled into his heartstrings where they made a cozy home.

Billy immersed himself in burning amber, closed his eyes to follow Evie into absolute darkness. Almost paradise.

~~~~~~~

Thanks guys for being so lovely! This is probs my fav chapter to date. Leave words in my ask or replies if you have them! Love to hear from you all xoxo

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moonstruckbucky · 5 years

Text

Come Over (6/7)

Summary: You’re new to New York City. Fresh out of post-grad and wanting a change of pace, and this change comes in more ways than one.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader. Neighbor AU.

Warnings for Chapter: ....Smut. There’s smut ahead. And this is fucking long. And I’m sorry?

Notes: It’s the penultimate chapter, guys! I can’t even believe it. I would really, really love some feedback on this one! Enjoy x

Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Bucky is early the morning of Thanksgiving. The knock itself is quiet, as if he’s pulled his knuckles back too soon. Still it startles you, has your hand jumping and nearly impaling your eye with the mascara wand.

A hissed “dammit”, you set it down, double-check your eye that it hadn’t smeared, hurry to the door as that soft knock sounds again. All the air leaves your lungs in a whoosh. Being his neighbor, you’ve seen him in various states of dress, but never like this.

Hunter green looks good on him, you decide. The satiny material looks about ready to give where it’s stretched across his broad chest. A flat plain of forestry you want to trace and memorize with hands and tongue. Dark charcoal dress pants wrap tightly around his thick thighs, and your mouth waters. Shiny black dress shoes cap off the outfit. Your neighbor is a tall drink of water and goddamn are you parched. Subconsciously you lick your lips.

His clearing throat jostles you, eyes snapping up to his. They’re glittering, those crystalline eyes of his that pull you in like a lighthouse beacon. The edge of his mouth is turned upward, a sure sign that you’ve been caught ogling him, too lost in the beauty of him to notice he’d done the same to you.

You cough lightly, poorly covering yourself. “You’re early. C’mon in. I’ll be done in twenty.”

His body brushes by yours as you step to the side, cocoons you in his warmth and a clean, fresh scent with a hint of spice. Eyes flutter closed, deep breath in and then out to compose yourself, give yourself the confidence to get through today without ending up a puddle on the floor. Bucky’s seated on the couch, flipping through a magazine with Tony Stark on the cover. It’s the newest issue—the first publication of the upcoming “super suit” demo and he flips right to it, already engrossed.

You duck past him back to the bathroom to finish getting ready. A few more touches to your makeup, a pair of black tights, black boots, and a light jacket, and you’re ready. Bucky turns his head when he hears your heels on the floor, eyes widening just a fraction, but you notice. You notice everything when it comes to him. He rises slowly, and it’s almost comical. Like that scene in a teen romance where the girl, in her beautiful prom dress, descends the stairs and her date is rendered speechless, jaw dropped, eyes full of adoration.

“You, uh.” Voice cracks, clears his throat, tries again. “You look really nice.”

Your smile is easy, gentle, a little bashful as your cheeks flush. “Thanks, Bucky. Shall we?”

His answering grin is just as bright, just as easy, as natural. He holds out his elbow. “We shall.”

The drive to your parents’ is spent chatting back and forth, mostly about the new projects you’re allowed to talk about. Bucky’s enthusiasm is addicting, makes it easy for you to just keep going. You almost feel badly about doing all of the talking, but the excitement on his face covers it up, and his responding questions are eager and hurried, like he can’t get them out fast enough. Conversation with Bucky is easy. He makes it easy.

You’ll come to realize later that Sharon is far from both of your minds. So far, nothing could sour this day.

Clint and your family are extremely welcoming when the two of you arrive. Clint takes your coat and purse, claps Bucky on the back and leaves you to do the introductions. Your mother raises an eyebrow, aims it at the two of you and inquires how long Bucky’s been seeing her daughter. Matching blushes creep up your necks and without thinking, you take a step sideways, put space between you because you hadn’t realized just how close you’d been standing to him.

“Mom, we’re—we’re not dating. He, uh, he has—”

“I’m her neighbor,” Bucky interjects with a charming smile. The look on your mother’s face clearly says yeah, right, but she moves the conversation along, asks Bucky about his work and gets lost in his stories about the tattoo shop.

Clint comes up behind you, where you’ve moved to the small bar in the kitchen and have poured yourself a hefty glass of wine. Judging by the sly, fleeting looks your mother sends you, you’re going to need it.

“Mom seems to be digging in the claws,” Clint murmurs, pulling from his beer. You hum around your wine glass. “She doesn’t buy the neighbor bit, does she?”

“How could you tell?” you deadpan. Despite your concern your mother will spill something she’s not meant to, you’re relieved Bucky seems to fit in with your family.

Your parents have hogged him mostly, though Clint’s stepped in here and there to help him along, but his eyes are never far from you. Every few minutes they’ll find you, sparkle under the dim kitchen lighting, before he looks away again to give your family his full attention again. Once or twice, he sends a wink that warms your body more than your wine does. Oh boy, are you in trouble.

Fortunately (or unfortunately, depending on how you look at it), Sam arrives not too long after to break up the growing tension between Bucky and you. He greets Bucky excitedly, hugs him like he would a brother, offers him another beer from the fridge that Bucky accepts. The grin on Bucky’s face, the rumbling echo of his laughter, the lightness in his features all do horrible, horrible things to your belly and your heart, and you have to duck out of the room and find Laura, distract yourself, before you do something stupid.

She must see it on your face when you drop beside her on the couch in the living room. Cheeks rosy red, and not just from the wine, pupils dilated just a bit with a few tiny beads of sweat at your hairline. Laura and Clint had been together off and on since high school, until your brother manned up and proposed to her while out on their anniversary date. He’d taken her on a whale watch in Nantucket, something she’d always wanted to do. She said yes through a bout of sea sickness.

“You’ve got it bad,” she tsks, the ring on her left finger sparkling and tinkling against her wine glass. You groan.

“Don’t remind me.”

“Why’s he with that she-witch again?”

You hurry to shush her, glance over your shoulder to make sure you’re not heard. “Jesus, Laura. I don’t know why, okay? From what he’s told me they don’t even click anymore. Except...in the bedroom, which I can hear usually.”

Laura’s frown is sympathetic, both for your ears and for your heart. It doesn’t really make you feel any better, and despite how close the two of you have grown since you moved in, you still haven’t quite found it within you to tell him to break it off. Sharon’s already wary of you, though whether that’s from her rising insecurity or because you’re not hiding your feelings as well as you think you are, you’re unsure. The last thing you want is to stick your nose where it’s not wanted.

You and Laura go back and forth, straying from the taboo topic of Bucky’s relationship, until the men enter the living room. Bucky grasps a fresh glass of wine for you. You can feel Laura’s smirk from where you sit, hide your blush behind a long pull of the bitter red. Bucky sits beside you on the couch, close enough his thigh touches your knee where your leg is tucked up under you.

“Thank you,” you murmur once you’ve drained half the glass, tongue swiping over your top lip for the excess. You miss the slight dilation of his pupils, the way his chest rises with a deep inhale.

“Sure, doll.”

Your insides twist at the nickname and on the other sofa Laura smirks. Subtly, you flip her the bird and she snickers into her glass of water. Conversation buzzes between all of you, and you have to really focus on it instead of how warm Bucky is beside you. Maybe you should lay off the wine.

When your mother calls that dinner is ready, you’re the first one out of your seat. Clint makes a comment with a knowing grin.

“I’m hungry, dammit,” you snark back with a smirk. The others laugh a little, and you all find your seats.

Bucky pulls yours out for you before he takes his, a charming little side grin that sets your stomach to fluttering. You’re not sure if it’s just because the holiday has him in a good mood or if he’s purposely laying on the charm. Probably a bit of both.

He captures your attention over dinner, holds it as he converses with your family. You know your ‘heart eyes’ as Wanda would call them are on full fucking display, but it’s getting harder and harder to hide how you feel. Especially when he makes a dad joke that has your father howling with laughter. Sam nearly chokes on his beer. He clearly adores them, and it appears the sentiment is mutual.

And while your stomach feels like it’s flying, your heart suddenly takes a nosedive. The realization that he won’t be yours is heavy in your gut, icy tendrils slithering up to your throat to choke you. Pressure behind your eyes, a rising need to get away for a minute. It’s too much, knowing he isn’t yours when he damn well should be.

The chair scraping across the floor cuts through the conversation, halts it as everyone watches you in confusion. Your eyes are shiny, blurring all of their faces, so you keep your head down with a muttered “excuse me”.

A sharp, deep breath that’s almost painful once you’re locked away in the upstairs bathroom. Where you know no one will hear you as you let out a sob into your arm. For a little while it’s a gross mess of snot and tears and smudged makeup you wipe away with a tissue, only to have another black rivulet sliding down your face. The pent-up longing, confusion, and outright love comes pouring out, unable to be held back.

Nose stuffy, eyes crimson, you know you’re a mess and you’re going to have a hard time explaining it away. A rap of knuckles on the door, momentary fear that it’s Bucky coming to check on you, a rapid search for an excuse. More tissues swiped under your eyes and your best attempt at composure.

You open the door just a crack, surprised and relieved to see Sam instead of Bucky. His smile is sad, understanding, as if he knows exactly what’s in your head. You swing the door open a little wider, enough that he can get his body through to tug you into his chest. Large hands sliding up and down your back as you fight back another round of waterworks.

“This sucks, Sam,” you whisper. Eyes drift closed, squeeze, when he kisses your forehead and shushes you.

“I know, honey. You need to tell him, or don’t. Start dating, help yourself move on. Do something because I hate seeing you in pain.”

“I can’t tell him, Sam,” you murmur, stepping out of his space. You wipe your nose with your soggy tissue. “How could I put him in that position? I guess...maybe I’ll see if Wanda knows anybody…”

Sam smiles gently, tucks your chin with two fingers and nods his head towards the stairs. “C’mon. Let’s get through dinner and dessert.”

You’re nearly ready to cry again when Bucky lays worried eyes on you. You manage to choke it down, wave him off as you retake your seat. He tries to catch your eye but you avoid it, pointedly look to your other side. Your mom rests her hand on yours, a silent question. You smile faintly and nod, give the others a nod as well, and dinner resumes. It’s a little less light, less jovial, but soon Sam has everyone chortling again.

Your mood slightly improves once dinner is over and dessert begins. You’re laughing with Laura and Sam, Clint rolling his eyes because he’s the butt of the joke. Bucky’s a little quieter now, still perturbed from your earlier breakdown. You dread the car ride home, knowing he’ll ask you what it was about.

You gorge yourself on pie—apple and pumpkin because your mom is an exceptional baker. By the time the dishes are cleared from the table, you feel like you’ll have to be rolled out of the house. But then you remember who you’re riding home with and immediately volunteer to do the dishes for your parents if only to push that off a little longer.

Laura, bless her soul, doesn’t ask you about it. Instead, she asks you to be a bridesmaid in her wedding. Immediately you say yes, and the following conversation is a pleasant distraction from your earlier embarrassing episode. But there are only so many dishes and eventually, your time runs out.

Bucky and you bid goodbye to your family, your parents hoping they see Bucky again (thanks for that, Mom) and Clint promising to have a guys’ night soon. You barely feel his hand on your back as the two of you walk out to the car, breaths expelling in puffs in the cold November air. Immediately you crank the heat once the car is on, turning up the radio when a soft classic rock song comes on.

Bucky doesn’t ask you until you’re about halfway home. “You wanna tell me what that was about?”

It’s slow, deliberate. The chance to spill your guts, risk everything. He’s giving you the choice and you almost want to take it.

Almost.

“I’m okay,” is your reply instead. I’m fine is too much of a giveaway that you’re not. He’s quiet in the other seat, jaw muscle jumping and eyes sweeping outside the front windshield, but he nods, lets you have this because you can’t. Can’t say it, can’t cross that line with no hope of stepping back over it.

In the hallway outside your apartments, he thanks you, kisses your cheek, and it feels an awful lot like goodbye.

Two weeks. Fourteen days, three hours, and thirty seven minutes have gone by since you’ve last seen Bucky. You’ve heard him, walking through his apartment, on the phone, his door opening and closing as he comes and goes.

But not once do you ever see him.

It’s obvious he’s avoiding you, and once the initial confusion and sadness fades, anger takes over. What right does he have to avoid you? You’ve done nothing wrong except maybe get your heart tangled up somewhere it shouldn’t have been, pined for someone who’s unavailable. But are those crimes really so heinous?

When the anger fades, resignation settles in. You’d been too obvious, it seems, especially near the end, so he’s backed off, given you room to sort your feelings and shove them away. But it’s easier said than done. In the time you’ve lived here, Bucky has somehow taken root inside your heart, spread himself out within it and dug his thorns in. With each beat of your heart, they pinch a little more, leave a sharp ache in their wake. He’s implanted in you, unable to be shaken, like a giant redwood towering above the others, shading and guarding. But at the same time, smothering.

Another week goes by. The demo goes well; no injuries, and aside from a minor short-circuit, it’s a success. Investors scramble for possession of the super suit. It keeps you occupied, your mind off your suddenly-absent neighbor when before he only seemed to be ever-present. Always popping out of his apartment as you were leaving or arriving. At the mailbox when you came home from work. His absence is, to your displeasure, heavily felt.

Until there’s a knock on your door one Friday evening. If a knock could be hesitant, this one surely is. It’s slow, a long beat between the first and the second. Like the knocker almost wanted to turn tail after the first but changed his or her mind.

He stands before you, arms crossed, hands tucked under them, shoulders hunched and head ducked. Looking every bit a kicked puppy. At first, you’re ready to chew him out, let him have it for ignoring you when you’re not the one at fault.

But a sniffle from the hulking man before you makes you freeze.

“Buck?” you question on a whimper. He looks up, lifts his chin away from his chest, and your heart stutters, stalls completely at the tears running down his face. “Bucky, god, what happened? Come in.”

His arm is hot where you grab onto him, tug him into your apartment. His feet are bare, as if he hadn’t had time or care to find socks, much less shoes. You know you should be angry with him, are such underneath, but it’s easy to brush it aside when he’s so obviously hurting.

He takes up half your couch when you sit him down, offer him tea to which he barely nods. It only takes a few minutes, but Bucky’s damn near sobbing again when you return with the hot mug. It burns a ring into your coffee table but it’s ignored in favor of wrapping Bucky in the blanket you keep on the back of the couch for lazy movie nights in.

He tugs it up to his nose, calms himself by taking a few deep breaths. Those oceanic eyes glimmering again with tears and it breaks your heart all over again. You’ve never seen a man look so broken, so lost.

“Bucky?” you ask, lay a hand on the blanket over his knee. His eyelids flutter as he looks over at you, eyes clearing just a bit in realization, and he seems to recoil in embarrassment. It’s visible, the wall he tries to throw up but you grasp at his hand when he reaches to rub at his face. “Bucky, what happened?”

He sniffs hard, coughs a bit to clear his throat, and mumbles, “I don’t know why I came here.”

It stings, but he continues, “You’re mad at me. You should be.”

Fingers lace between his tattooed ones, squeeze reassuringly. “Bucky, the only thing I am right now is concerned. What happened?”

“Sharon came home, uh, yesterday. We’ve been fighting more.” You don’t say anything; you’ve heard him through the walls enough recently. “She came home, apologized, we made up. She went in to take a shower this morning, left her phone on the nightstand. You know, I never realized she locks her phone now. Never even crossed my mind. Has a password and everything. Well, it, uh, it went off, and I looked at it. The preview anyways. It was a photo, from what I could see from some guy named Rob.”

You feel like your heart plummets into your stomach. You don’t need him to finish before you’re wrapping yourself around him as he begins to cry again. Your own eyes burn with suffering, with the obvious heartbreak in his voice, in his eyes.

“Bucky, I’m so sorry,” you whisper. His hair is silk as your fingers card through it, nails scraping gently along his scalp, the back of his neck.

His face is tucked into your neck, breath hot against the skin there, and you have to push aside the realization that it brings goosebumps to your arms. His massive arms wind around you, tug you closer as he lets out all of his anguish. Months of arguing, of insecurity, of pointless arguments have all come to fruition, come to a sharp, jagged head that you swear you can feel yourself. It’s all laid out for you to feast your eyes upon.

His kiss is unexpected, makes your eyes fly open and hands to tightly grasp his wrists where his cup your face. It tastes of his tears, salty-sweet, and while your heart soars and tries to relish it, your brain jumps in.

“Bucky.” It’s weak on your tongue, but you tighten your grip on his wrists and attempt to pull back.

“Please,” is his sobbing beg, cheeks shiny with new tears, “please, I need…”

To feel something, are the unspoken words, something besides this heartbreak.

You give in. You let him pull your mouth back to his, let him part your lips with his tongue. It’s heaven, kissing him, and it’s so overdue. So goddamn overdue. You whimper against his mouth, against the wet curl of his tongue, and you can feel when it shifts. The atmosphere, the kiss itself. It becomes less about curing his heartbreak and more about his desire for you.

He lifts you from the couch, whines when you wrap your legs around his waist and grind against him. Hands fisting in his hair to wrench his head back and latch your lips onto his neck. It’s exhilarating, having this mountain of a man at your control. He finds his way to your bedroom, grunts an apology when he knocks your bottom against the door frame.

You sigh when he sits at the edge of your bed, his large hands cupping your ass and pulling you into him, into the hard length of him tenting his sweatpants. It’s too much and not enough all at once, feeling the firm planes of him under you. Shuddering when he slides his hands under your shirt, you let him strip you of it. You’re braless, your bare breasts on full display for him and the heat of his gaze raises goosebumps on your arms.

Part of you wants to cover up, but the sheer awe and adoration on his face makes you bold. You scramble off his lap, stand before him and tuck your fingers into the waistband of your own sweats. They pool at your feet, and you’re naked for him. His gaze alone takes you apart, like fire as it rakes over your form.

His broad chest heaves as he lifts a hand to reach for you, but you dodge it, sink gracefully to your knees instead. Bucky’s eyes go wide and his cheeks fill with pink. Jaw muscles jump with the need to tell you, you don’t have to.

But you’ve been waiting to have Bucky, all of him, and you’d rather die than wait any longer.

He offers no resistance when you tug on his pant legs and raises his hips. They’re tossed elsewhere, and you smirk when you see he too is bare underneath. With one hand he reaches behind his head and tugs his shirt off, and dear God, you nearly want to faint.

Every inch of him is sculpted muscle, adorned beautifully with tattoos in both black and grey and in vivid color. He’s magnificent, and right now, he’s yours. The moan that pulls from his throat when you wrap your hand around him is music to your ears, a beautiful sound that sends wet heat straight to your core. You feel it between your thighs as you kneel, brace yourself on his thigh, nails scraping gently across the sensitive skin and the coarse hair there.

A small taste, a flick of your tongue along the underside of him. A strangled hiss from the man above you, who leans back on one hand, cards the other into your hair. You mouth at his length, velvet-covered hot steel, beautiful to match the rest of him. Tease him to madness with your tongue and hand. A curl of the hot muscle around his glistening tip and he tenses, falls back against the mattress.

“Fuck,” he nearly shouts as you take him in your mouth finally. Warm, wet, and soft as you sink down on him inch by agonizing inch. He peers down, almost comes on the spot when you gaze back at him, pretty pink lips stretched wide around the girth of him. He has to close his eyes as he groans, fingers clenching in your hair.

It’s torturous, the pace you set. A warm glide up and down his shaft, your free hand teasing his balls, heavy and soft in your hands. It’s maddening for you, the sounds you pull out of him cause your thighs to clench. He twitches in your mouth, heady and tangy and something you decide is just him, and you pull away. His chest deflates as he exhales, a near whine in the back of his throat.

But then you’re straddling him, leaning over to kiss him deeply. Bucky’s inked arms snake around you, his stomach muscles shifting and clenching as he sits up, rolls the two of you over. He’s solid and heavy above you, wet from you where he pokes your inner thigh. He smiles against your mouth as you gasp at the intrusion of his fingers at your core. Slides them up and down and then finally, inside, and as he moves them, a twitch of your hips. It’s a beautiful fullness, but it isn’t enough.

“Bucky,” you moan, lay your head back and let him ravage your throat, your bare breasts. His tongue swirls a nipple, blunt teeth tug at the bud until it's pert and erect. You need him. Like air in your lungs you need him. You tell him as much.

He resettles over you, withdrawing his fingers, ruts his length against you before taking himself in hand. Your nails dig into his shoulders as he presses in. A gasp that’s swallowed by his mouth, an echoing groan as your walls stretch to accommodate him. You’re so tight around him, he thinks he might burst.

“G-God,” he sighs, forehead pressed to yours. He bottoms out, waits, meets your eyes when they flutter open. He’s so beautiful above you, dark hair in his face, nothing but pure want and love in his eyes. You see it, know he sees it mirrored on your own face. No more hiding.

“I’ve wanted you for so long,�� he admits as his hips pull back. You shudder at the drag of his cock. He’s nearly completely gone from you and he halts there, just the smooth tip of him inside. He slams forward, punches a cry from your throat. “So long.”

A steady pace, slow but god, is it deep. Plants his knees wide and opens your legs wide. You’re so full, it’s so much, but you beg him for more.

“Oh - Bucky, please.”

He braces his hand beside your head, the other pushing your hair out of your face as he leans on the elbow. Hands on his sides, his back, his ass, anywhere you can reach for more. Buck your hips to meet him, send him deeper. He grits his teeth when you toss your head back and moan, loud enough he’d be able to hear it next door.

“James.”

It sets something off in him, something primal. And in the back of his head he remembers how Sharon always called him James, but it has nowhere near the same effect as you calling him that. It’s heaven on your tongue and he kisses you deep, tongue and clashing teeth and he pulls your hand from his back. Laces your fingers together and presses them deep into the mattress. This is what it feels like, he knows now. Knows he’ll be ruined for anyone but you.

You’re seared on his heart, burn him from the inside out, and god, he needs you to come because he can’t hold back.

“Fuck, gotta come for me, sweetheart,” he murmurs against your ear, breathing harshly into the shell of it. “Shit, ‘m so close.”

“Fill me, James, oh, I need it.” Your needy whines echo in the room, the burning in your belly about ready to erupt. He growls low, thrusts his hips even harder and faster against you until you cry out, see stars bursting behind your eyelids, and you clamp down him so tightly he comes, too.

His thrusts are languid now as he fucks you both through your climaxes. His arm trembles where he still grips your hand, and he slides off you to the side, tugs you with him while he’s still buried within you. He kisses your forehead, slick with sweat, and can feel your eyelashes against his throat.

When your heartbeats slow, the sweat dries on your skin, you feel the weight of what’s just happened. It sinks like a lead weight in your heart, and you feel your throat closing up, eyes burning with your shame. Bucky shifts, feels the wobble in your chin, but you pull away from him to sit at the edge of the bed.

He’s alarmed when he hears you sniffling, a hand over your mouth to muffle your sobs. He panics internally, the hurt slicing through him like a blazing knife. But he reaches out to touch you, flinches back when you shove off the bed. You begin to gather your clothes, meet his glistening eyes with tears of your own.

“I’m so sorry, Bucky,” you sob before whirling on your feet to shut yourself in the bathroom.

Bucky’s chest rattles, teeth gritting together as he bites back the emotion welling up. You’re sorry? For goddamn what?

He leaves your apartment in a noxious mix of anger, hurt, and confusion.

End

#bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes smut #neighbor au #bucky barnes neighbor au #neighbor!bucky #neighbor!au #marvel fanfiction

898 notes · View notes

lesetoilesfous · 4 years

Note

“How much of that did you hear?” plus “Are you drunk?” for Hawke/Isabela please! I love them so much

I had so much fun with this and I love them so much and thank you!

(If you’d like me to write you a dragon age fic, send me a prompt from here!)

@dadrunkwriting

Pairing: Isabela/Marian Hawke

Characters: Isabela, Marian Hawke

Tags: da2 act 3 adjacent, internalised misogyny, Isabela has self-esteem issues, angst and fluff

Rating: Mature

“That’s not the point Varric!” Isabela’s voice is loud through the door of Varric’s rooms, and a little high with the force of her feeling. Hawke hesitates, bottle of Antivan whiskey clutched tightly between her fingers (tied with a red silk bow that the Antivan merchant had assured her that her lover would appreciate.)

“She’s not - this isn’t - damn it all.” There’s a loud thump. Marian slowly comes to a stop outside Varric’s chambers, melting with the familiarity of habit into the shadows beside the door. When Isabela speaks again, her voice is softer, and Marian has to lean closer to the door to catch it, careful to ease the balls of her feet over the Hanged Man’s infamously creaking floorboards.

“People like her aren’t meant for people like me. I mean, look at her! The woman washed up like every other half-drowned refugee in this city, and turned the whole blighted thing around in less than a decade. Homeless to Champion in six years. There’s a reason those pamphlets of yours sell so well Varric, and it isn’t your purple prose.”

Over the distant sound of the laughter downstairs and the low jump of music, Marian hears the quiet rumble of Varric’s reply, too soft for her to make out the words. After a moment, Isabela responds, warmly.

“I’m sure. But that’s not the point.” Varric speaks again. Marian leans forward, and tries to ignore the prickle of guilt that pulls at the hairs on the back of her neck as an elvhen bartender hurries past, glancing suspiciously at the shadows just over her left shoulder.

Marian is distracted from the elf by Isabela, and a long soft sigh through the door. Marian’s chest aches, and she tilts forward again, pressing against the rough wall of the Hanged Man and breathing in the salt and bitters taste of old ale. “She’s...a hero. And what am I? Some cheap Rivaini whore who couldn’t shut up long enough to be a decent wife.”

Varric’s voice is louder this time, protesting, but then there’s the squeak and groan of a chair on wooden floorboards, and the quick tap of Isabela’s heels as she crosses the room. “I’m going to get a drink.”

Marian has about three seconds to think, shit, and then the door to Varric’s rooms is swinging open and she finds herself face to face with Isabela herself. For a second, Isabela stares at her, brown cheeks flushing darker as she takes in her position. Weakly, Marian attempts a smile, holding up the bottle of Antivan whiskey.

“Surprise?”

Isabela shuts her eyes, brows pulling her forehead up into a mess of creases as she pinches the bridge of her nose. “How much of that did you hear?”

Marian softens, lowering the bottle as she drops the act. Out of the corner of her eye, she catches Varric attempting to make himself scarce as he steps into the other room. She looks into her lover’s beautiful bronze eyes, and offers, quietly, “Enough?”

Isabela swears, and swings forward, toppling a little as she does so, long boots skidding across the soft floorboards of the Hanged Man. Her thick, dark, wavy hair sways around her face and neck, and Hawke catches her easily, fingers curling around the soft muscular weight of her arms. “Sometimes I think one of those damn soothsayers actually did curse me.”

Hawke blinks, supporting Isabela’s full weight now as she leans forward. “Soothsayers?”

Isabela waves her off, pressing forward, and Hawke lets her go, watching as she topples against the far wall of the corridor. “It’s a Rivaini thing.”

Hawke nods, letting the whiskey bottle fall at her side as she steps forward. “Right. Are you drunk?”

Isabela snorts, shoving a hand heavy with golden rings studded with blue and red stones into a handful of her hair. “I’m barely tipsy.”

Marian nods, bending to set the whiskey bottle down on the floorboards just inside the door to Varric’s room (no pickpocket worth the skill to escape her notice would dare to steal from Varric Tethras). Then she walks forward, steadying Isabela easily. “Right. And that’s why you’re treating the Hanged Man like it’s the deck of the Siren’s Call.”

Isabela scowls, and she flings a hand into the air with the drama of an Nevarran poet. “Don’t! Say her name. It’s...bad luck, to speak ill of the dead.” Somewhere beneath the slurred words, real pain flashes across Isabela’s features, raw and fresh as it had been the first time she’d told Hawke about the shipwreck, six years ago.

Marian squeezes her arms, and gently tugs her back towards Varric’s rooms. “Come on, love. Sit with me.”

Carefully, Marian guides Isabela into a chair by Varric’s table, scooping up the whiskey and shutting the door behind them. After a moment, Varric steps out, offering Hawke half a wave and a knowing look when he does so. Marian throws him a smile, before returning her attention to Isabela, who’s resting her elbows on the table and pressing her face into her hands.

Gently, soothingly, Marian rubs a soft circle over Isabela’s upper back, stroking the rough canvas of her tunic. When she speaks, she does so softly. “Tell me what’s wrong?”

Isabela laughs, and it comes out a little more like a sob than Marian expects she’ll admit when she’s sober. Outside, in the Kirkwall night, a pack of mabari start up a baying howl at the moon. “Nothing! That’s the problem.”

Marian’s hand pauses in its circles on Isabela’s back. “....Right.”

Isabela looks up then, and her eyelashes are thick and dark with unshed tears. She smiles at her, and one jewel-laden hand falls to rest on Marian’s own scarred, rough farmer’s hands. “You don’t understand.”

Marian goes to protest, but Isabela’s thumb runs over the back of her hand as she continues. “People like me -” Marian frowns, Isabela raises her voice, “People like me don’t get happy endings. Which is why this -” Isabela gestures, loosely, to the pair of them, and the warm red fabric and soft wood furnishings around them, “is so fucking terrifying.”

Isabela blinks, and looks away, the soft line of her throat working as she swallows. “Because I’m going to lose it.” Finally, she turns back to Marian, and her expression is hard with remembered grief. “I’m going to lose you.”

For a long moment, Marian listens to the silence of her own thoughts, and feels the heavy, warm weight of her lover’s hand over her own. Then she takes a deep breath, and feels the tightness of her chest straining against her lungs in the way it has so often done in recent years: when she watched the ogre that took Carver, when she noticed the mottled grey spreading across Bethany’s sun beaten skin, when she saw the monster that had been made of her mother.

Then she says, softly, “So many people in this city seem to think I’m a hero. And the only person I actually want to believe it is you.”

Isabela stares at her. Marian turns her hand over, squeezing her fingers before leaning forward and pushing a heavy lock of dark hair back behind Isabela’s ear with her other hand, the backs of her knuckles brushing the rough linen of her bandana. The discs of gold tied to the fabric clink when it moves. Isabela catches her breath, lips slightly parted. Marian tries to smile at her, and isn’t sure why it feels so hard.

“The people of Kirkwall seem to believe that I can do impossible things. But the only time I’ve ever felt that way about myself is when I look at you.” Marian hesitates, then, catching her breath like a fistful of butterflies in her chest. “Isabela...you are the most remarkable, powerful, intelligent, funny, beautiful person I have ever had the privilege of meeting.”

Isabela laughs, softly, and a tear rolls down her cheek, glittering like gold in the candlelight against the sunset bronze of her skin. “Bet you say that to all the girls.”

Marian shakes her head, catching another tear with the side of her thumb as it rolls down Isabela’s full, round cheek. “No. Just one.”

Isabela does laugh, then, leaning forward and lifting their joined hands into the air over the table between them, pressing a rough clumsy kiss against their linked knuckles. Marian’s heart twists, and she shuffles forward, pressing closer.

“Isabela.” Isabela looks at her, and in the dark her eyes glitter like distant gold. “I am occasionally capable of impossible things. And I honestly don’t know how to control it, or how long it will last. But -” Marian’s hand tightens around Isabela’s, pressing the hard edge of her rings into her skin “- if there is a Maker, if there is such a thing as fortune, or fate, or whatever it might be called, I swear to you, love. I will be impossible for you.”

Isabela shuts her eyes, and more tears fall down her cheeks as she bows her head, thick hair tumbling over the soft curve of her shoulders. When she speaks, her voice is so quiet that Marian nearly misses it. “Why?”

Gently, Marian lowers her hand to Isabela’s chin, lifting it up until she meets her eyes. When Marian meets her gaze, she feels the weight of the honesty of her words pressing between her teeth with the fire of a thousand suns. “Because you’re everything. You’re everything, love. You’re everything to me.”

Then she slips her hand up over Isabela’s cheek, and kisses her, slipping her hand into the warm silken weight of her hair. Even through the cheap salt and bitters of the Hanged Man’s ale, Isabela tastes as she always does: of roses and the sea.

#dadwc #tevivinter #marian hawke #isabela #f!hawkebela #hawkebela #my fic #da2

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pink-bird-30 · 4 years

Text

RobStar Week 2020-Wedding Bells

Hi guys, I know I’m a day off for posting day 6 of RobStar week. But if you saw my previous post, I had a sudden death in my family and I needed time to process it. And I appreciate those who sent messgages in understanding. I just didn’t feel right writing such a happy moment for Robin and Starfire while I felt so sad.

Nevertheless, I have finished writing yesterday’s prompt and I’m happy with it. I wish I could write more on this, but then we’d be here for hours lol.

As always, my RobStar week postings are connected. So please go read the other entires before this one.

I will be posting day 7 tomorrow even thought RobStar week has officially ended. I just didn’t have it in me to write two stories today.

If you'd like to read all my entries in one sitting, here is a link to my FF.Net

(https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13635654/1/RobStar-Week-2020-All-Works)

Happy Reading!

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

October 15, 2020

You are cordially invited to attend the wedding of Richard John Grayson & Kory Anderson.

Cyborg tucks his white and gold invitation into his tux as he and Beast Boy make their way to the groom’s suite.

“Yo, Vic. Do you think he’s freaking out?” Beast boy asks as he checks his reflection in every mirror they passed in the overly expensive hotel hallway.

Cyborg chuckles and rubs his hands together, “Dick freaking out over his wedding? Man, oh man! I hope so, I’m gonna need some sort of entertainment before the reception.”

The two laugh before knocking on the creme colored door that read ‘Groom’ and watched as it swung open, revealing a panic stricken groom.

“Thank god you’re both here, please tell me you have the rings.”

The word ‘rings’ hangs in the air for eternity. Cyborg looks to Beast Boy, his eye growing wide, and Beast Boy looking at Cyborg with his mouth gapping.

Oh Shit!!!!

Dick’s eyes widen before launching himself at Cyborg and Beast Boy, causing all three men to fall to the ground.

“WHERE ARE THE RINGS?!”

“Dick, man. Just calm down.” Cyborg tries to sit up but is knocked back down to the maroon carpet.

Dick gives him a pointed look, “Calm down? Calm down! Vic, this isn’t some mission where if I forgot my boa staff I still had my birdarangs as back up. NO, THIS IS OUR WEDDING!”

Beast Boy turns a pale shade of green and tries to shake himself out of Dick’s hold, but he is no match for his angry leader’s strength.

Dick turns to Beast Boy next and seethed, “And you! You thought it’d be smart to trust you both with such a simple task! ‘Rob, man. You can trust us. We gotchu.’ Ha! Do you want to be the one to tell Starfire you left our rings halfway across the country?!”

The two Titans on the floor share a horrified glance, “No!”

“Good,” Dick pushes off of them and gets to his feet, brushing off his dark blue tux pants and readjusting his suspenders and white dress shirt.

Dick storms back into his suit and throws himself onto the white couch. He rests his elbows on his knees and his head falls into his hands. The other two Titans cautiously walk inside the room and close the door behind them.

Cyborg approaches Dick warily before settling a hand on his shoulder, “Dick, we’ll get the rings. Don’t worry about it.”

He groans knowing it was impossible for them to get the rings now. It finally started to get dark in Gotham and knew the ceremony is about to begin.

Dick drops his hands and falls further back into the couch, “How am I supposed to be a good husband to Kori when I can’t even make sure the rings got here today? What if it’s a sign, what if we’re not supposed to get married today, what if-“ Dick was cut off by a green hand slapping him across the face.

Beast Boy pulls Dick by his shirt and shakes him, “Pull yourself together man! What do you mean, ‘How am I supposed to be a good husband’? Dude, you fucking worship the ground that woman walks on and have taken care of her since day one. There is no one else that would be a better husband for her than you. So stop your whining and get your shit together!”

From besides him, Dick could hear Cyborg let out a low ‘Oh damn’.

Beast Boy slowly lets go of Dick and steps back quickly, afraid he’ll come to his senses and attacked him for slapping him.

Dick lets out a long breath, “You’re right. I’m just nervous and I don’t want to mess this up. She means too much to me.” Dick smoothed out his shirt again and stands up. He makes his way to his nightstand and pulls out his cellphone. He quickly dials the one person he knew could help them out of their bind.

Dick paces the room waiting for the phone to pick up, “Grayson! Are you freaking out yet?!”

Dick lets out a huff and cuts to the chase, “Wally, are you still in Star City?” His voice short.

“Yeah, what up? I said I’d be there before the ceremony began. I’m not like Barry who’d be too late.”

“I need a huge favor.”

“Oh? And what might this favor be?” Dick can hear the playful tone in Wally’s voice, but he doesn’t have the patience right now.

Cyborg sees the anger start to swell in Dick’s blue eyes, “Damn, Wally has a death wish right now.” He said to Beast Boy.

“No kidding, dude is an idiot.”

Before Dick has a chance to rip Wally a new one, Cyborg takes the phone out of Dick’s hands and puts it on speaker, “Yo, KF. We need you to go into the tower and into my room to grab Dick and Kori’s wedding bands. BB and I forgot them last night before the bachelor party.”

Wally paused on the other end of the phone before responding. “Holy, shit. You guys forgot the rings? How are you two still breathing?!”

Beast Boy frowned, “Dick didn’t hurt us too much-“

“Not dick,” Wally cut in. “I thought for sure Kori would have torn you both in half.”

The room grew silent.

Wally howls with laughter on the other end of the phone, “You mean to tell me Kori has no idea you forgot the rings? Dick, how are you not even married yet and already keeping secrets from your wife?”

“Wally.” Dick warns.

Wally laughs again, “Alright, calm down Boy Wonder. I’ll get the rings.”

Dick sighs in relief, “Thanks, Wally. Now get here as soon as you can. The ceremony is about to begin.”

“Roger that.”

And the call ends.

Beast Boy walks over to the fridge for a beer and pops it with his teeth, “See I told you it would work out.”

Dick glares at him and sends his shoe flying at his face.

“EEEPP!”

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

Kori sits still as the makeup artist puts the final touches on her look before she steps into her wedding gown. Kori spent the week daydreaming about wearing this gown and walking down the aisle towards Dick. It is a low back, sweetheart neckline mermaid gown with long lace sleeves and train. The buttons on the back of her gown are small flowers with rhinestones that will glitter under the full moon. The makeup artist added the lace and rhinestone veil to her hair. Kori decided to wear her hair in a low braided bun with small star pins places throughout her auburn locks.

“Viola! You are a bride!” The makeup artist stood back to let Kori take a look in the mirror. She felt herself tear up at her reflection.

“Oh! I look most delightful, I am the grateful!” She smiles at her helper through the mirror.

The makeup artists packs up her things and throws her bag over her shoulder, “In all my years of doing makeup, I neva’ thought I’d be doin’ makeup for Bruce Wayne’s son’s bride. And I don’t think I’ve eva’ had sucha beautiful bride before, your beauty is out of this world!” she said in a thick Gotham accent.

Kori laughs to herself knowing that the makeup artist does not know where she was from.

“Thank you.” The makeup artist smiles at her one last time, takes a few pictures for her portfolio, and leaves the room.

“Friend, Raven. The artist of makeup has left. You may reappear.”

Raven steps through the portal she opens in the wall and takes a seat on Kori’s bed.

“Good, I don’t think I would have taken another moment of, “Darlin’ you would look fabulous in pink!’ Yeck.” Raven rolls her purple eyes.

Kori smiles at her friend and grabs her bouquet of yellow and red tulips before turning to Raven.

“Is it the time, yet?”

Raven smiles at her friend knowing how big of a moment this is for her. All she can think back to was that fated day she came crashing into Jump City and changed their lives. Who knew one day she’d be attending Dick and Kori’s wedding. Raven can only think back to the feelings the two of them were harboring for one another for years before Dick finally told her how he felt. The only way Raven could explain it was like being high. Every time she’d walk in a room, and they were talking, it was like getting hit by a wave, so quick and ready to drag her under.

She knew the feeling all too well herself, but is afraid of how she’d handle her emotions if she were to let herself feel that kind of love completely.

Stupid pointy eared man with the cute fang.

A knock at the door brought Raven from her thoughts.

Starfire squeals knowing who it is. She pulls up the sides of her dress to prevent herself from tripping on the fabric and dashes to the door. When she pulls it open, Bruce is standing there adjusting the cufflinks on his black tux. He looks up to see Starfire smiling at him and he couldn’t help but smile in return.

“Kori, you look stunning.” He places a gentle kiss on her cheek.

Kori blushes slightly, “Thank you, Bruce.”

Alfred appears behind Bruce and smiles at the young bride, “Princess, you look quite marvelous in your gown. But as the time precedes us, we mustn’t keep Richard waiting. Don’t want him worrying, now do we?”

Starfire nods her head before turning around to grab her bouquet and pulls Raven from the room.

“Kori, slow down!”

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

It couldn’t have been a more perfect night for a rooftop wedding. The full moon radiates high in the night sky, stark against the deep purple night. Dick looks up, watching as a new stars appear as the moon travels through sky, going higher and higher.

Glancing across the rooftop, he takes note all the hard work he and Kori put into make this place special. They spent hours hanging string lights across the rooftop for lighting. It took two days making the floral lattice arch they would stand beneath when saying their vows, weaving red and yellow tulips all around it with sting lights. The white chairs are all lined up with the chairs facing towards the aisle having small lanterns hanging from them, to light the path that Kori would be walking down.

All the guests started to come in from the cocktail hour and settle in their seats; Dick recognizes more than half of the guest as his fellow heroes. The remaining bunch were a few of Bruce’s board members that he invited to show good faith.

Where the hell is Wally?!

Dick pulls back his dark blue tux sleeve to look at the time on his Rolex.

“Nervous?”

Dick looks up to see Raven. She looks very nice in her deep purple strapless gown, which catches Dick off guard. He notices a hint of makeup on her cheeks and lips, and her normally straight hair is hanging in lose curls.

“You look beautiful, Raven. How’s Kori doing?”

Raven blushes and then slightly scowls, “You’re deflecting.”

Dick leans against the side of the roof and looks down to the city below. It was strange to think that he’d been in Gotham twice this year. Before he was engaged, he hadn’t come back to Gotham ever since he left when he was 16.

That seems like forever ago.

“Dick?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s time.” Dick’s heart jumps into his throat as the quartet’s music flows across the roof. Raven give Dick’s arm a pat before she walks back off the roof to accompany Beast Boy down the aisle.

Taking a deep breath, Dick sends a small prayer up to the stars.

I know you guys are here with me today, and I hope I’m making you proud.

Dick makes his way down the aisle, watching as Alfred takes his place under the lattice to officiate the wedding. The butler smiles at Dick once he is settled to the left of him, waiting for the rest of the wedding party make their way down the aisle.

“Ready, Richard?”

Dick gives him a bright smile, “Yeah, I am.”

Cyborg and Bumble Bee begin the wedding by walking down the aisle. It took some thinking, but Dick knew Cyborg was his best man. He’s been there since day one for him, helping him to guide the team from the beginning, and being the friends he needed in tough times when he knew he couldn’t go to Kori. They have each other’s backs.

Next, came Raven and Beasty boy. Dick is surprised Raven is letting Beast Boy touch her as they walk down the aisle. But from the looks on their faces, they seem to be comfortable with each other.

I’ll have to ask Kori about that later…

After they made their way down the aisle, the music transitions to ‘Here comes the bride’. The doors in the back of the roof open revealing Kori in all her glory. Dick is certain his mind blanked for a moment.

She looks absolutely stunning.

Bruce offers his arm to Kori and she gladly takes it.

As Kori makes her way down the aisle her entire focus is on Dick. She can see the emotion in his eyes as she takes one step closer to him. He smiles brightly at her knowing he wants to commemorate this moment to memory and never let it go. She watches as he wipes at his eyes, making her tear up a bit.

They’ve both come so far up until this point and it is finally happening.

As they reach the alter, Bruce steps in front of Kori to pull her vail over her head to reveal her face and places a kiss on her cheek. He steps aside to give her hand to Dick’s, which he graciously takes before helping her up the remining steps to stand across from him under the floral lattice.

He brings her left hand up to his lips and brushes a kiss across her knuckles, “Hi.”

She couldn’t help but giggle, “Greetings.”

“Has anyone told you, you look absolutely gorgeous tonight?”

Kori pretends to think before smiling at him, “Perhaps not. Although, I do not the minding of hearing it.”

“Ahem,” Alfred clears his voice, trying to gain the attention of the bride and groom. “if we are done with the pleasantries, may we continue.”

Dick nods.

Alfred goes into detail of Kori and Dick’s relationship, mindful to leave out how they really met just in case any reporters paid the staff for intel on the wedding.

“Do you, Richard John Grayson take Ms. Kory Anderson to be your wife?”

Dick rubs the back of her hands as he says, “I Do.”

“And do you, Kory Anderson take Mr. Richard John Grayson to be your husband?”

Kori sniffles, feeling the tears pool in her eyes. “I Do.”

Alfred looks to the audience, “May we please have the rings.”

Dick’s eyes widen for a moment remember the debacle from earlier.

The rings!

As Dick was about to tell Kori what happened to their rings, Wally waltzes up the steps and hands Dick the ring box with his and Kori’s rings. He gives Dick a pat on the back and whispers, “Told ya I’d get here in time.”

Dick shakes his head at Wally as he walks back down to his seat. He hands Kory his ring and he takes Kori’s before sliding the box into his tux pocket.

“Repeat after me, ‘With this ring, I thee wed.’”

Dick places the ring on Kori’s finger, “With this ring, I thee wed.”

“Once more, ‘With this ring, I thee wed.’”

Kori places Dick’s ring on his finger and says, “With this ring, I thee wed.”

They’re eyes meet at the same time as Alfred finishes the ceremony.

“With the power vested in my granted by the City of Gotham, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride.”

Dick reaches forward and cups Kori’s face before pulling her lips to his. In the distance there were cheers and applause for the new married couple. As they pull apart the cheers slowed until Alfred stepped aside for everyone to see them.

“I now present Mr. and Mrs. Grayson.” The room erupted in applause and whistles as they made their way down the aisle and into their new lives as husband and wife.

#RobStar Week #RobStar #Robin #Starfire #Dick and Kori

43 notes · View notes

excaliefur · 3 years

Text

Maybe it is meant to be

Woah ok, first time writing in a l o n g time.

Don’t judge too hard I have no clue what this is.

Also side note: Story is changing a lot I changed a lot of elements after I finished writing this so just take whatever written here as a temporary thing.

TW: Suicide thoughts, brief mention of death and death from suicide. mention of alcoholism. if there are anymore ask me to tag.

Word: 2405

Not edited, just reread a couple times.

Cold. Cold and bitter, that was the best way he could have described it. The wind howled in his ear and slapped his face and exposed skin. It hurt, hurt like mad, the wind felt like thousands of sharp steely knives stabbing him at 100 miles per hour. He didn’t care. Stab away, he thought. He watched the cars and trucks honking and yelling and crying at each other below him. His legs dangling carelessly off the edge. All that noise for something so menial, they’d all reach home eventually, and it didn’t matter if one car was driving too slow, it’d pick up speed eventually. The traffic noise grew quieter as he stared up at the stars. Glittering brightly, the stars were always a constant in his life. No matter what happened, no matter how many times he had to move or change lives entirely or if he was deep in the city or far away from civilization on a farm. The stars always watched over him.

His father left each day, nobody knew which one would be his last. His mother grew pale every time she heard of an accident on the news, he would watch as she grabbed a bottle to calm herself. He stayed up all night, listening to her soft crying as she waited with bated breath, praying that the noises she heard were his father returning home. The door opened and light spread in the living room. The door always opened. He could hear his mother run out and give a tight hug to his father. He could hear the sobbing from both ends. One day his luck will run out though, and the door won’t open again.

Opening his eyes, he looked at his grimy hands. The nails were long and sharp, and his hands were covered in small cuts and bruises. Manual labor takes a toll on the body, especially since he was too young when he started out. Wiping his hand on his tight jeans, he let out a short laugh. What did he do to deserve this life? He had nothing but an alcoholic mother, a father who was a ticking time bomb, and the stars. He knew he was lucky to have parents at all. School was nothing but a drag, his classmates ignored him, his teachers ignored him, they all knew he wouldn’t graduate and gave up on him before he could prove himself. The loneliness was killing him. His voice scratchy from barely being used, his hair messy and long, it took too much effort and money to cut it.

He shivered, the thin jacket he was wearing did nothing to block the wind. Sitting up, he held his legs close to him, trying to maintain a little heat. Why was he even trying? What was the purpose? He didn’t know and he didn’t care anymore. Everyone gave up on him, why didn’t he give up on himself yet? The 15 year old boy shook his head, it was too cold. The noise from the cars grew even quieter as he stared at the flashing lights and sirens. Maybe he should do it, it would end his suffering quicker, and nobody would miss him, god knows if his parents even realise he’s alive. The concrete below him looked so inviting. If he could just, push himself-

“Hey” came a voice from behind. The boy shook, not having realised a girl standing behind him, at the door of the roof. The voice was soft and caring, so different from the voice he was used to hearing. The lack of roughness and quietness calmed him. He sucked in some air before replying. “H-hey” he said, his voice nothing more than a whisper. He coughed quietly. His voice had become deeper and he didn’t even realise it.

“Mind if I join you?” That caught him off guard. Why was she here? He stared blankly at her as she slowly stepped forward. She could see the reluctance on his face. He began to shift backwards as she got closer and she stopped. Putting her hand up she spoke “Woah, ok, I’ll stay here.” He shifted again, but just to position himself in a way to see her clearly. She had brown curls dangling down her face. She sat down slowly, she was clearly trying not to make him uncomfortable, and spoke again “Can I ask what you’re doing up here on a night like this?”

“Came to see the stars” He replied. It wasn’t a lie technically. He just needed to get out of his apartment. She nodded, and looked up. He could hear her breath hitch for a second. “Woah” she whispered, staring at the millions of tiny white lights blinking in and out of vision. “It’s- beautiful” he could hardly hear her speak. The wind still howled in their ears. “Yeah”

“Hey, look, those ones there,” She said, pointing. “They form Orion’s belt. That one’s Alnitak, next to it is Alnilam and the one on that side is Mintaka,” He scanned the sky searching for them. “They form that line, you see?” she informed, pointing at 3 bright stars, brighter than the other ones. He nodded, he could see them now. “I’ve always loved astronomy, never could see stars as clearly as I can right now though” she murmured.

They sat there, staring at the sky, in silence until she broke it again. “Can I ask why you’re up here this late?” it was another murmur, he strained his ears to hear it. He stiffened up. “Like I said, the stars” His voice cracked and his mouth went dry, she wasn’t believing it. “Is it, because of, you know the, the thing” She stuttered, clearly she was uncomfortable. He sighed. “Yeah” He whispered, pulling his knees to his chest and staring at the ground. He could feel tears threatening to fall, praying that she wouldn’t notice. Why did he even care about what she thought of him? They literally just met.

She interrupted his stream of thoughts as she put her hand on his shoulder. The soft touch made him melt. He’d never felt like this before. “It’s not worth it, trust me please.” she whispered. He glanced up and caught a glimpse of her face. Fixed in a small frown, her hazelnut eyes stared deep into his. He felt a surge of sudden anger, who knows where it came from, certainly not him. He jerked her hand off “How would you know” he spat. Honestly, he didn’t mean it, it just came out.

She sighed, putting her arm down and kneeling beside him. “I’ve been there, I understand.” His anger came back but more violently this time. He stood up and walked around her, to the other side of the roof. “You don’t understand my situation, you don’t understand anything about me” She stood too, a small fire in her eyes that he hadn’t seen yet.

“I understand more than you know, and if I truly don’t get you then help me understand. I just want to help” He scoffed. How could she understand this? Who the hell was she even. “I’m serious. I don’t want to watch another life waste away for a fixable problem.” Another? She couldn’t have been more than 15 though. “Have you-” He was cut off. “My brother”. Her voice was sharp, startling him. He softly mouthed a small “oh” She sighed again, turning and walking to sit beside a vent. He stood for a second, before choosing to sit next to her.

“I’m sorry” he whispered. This was his first conversation with someone his age for a long time and he went and messed it up again. “It’s fine, It was a long time ago and I’ve come to terms with it. I just, don’t want to see anyone go through it again. It hurts people more than you know” She said. He nodded. They sat in silence again, for a few seconds. Till he broke the silence for the first time.

“Right, we’ve been talking for a long time and I don’t even know your name, what is it?” The bluntness kind of shocked her. He felt like a kid again and blushed, hoping she didn't notice. “Well, I suppose I could ask you the same question.” oh so she was avoiding it, who was this girl? He shook his head tiredly, he couldn’t give her his name, not when he bore a big title with it. Even without the words she seemed to understand as she nodded.

“Well I can’t just call you roofboy.” she said, he laughed softly “And I can’t just call you stargirl.” he replied. “Touché’. They sat silently with bated breaths, until she giggled softly. He smiled and put his head down, afraid of being seen. Her giggle grew into a laugh which fueled his laugh which fueled her laugh until they were both red and holding their stomachs from pain. It was nice, nice to have laughed so freely and truly, after so long.

“Well then roofboy, how about we get a name for you?” she said, in a lighthearted tone. He laughed and stood, holding his hand out for her to stand. As she grabbed it and stood he replied, matching her singsong tone “Ok then stargirl, do you have an idea?” She gazed up again, he could almost hear her thinking.

“I do actually” she replied, softer and more serious this time. “How about, Sirius,” she asked. Sirius, Sirius. That, sounded really nice. It just, fit. He didn’t know how to explain it, it just felt right. Taking his silence as displeasure she stammered “I mean if you don’t like it we can think of another one-” He placed his hand on her shoulder. His eyes locked in with her, and for the first time he could see the fire in her eyes, her willingness to never give up. “I love it”

She sighed, and her shoulders dropped as her mouth curved into a slight smile. “That's good.” For the first time, the boy, Sirius, truly smiled at her.

“Wait wait wait, we’re not done just yet. I need to think of a name for you first.” He reminded her playfully. She laughed and beckoned for him to continue. His smile dropped into a small frown as he thought.

His thoughts drifted, from the stars and the moon to the sun and all above. All of it just reminded him of greek mythology. Oh how he loved greek mythology. He spent hours of his youth poring over books and stories and tales in the library. That's it, greek mythology. “How about, Artemis?” he suggested. Her eyes lit up and he could see a small blush on her face which she tried to hide.

“That's perfect. Thank you” she replied after a moment. Sirius smirked. “No need to thank me, m’lady” he said, exaggerating an accent and bowing before her. “Oh shut up Sirius” She laughed at him, and smacked him slightly. He stood before her again, they were both around the same height, not much of a surprise as Sirius wasn’t a very tall boy. He rubbed his neck awkwardly, as she blushed again.

“Hey Artemis, It’s nice to meet you.” He said. “It’s nice to meet you too, Sirius” she replied. The honking of the cars below and the bitter wind long forgotten, as they smiled at each other.

Artemis jumped. “Oh no, what time is it? I’ve probably got to go home soon before my mother notices I’m gone” Sirius frowned. He glanced at the tiny watch he hand strapped around his right hand and raised his eyebrow. “It’s almost midnight woah” he said.

Artemis gasped “Oh no, she surely noticed by now, I need to go.” Her voice was strong, but Sirius could hear the worry creeping in. She raced towards the door and opened it, the fluorescent lights blinding them momentarily. “Wait before you go- will I see you again?” He asked, speaking without thinking. What kind of question was that? So stupid and cringey he hated it. “If fate allows for it I’ll be here again soon.” she responded. That was an oddly poetic response. He hadn’t expected that.

She turned to walk down the steps but just before she closed the door she stopped. Opening it up again she asked “Can I ask you something really quick?”

That caught Sirius off guard. “Uh sure, go ahead” he said, not really sure of what was happening. “Why Artemis?” she murmured. “Why did you pick artemis for me?” she clarified.

“Uh, it just, fits, it fits for you.” He replied. What was he supposed to say? That’s just it, it just seemed perfect for her. She nodded, lost in thought. “Yeah, yeah I understand. Thanks.” She said as she began to close the door again. That question actually made him think. Why did she choose Sirius for him? She didn’t seem much like a Harry Potter fan. “Wait- why did you think of Sirius for me?” She paused. Walking back out onto the roof she stared straight up, searching for something. Probably a star. When she found it she beckoned him over.

Following her outstretched arm, he caught sight of a star, it was tiny, one of the smallest one he could see, but it was incredibly bright. “That star there is called Sirius. I thought it fit for you, because no matter how small or insignificant it seems, it's the brightest star we can see. Nothing will ever compare to it.” she murmured to him. Woah. Ok. This girl is definitely a poet. He stared at it, Sirius huh. Brightest huh. She turned around and walked out. Just before she left she turned to him and smiled. “Until next time. See you soon” and she shut the door.

Staring at the spot she was standing in he muttered a few words he hadn’t said in a long time. “Goodnight, goodnight, Parting is such sweet sorrow, That I shall say good night till it be morrow.”

He sighed. Staring back up to the sky. Who was this girl that made him feel like this. Taking one final look at it all, the roof, the traffic below and the stars above, he smiled to himself again, and turned back to his house, back to his prison. However this time it felt a little more free.

_______________________________________________________

Welp that was something

#tw suicide #tw alcohol #tw death mention #oc #original work #been planning the future of this with my brother #may wanna look out for some enemies to lovers :)#also likely this will change as the story progresses

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windup-dragoon · 4 years

Text

【Ｗａｔｅｒｌｉｌｉｅｓ】

Hien x Kiri

Goddess of the Sea AU

Word Count: 2868

Brief mentioning of @windupzenos‘ Octavia.

“You swore an oath to me, Goddess!”

“Not this drivel again.”

“From your very lips you gave me your word! Now release me!”

“And ya’ thought you’d control the sea? Everyone knows the sea is fickle, my dear prince. Now shut yer damn trap!”

Anger boiled his blood, his heart drumming harder in his ears than the pounding of his fist against the wooden door to the captain’s quarters. He could hear the hinges creak and groan beneath the strain, even rattling when he threw his shoulder into it. Yet it remained sealed despite his desperate attempt at escape.

“Kirishimi!” His voice was hoarse from shouting her name. This time he would go unanswered, the sound swallowed by an abrupt roaring all around him. The ship rocked violently, slamming him against the door. He could hear the maelstrom worsen just beyond the wooden planks that barred him from the goddess out on the decks. Wood snapped like thunder claps that sent quakes throughout the hull of the ship; the sails hissed as their fabric was torn in the blistering gales; and if he listened, hard and close, between the chaos ensuing beyond his prison, the faint ring of metal sparking against metal.

This was his fault.

Hien felt as if he may begin sinking. The din outside faded beneath the weight of his thoughts and thundering heartbeat. He slipped to his knees, forehead to the splintered door and eyes loosing focus on the intricate knots of the floorboards beneath him. With each tug and pull experienced by the ship, the sway and lull as it crested tide after raging tide, he felt neither here nor there.

All of this would be on his hands.

While his search for the goddess had yielded grand results, his people restored and brought home to live in peace once more, he had doomed the goddess herself. A viper in his company had used him. A mere plaything to be discarded once he had fulfilled his role. How had he been so blind to it before?

Of everyone in his crew, all but two had been his own kinsmen. While his own men were ready to cast aside their lives in search of a fantasy woman, she who spoke with the churning tides and sang with the gulls, these two hired hands had business of their own to tend to. And all the while he busied himself with the goddess, telling her stories of his country and admiring the way her eyes lit up with every shared laughter, he was dooming her to certain death.

His heart ached at the wretched thought. Those nights spent on an eerily calm sea, watching stars mirror themselves on the oceans glassy surface as if a blanket of jewels while in her company... And she would die for his blunders.

“They’ll tell stories of you,” The woman had snarled at him before drawing her weapon against the goddess. A monstrosity of an axe against a trident. “A sappy love story, to be assured. Poetic, as the bards have habit of making everything out of tragedy. ‘Land and sea dying together.’” Octavia gave a helpless shrug, as if to apologize for poetry not being her forte.

Meanwhile, trashing in the maelstrom, Leviathan snapped his ship swallowing jaws at her companion, the crowned prince of metal and steel. In large arches blood dotted the stormy skies, a shower of scales and thick ichor. The prince seemed to have little trouble dealing blow after blow to the creature. Hien could do naught but feel his stomach twist with guilt with every pained cry from Leviathan.

Words could not convey his regret for having ever brought this upon the goddess.

Before tears could well in his eyes and blur his vision all together, the erratic movements of the ship had ceased. The brewing storm and angry lashings of waves to the ships hull began to fade. A glimmer of light briefly shimmered through the windows around him giving the prince reason to once again rouse from the floor.

“Kiri-” His hands, scrambling for purchase at the door, were met with no resistance now and the door swung wide. The prince stumbled and spilled onto the deck.

Sunlight showered the ship, setting pools of gathered sea water sparkling and glittering. It was near blinding. With raised hands to shield his eyes he surveyed the damage wrought upon the ship, jaw slack with dread.

The masts were all shattered at their base, their tree like limbs completely gone without a trace; railing that he once noted to be intricate and heavy with artistic design were little more than bursts of splinters and broken lumber. The only thing he could visibly see that survived had been the captains quarter. Not a single glass pane had shattered while he occupied the room, nor had a lantern fallen amid the chaos. Surely this was intentional.

“Good. Yer alive.” The voice of the goddess grabbed his attention, reeling him back from his dumbstruck awe over the unreal serenity of the moment. The oceans rage had been quelled at the cost of her ship. And no Octavia or her prince in sight.

Hien followed the sound of her weakened voice finding her just behind the thrown open door he had lurched through moments ago. Her jacket, of such deep ocean blue and decorated in the finest pearls and lost jewels, little more than shreds at her arms. White hair a frazzled mess from the howling winds of hurricane gales. Her lips, bruised and bloody, curved ever so slightly before the woman sank against the wooden wall at her back.

The prince threw himself at her, one arm around her shoulder while the other tenderly touched at the various cuts along her cheek.

“What? Catfish got yer tongue?” She gave an echo of a laugh.

“Shocked.” Hien brushed his thumb over a gathering bead of blood at her jaw and arched a brow. “I thought a goddess would not bleed red like the rest of us.” If this was the worse of her injuries, perhaps he could at last fill his lungs with a breath of air.

“Heh, only when we’re close ta’ dyin’... does it turn to gold.” Despite the splits in her lips, Kirishimi smiled at the prince and drew her hand along her side. When she pulled it away Hien choked on a gasp. Her fingertips glittered beneath the afternoon sun now that the storm clouds had vacated. The ichor that set rivulets down each length of her fingers and pooled in her palm was ethereal to say the least. Never had the prince seen such color. Gold melted down, touched with the rainbow shimmer of pearls and glittered like stardust.

His mind went blank at the realization. All at once it felt as though the world had stopped moving, his blood ran as if ice filled his veins, the darkest waters of the abyss drowning his lungs and smothering his heart. His hands felt numb as urgency filled his muscles, tearing away at the remains of her waterlogged jacket. He raised her arm, distantly hearing her muffled groan in retaliation to the pain.

Along the curve of her side and splattering the deck spilled more of this unusual blood. A long gash had been torn into her from the cage of her ribs down across her abdomen. Hien’s throat tightened and vision blurred.

“Don’t’cha look at me like that, mate.” She urged, an unusual softness to her tone. “I held my part o’ the bargain, didn’t I? Yer folk are home safe and yer still kickin’.”

Hien shook his head. It was suddenly impossible to look her in the eyes. Those beautiful sapphire and crimson eyes. “At what cost? I’ve murdered a goddess.”

“Oh? And which one o’ these injuries of mine belong to you? Don’t see yer sword in my gut or a knife in my back.”

“Octavia and Zenos were apart of my crew. I had damned you from the start.”

“Speakin’ of which. They should be crashin’ against the cliffs soon. Levi gave ‘em a tsunami bath. Teach them for steppin’ foot on my boat.” Kiri attempted more laughter, tried with all her strength to stay smiling for the prince at her side, but choked on a welling of blood in her mouth.

She coughed and he leaned closer. “Kirishimi-...”

As he moved closer, the goddess took his hand and pressed an object into the heel of his palm. It was sticky with blood, ichor that made his mortal skin feel alight with a warm flame of a candle. Miscolored eyes looked up to his, searching his pained expression. “Call Levi for me? I want to go home...”

The item in question was an ocarina, he had seen her use it late at night, playing haunting melodies to the stars and the moon. But it’s make was hardly alike any he had seen before; it was carved into the shape of a fiddler crab and painted with scarlet red for its body with claws of ocean blue.

“This summons Leviathan?” He questioned, already knowing the answer. “W-Wait, what do you mean by ‘home’? If Leviathan can take us to land, surely a doctor or a healer could see you!”

“Just play a tune for Levi, will ya’?” Mismatched eyes began to flutter against the sunlight.

“Kiri, wait!”

- - -

The young prince had seen many things in life. He had seen war destroy homes and villages over night, witnessed life at birth and at death, even met the goddess of the sea. But this? This was a marvel in of itself.

An entire city deep beneath the waves. Not a thriving metropolis like he would have suspected if one had made mention of a lost city; but one of ruin. Statues depicting once living people had begun to crumble from the oceans currents; limbs missing here and there or faces having fallen away to sink to the sea bed below. Every so often he would catch the glimmer of light sparkling off what was once beautiful stained glass, only to be swallowed by the darkness of the ocean as they slipped by.

What stunned him beyond belief however was the place the goddess called home. Not a castle or throne room decorated in lavish pearls and sunken jewels. But rather a library. Fully intact at that.

The building itself was nestled into a slope of earth beneath the tides, an air pocket preserving the library as if it were an underwater cavern. Parts of walkways had long since been submerged by rising waters, but the library itself towered high; lined every which way with tomes and books galore.

The architecture resembled that of the sunken city; built in stone with towering columns and crumbling railings. Along several walls he could see motifs etched into the stonework. Beautiful depictions of a serpentine creature, each scale embedded with sapphire or cerulean blue tiles. Everywhere he looked he saw similar artwork. Leviathan. All of it was a dedication to Leviathan himself. And at the very center of the library, just feet above the ocean water that claimed the walkways, stood a fountain lined in the same tiles and jewels as the creature had been. The statue that still functioned, pouring water from a vase dusted in gold, was the goddess herself. Or at least the prince could only surmise.

Her face had spiderweb fractures, pieces of her cheek having fallen into the pool at her feet centuries ago. And where the goddess, currently cradled in his arms unconscious, had short hair, the statue was given hair that fell to her pedestal and into the fountain itself.

“A mortal?” Echoed a voice from one of the many tiers of flooring that made up the library.

Hien had to squint against the faint light that weaved throughout the railing, it looked as if fireflies were encased in the stonework itself to provide soft light. “A-Aye! The goddess is injured! Leviathan has brought her and myself here! Please, if you could offer us succor, her life could yet be saved!”

Somewhere behind the prince, lounging in the caverns opening, Leviathan let out a gurgled hiss before resting its beaked nose against the half submerged staircase that made the libraries entrance. Hien had felt pity for the creature, only it’s head could fit. Leviathan, despite the injuries sustained, had bore them both to the bottom of the sea without qualm. Another miracle, Hien thought now, that the creature could conjure an air pocket for his riders while they descended to the depths.

The voice overhead squeaked, a sound of books clattering to the floor soon followed. “Oh my! Quickly now! Place her in the fountain! Go!” A shuffling told Hien that the voice had departed, perhaps to reach them.

Hien held the goddess closer, her head lulled against the crook of his neck. When she wasn’t barking orders or giving attitude, she almost seemed at peace. Though the prince knew not to be swayed by her looks alone; this was hardly sleep but death approaching. He could see it in the way her cheeks twitched as she grimaced, or the flutter of her closed eyes.

With gathered strength he trudged forward, descending a small set of stairs where water soon swelled up to his knees. The stonework had begun to crumble here and there beneath him, he could scarcely make out the dark blotches just beneath the murky water. He picked his way through carefully, first feeling with the tip of his foot for purchase before moving forward. The water still rose, up to his waist before another small set of stairs appeared, leading up to the fountain.

The fountain was larger than he would have guessed from his earlier position. Several goddess’ could have been laid beneath the glittering water with ease. Even the statue loomed over him, taller and far more detailed than he had given credit for. Each fold in her dress was clear as day, he swore he could even see the stitching in the stone.

But the time to admire such craftsmen ship was gone. Hien shook his head, sitting himself down on the lip of the fountain. His eyes trailed to the goddess in his arms, absently sparring a moment to brush aside misty white hair from her cheek. Carefully he leaned over and lowered her into the water.

Golden ichor spread throughout the fountains pooled water, shimmering and swirling like galaxies beneath the ripples. Her form sunk against the tiles, the pool swallowing her entirely.

Hien watched impatiently as her blood bled into the fountains water. Had he been expecting a miracle? Magic to suddenly encase her and instantly heal her?

“It’ll take some time, lad.” A voice once more called to him. Wadding in knee deep water, along one of the other pathways that lead further into the library, stood what Hien could only comprehend as a standing tortoise. A creature that looked human in the way he stood, two legs and two arms, but had a shell adorning his back encrusted in gold and jewels. Even his head seemed more turtle aspect than man. The creature ran a hand through a length of beard at his chin before chuckling. “Never seen a Kojin before? C’mon, let’s leave her alone to recover. You can regale me with how this all happened, eh?”

Hien found himself shaking his head, too dumbstruck to register what the man had said at all. Was this tortoise truly speaking to him? Had he gone mad while traveling the ocean? The more he considered the thought, the more it made sense. Libraries do not just sink to the ocean floor. They do not make homes for a goddess. And what, he is supposed to believe she enjoys reading? Or Leviathan for that matter, who had snarled and hissed at him upon their first meeting, now a snoozing kitten at the entrance of this grand forgotten place.

“I’ve lost my mind.” Hien wheezed, holding his head in his hands. “Ocean madness truly exists.”

“You’re only mad if you insist on staying in wet garb all day, lad. You’ll catch a cold.” Snorted the Kojin as he began his retreat, climbing a staircase out of the water. “I’ll put on tea if you change your mind.”

Loathe as he was to admit, this cavernous library was hardly warm. He had felt himself shaking with chill as they arrived, though in part it was worry that shook him. Fear that the goddess would die cradled in his arms. If she had passed, who then would he tell stories to late into the night? Of fabled cities that dotted the landscape just out of her reach? She seemed to love his storytelling... Maybe she did invest time into reading?

Hien rose suddenly, curiosity filling his chest. This was home to the goddess herself. What other strange and interesting things did she keep secreted away down here? The prince, with new urgency, stood up to follow after the kojin. He spared only one glance back at the sleeping goddess and gasped.

The fountain had filled itself with a rainbow of waterlilies.

#|| Untold Stories #|| Tiger Prince & the Stray #hien rijin #hien x wol #hien x kiri #Goddess AU #Goddess of the Sea #so idk what this is #it probably doesn't even make sense as I kinda forced myself to write this :^)#takes place after kiri decides to lend Hien her strength #his people are safe and his desire is fulfilled but Octavia and Zenos are out to kill the Goddess #Kiri locks hien up to keep him safe while she summons a tsunami to effectively clean her boat of Zenos and Octavia :V #GET OFF HER SHIP #but in the process she also gets fatally injured #THANK YOU TO WINDUPZENOS FOR LETTING ME USE OCTAVIA #I know it's brief but I still appreciate being able to use her ;u;

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outroshooky · 4 years

Text

everything i wanted | ljh

⇢ genre: oneshot (fo4!au) (a touch of angst, mostly fluff)

⇢ pairing: lee jihoon x reader

⇢ word count: 2.4k

⇢ audio: everything i wanted / billie eilish

⇢ warnings: mentions of death, grief, guns, alcohol. this is a post-apocalyptic au even if the piece itself is fluffy; such themes are evident.

⇢ a/n: a huge thank you to @hereisleo for writing the fo4!au that inspired this lovely little mess. i love the concept so much and after sitting on it for a few months as well as drawing inspiration from recent life developments and a conversation with my therapist, i’m proud to present my first fic for seventeen! there’s a bit of my heart in this fic. enjoy!

“And how did you deal with that, all of the violence? All of the threats, the danger, all of it on a daily basis?”

“I mean, I’ve lived every day with the feeling like I was going to die anyway, so it wasn’t anything new, really. Just kind of like, oh well. I might die today. Not much I can do about it.”

When you were young, you dreamt of an apartment in the city. Not a big one or a fancy penthouse, just someplace to rest your head for the night, to dream and wonder and hope and even pray, best as your little heart could. An apartment, perhaps with a cat and a spare room with an easel and windows that sprawled from floor to ceiling. Like you saw in those magazines from so long ago, the ones with frayed edges and holes burned through every other letter. Easy to imagine a world with smooth monochrome, a polished Mr. Handy in the kitchen, a warm bed, a full heart.

No matter how much murky fog settled, rolling through the trees like a sickly ocean of green, it never diminished the glow of the stars up above. It was a story you told yourself, that the stars were little pinpricks poked in the soft blanket of cosmos, draped over the world like a celestial cathedral ceiling. Like so many stories you told yourself, in fact. The radroaches in the basement were just making friends, not eating away at the damp wood. The gunshots far-off weren’t territorial disputes between groups of Gunners, only fireworks sent up in unknown celebration. Celebrating life, maybe— one day more with dirt between your toes, one day less with food on your plate.

Yes the days marched on, one by one by one. No matter how hard you begged, pleaded, argued with the universe to stop the sun from rising just for a minute, an hour, a day, liquid light would unfailing seep into each corner of the world every morning, pausing just for a breath. One singular breath, a slice between pure gold and total black that bled pink and purple and orange and sometimes green, too. A cut into the side of reality as the stars glittered just over the edge of cold, cruel awakening.

You met awakening on a Tuesday morning, when voices hollered from the jagged remains of your shattered bedroom window. It was a one-house settlement; you stood no chance against the band of men and women with war paint on their faces and chipped pipe pistols. Not enough time to grab the shotgun, not enough time to grab the money. Your fingers twisted in the bedsheets, but you remembered the commands to stay quiet and still; if you didn’t move a muscle, didn’t move an inch, they wouldn’t look for more. If you screwed your little eyes shut and didn’t look, they couldn’t see you. If you wriggled your little body under the bed with a pillow crammed over your head, one ear to the floor, they couldn’t hear you. If you bit down hard on your lip, you wouldn’t cry. Not even when you heard the sullen thud of bodies echoing up the stairs, not even when the boots stopped inches from your face in all of their dusty leather glory.

In your childhood bedroom, a single lightbulb hung from a wire strung from the ceiling. Somewhat rustic, but what wasn’t on that little farm? A single light illuminated the moth-eaten rug stretched over the splintering floorboards, the corner desk dragged in from a local middle school abandoned years and years ago, the patchwork teddy bear with a loose eye but the softest paws. It wasn’t much, but it was yours. Your world. Yours, glowing by the light of a single burning filament, a lowly star dangling from on high. Even as the boots and jeers and howls faded, the red dwarf smoldered in its glass cradle. It kindled as you shook like a leaf in the wind, as night crumbled bleak and whistled through the open front door, banging in its frame. It spluttered as you finally, finally eased yourself out from under those rusted bedsprings, splinters pricking your palms in all of their painful glory. And finally, as you closed the top fold of your knapsack, slipping a 10mm into the holster on your belt, it fluttered once more and died. The generator had failed, choking without its daily dose of oil. The sky had fallen; the world had ended twice now, it seemed. Once before you had even been born, and once a mere ten years after.

Ten years after, and another ten. Twenty years since the day you came into the world squirming and screeching, and ten years since the day it had rotted at the seams. Nine since you raided abandoned house after abandoned house day after day, taking only what you could carry and bedding wherever you could. Six since you’d found yourself in a settlement of ghouls as you traversed the Commonwealth, a rifle slung over your back and your belly full of mulberries. Five since you’d bought a mutt off a trader you met by Concorde and named him Nate, because it was the name you’d always wanted to give a dog if you’d had one as a child. Four since you’d sold him to a family in Sanctuary Hills, to a child whose eyes shone with joy just as his joints grated with something a little less than human. Three since you’d gotten into a skirmish with a pack of Super Mutants, had both legs broken at the knees, and were dumped on a side road outside of Mass Bay Medical Center.

Three years since you had calmly waited for death to creep up in all of his silent glory. Perhaps he would stride down the alley confident, courageous. Maybe he’d take a seat, invite himself to coffee and conversation. What you wouldn’t give for a cup of the shittiest coffee you’d ever tasted. Or maybe a swig of vodka.

Three years since it was not death who crept up on you, but a blonde-haired raider whose shaggy locks hung down past his jawline, cut cold as a knife. Three years since twelve others followed him to encircle a wanderer who had already given up. Raiders. A death sentence. This is where life ended, not all those years ago but here, now, in this shitty alley outnumbered thirteen to one.

Jeonghan told you later that you blacked out. A move you, for a long time, considered cowardly. You couldn’t face the end regardless of how painful it was. But this is when Seungkwan interjects to note how much blood you had lost and how you really couldn’t blame yourself at all. Soonyoung notes how carefully they had to move you, how they tied their jackets together to make a sling, fought tooth and nail for every half-mile gained to the so-called Jewel of the Commonwealth. Seungcheol and Hansol are quiet, remembering. Jihoon’s hand winds around yours, his fingers interlocking over your calloused knuckles.

A naked bulb hangs from the ceiling from a single wire. An apartment. Beyond spacious for Diamond City living, with a double loft and rooftop seating. There’s a barbecue grill that Chan wants to fix up sometime, if he can find the right parts for it. You can see the stars on the nights when the stadium lights aren’t too bright, buzzing in the stillness. As still as you can get in a world that is always in motion, flexing and burning and rebuilding over and over.

Commitment in the Commonwealth was rare. Why commit with the threat of everything you care about being yanked away from you day by day by day? Why care for anything less than survival when even bare necessity is a privilege? Why build any sort of lasting commitment when in the end, it will all fall through as the sky collapses in on itself with nary a rush of breath to her name?

There was, however, something that the world neglected to tell you. The world, universe, whatever you want to call it— she has a sense of humor, that one. Because in the midst of the pain and anger and trauma, there was a boy out there who did not have to look heavenward to find the stars, for they nestled in the umber glint of his eyes. There was a boy with a heart bigger than the roar of the sea and quieter than the hiss of the foam, a heart that opened itself without question, with everything to lose. His lips curve more perfectly than the edges of any petal, his hands smaller and finer than any pre-war relic. Jihoon is rough, a gem uncut by the sands of time, the grains of struggle. He is beautiful.

Yours. His is yours. You are his. You haven’t been anybody’s in a long, long time. You were a daughter once. Your parents’. And then you weren’t. That too, torn away from you. But here you find yourself, blankets wrapped around your waist, head on his chest, your leg wrapped around his own. Again, somebody’s. His. Yours.

He’s always held you like this, not too tight, but not as if you are about to slip from his grasp. Secure. Security was a foreign concept until he taught it to you. Broke you down easily; once, you didn’t shatter under his gaze like you have for so long. He’d buy you a bottle and take you for a stroll through the narrow streets of Diamond City, silent in that special way of his. Very simply, he would listen.

It had been so long since anybody listened. In the space he gave, you filled the gap with stories: stories of being young, of wandering too close to a Deathclaw den, of remembering the barest tendrils of compassion from a mother’s face blurred beyond recognition. It was late one night and you were rushing to get the words out, tripping over each other, recounting the boots and the gunshots and the thudding of bodies and—

He is there, everywhere, all around you. His arms snug against your back, your face in his neck as you wept and wept and wept. Ten years’ worth of trauma and terror and running from oneself, and yet you could not find a single ounce of rejection in Lee Jihoon. Not a meager scrap left out for the dogs. Just his hand in your hair and his lips at your temple, and his fingers trembling as he murmurs in your ear. He wishes he could take every jagged edge of pain away, pluck it from your soul and watch it whirl as it sinks to the bottom. He knows he can’t rip out every shard, but he swears to try his best. Your eyelids brush his neck as they flutter shut and squeeze him ever closer.

Love is a word immense in nature and terrifying in practice, looming like a creaking skyscraper over the land of torment. But with him, it went without question: he loves you. You love him. He didn’t need to form or force out the syllables when he insisted on cradling you that night, staying awake to fend off any nightmares that might force their way into your shell of safety. A completed Xanadu as the devil’s puppet strings play a fearsome melody right outside the door.

When Jihoon sleeps, he exhales through his nose, breath tickling your scalp. His fingers somehow always find your own, even when he is in the sweet throes of dreaming. He cradles you every night, arm around your waist. He speaks in his sleep too, sometimes slurred syllables, sometimes a soft, drowsy sound. If he wakes to relieve himself, he’ll slip out from under the covers and return with the same gentleness he left with. You raise your arm and he snuggles underneath, your cheek to his back. Security. It is so much more with him.

Jihoon had asked you once how you settled in the midst of the dust, how you dealt with the echoes of your past. They crept up on you in the unbridled landscape of your dreams, twisted every hope into a malignant thing whose boots always found themselves mere inches from your face. It was hard to dial back the adrenaline, the pulsing undercurrent in every interaction that told you death was near, be careful, be careful. It was a world he straddled, but did not inhabit; he could not fathom setting up furniture, tidying up the corners. You were frank with him, perhaps too frank; it was all too easy when you lived with that threat every single day, the thought that you could die at any moment. It was comfortably numb, like nursing a bottle of Bobrov’s. How ironic, then, that the boy who straddled two worlds was the one to pull you out of your own by his sheer goodness, raw, unhinged.

Two worlds inhabited in one lifetime. Daughter, companion. Titles, meaningless until meaning is breathed into them by the power of a maker. Two naked lightbulbs hang from two rusted ceilings. An apartment in the city. Everything you wanted, in as much capacity as it could be given. The monochrome may be tarnished and it might get drafty in the winter, but there’s a warm bed inhabited by two bodies, not just one. Two. Two becoming one by unspoken word, and with that thought, Jihoon stirs.

He squirms. A sleepy groan. Your arm slips over his shoulder as he rolls onto his side to face you, gritty eyes cracking open. He whispers to you sweet things, gentle things. “Nightmare?”

“Nah.” You toy with the ends of his hair; his eyelids flutter. “Just thinking.”

He’s fighting consciousness for every word, drowsiness eminent in the way he shuffles closer to your warmth by his side. “Wan’ talk about it?”

“In the morning, baby.” He buries his head in your chest. You bury a smile in his hair. “Sleep.”

Jihoon is goodness and light and comfort. Understanding and tenderness and fondness, unadulterated, unfiltered. Everything you dreamt of in the rosy hues cast by a child’s single wish, stitched in the threads of the quilt of the universe.

His breathing slows. You press a kiss to his forehead, murmur a promise against the bridge of his nose.

The corner of his mouth pulls, just a hair. His fingers twitch. “I love you too.”

The bare bulb flickers, and with one careful movement, you tug on the string and extinguish the light.

#seventeen #seventeen fluff #seventeen angst #jihoon fluff #jihoon angst #seventeen au #kpop fanfiction #kpop angst #kpop fluff #fo4 au #outroshooky

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starstaiined · 4 years

Text

Surprise! (Pt. 1)

SUMMARY: Don’t have the brainpower for a pretty blurb, but basically some cute lil fluff centering around the Queen’s first Christmas together (after doing the show for a year) and some secret santa shenanigans! Did half of the exchange now, the other half will be posted in the next few days.

TW: None, really? Tis a fluffy fic my mates. But there is a bit at the end where they discuss the kids they had in their past lives and how much they miss them, so lil sad piece.

TAGGING: no one this time i don’t think

Katherine Howard loved Christmas. Even back when the holidays had been rough, living with a dad with a hairpin temper and two older brothers determined to wreck her day, she’d wait eagerly all year for the time of year where she could shower them with affection and they would semi tolerate it. And she was beyond excited to spend this Christmas with the other queens, who didn’t mind her more affectionate ways.

And the present! If there was one thing she prided herself on, it was her expert gift giving abilities. She’d barely been able to sleep through Christmas Eve, and at six sharp she’d rolled out of bed and carefully padded down to the kitchen. She had decided, in her sleepless haze, that she would make the other Queens a beautiful breakfast to celebrate the holidays, that they could eat before the present exchange.

Of course, there was one problem with that idea: Kitty had the culinary expertise of a seven year old. Nevertheless she prepared for breakfast. She set up six plates on the table, and immediately set to work making a wreck of the kitchen...

The other five queens, however, woke to the smoke alarm going off. They stumbled towards the kitchen in alarm, only to find Kat fanning the toaster and looking a little worse for wear. Flour and bits of eggshells clung to her hair, but her smile was undeniably wide as she saw them. “I made breakfast!” Kat hummed happily, gesturing towards the plates on the table proudly. The plates which consisted of: two Eggo waffles that were stiff and brown on the edges but still had frost glittering at their centers, a single cold pop-tart, and a couple forkfuls of rubbery looking eggs — flecked with pieces of eggshells.

“What-” Anne mumbled, still addled with sleep, before Jane cut her off.

“-a kind thing to do, Kitty! Isn’t it great, girls?” Jane glared at the rest of the queens, who were quick to murmur in agreement and plaster on fake smiles while still eyeing the food warily.

Aragon ruffled Kat’s hair affectionately. “Why don’t you go sort the presents into piles while I get some hot chocolate going?” And some coffee, she was going to need coffee to get through this. “And thank you for breakfast, Kat, it looks wonderful!” She could worry about the moral implications of lying later, right now she was more than content to enjoy the bright smile on Kat’s face.

None of the queens were willing to risk hurting Kat’s feelings, so they all (valiantly) choked down their mess of a breakfast. The only one who managed not to gag at all was Cathy, who could eat just about anything with a straight face. (It was the sleep deprivation, it numbed the sense.) Finally, finally, they finished and filed into the living room.

Kat was on the couch, her gift for her secret santa in front of her while she all but vibrated in place. Jane smiled, settling on the space next to her. Aragon settled down by the tree, Cathy on her left and Anna on her right. Anne sat across from them, her back pressed flat against the wall. Overall, they were in more or less of a circle. Anne, noticing Kitty all but vibrating, nodded to her younger. “I think Kit Kat should start this whole thing off.”

The rest of the queens seemed fine with that. Kat all but launched herself off the couch, pushing her giant, neatly wrapped box over to Anna.

Anna carefully peeled off the wrapping paper, being sure to go extra slow as she watched Kat nearly implode. Finally, she stopped teasing the girl and ripped into the present. She tore off the remaining wrapping paper, then opened the box. Inside...was a stack of sweaters. Anna laughed. “This your way of making up for the sweaters you’ve stolen, Kitty?”

Kat smiled brightly. “No, these are too replenish your stock so I can steal more.” She was only half joking. Nonethless, the others laughed. But Kat was quick to point to the box. “There’s more in there, you’ve got to pull the sweaters out. And be careful!”

Anna raised a brow, interested piqued, and gingerly pulled out a sweater. There was obviously something hidden in the folds, so she carefully reached inside and pulled out a bottle. She stared in shock at the clear bottle — her favorite brand of vodka — before laughing. She can hear poor Jane sputtering in the background.

“Katherine! When—How?” Jane stumbled over her words, eyebrows disappearing into her hairline in confusion and concern.

“I have my ways.” Kat’s lips were pulled into a half smirk, freckled nose scrunching as her eyes glittered in a way eerily similar to Anne’s. (In that moment, the family resemblance was damn near startling.) The others often forgot that Kat could be just as much of a delinquent as her older cousin—those doe eyes hid a penance for mischief. “It’s better not to ask.”

Jane buried her head in her hands, trying to process what just happened, as Anna continued to open her present. Luckily, or unluckily depending on who you ask, there wasn’t anymore alcohol. There was, however, enough energy drinks to power a small city. Underneath the sweaters and forbidden drinks was a simple best friends matching necklace, clearly home made. One half of a heart hung on a red necklace, the other on a pink one. Anne’s lips quirked into a smile. “So, I can give this necklace to anyone I choose?”

“Uh huh. Your choice. Totally. One hundred percent.” Kat answered, attempting to appear disinterested. Even so, the smallest twinge of hurt passed over her features. But it disappeared as soon as Anna fixed the other half of the necklace around her neck.

“I was just teasing you, Kat.” Anna said, pulling the younger girl into a half hug. “I love it, all of it. Thank you.”

Kat beamed, and settled back on the couch. Almost instinctively, Jane held out an arm and Kat curled up to her side.

Anne watched the scene unfold fondly, glad to see her baby cousin enjoying herself. Her musings, however, were cut short as Anna yelled her name. Anne turned in time to see a small wrapped box flying directly towards her face. She let out a yelp, sticking her hands up to block her face. The box hit the top of her head before bouncing to the floor, and although it didn’t hurt in the least Anne looked up fuming. “What the fuck, Anna?” Her swearing was lost amidst the laughing of the other queens, surprised to see the princess of pranks dethroned. Anne grumbled something under her breath, before unwrapping the small box that had hit her. She opened it and...it was empty? She blinked a few times, confused, before she noticed the scrap of paper. Pulling it out, she read the words in Anna’s chicken scratch writing. Cleaning closet.

She stood up, walking over to the closet that only Jane really used. Opening it, she found at least ten medium sized, neatly wrapped boxes lining the shelves. Well, that was one way to keep her from going through the presents. She loaded up her arms, and Cathy walked over to help carry the ones that didn’t fit, As she settled back in her seat, she gave Anna a quizzical look.

Anna just grinned. “Thought I should give your presents a bit more of a personal touch. You know, let them reflect you.” Anne just stared, not getting it, to which Anna sighed. “You know, since you spent so much time in the closet?”

Jane choked on her hot chocolate, Kat nearly howled with laughter, Cathy buried her head in her hands to hide her grin, and even Aragon couldn’t help the tears of laughter building in her eyes. Anne made a noise of protest, but it died to second it reached her lips—after all no one appreciated a good closet joke more than Anne. She give the queens a couple seconds to settle down, Kitty was still giggling maniacally, before she opened her present.

Much to the horror of the other queens, they were chock full of pranking material. Itching powder. Realistic looking fake bugs. Fake blood. When Anne pulled out the stinkbombs, Aragon sighed and shot Jane a distressed look. By the time Anne had opened nine of the ten packages, each worst than the last, the queens waited with baited breath for the last package. But when she did, they breathed a sigh of relief. Anne’s eyes gleamed. “Jelly beans!!” Before Anna could say anything, Anne shoved a handful in her mouth...to spit them back out immediately. She looked utterly distraught as dark eyes focused on Anna for an explanation.

Anna chuckled nervously. “Those....weren’t meant for you to eat, Annie. They’re called beanboozled, they put in a bunch of gross flavors. Thought it’d be good prank material-”

“You ruined jellybeans.” Anne pouted, pushing the last box far away from her. “Jellybeans Anna! That’s sacrilegious.”

“Oh, stop being so dramatic you big baby. Just give your gift.” Aragon said with a roll of her eyes. Anne glared at her, but nonetheless picked up her gift. She walked over the couch, while Kitty all but vibrated in place. And she handed Jane three boxes, stacked on top of each other and tied off with ribbon. “Start with the biggest box. Kitty helped me with that one.”

She took it carefully, smiling up at Anne before she unwrapped....a book? Jane’s brow furrowed as she opened it...and found a page carefully decorated with stickers, glitter, and Anne’s loopy script next to a set of adorable candids. She flipped through each page, in shock at the obvious care placed in each page’s appearance.

And the pictures, they were pictures she’d never seen before. Aragon, caught mid-laugh with her eyes sparkling like the sun. Cathy, illuminated by her computer, sleeping on the kitchen table. Anna scowling down at her video game console. There was even one of her and Kitty. Her arm was thrown around Kat’s shoulders, her eyes shining with love, while Kat looked up at her with a lopsided grin. They were snapshots of real life: like someone had stopped time and caught their honest reactions when they didn’t even notice. Jane’s eyes had teared up while she flipped through, not that she’d noticed. “Where did you get these pictures?” She asked, voice rough with emotion.

Anne was avidly trying to avoid eye contact. She had never been the mushy type, and she could tell that Jane was on the verge of getting sentimental. “I took them.” Anne answered after a minute. “I like taking pictures when you guys aren’t paying attention. Sometimes you guys look really stupid, and it’s good blackmail material.” She was lying through her teeth, attempting to keep her image.

Jane saw right through her, but she didn’t say that. Instead she composed herself and nodded. Her fingers traced the cover of the book, before she handed it to Kitty to hold while she opened her next gift. The second box was filled with various kinds of knick-knacks and sweets: aka Anne’s favorite way of expressing her love. It brought a smile to Jane’s face. But it was the last gift that pushed her over the edge. Anne fidgeted uncomfortably as Jane began to unwrap that last gift, all eyes on both of them.

Inside the last box was a rather plain locket, and a piece of paper.

Jane’s brow furrowed, and Anne began to explain. Her cheeks burned bright red, her eyes suspiciously bright. “It’s uh — there’s this — ” Anne tripped over her words, looking uncharacteristically on edge. Kitty edged her way over, tilting her head and taking Anne’s hand. The contact seemed to soothe her, and with a shaky exhale she tried again. “There’s a company that sells stars. Like, the stars in the sky. You can buy one, and name it, and then they send you this locket with a picture of your star, and that certificate.”

“You named a star after me?” Jane asked in confusion, not understanding why Anne seemed so on edge by that. Until...she looked down at the certificate.

Edward.

That one word sucked all the air from her lungs. It was lifetimes ago, but the pain had never ebbed. It was a five hundred year old wound that hurt just as much as a five second old wound. Shaking hands opened the locket, and on one side was a picture of a singular star. On the other, Anne had slipped in a portrait of him. Her heart twisted in her chest, and a tear hit the paper. She carefully put the gifts to the side, pulling Anne into a tight hug.

To her surprise, Anne squeezed back just as hard. They stayed locked in that embrace for a long time, the rest of the room utterly still. When they finally broke from their embrace, both of them were sniffling. It was then that Jane noticed the same locket around Anne’s neck. And it was then that she remembered. Elizabeth.

As much as Anne hid behind the laughter and the antics and the carefree attitude, she carried around the same pain. It was easy to forget sometimes. Jane squeezed Anne’s hand. Her mouth said, “Thank you.” Her eyes said I understand, and I’m here.

Anne gave a watery grin back. “Don’t get all sappy on me, Seymour.” She scoffed, but her red rimmed eyes said I know. The two shared a moment of understanding, and then Anne settled on the couch next to Kitty. Her younger cousin curled up to her side and held her hand, and Anne felt some of the tension drain from her shoulders. “Okay Jane, why don’t you give your secret santa their gift? Get the ball rolling again?” Anne said with a forced chuckle.

#six the musical #six the musical fanfic #katherine howard #anna of cleves #anne boleyn #(this got long so it will be uploaded in two parts)#(BUT WOW it was light and fluffy til the end)#(and i promise part 2 will be fluffier)#(but yeah i have a lot of emotionsTM)#(ANYWAY TIS LATE or technically early BUT I AM EXHAUSTED)#(i must use the sleep now)#X. ɪғ ᴡᴇ ᴄᴀɴ’ᴛ ғɪɴᴅ ʜᴇᴀᴠᴇɴ ɪ’ʟʟ ᴡᴀʟᴋ ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜ ʜᴇʟʟ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʏᴏᴜ. ( the six. )

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dragonrajafanfiction · 4 years

Text

Dragon Dancer III: Sakura

“Chime...”

Chisei was staring into the dark, eyes glittering with tears.

I wiped the water from my face. “We couldn’t have done this without him. He’s no friend of the King.”

Chisei looked down at me.

“He had a vendetta against him. I’m not exactly sure what happened. But Nono can tell you more. Cassell only got involved because of his attempts to awaken the Light King.”

“Only?” His eyes narrowed at me.

My heart leaped in my throat. “Hey! There’re no heroes here, man. Don’t start this law ‘n’ order crap again.”

Much to my surprise he didn’t argue with me, instead he turned to look behind me.

“It’s Sakura-Anego!” Mingfei’s voice in my ear spoke of his reverence and respect for her.

“Why are you here?” Chisei asked her.

She smiled at him. “We discussed things, Yasha, Crow and I. We decided to send someone up here to protect you... someone besides your flighty Shatei.”

He smiled a little. “Mingfei is here, isn’t he?”

“He’s happy to see you.” I told them.

“I bet he is.” Sakura winked.

Tachibana’s voice echoed from inside. “We’ll have to find a way to clean up this mess.” He was clutching his chest, leaning over. “And I’ll need a doctor.”

Chisei fled to his side and I stood there, anger boiling in my chest. How was he still alive?!

“What did you take?!” Chisei’s voice was trembling. “Not that evolution pill!”

“No... worse. I ... drank the fetal blood directly. I am now afflicted with the same ailment as my daughter but... with the therapy I should live for several years.” He smiled up at Chisei. “Perhaps, long enough to see you walk down the aisle.”

“You mean the privilege my Robbie will never have!” I shouted, hands balling into fists.

Chisei and Tachibana turned to me. Chisei reached for his sword, but Tachibana held his hand. “Carli... I have wronged you.”

“Shut up! No seriously, shut up!” I paced to the right and left. “You killed my family.” I stopped, hanging my head, the tears hot on my cold face. “I suffer every day. But... I’m not going to put Chisei and Erii through this pain too. I’ve killed enough for a lifetime today. You’re going to go to hell regardless of who or what kills you... and believe me.” I raised my eyes at him. “You’ve got a dozen demons after you, buddy.”

Tachibana eyes widened and his face grew paler. A dark shadow stretched across the floor of the observation deck. I turned as Sakura backed away from the windows, terror in her eyes.

Rising from below the deck on massive membrane wings was a dragon. No, not a dragon, because it had a beautiful woman’s face with long sopping wet human hair on its snake-like body.

It wasn’t the only one. They surrounded the entire deck.

“Oh...” I moaned, backing away from them. “The Servitors!”

Chisei turned into his earpiece. “Did we bring heavy artillery?”

I didn’t hear the answer, only saw him turn back to the windows.

Nono’s voice. “Well... this sucks.”

Johann. “We’re on the main observation deck, we can’t get to you through these things! You’ll have to find another way out!”

Mingfei. “Th... ... they’re already here. These bastards can fly.”

Gunfire erupted from below us as Nono and Johann engaged.

Tachibana pulled himself to his feet. “These are dragon servitors! They’re servitors given the evolution treatment!”

“Get back to the elevator!” Chisei ordered.

Sakura and Tachibana retreated, grabbing discarded weapons from their earlier fight on the way there. Tachibana managed to find a spear and Sakura a broken blade.

“Carli! You too!”

I stood there. I always wanted to use my powers to protect people. Never in my life did I imagine that these would be the people behind me. What sort of twisted world is this? I thought to myself.

“Ielia... it’s time to come out and dance with me.”

My doppleganger parted from my body and together we exchanged glances. I closed my eyes and mentally pulled as hard as I could. When I opened them again, an array of spears encircled us as bright as the morning, dancing and hissing in the air. The observation deck shined like a lighthouse in the the storm.

All the glass windows of the deck exploded. The servitors rushed in, screaming, teeth bared, wings rattling, claws extended.

The spears pierced them in an endless volley while I stood still, staring at the ceiling in concentration, not willing to move even as a clawed hand arced inches from my face, even as I was splashed with gore. The attack stopped. I fell to my knees.

Claws scrabbled on the ceiling of the building, loud bumps and thuds sounded from above. I gasped for air.

Chisei shoved Tachibana closer to the elevator. “Get to the underground garage! I have a car there!”

Now that my light had faded, the attack resumed. They jumped from the ceiling to the deck and charged me on all fours. Chisei slashed downwards against the skull of one, bashing it to the floor with super-hybrid strength, knocking it unconscious. Then he swooped upwards to cut the wings from another. Down again, to sever its head.

Instead of falling back, Tachibana joined him, ramming the spear directly into a monster’s chest so hard that he knocked it over backwards. Sakura, having retrieved my discarded rifle, aimed for their eyes, turning them into fountains of blood.

I had protected them. Now they were protecting me.

More were climbing up from below, just as Johann had said they would. I staggered to my feet again. My ears ringing, my mind dull. There was no point of emotions any more, only a moment by moment fight for survival.

The sound of a helicopter engine grew louder and louder.

Chisei and I were an inapproachable whirlwind with Tachibana and Sakura in the eye of the storm. The people on the helicopter cheered when they saw us still fighting and let loose a barrage from their helicopter’s gatling gun that shook the entire building, cutting a neat path through the horde for our escape. They lowered a ladder, waving frantically to us.

But before we could begin to move, the helicopter jerked to one side. One of the monsters had seized it and was pulling it out of the sky. Another attacked from above and became tangled in the rotor blades. We could only watch the helicopter struggle to distance itself from the tower before plunging to the ground, landing with a loud bang.

“We can’t get to you.” Johann’s voice. “There are too many.”

Chisei picked me up and dragged me to the elevator.

“It’s okay...” I whispered.

“Take Masamune down. I know this is an terrible request to make, but leave me alone here.”

“Trying to die again...?” I chuckled.

Sakura seemed to agree with me. “I’m not here to leave you, sir.”

He turned to her. They stared eye to eye in the chaos. “You’re here to follow orders.”

Sakura watched him walk away a moment and then picked up Tachibana and put him in the elevator. “If any servitors get through, cut them down.”

The look in her eyes was kind, almost grateful? She turned and approached Chisei. His eyes glowed brightly in the dark. The death servitors groaned as he exerted the full force of Majesty on them, harder, and harder until their bones snapped and broke skin and their spines telescoped. This level of power couldn’t be sustained and Sakura knew it.

When he collapsed backwards, she was there to catch him. Exhausted, Sakura struggled to bring him to the elevator. Behind her, more servitors arrived on the scene. Called my doppleganger again, she swooped to attack them. She had more strength than I did at the moment. I was hurting. I didn’t understand why. I was depending on Ielia to finish the fight. She was a bright ghost in the room, protecting them.

Sakura settled Chisei down in the elevator.

“Sakura... close... the...” He was choking, barely able to breathe.

She just smiled at him, one hand running through his hair, her face close to his. Then, she held his hand and with her other, cut into his palm. She spread his blood on her face before he could stop her.

I watched Chisei’s eyes fill with silent horror. She stood up and he reached out to her, his hand just catching the edge of her long coat. She pressed the closed door button. “Goodbye.”

“No... NO! Sakura!”

I pushed him back against the elevator wall and we started going down.

In my experience, I had heard the cries of grief at funerals. It was always women it seemed, screaming as they leaned over the coffin of their loved ones. They upset me as a child. Robbie would run his hands up and down my back. I asked him if I could go home.

“No, baby.” Robbie had told me. “You gotta be here. When life gets hard, these folks need you to feel their pain with them. Otherwise, they’ll be all alone.”

That was enough explanation for the little me back then. But still it was hard to hear this howling coming from the voice of Chisei. It rose up through the shaft and with it, his spirit, his desire to go back and fight with her, to stop her from dying. It tore me up from the inside out. But instead of running away, just as Robbie had told me, I leaned into it. I wrapped my arms around his neck and cried with him.

“Sakura has bought us out escape...” Tachibana said hoarsely. “We cannot waste a single second. This time... she paid for it with her life.”

Chisei wasn’t the only one grieving.

Mingfei....

How close had they gotten in the Hydras? I wondered. The report in the comms of shot after shot, the sound of Mingfei... he was sobbing, crying and shooting. Until there was no more sounds of gunshots. There were no more bullets.

“ANEGO!”

A soft whimper came from my throat as his grief hit me like a tidal wave. The elevator slowed to a stop.

We’d reached the underground.

#Chisei Gen #Sakura Yabuki #Masamune Tachibana #Mingfei Lu #Johann Chu #Dragon Raja #Fanfiction #Writing

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