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dumdumsun · 3 years

Text

Of Starlight

A/N: Alright, this entire story has officially been written ❤️

Warnings: none that I’m aware of

Word Count: 3067

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Chapter 5: Extra Ordinary

Five years ago, Vanya Hargreeves began writing her autobiography, “Extra Ordinary: My Life as Number Seven”, less than two weeks before her sister’s novel, “One-Sided”, was announced in the papers. Those around who enjoyed her writing were buzzing with excitement, for it was the second book of her trilogy. (Y/N) was thrilled, herself, to be publishing her novel within the next month. Finally sharing her work with the world would have taken a tremendous weight off her shoulders, leaving her with only the weight on her bladder. While working herself nearly to death with her writing, she was with child for the second time, which added to her stress. Thankfully, she had a very supportive husband at the time to assist in anything she requested. It was in those times in which (Y/N) was grateful she decided to make something of herself rather than letting her past as Number Eight define her.

Once “One-Sided” was published, (Y/N) sent two copies out; one to Allison, one to Vanya. She figured her brothers wouldn’t want to read her romantic fantasy as much as her sisters, so she didn’t bother asking. Allison seemed ecstatic for the new addition, but she wasn’t too sure about Vanya, supposing it wouldn’t hurt to send it. If she didn’t want to read it, that was her decision. What she didn’t expect, however, was Vanya’s novel sent to her. After Jada was born, (Y/N) had taken time to read her sister’s autobiography. While Anthony was at work during the day, she’d multitask by reading and taking care of her newborn. She would quietly gasp at certain parts of the book before checking to make sure she hadn’t woken her daughter up. (Y/N) couldn’t believe some of the things her sister dared to put in that book. Some things she wrote were blatantly about (Y/N)’s own insecurities that she had trusted Vanya with knowing. Insecurities about her powers, her capability of being a suitable member of the Umbrella Academy. Vanya had compared it to her own doubts, stating that (Y/N) had no right to complain to her, of all people. Looking back now, (Y/N) could admit that it was a bit selfish to do that to her sister. Regardless, those had been personal and it was unloyal of Vanya to share that with anyone willing to read. Despite this, (Y/N) saw to promote “Extra Ordinary” along with her own work. Someone had to be the bigger person in this situation.

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Nostalgia wasn’t exactly what (Y/N) was overcome with when awaking in her childhood bed. In fact, she’d much rather have opened her eyes to the empty side of her king-sized mattress at home instead. She debated closing her eyes and pretending she had never drifted into consciousness, but sat up when remembering everything Five had told her the day before. If she remembered correctly, there were six remaining days leading up to the end of the world. She had promised Five to assist in preventing the apocalypse, and her drowsiness was not going to hold her back. So, she dragged herself out of bed and began looking for Five. She figured the first place to begin was his bedroom, so she stopped in front of his door and knocked. Hearing rustling on the other side, she asked, “Five, are you decent?”

“Decent enough. You can come in,” He called out, the door opening and (Y/N) stepping inside. He glanced at her over his shoulder as he fixed his white button up. “I take it you had a difficult time sleeping?”

“What makes you say that?” Her hand slid down her face, sarcasm in her tone. She didn’t need a mirror to know she had bags under her eyes. Five chuckled and moved to his vest and jacket, finishing with dressing himself. As he zipped his duffle bag closed, he glanced out the window.

“You tagging along today?”

“I plan to. I… suppose I have nothing to do.”

“Nothing, huh?” Suspicion hid amongst his words as he picked up his bag. “What is it you decided to do with your life, (Y/N)?” The question was simple, genuine, but the weight of it was suffocating. She really couldn’t go back to her normal, beautiful life after all.

“I… found my mother,” She slowly started out, carefully watching as Five curiously glanced up at her under his dark brows. “I became an author… and a mother.”

Suddenly, Five couldn’t breathe. He had anticipated this conversation, prepared himself for everything (Y/N) had accomplished while he was gone. But nothing could have prepared him for the stab in the heart at the mention of her having children. Children with someone who wasn’t him. It was stupidly selfish, he knew, to expect her to wait for him, to do anything else with her life except for the things he longed to do with her. Past the pain, however, he was happy for her. Something in him knew that (Y/N) would one day make a wonderful mother. She was patient, selfless, caring, and oh, how he wished he could’ve been the one. He didn’t even want to ask about the individual she had trusted enough to raise children with her.

His hesitancy to respond worried (Y/N) and suddenly she wanted to apologize. But for what? Her success, her marriage, her children? She had every right to those and she shouldn’t have to apologize. Her concern washed away when Five raised his brows in acknowledgement, opening the window. “Really? A mother? That’s great, Starlight…” God, that nickname… She thought. Why does everything feel so complicated now? Her feet moved her to follow him out of the window and down the fire escape. She thought it was best to not continue the conversation for now.

“Dammit, where’s Dad’s stuff?” The two heard an irritated groan on their way down. (Y/N) craned her neck to see Klaus digging through the dumpster. “Shut up! I’m trying to find whatever… priceless crap was in that priceless box so that Pogo will get off my ass!”

“I’d ask what you’re up to, Klaus, but then it occurred to me…,” Five turned to his brother. “I don’t care.” His useless comment earned an eye roll from (Y/N). Klaus glanced up at the two with a small laugh.

“Hey! You know there are easier ways out of the house, buddy? And bringing little (Y/N) along, too? Whatever could you two be up to?”

“This way of leaving involved the least amount of talking,” Five hopped off the ladder, helping (Y/N) down afterwards. “Or so I thought.”

“Klaus,” The eighth Hargreeves made her way closer to the dumpster. “Is Ben there?”

“Yes, dear, he says hi.” His hand waved in Ben’s supposed direction, (Y/N) softly smiling at her ghost brother. “So, hey, you two need any more company today? I could, uh… clear my schedule.” His eyes shifted to Five as he took a drink from his flask.

“Looks like you’ve got your hands full.” The boy falsely smiled.

“Oh, this? No, no. I can do this whenever. I’m just- I just misplaced something. That’s all.” He then fell into the trash as (Y/N) joined her traveling companion at his side. After a few seconds, Klaus reappeared with a bagel. “Oh! Found it! Thank god!” (Y/N) nearly gagged as he began to chew on it, muffling a ‘delicious’ in forced content.

“I’m done funding your drug habit.” Five spit out before walking away. She followed him and waved at Klaus, barely listening to him yelling after them as they climbed into a plumbing van.

“Why are we stealing a van?”

“Shush.”

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Once again, the two teenagers found themselves in front of Meritech Prosthetics. (Y/N) watched as Lance entered the building before sighing. “We’re really gonna sit here and spy on the man?”

“You got a better idea?” Five only kept his stare on him.

“I guess not… What’s the bag for, then?”

Five immediately turned his attention to the duffle bag he brought with them. “Oh, shit,” He muttered before unzipping it. “Hey,” He softly greeted before handing a bottle of alcohol to (Y/N). She blinked once, twice, thrice when he brought out the top half of a bald mannequin and set it between them. “Sorry you were in there for so long, Delores.”

“Wait,” (Y/N) choked. “That’s Delores?! The one you were with for over thirty years?!”

“Well, obviously,” Five frowned before turning back to ‘Delores’. “This is (Y/N), Delores. You know… the one I told you about.”

“You… talk about me to the mannequin? Should I be flattered or weirded out?”

“Oh, be quiet,” Five sighed and turned away. (Y/N) suddenly felt silly for being jealous last night. “No, I’m not drunk.”

“What?” (Y/N) frowned at the boy, who shook his head.

“Talking to Delores. She thinks I’m- Yes, it’s about the eye thing. This is the place it was made. Or… will be made,” His eyes moved up to his human friend. “We just have to wait…”

He’s actually talking to the mannequin, (Y/N) thought as she turned forward, eyes wide. So, that was what the apocalypse had done to him. She felt bad for him now. Initially, her heart warmed at the thought of Five finding someone to love, but knowing that his mind had gone somewhere far away enough for him to turn to a mannequin for comfort…

“So, (Y/N),” He started, his gaze once again trained on the building before them. “Your children… tell me about them.” Truth be told, Five wanted to know how much they had gotten from their mother. Were they just as humorous? Just as passionate? As wonderful? (Y/N) let out a heartfelt laugh as she closed her eyes.

“Where do I even begin? Michael, he’s… so intelligent. He has the highest reading level in his class and they’re thinking of letting him skip the first grade. He’s such a big help at home with his little sister… I swear, he’s a little man. He’s always trying to test my knowledge. Tries to get me to solve his ‘really hard’ math homework problems…,” She chuckled, Five looking at her with an unreadable expression. “And Jada… she’s such a character. No matter how many times I teach her the days of the week, she always gets them wrong… She wakes me up every morning, trying to guess. I say ‘Jada, if yesterday was Wednesday, what is today?’ and she just starts listing off every wrong answer… She’s a performer, too. I enrolled her into dance classes. Oh, it’s her favorite thing to do… And I’ll admit, she’s good at it. Don’t know where she got that from. Definitely not from me or her dad...”

Five tilted his head thoughtfully. “They sound… just like you. They think they know everything,” He joked with a small smile, (Y/N) playfully glaring at him. “Really, though… They sound like great kids… I’d like to meet them one day.”

“Yeah,” She smiled down at her lap. “I’d love for them to meet you… But I need to be an actual adult before I can face them again. Until then… It’s just checking up every once and awhile…”

“(Y/N), I’m so sorry,” Five frowned as he sat forward. “I- I’m going to figure this out. I promise.”

“I know you will,” She breathed and closed her eyes, her world slowly crashing down on her yet again. “Sorry, I need some air.” And with that, Five was in the car alone. Well, save for Delores. Outside, (Y/N) didn’t have much time to really be with her own thoughts before she heard Luther and Klaus’s voices nearing her. Turning to her right, she spotted the two walking side-by-side towards the van. Upon seeing her, Luther raised a hand.

“(Y/N), you need to get back to the Academy. We found something… and Grace might’ve had something to do with Dad’s death.” He gruffly explained, the young girl straightening to attention.

“Wait, what-”

“I can explain at the house, but we need both you and Five there for the family meeting. Is he in there?” He pointed to the vehicle their brother sat in.

“Yeah, but-”

“Great. Be right back.” Luther’s massive body brushed past her to get to Five, Klaus following behind to get in the back. Not waiting a second longer, she followed her junkie brother inside. When she entered the van again, Luther was trying his hardest to fit his body into the passenger seat as Klaus grabbed Delores, smirking at (Y/N) as he began to dance with the mannequin. She only watched him in disinterest. Once Luther was finally in, he turned to Five. “You okay?”

“You shouldn’t be… How did you find me?” Five’s question was answered when Luther turned to Klaus. With everyone’s attention on him, he looked up from Delores and dropped his smile.

“Hey, a little privacy, guys. We’re really hitting it off back here.” He began to caress Delores’s cheek before screaming when Five threw an object at him, Klaus using the mannequin to block. (Y/N) shook her head and moved closer to Five and Luther, the former fuming.

“Get out! You can’t be here! I’m in the middle of something.”

“Oh, but (Y/N) can be here?”

“Yes! We’re in the middle of something!” Five turned forward as Klaus joined (Y/N) at her side, poking her cheek gently.

“Any luck with your one-eyed man?” He asked her, receiving a head shake. Five sighed and turned to Luther.

“What do you want, Luther?”

Turning his attention away from the conversation between the two, Luther answered Five, “Um… So, Grace might’ve had something to do with Dad’s death. So I need you to come back to the Academy, alright? It’s important.” His request was met with silence for a split second before the time traveller shook his head.

“‘It’s important’. You have no concept of what’s important-”

“Hey!” Klaus interrupted, holding his sister at his side. “Did I ever tell you guys about the time I waxed my ass with chocolate pudding?”

And that was when (Y/N) tuned out the entire conversation between her family. She left Klaus’s side and pressed her back against the back of Luther’s seat, closing her eyes. She knew Five wasn’t going with Luther and Klaus to the house, and she didn’t need to listen to the bickering that would’ve led to that outcome. Her attention was eventually brought to Klaus swinging the back door open, huffing as he got out. She watched him slam the door closed and make his way towards the store across the street. Not trusting him in the slightest, she sent a clone after Klaus, telling it to “watch over him”. At this point, she was waiting for Luther to leave so her growing headache would subside, but it seemed the man wanted to talk some more.

“What the hell are you up to, Five?”

“Believe me, you wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me. Last I checked, I’m still the leader of this family.”

“Well, last I checked, I’m twenty-eight years older than you.” Five tightly smiled before (Y/N) snorted with laughter. The boy rolled his eyes and smiled fondly at her before Luther pulled his attention away.

“You know what your problem is?”

“Really hoping you’ll tell me.”

“You think you’re better than us,” Luther’s words wiped that sarcastic smile right off Five’s face. “You always have. Even when we were kids. But the truth is, you’re just as messed up as the rest of us. We’re all you have… and you know it.” Luther stared at his brother, as the boy slowly inhaled.

“I don’t think that I’m better than you, Number One. I know I am,” He hissed, Luther only chuckling. “I’ve done unimaginable things, things you couldn’t even comprehend.”

“Right...”

“Just to get back here and save you all…” Five stared out the window. (Y/N) sighed and grabbed Delores.

“Luther, out.” She ordered, her “big” brother turning to her with an offended look. “Five’s clearly not going with us. No use arguing with him either. So, just go and I’ll catch up-” She was cut off by the sound of a voice whooping in excitement. The three looked across the street to see Klaus running out of the store, arms full of stolen snacks, the clone following close behind.

“Hey, bitches!” He shouted as a cop chased after them, blowing his whistle. The clone turned to the officer and pushed him away with great force as Klaus was nearly hit by a car. Five’s head followed Klaus’s movement.

“I’m starting to wonder if that was the wisest decision…”

After Luther was sent out of the van, (Y/N) took over the passenger seat once again and set Delores down between them, Five quietly thanking her. “So… I’m going with the guys.”

“What? Why are you wasting your time, I thought you wanted to help me?”

“I do, and I will… But I don’t trust Luther to make decisions right now… I mean, if Mom really did have something to do with Dad’s death… Who knows what he’ll do? The least I can do is try to talk him out of it. I promise, when I’m done, I’ll come and find you.” She softly smiled, gently patting his hand. Five shook his head at her.

“You don’t have to promise me anything… I’m the one who owes you.”

“All you owe me is this,” She gently squeezed his hand. “You being here… That’s what I’ve wanted for so long. Now I have it. So, your debt is paid.” She chuckled. Five rested the back of his head against the seat as his eyes searched her face, trying to find anything that should worry him about her. But all he found was her warm smile and eyes that shone with affection. It suddenly felt inappropriate to have Delores around right now.

“Well, then, you should get going… You’ve gotta catch up with those idiots.”

“Alright. Don’t be out here forever, okay?” (Y/N) leaned in and pecked his cheek before getting out of the car and rushing after her brothers. As he watched her speed away, he tried to regulate his breathing, heartbeat increasing.

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Taglist: @melinda-hargreeves @43sparrows @sapphicsyn @m00n-sh @starcurrent @alexander-hamilhoe @youcandalekmyballs @wonderlandfandomkingdom @yrdadjstcallsmekatya

#the umbrella academy #umbrella academy x reader #tua fanfic #tua x reader #five hargreeves #five hargreeves x reader #five x reader #tua five #number five #number five x reader #of starlight #umbrella academy #tua

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mammons-tax-returns · 3 years

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HDJXKDKFF I KNOW I HAVE REQUESTS BUT I NEEDED THIS PLEASE FORGIVE ME THIS WAS SO TIME CONSUMING AND FOR WHAT>> TO SATISFY MY DYSPHORIA/fA<>>A???

synapsis ; Satan and MC often discuss the plot lines of their favorite books, but this time, it’s a little bittersweet

✖️MALE MC✖️ comfort, kinda sad, fluff?

MC could practically feel the past few sleepless nights tugging at his limbs. He yawned into his hand. “I probably shouldn’t have pulled an all nighter last night, huh?” He chuckled a little to make light of the situation.

Satan sighed helplessly, brushing some of his hair out of his eyes. “I told you this would happen. You’d better watch yourself before I force you to get proper hours of sleep.” His emerald eyes never left the pages of his most recent favorite novel series. “Lucifer isn’t as worried for your grades considering you won’t be here for as long as us.”

“That’s true... But even still, I wouldn’t want to disappoint Luci.” MC rubbed his eyes a bit before responding.

There was only a scoff in response from the blonde, along with mutters definitely slandering his older brother.

“But never mind that. Wanna update me on your book?” MC grabbed his own book from the table to his side and took a seat on Satan’s bed. He has learned from experience that Satan read books far beyond his comprehension level-- far beyond the comprehension level of some of the smartest demons as well. But the plots are interesting enough that listening to Satan relay the insights to him has become a hobby.

“Well.... Amanthy ends up saving the prince from the monster right in the nick of time, but get this; the two of them don’t get married.” MC finally gets to see Satan’s eyes when he looks up in mild excitement. They’re blazing so brightly that it nearly burns him as he watches them. This normally happened when Satan was allowed to rant about a book.

“Amanthy calls off the marriage because he didn’t think that the prince was strong enough to be with him on his journey. I really recommend you reading this part at the very least. Now that you know what’s actually happening in it, you can focus on how incredibly this author deepens the understanding of Amanthy and his intents.”

Amanthy... Would you really end it all just like that? MC found himself wondering. It must have been the fact that MC projected him and Satan onto the two ex-love birds in the novel. Amanthy was clearly a sophisticated book-loving mage similarly to Satan, and the prince was a simple man in a foreign world trying to figure everything out. Just like MC being thrown into the Devildom. Together, the two fought and travelled together.

As childish as it is, MC was hopeful that they would end up together in the end, just because of his crush on Satan. And hearing the news about their wedding almost felt like a personal attack.

He can’t respond immediately. “Oh.” He breathes, “That’s surprising... I, uh. Did not expect that.” A small laugh. How was he supposed to answer?

“I feel the same. It was not hinted at in the slightest...” Satan held his chin between his thumb and index finger. “But I understand Amanthy. I mean, looking at it realistically... The prince had his sword, and even with the little magic he had, surely he could have fought the beast instead of waiting for it to kill him... Amanthy is a strong man, and I’m not sure how well he’d hold up being with someone like that.”

“Hmm. Interesting... This whole plot was just one turn after another. You really have an eye for good books... The beginning of that story was a bit slow.” MC tried to seem as invested as possible. But it was proving to be much more difficult than it seemed. Although he knew Satan can’t be held accountable for something like this... Does he really think that Amanthy was in the right?

There was a knot forming in the very bottom of his stomach. So then, would he do the same thing in that situation? Would he really drop me if he had to save me like that?

“The story certainly did pick up speed... Even I was impressed. But it truly added to the character development! Amanthy is a smart man for what he did, and he’s really selling it to me. I wonder if that shopkeeper from the last chapter will reappear...” He flipped several pages back as if to see if it was hinted at anywhere. “She looked like a better fit for our bookworm protagonist... Or maybe he’s better off on his own?”

MC’s mood just seemed to be going down a never ending decline. The shopkeeper? Who was literally everything that he wasn’t?

Satan continued before MC could comment, “The prince was always a bit of a dead weight, I can admit. There were times that I found myself criticizing him for little things, but never fully disliked him... Although there was much more to him than his exterior, I suppose.”

Okay, now this was a full blown call out post for MC. The prince getting called a dead weight for the protagonist? Suddenly, MC constantly having to be reminded by Satan to sleep seemed a little more daunting.

“So that’s how you look at it...” MC hummed and buried his face in his book, careful with his phrasing and hoping that the intuitive male in front of him couldn’t pick up on his hurt.

“Of course... How would you see it?” Satan leaned a little closer.

This man will be the end of me, and he won’t even know it.

MC cleared his throat and shifted a little out of discomfort. “I mean... I guess I sympathize with the prince a little. He hasn’t really gotten the chance to protect himself... A-And that’s the first time he’s been left with such a powerful beast, right? Just a few weeks ago, he was in his castle watching the knights spar, and now he’s here defending himself alone.” Don’t seem suspicious, MC. You got this. You can do this at the very least, can’t you? “Amanthy had a good connection with him. I can’t believe he’d just overlook that because the prince needs help understandably. I mean, isn’t that what a lover is for? To love and support?”

Satan’s lips tugged into a simple smile. “Ahh, so that’s how it is. I’m surprised you can pay so much attention right now when you’ve barely slept. You could barely keep your eyes open earlier.” He playfully ruffled MC’s hair.

His affectionate touch stung, and his words stabbed deep into MC’s core. He knew no harm was meant, and yet he couldn’t help but feel horrible. Why couldn’t he just listen to Satan’s nagging?

“But your opinion is just as strong as mine!” MC added quickly, hoping that Satan didn’t think he was disregarding him. “Maybe calling off the wedding was the right choice in the end... After all, the prince was kinda shady in the first few chapters right? Maybe he’ll prove to be the bad guy.”

Satan seemed to think it over for a moment. “ I suppose... But the prince is a bit more respectful than that, don’t you think?”

And now he’s defending the prince? Make up your mind already, MC silently thought.

“Y-Yeah, I guess so...” Am I as respectful as him, someone of literal royalty? MC breathed out slowly. Even if I am, what difference does that make, Satan?

Some time passed after that, and MC couldn’t get passed a single page in his book. His mind was a confusing jumble of thoughts. Some of them hoped that Satan would react differently if proposed the same situation. And some justified Amanthy’s decision in a sickening submission to his situation. His ‘situation’ is an inevitable unrequited love for Satan. And now he’s aware that Satan probably wouldn’t consider someone like him as a spouse even if given the chance. Great.

“MC? If you’re tired you should sleep.”

The (H/C) haired male jumped. He looked up to see Satan way too close for comfort at the moment. He felt himself flush. “I’m not! This story is too interesting for that.”

“You haven’t turned a single page. And you looked a little scary.” Satan chuckled. “Is it Lucifer? Is that rat stressing you for your grades?”

“Well, no... It’s just,” Phrase this properly, please. “I’m all hung up on that whole marriage situation. If... If you had to make that decision, would you call off the marriage too?”

Satan had a look of shock. “Hmm... I guess I hadn’t considered that.” He thought for a second. “I don’t think I would. I may have chosen Amanthy’s side, but I’m not him.”

Geez, that’s a big relief.

“But what about you? Would you do the same?”

Okay, now that was unexpected. MC blinked. “I definitely wouldn’t have. You heard my piece earlier. I wouldn’t leave someone just because they were incapable of things like that.”

... Was that too much information?

“Really... Interesting.” Satan leaned back into the cushions on the seat. “It’s almost spellbinding how similar you are to him, and yet you two have such different ideals.”

“Yeah...” MC answered subconsciously. “And it really--... Wait. Come again?”

How similar I am to Amanthy? No. I must have heard wrong. It just doesn’t make sense. There’s no way that he would compare me to someone as great as-

“I must have never mentioned it, but I tend to project the people I know onto storybook characters.” He seemed a little bashful, as he couldn’t quite make eye contact with MC. “Amanthy is a very selfless mage that happens to have a habit of staying up for days on end to finish his studies. He... He reminds me of you.” A small tinge of pink crawled onto his cheeks. “Sometimes, it also feels like you’re the protagonist of a great story, too.”

MC was flabbergasted. This conversation is hitting him harder than the actual plot of the book being discussed. “Th-Then, who do you see as the prince?” This wasn’t adding up. He couldn’t imagine who it could be if it wasn’t him.

“Me, of course.” Satan responded without missing a single beat. “I hate to admit it, but as the youngest brother, I tend to... Blow things out of proportion. And the others say it’s because I haven’t experienced the same things as them. I don’t quite understand it... But I guess I really don’t need to.” He looked lost in his own mind as he explained.

He continued as MC struggled to put everything together. “The prince was told many of the same things I have heard. But I think the reason I relate to him so largely is because I also feel little out of place, as many of his monologues describe my exact feelings so often.”

“Out of place..? Why is that?” MC’s words left his mouth before he could consider them. “Err, if you don’t want to talk about it, it’s fine.”

“No, It’s nice to get things like this off of my chest occasionally.” He paused briefly. “I guess I’m just not used to someone understanding me quite like you do. Don’t get me wrong, It’s not bad at all. It’s just a bit... Odd to me. Sometimes I wonder if I deserve it.”

“Satan... Of course you do. Otherwise I wouldn’t have taken the time and indulged in the same things as you.” MC felt his heart throb. Of course Satan would look into the story from a metaphorical stance rather than literal, like he did. He was the one actually reading the pages, after all. That’s just the type of person he is. There’s no real beast in this story in his eyes. The prince was just Satan stuck in his own thoughts.

“But... Surely, this doesn’t mean that you thought I would have made the same choice as Amanthy, right?”

Satan hummed. “You’ve got me unraveled under your fingertips, MC. But you’d be mistaken... I did. But even if something like that ever happened, I don’t think I’d let you go quite as easily as the prince did.” His smile had hints of mischief in it. “You’re stuck with me.”

MC’s eyes widened a little. There was so much information to take in at once. “Well... Rest assured, then?”

“Agreed.” Satan nodded. “I’m just hoping you won’t get fed up with having to constantly calm me down before a wreck a building.” He laughed, but it seemed sad, in a way.

Ahh... So that’s just it. Satan was insecure about something that I don’t mind helping him with a thousand times over. MC found himself smiling. Demons were much more similar to humans than he thought.

“That’s a bit cute, Satan.”

“What’re you on about?”

MC reached over and pat the top of his head in the way he knows he enjoys it. “I wouldn’t let you go so easily, either. I’m not Amanthy, and you’re not the prince. You’re gonna have to try a little harder to get rid of me.”

Satan was frozen in the spot. He suddenly understood what Levi’s shows would describe when they said, “time seemed to slow, and nothing else mattered other than him.”

“I don’t think I’d ever dream of it...”

For the first time ever, he felt as if he was receiving his very own happy ending in his own novel.

#obey me x male reader #obey me satan

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silver-renjun · 3 years

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Cafe 7 Dream: Jaemin

Word Count: 2, 443

Warnings: violence, mentions of death, stabbing

Read the prologue before reading this!

You headed into you 8 am class late as usual. After pulling out your notebook from your bag, you threw yourself down on the desk.

“Busy night, y/n?” Jaemin asked. You and Jaemin didn’t really talk that much at all. At the cafe, Jaemin was always in his own world, and in class he just stared at the board, though you doubted he actually remembered anything from the lectures. It was strange that Jaemin started a conversation with you, but it was also strange that you were resting on the desk. No matter how exhausted you were, you took notes, albeit sloppy.

“I had 3 essays to write. Two of which I didn’t even know existed until Haechan texted me for my work,” you replied.

“You should be more responsible, y/n. I need someone reliable to cheat off of,” Haechan said. You rolled your eyes at his reply and groaned. You didn’t have the energy to argue with him.

“You should just rest, y/n. I’ll take notes for you and we can review them after class today,” Jaemin said. He smiled at you, but you were fast asleep.

After class, Jaemin shaked your shoulder to wake you up.

“y/n! y/n! Everyone already left the class. It’s time to go,” Jaemin whispered in your ear.

“Where are the other guys?” you asked with a breathy voice.

“They’re at the cafe already. I’m sure they’ll be fine without us. Let’s go to the library.”

Jaemin helped you up your seat and packed your books in you bag. He even offered to carry it for you, but you declined. Jaemin held your hand as the two of you walked over to the library. He was still worried about how tired you were and didn’t want you to fall.

The library was filled with students trying to study. Jaemin led you to a secluded corner in the back.

You dropped your bag down and asked, “are you sure they’ll manage without us in the cafe?”

“You’re the one who should be drinking an americano, not the one making it.” Jaemin smiled at you and reached out for your hand. “Don’t worry about the cafe right now.”

Jaemin lectured the content of the class to you. He was a natural at explaining everything. Even when you had a question about the topic, Jaemin was able to answer them with ease. As you copied down your notes, you were surprised to find yourself understanding the content better when Jaemin was teaching you.

At the end of the session you said, “You take such good notes! And remember everything from class too! I’m impressed. We should totally do this more often.”

“Well I still have to work at the cafe to pay my tuition, but I’ll definitely help you out, y/n.”

“Yeah, working at the cafe is my destresser. I wouldn’t want to give that up,” you chuckled. “Maybe you could come over to my place after work and we can study then.”

The next day, you were late to class once again. You rushed over to your seat, but this time you didn’t pull out your books. You knew Jaemin had you covered, so you plopped your head down on the desk for some rest.

“y/n, I need you to start taking this class seriously,” Haechan said. “I need to pass, you know.”

You knew that replying to Haechan was just provoke him into arguing with you, so let his comment slide.

“You’re super late this time, y/n. I was almost certain that Renjun’s vision about your death had finally happened,” Jisung said.

Jisung’s remark was just too strange to ignore. Your head shot up and you gave Jisung a raised eyebrow.

“What the hell does that mean?”

A look of realization took over Jisung’s face before he looked down at the floor. “Sorry about that guys,” he whispered.

The other boys all exchanged uncomfortable glances as if they were trying to figure out who would explain what had been said about you. Finally, Jaemin broke the silence.

“We can talk at the cafe.” The boys had slightly less uncomfortable looks on their faces, but they still appeared to be worried about something. You decided to not stress over it. Your priority was catching up on your sleep.

After class, you and the dreamies headed out to the cafe and started preparing before customers arrived.

You were wiping down tables when you asked, “so is anyone going to explain to me what happened this morning?” You knew you were going to be working with Jaemin, and that boy was like a rock when got to work. This was your only opportunity to get answers.

“Look, you’re not going to believe us at all,” Mark started.

“We’ve got magic powers,” Haechan said.

“You see y/n, Jisung’s a wizard. He makes love potions so people will fall in love with our cafe,” Jaemin explained. While he was talking, Jisung pulled out a pink liquid from under the counter and waved it at you. You had no energy to question them so you just let Jaemin continue.

“And Jeno, he’s a water spirit. Do a little trick for us Jeno,” Jaemin said. Jeno formed a ball of water in his hand and shifted it into different shapes.

“What the-” was all you could muster up. “That water just came out of thin air! And you’re controlling it!”

“Like I was saying, y/n, it’s all magic.” Jaemin smiled at the look of wonder on your face. “Next up we have Renjun. Care to explain yourself Renjun?”

Renjun groaned before saying, “I’m an oracle. I see the future. And your future has an attack in it. I didn’t see you die like Jisung said, but since you’re a human, you’re probably going to-”

“Alright that’s enough,” Jaemin said, cutting Renjun off before he could tell you more about your fate. You were so amazed by Jeno’s abilites that you weren’t even fazed by what Renjun had said.

“What about you Jaemin?” you said with a smile.

“I’m human and so is Mark. We know our way around magic pretty well though,” Jaemin said with a self-satisfied grin.

“And Chenle and Haechan?” you asked, eager to learn more.

“None of your business,” Chenle replied harshly. Chenle’s tone snapped you out of your amazement and made you serious about your work again. Jaemin, like usual, didn’t talk much during his shift, so you would have to wait until the cafe was closed to get more answers.

“Hey Jaemin,” you said as you were heading out the cafe. “Does tonight work for you?”

The boys all looked at each other with wide eyes. They had no idea about your study plans with Jaemin.

“Any night works for me,” Jaemin replied as he followed you out the cafe. You could hear the giggles of the boys even when you were standing outside. Jaemin looked at you with an embarrassed smile before holding your hand and following you home.

At your apartment, Jaemin got to lecturing you once again. He made sure you understood every topic covered in class in full detail. You were still amazed by how good of a teacher Jaemin turned out to be.

After he finished talked Jaemin said, “well that’s everything we learned today. Got any questions, y/n?”

“About the coursework, no. About magic, yes.”

“Magic happens to be my strong suit, so ask away,” he replied with a smile.

“Well Chenle and Haechan didn’t really explain their powers. Do you know what they are?”

“Nope,” Jaemin said, shaking his head. “Chenle’s family is pretty influential in the magic world, so revealing their powers is kind of a security risk for them. Whatever Chenle does, I bet he’s pretty strong at it though.” Jaemin paused for a second. “As for Haechan, he hasn’t really gotten his powers yet. He’s kind of touchy about it since most people get their powers by this age.”

You nodded your head in agreement, though you had no idea how it all worked.

“So what about you Jaemin?” you said in playful tone as you poked his shoulder.

“What about me?” Jaemin replied, mimicking your voice and poking you back.

“What’s your relation with magic?” you said with a smile.

Jaemin’s face became serious. He took a minute to think before replying to you.

“It’s a family thing,” was all he said. You decided to not press him any further about magic.

“You know, Jaemin, it’s really not that late. If you’re down, you could stay and watch some Netflix. I’ve got some leftover pizza in the fridge too.”

“That’s a great idea! I know so many good dramas that are on Netflix!”

You microwaved a few slices of pizza while Jaemin picked out a show to watch on Netflix. It turned out, alongside having a coffee obsession, Jaemin was also obsessed with period dramas. He talked nonstop about the characters and kept on playing episode after episode. It wasn’t until you two had finished the first season at 1 am did Jaemin say, “it might be getting a little late now.”

He looked over to you for a response, but you had already passed out on the sofa. Jaemin stared at your sleeping figure and admired your beauty.

“Since you’re sleeping I might as well tell you this now. I don’t know if I’ll ever have the confidence to tell you this when you’re awake. I really like you, y/n. I think you’re the most amazing person in the world. I’d give anything to be with you.”

Jaemin sighed and went to sleep on your floor. Unknown to him, you had actually been listening the entire time.

It became a habit for you and Jaemin to study at your place after work. Jaemin would lecture you for a while, and then you would order delivery food to thank him for helping you. After watching Netflix, Jaemin would sometimes even sleep over at your place.

One night, you and Jaemin were cuddling on the sofa while watching a drama. Jaemin looked over a you and said, “There’s some things I should tell you, y/n.”

You smiled, expecting Jaemin to confess to you. What you heard was not a confession of love.

“You wanted to know about my connection with magic, so here it is. My mom used to sell plants, mushrooms, stuff you would use in potions. I would go foraging with her in the forest so we could find things to sell. Our customers were kind to us, they would even give us part of the potions they made. One day, this fire demon came into the store and gave my mother a potion to drink. She collapsed on the floor. The fire demon killed her and used her blood for a sacrifice.”

Jaemin began to cry as he thought about what had happened to his mother. You pulled him into a tight hug and rubbed his head. You felt sorry for Jaemin, who had to live his life in so much pain.

After a few more study sessions, Jaemin finally pulled himself together and asked you out.

“I really like you, y/n. I think you’re the most amazing person in the world. I’d give anything to be with you.”

“That’s the same thing you said when I was sleeping. You’re so cute,” you said, kissing him on the forehead.

Jaemin stared at you with wide eyes and said, “wait you heard that? You knew I liked you and you didn’t even say anything?”

You laughed at Jaemin before turning on his favorite show and cuddling with him.

The next day at the cafe, you were supposed to be working with Jisung, but he had gotten sick. You and Haechan were taking over for him.

“Hey y/n, you’ve never seen the potions room before, right?” Haechan said. You nodded in reply. “It’s crazy in there. You totally have to check it out.”

You followed Haechan into the back of the cafe where all the potions were. You were amazed at the amount of potions there was in the back room. Haechan grabbed a vial off a rack and handed it to you.

“You should try this one y/n! It’ll make you feel so energized!” Haechan said.

You opened the vial and drunk all of the strange liquid inside. Unlike what Haechan had said, you began to feel sleepy and collapsed on the floor. When you looked at Haechan for help, you noticed that he had a knife in his hand.

“Be good for me and don’t make any noise, okay?” Haechan said before slashing your skin with the knife. You couldn’t help but cry with all the pain you were feeling. You slowly became more tired until you passed out.

When you woke up, you found yourself in a hospital bed. Jaemin was standing beside you and held onto your hand.

“Oh my gosh! y/n, baby, you’re alive!” Jaemin said before tearing up.

“What happened?” you asked.

“Haechan poisoned you. He cut you for your blood. He used it for a ritual to summon his powers. He had already transformed before we could even help you. Haechan’s a fire demon.”

You wanted to say something, but you had no idea what to do. The whole situation was just like what had happened to his mother. You and Jaemin were both thinking the same thing, but neither of you wanted to say it.

A few days later, you were discharged from the hospital. Although you felt fine after your rest, Jaemin was the one who was truly hurting. Jaemin stopped going to class and the cafe because of Haechan. He just stayed at your apartment.

“Jaemin, you need to forgive him. I’m not hurt. I’m completely fine!” you argued.

“I can’t forgive him! That bastard nearly killed you!” Jaemin yelled at you.

“Whether you like it or not, you’ve got to start living like a normal person again! You can’t just run away from your problems!”

Jaemin began to laugh.

“You’re right, y/n. I’m going to make that scumbag pay for what he did.”

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bonjour-rainycity · 3 years

Text

Double Heart | Chapter Ten ~ Cosima

|previous part|

Pairing: Haldir x OFC

Rating: PG-13

Word count: 4422

Warnings: Canon-level violence

**Read on Ao3 under the user “bonjour_rainycity” if you prefer!**

A/n Just so you know, I start playing a little fast and loose with ‘elf-lore’ right about here. Thanks so much for all your responses to the previous chapters! Happy reading <3

We retire early, each of us exhausted from our long journey. Elrond arranged rooms for us in his expansive home, which I found out is the heart of the city. I guess when you found a town, it makes sense that you get the largest estate. At Elrond’s instruction, a female attendant leads me up a flight of stairs and down a long hallway. She opens a door to my left to revel a large room with a four-poster bed, table, chaise lounge, couch, fireplace, and, through an archway to the side, a full bathroom. Pillows and blankets decorate every available surface and I notice a large selection of books and candles. After two weeks on the road, I want nothing more than to bury myself in this room’s amenities.

“Wow,” I breathe, unable to do much more in my state of awe and fatigue.

“Lord Elrond knows about your fear of heights and has placed you in one of the most innermost rooms of the estate. Your windows will offer you views of our waterfalls but you are nowhere near to the edge. I hope it is to your liking.”

I smile, my already present fondness for Elrond growing. Though, I do wonder which of my friends told him about my fear of heights. “It’s perfect, thank you.”

The attendant nods, leading me to a chest of drawers. “You will find clothing here and bathing provisions in the bathroom. Meals are three times a day and you may join the others in the common hall or request to dine in your chambers. If you require my assistance, I am in the room at the very end of the hall and to the right. I hope you sleep well.” She curtsies deeply and I wonder if I should do the same. Just to be on the safe side, I place one leg behind the other and squat, awkwardly attempting to mirror her movement. She puts great effort into suppressing a smile, but inclines her head in acknowledgment of my efforts before leaving the room, shutting the door behind her.

I take a deep breath and let it out slowly.

What am I going to do?

This place is dangerous. It’s terrifying. And yes, I feel relatively safe within Elrond’s walls, but he said it himself—just last month, orcs attempted to infiltrate the city. What if they try again, only this time, they succeed? And with some evil being on the rise? Nope, no way. I don’t think I can deal with that.

I throw myself facedown on the large bed, groaning in frustration. This world that I’ve only just accepted to be real is showing me just how real it is. The honeymoon phase is over. The rose-colored glasses have been lifted from my eyes, and what I see paints a dark, fearful scene.

Yet, even still…I cannot ignore the part of me that so badly wants to stay.

The people I’ve met here—humans, elves—does it really matter? Whatever they are, whatever I am at this point, honestly, does it actually, in the grand scheme of things, matter? Because I like them. I care about them. More than anything, I don’t want to leave them, to go back to a world of people I don’t know.

But danger and my friends are a package deal.

And I don’t know if I’m equipped to handle that.

I flip around into a seated position, letting my head flop into my hands.

I’m tired. I’m overwhelmed. I’m stressed. And I’m exhausted. Now, I need to sleep. Everything else can wait until morning.

I haul myself off the feathered mattress and drag my heavy feet to the chest of drawers. As far as sleep items go, I find only nightgowns, but they’ll have to do. It’s much better than sleeping in the muddied clothing I’ve traveled in for two weeks.

I change quickly and blow out the candles I rely on to light my room. I crawl into bed, pulling the thick duvet up to my ears. Before I know it, sleep calms my racing mind.

{***}

I wake in the mountains.

A roar, guttural and angry, comes from behind me and I throw myself into a sprint. I stumble over the uneven terrain, catching my foot on rocks and scraping my shins, but I keep going. Whatever I suffer running away is surely better than being at the mercy of the beast that pursues me.

Brown, gnashing teeth cut me off and I shriek, falling onto my back. An orc with its stinking, rotting breath descends on me, dagger cutting into my arm. I cry out not only in pain but in panic, for the blood that falls to the ground is not red — no, it is thick, dark sludge.

I’m underwater.

The sludge suffocates me. It fills my lungs and burns as it slides over my skin. I kick, desperate to get away.

Below me, a honeyed voice sings. It beckons to me, begs me to come deeper, to let myself sink. It promises safety, security.

It promises peace.

“Cosima.”

Haldir’s voice far above me sounds muffled as it travels through the murky waters. I snap my head up. I can’t see anything, only the darkness, but I know that if I can somehow get to him, if I can follow his voice, then I will reach the surface.

“Cosima!” Rumil shouts for me now.

My name, called in turn by each of my new friends, overlaps, drowning out the sweet sounds from below.

My vision darkens. I have gone too long without breath — I have to make a decision.

I kick my legs, propelling myself upwards.

{***}

I break through the surface, sputtering and gasping for air.

Light—harsh and bright orange—momentarily blinds me. As my eyes adjust, I recognize the puffy white duvet, the cool grey of the stone walls, the soft pink flowers cascading from the ceiling. I’m in my guest bed in Elrond’s house. I never left my room. I never lost to an attacker in the mountains. I never fell into the water.

It was just a dream.

Water—the roaring sound of the waterfalls—while muted, is still subtly audible in the background. And my dream—it was nearly exactly what I imagined before waking in Arda. The sound from the waterfalls must have triggered it.

Just a dream, I remind myself, trying to calm my racing heart.

A sharp knock disrupts the silence of the room and sends stabs of pain through my head — bad dreams and a headache, too, I guess. The knock sounds again and I groan, forcing myself to leave the coziness of my covers and pad on bare feet to the door.

It’s Haldir. He stands, hand still raised, in fresh clothes and even more armor than yesterday. His bow is slung over his back, a quiver and sword rest at his hips. I try not to let my thoughts get away from me with overreaction — surely this isn’t necessary for inside Elrond’s halls.

He lowers his hand, dipping his head briefly in greeting. “I—” he seems to notice my nightgown. “Did I wake you?”

I shrug and attempt to lean against the doorframe casually, still mildly disturbed from my nightmare. “I don’t think so.” Then, panic causes me to stiffen. “Have you been here long?” Did he hear anything? Oh, I hope not.

He shakes his head and I relax. “No, I only just arrived.” Whew. “I came to get you — Elrond wants to take a look at your arm. I also wanted to let you know, Glorfindel and I are going to visit a couple of the border stations and see if there are improvements to be made. I will be back late tonight.”

“Oh.” I blink. So he’s leaving. “But you only just got here.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Yes.”

“Well, don’t you want a few days to relax?”

He tilts his head to the side. “I have been relaxing — I’ve been on leave from my duties for three weeks now.”

I roll my eyes, recalling his constant state of watchfulness on our journey. “Yeah, I definitely wouldn’t call the trip we just had ‘on leave from your duties.’”

He huffs, but the beginnings of a smile tugs at the edges of his lips. “Would you please get dressed so I can escort you to Elrond? Glorfindel and I wish to leave within the hour.”

I fight the urge to make some snarky comment about his impatience and instead shut the door in his face, hurrying to get ready. My arm does sting — perhaps Elrond can do something about that.

The chest of drawers doesn’t offer much in variety, mostly just a combination of long dresses and a few tunic and legging sets here and there. I’ve been traveling in the same clothes for two weeks though, and a change in habit doesn’t sound too bad, so I opt for a sleeveless pale blue gown with a gossamer cape at the shoulders. I don’t look as ethereal as Lavandil would, but I suppose it will do. Using my fingers, I brush down the frizz in my hair as much as I can—a lost cause, really—and throw on a pair of cream slippers that no one will see anyway because of the gown. After splashing some water over my eyes and brushing my teeth, I throw open the door to find Haldir standing to the side, back to the wall, watching the coming and going of everyone who passes down the hallway. Always on duty. He acknowledges me with a stiff nod and gestures down the hall, falling into step beside me. When we reach the bottom of the staircase, he leads me to the right and through another open-air hallway.

He breaks the silence. “Is your room to your liking?”

I think back to my plush bed, trying to separate it from the dread and fear of my nightmare. “Oh, yes. As much as I liked sleeping under the stars, it’s nice to have a proper bed and all the blankets I could want. And a door.”

He huffs out a laugh, nodding in agreement. “That is the true indication of luxury.”

“And yours?”

His mouth twists into a grimace. “It is the height of visitor season here in Imladris, so I am sharing with Rumil. Aside from constantly putting up with my younger brother, it’s perfect.”

I freeze, turning to him. “Wait, you have to share? But you’re the one who’s supposed to be visiting, that’s not right. You or Rumil can have my room, I’ll stay with Alex—”

“No, that won’t be necessary,” he interjects quickly, jerking his head to indicate that I should continue walking. “I only meant to joke. I do not mind sharing a space with my brother.” Before I can respond, he changes the subject. “How is your arm?”

I raise it, feeling the skin stretch over the cut. “Stings, but it’s healing.”

“Elrond will be able to speed along the process.” He indicates that we should turn left down a new hallway. He leads me through a nondescript archway on our right and we enter a moderately sized semicircular room.

Elrond sits at a mahogany desk near one of the walls, writing furiously on a piece of graying parchment. Upon our entry, he looks up, and the lines of stress on his brow melt into an expression of warm welcome. “Good to see you again, Cosima, Haldir.” He nods to each of us in turn and motions for us to join him at his desk. When we approach, Haldir bows his head respectfully, so I do the same. It’s strange to be in Elrond’s presence. He carries such authority that I feel small in comparison, yet he also leads with such kindness that it is impossible to not want to be around him. Based on all the visitors Haldir mentioned, I surmise that I am not alone in this assessment.

Elrond vacates his chair and gestures for me to sit. He comes to stand at my left and gently takes my arm in his hands. “I am sorry for the injury you suffered during the attack. That must have been quite jarring.”

Haldir rests a hand absently on the hilt of his sword, watching us from the other side of the desk. Likely, he too is remembering the ferocity of the attack — the lives he had to take. It must be hard, even if they were the lives of those trying to kill us.

“It was,” I agree, wincing slightly when Elrond unwraps the bandage encasing my upper arm. “As far as I know, my home doesn’t have anything like that.”

He smiles almost indulgently, crouching to more closely examine the gash. “But you would not remember if it did, no?”

I swallow. I hadn’t considered that. “I guess you’re right.”

He looks into my eyes then, and I feel so very young. “Every world has its perils. And every world has its joys. You cannot have one without the other—such is the way of life.”

I exhale shakily, turning my eyes to the ceiling. That’s sobering.

Elrond lays his fingers over my torn skin and mutters something in that language I so often hear.

I try to concentrate on the sounds, but can’t make out any specific words. “What is that?”

Since Elrond is still chanting, Haldir answers for him. “An Elvish healing incantation. Combined with the power in Elrond’s spirit, it should close up the wound.”

Tingles race through my upper arm and converge on my cut. I crane my neck, trying to see around Elrond’s hands. A second later, he pulls away. I gasp. All that is left of the cut is a thin, raised scar.

“What,” I murmur, prodding at the skin. Not painful, not even tender. What was just a two-day old wound now seems as if it happened and healed ages ago. “That’s impossible.”

Elrond nearly smirks, straightening to full height. “Open your mind, young one, and you will see that what is impossible to you is commonplace here.”

“I—” but I have nothing to say to that. Though I cannot possibly wrap my head around what just happened, the fact remains that it did. I’m not sure if I’m ready to confront what that means. So I push it away for later. “Thank you.”

Elrond inclines his head. Everyone around here is so dang respectful. “You are welcome.” With a twinkle in his eye, he turns his focus to Haldir. “Do not give my guards too hard a time. I imagine they are wary of your arrival.”

Haldir gestures for me to follow him to the exit. “I only plan on pointing out strategies for improvement. Suggestions, really.”

With a noise that clearly communicates his disbelief in Haldir’s statement, Elrond returns to his desk, smiling softly and shaking his head. “Be safe, Marchwarden. And Cosima?” I stop and turn, one hand on the pillar leading into his study. He gives me a level look and I have the distinct impression that he is acutely aware of the conflict raging within my head. “My door is always open.”

Mutely, I nod, a little stunned by the gravity in his gaze. I must have been staring, because it takes Haldir gently tapping my elbow to remind me to follow him from the room. Once in the hallway, I feel a little more clear-headed. “So was that magic?”

Haldir shrugs, striding down the long corridor. “Humans would think of it that way I suppose. Magic implies something special and ‘more than,’ though, and it’s not like that for elves. It is to be respected, yes, but it is simply the power in our spirits doing the work that calls to them. For Elrond, his spirit urges him to heal, so when he acts on it, he is more powerful than others who aren’t called to healing. I should mention that we say ‘spirit’ for your benefit. Elves use the term ‘fæ’. Simplified, it serves the same purpose as a spirit, but for elves, it plays more of an active role in our lives.”

I mull that over. It sounds reasonable enough. “So then what’s yours? What does your spirit—fæ want you to do?”

“Keep people safe. And if that means fighting, so be it.”

That seems consistent with what I know about him. Every action he takes seems driven by the desire to protect those around him. “What would happen if you ignored it? Say you wanted to be a healer like Baranor or Elrond.”

Haldir chuckles, resting his hand on the hilt of his sword as he walks. “I have tried before and I was not near as successful. I can perform the basics of healing—anyone can—but there’s no power within me to speed up the process or heal especially severe injuries like Elrond can. If I tried to attend to your arm in the same way he did, maybe it would have healed slightly faster? But as you saw with Elrond, he is capable of doing it in minutes.”

I begin to catch on. “Okay, so you can all learn whatever skills you want but the power to perform above and beyond at those skills lies in your fæ.”

He nods once. “Exactly.”

We turn a corner. “But what if you wanted to be a healer but you were born with the fæ of a fighter? Could you change it?”

Haldir takes a deep breath, his steps slowing slightly. I realize we are nearing the staircase that will take me to my room. “Short answer—no. An elf’s fæ is incredibly personal and incredibly fragile. Really, only two things can change an elf’s fæ: marriage and death. Long answer—you can ignore the desires of your fæ and nothing bad will happen to you so, technically, if I wanted, I could shun the need to keep my people safe and heal them instead. But I wouldn’t be any better at it than anyone else and I would feel unfulfilled because I wouldn’t be giving my fæ what it needs. Does that make sense?”

I nod, but something he glossed over jumps out at me. He said marriage can change an elf’s fæ, but from what I know, marriage isn’t always forever. People can separate, people can die, people can cheat. What then? “Marriage and death change a fæ how?”

A faraway look comes into his eye. “The two are basically interconnected. When elves get married, their fæs bond together in a way that cannot be undone. When it is—through death—the half of the fæ belonging to the dead elf essentially wilts and leaves the remaining fæ damaged.”

That sounds awful. “But what about divorce? Is that kinder to a fæ?”

Haldir smiles ruefully. “Divorce is something unique to humans. Elves live forever and we love only once. When we do decide to love another, the two fæs are literally entwined forever. So divorce is a physical possibility — the two can be separated, yes. But it would cause their fæs so much grief that it almost never happens. Spiritually though, the two are entwined until death, some argue even beyond then.”

I’m almost afraid to ask. “So, if one dies and the fæ is damaged…”

“The other fades. It is not just a physical death, but a spiritual one. They lose the will to live and eventually pass into nothing.”

I look at the ground. Haldir carries a pain in his voice that makes me wonder if he’s seen this happen before. With over three thousand years behind him, it’s likely that he has.

I attempt to veer to a safer subject. He said elves only love once and, as far as I know, Haldir isn’t married. I try to tease him a little to lighten the mood. “So you’ve never been in love?”

He raises an eyebrow, jerking his chin in my direction. “Have you?”

I shrug, climbing the staircase. “I wouldn’t remember.”

“I think you would.” We’re at the top now and I turn to see him looking not at me, but out one of the gaping archways showcasing the falls.

I let out a slow breath, thinking on his words. Would I, though? I mean, what if I’m here gallivanting with my new friends and I have someone at home mourning my loss, missing me? Do I owe it to him to make it back?

Feeling a weight settle on my shoulders, I take small, hesitant steps towards the archway, bringing me closer and closer to the fortified stone railing. I don’t look down—that would be too much—but I do rest my hands lightly against the wood, staring straight ahead at the curtain of frothy white and blue. Guilt as well as fear from being so close to the edge churn in my stomach. Am I a bad person for not remembering my love? Do I even have one?

I let out a shuddering breath, knowing I need something — reassurance or condemnation, I don’t know. I choose to give voice to my fears and trust Haldir to decide.

When I speak, my voice is not as solid as I would like, sounding instead shaky and fragile. “But what if I didn’t?” I swallow against the lump rising in my throat. “What if there’s someone in my world waiting for me and I can’t remember him?”

The sounds of boots clicking against stone echoes. A few seconds later, Haldir appears next to me, resting his hands on the railing, mirroring my viewing of the waterfall.

“An elf’s fæ gives them a measure of awareness. If you are really attuned to someone—love them, have a strong bond with them—your fæs will have a consciousness of each other, almost like they’re in communication. For example, I can see Rumil’s light and I know that he is content. I can feel Orophin’s joy practically bursting and I know how happy it makes him to be here with his love. And, while a human’s fæ isn’t as strong as an elf’s, you do have one. If I concentrate, I can see it. It’s faint, but it is there. All this to say,” he shakes his head slowly, turning his gaze to me. “If you had a love back home, your fæ would know.”

I slump in relief, leaning against the railing and closing my eyes so I cannot further frighten myself. If I had someone that I was bonded to, I would remember him — more than that, I would feel it in my soul. So, staying here…if it weren’t so dangerous…maybe it wouldn’t be bad.

“Haldir, Lady Cosima.” A confident voice at the end of the hall catches our attention.

Glorfindel, golden and gorgeous as ever, strides up to us, bowing deeply. He reaches for my hand and presses a kiss to its back, then straightens and winks—at me or Haldir, I can’t tell. “A human custom I thought I’d try. Not my cup of tea, but I do say I’ll try anything once.”

I bark out a shocked laugh, having not expected Glorfindel’s bold entrance. “Am I one of your experiments, then?”

“If you’d like to be.” He pumps his eyebrows suggestively, though, if what Haldir just explained to me is true for all elves, Glorfindel is only playing around.

Haldir rolls his eyes. “Are you ready to go?”

With a flair, Glorfindel gestures to his armored form. “So it seems. Is the Lady going to accompany us?”

I huff, not liking being cut out of the conversation. “No, ‘the Lady’ hopes to stay here and find breakfast.”

“Ah, it is on the path to the stables! Allow us to show you the way.” With that, Glorfindel strides down the hallway as quickly as he arrived.

Haldir shakes his head—whether in amusement or annoyance, I don��t know—but follows.

The three of us wind up in a large outdoor pavilion sheltered only by a wooden lattice rooftop woven with blue and white flowers. This must be the common dining hall Elrond mentioned last night. It’s relatively late in the morning but too early for the midday meal, so the pavilion is empty. I’m grateful—I’m not sure I could handle meeting a whole city’s worth of elves before I’ve gotten some food in me.

The use of the word causes a brief spark of shock to jolt through my chest. I just referred to them as ‘elves’.

But I cannot deny it any longer—somehow, it clicked. I am in a different world, and the people of this world are not all human. My friends are elves.

This decision to believe—though it is only one of many I must make—releases a weight from my chest. I suddenly feel much lighter, nearly giddy with freedom. I push forward and turn around to face the two ellyn who led me here, nodding with a measure of finality.

“You are elves.”

Glorfindel looks perplexed, but Haldir, for the first time since I’ve met him, looks surprised. His eyebrows shoot towards his hairline, his lips part from each other. I grin, very much enjoying the feeling of catching him off guard. He narrows his eyes slightly, seeming to inspect me for signs of teasing or a joke. I smile up at him, confident in my decision.

Glorfindel looks back and forth between what probably looks like an impromptu staring contest. “Yes…it must be time for you to eat. How often do humans need to eat, anyways?” He chatters on, leading us through the pavilion and into an auxiliary room — the kitchens. “I’ve heard horror stories of new humans needing to eat upwards of six times per day. How do its caretakers get anything done?”

As Glorfindel darts through the kitchen collecting what I assume to be leftovers and provisions for the trip, Haldir comes up beside me, looking almost unsure.

“You have accepted it, then?”

I nod, exhaling quickly. “I have. This isn’t a dream, this is real. Somehow I lived in my world and now I live in yours. And, though there’s no way for me to wrap my head around it, my new friends are elves.”

He smiles softly, hesitantly, and dips his head in acknowledgment of my statement. “I am glad.”

But, despite my momentary feeling of freedom, unease settles in my gut. Many more decisions lie ahead.

A/n Ooo so what do you think??? Likes, comments, and reblogs make me happy! Let me know if you would like a tag :) Also, if you’re bored, pop into my ask box and tell me something that makes you happy -- I’d love to know!

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Tolkien tag list: @anangelwhodidntfall @eru-vande

Haldir tag list: @tolkien-apologist

Double Heart tag list: @lainphotography @themerriweathermage @thophil2941btw @kenobiguacamole @wishingtobeinadifferentuniverse @from-patroclus-with-love @boywivlove @ordinarymom1 @my-darling-haldir @sweet-bea-blossom @moony-artnstuff

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chipper9906 · 3 years

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Heal The Cracks Within My Heart - Chapter 5: Old Friends Made Anew

<- - - Previous Chapter

WARNING: SPOILERS FOR LOKI SEASON 1 EPISODE 6 ‘FOR ALL TIME. ALWAYS.’

Pairings: Loki/Sylvie

Rating: General Audiences

Chapter Word Count: 6,344

Overall Word Count: 48,317 (In Progress)

Status: Multi Chapter Fic - In Progress (5/?)

Chapter Preview:

Coming from the unbearable heat of whatever desert-type planet they had come from and walking into the almost tropical level of heat of this new place was downright pleasant. Loki blinked in surprise as they stepped out onto more sand, though it was also combined with the refreshing breeze blowing in from the ocean that crashed down around his feet. The water was crystal clear up close, but the more it stretched out, the more it took on the vivid turquoise colors of the beaches he had seen in those jet-ski magazines on Mobius’s desk.

“Quite the Time-Loop…” Loki whirls around in place, taking in the sight of people lounging around on bed-like chairs. Most had drinks in hands, others were passed out asleep and only half under the cover of the straw umbrellas overhead, their other half more than likely burning away as they cooked in the day’s heat. “Better than being kicked in a rather sensitive area over and over again, that’s for sure…”

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* * *

On his first shift, Loki lets Sylvie sleep for a little bit longer than their agreed shift times.

He isn’t too sure how, but Sylvie somehow seems to know that he was waking her up a couple of hours into what should have been her shift. It was almost funny watching her try to decide whether to express her gratitude for his thoughtfulness or be annoyed that he had let her sleep in when they had clearly agreed to set shift times.

The second time he wakes her up for her shift, he tries to do so with the morning kiss that he had promised (with try being the keyword here). It had been quite early in the morning, judging by the faint light that had started to filter in through the ceiling and partly illuminate the cave. Loki summarized that, with that small amount of light, that Sylvie would be able to recognize it was him when she woke up and hold herself back enough not to stab him immediately on sight.

He was mostly right. It had started well enough – running the back of his hand softly down her face as she began to stir and tucking a few wry strands of hair behind her ear. He waited until she was mostly awake, just seconds away from transitioning into that deep sleep to a groggy awareness, before leaning across her and pressing a feather-light kiss to her lips.

For a few seconds, Loki thought it had been a success. Of course, that thought flew straight out of his head the moment he felt her body go tense under his. It was remarkable how quickly she had snatched her sword up from her side, and he could at least appreciate the feel of the blade pressing against his side instead of in his side.

“Oh,” Sylvie breathed in surprise as recognition filtered in through drowsy eyes, the sharp pinch of the blade end against his side quickly disappearing as she drops her weapon. “Gods, did I…?”

“Nope, completely stab free,�� Loki assures her.

“I did warn you…”

“And I said I’d still take the risk,” Loki countered with a cocky grin.

Sylvie wanted to wipe that grin off his face as he hovered over her, and she did so by grabbing hold of collar of his dress shirt and yanking him down. Loki was barely able to catch himself, hands spread out on either side of Sylvie as she surged up to claim his lips with her own.

She could still feel his smile against her mouth, though this one was less of the typical arrogance he displayed and more of… of contentedness. Dare she say ‘happiness’, even? Whatever it was, she found she didn’t mind it – even if it did make it a little awkward to kiss him.

It was almost surprising that nothing of note occurs during their watches: no more giant lizards set on peeling away the meat from their bones, no unruly citizens that didn’t appreciate their presence on this planet, no brown and orange-clad TVA workers materializing from thin air and whisking them away.

Some might call Loki stupid for making an attempt to kiss Sylvie awake for the second time. If he’s being honest with himself, he did feel a little nervous as he leaned down, trying to resist the urge to push her sword out of reach; not that it would do any good since she’s apparently a natural at conjuring and would probably have a dagger materialized and plunged into his chest before he knows it.

But this time, it seemed that Sylvie was expecting it – or, maybe, she really was starting to break out of the habit of attacking anyone that touched her whilst coming out of such a vulnerable state. There is a split second where she goes from ‘sleeping still’ to ‘unnaturally and very much alert’ still – which is the moment his nerves hit their peak – but Loki’s then pleasantly surprised by the way she seems to relax into his hold, pushing up into the kiss rather than forcefully pushing him away as he had expected.

“Good morning,” Loki rumbles in greeting as they separate, drinking in the sleepy smile she gives him in response.

“Well, we weren’t killed in the night, so I think I can agree with it being a ‘good morning’,”

Loki narrowed his eyes playfully at her. “Oh? And it being a ‘good morning’ has nothing to do with my method of waking you?”

“Hmm… I suppose it helped a little…”

Sylvie suppressed a grin at the roll of his eyes, pushing up and away from her with an overly-exasperated sounding huff. Loki offered out a hand to her once he was settled, helping to pull her up into a sitting position.

“How was your sleep?” Loki asks once she’s sat up, holding out a flask of water that he had collected shortly before waking her.

“Surprisingly well,” Sylvie takes the flask with a thankful smile, the early morning sun already starting to bake the cave. “–Considering I had a bunch of little rocks stabbing me in the back.”

“You should have said something,” Loki says, waiting for the moment she takes a deep pull from the flask before continuing. “I would have been more than happy to act as your personal pillow once again.”

To his disappointment, she does not spit out the water all over himself like he had the night before. She does give a slight pause though, arching up a brow at him as she continues to drink from the canteen.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” She returns once she pulls the flask away from her mouth, holding out the flask for him to take back and take a drink himself.

Loki looks down to the flask in his hands, fingers tapping against the metal as he thinks. “So… we survived the night.”

“Somehow,” Sylvie added.

“Guess that means we can assume this isn’t an apocalypse? And that we’re somehow off the TVA’s radar?”

Sylvie sighed softly, resting the back of her head against the wall behind her. “Assume? Yes, but we can’t know for sure. There’s a chance that… that maybe…”

“That what?” Loki pries, sensing her reluctance to speak what was on her mind.

“You’ve seen the TVA first hand, perhaps even more than I have. You’ve seen the intricacies of how they work, of how dedicated they are to ensuring the timeline goes the way He Who Remains had decided it needs to go.”

“I suppose so, yes,” Loki agreed slowly, wondering where Sylvie was going with this.

“What’s the one reason why the TVA wouldn’t be interfering with a branch?” Sylvie asks. “The one reason they don’t get involved?”

“An Apocalypse?” Loki guesses, and Sylvie shakes her head ‘no’ at him.

“An Apocalypse isn’t a branch. They’re not interfering there because there’s nothing to happen that would affect the timeline.”

“Then… what-,”

“The only time they don’t interfere-,” Sylvie continues. “-Is because there’s nothing to interfere with. Because we’re abiding by the timeline.”

“But… there’s no one controlling the timeline anymore,” Loki points out.

“How do we know that?” Sylvie stresses. “You want to know the last thing ‘He Who Remains’ said to me? He said ‘See you soon’. He told us he’d be right back in that office, didn’t he? How do we know some other version of him isn’t already up there, waiting for us to go find him again and… start all this shit over again.”

“I… I suppose it’s a possibility,” Loki reluctantly agrees. “But, from what He was describing of the other variants of Him… I imagine it’s Him that’s going to be tracking down us.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“It means we’re not living by the story that He’s written so… a little, I’d hope?”

That did make Sylvie feel a little better, actually. Not enough to overpower the paranoia that an endless amount of variants of a man that controlled infinite universes could be personally hunting them down, but still – a little better was better than nothing.

“Either way, we’ve got a Hel of a fight ahead of us,” Sylvie points out the obvious.

“Unless we keep hiding like this…?” Loki jokes – or at least, Sylvie assumes he’s joking.

Sylvie exhales sharply from her nose, shaking her head side to side. “I’ve been running my whole life. I’m done running, Loki.”

“Okay then,” Loki says, apparently on board with whatever it is that Sylvie wants to do. “So… what’s the plan?”

“We’re going to do the only other thing I know how to do,” Sylvie answers. “We’re going to fight.”

“Oh, no -- I get that,” Loki got out in a rush. “I meant more what’s the plan for today? Are we going to stay on this Hel-Hole and try to find some kind of power source for your TemPad?”

“Only if it comes to it,” Sylvie didn’t quite fancy the idea of trudging through all that sand and potentially facing even more pissed-off wildlife. She rotated her wrist so the surface of the TemPad was facing up towards her, running a finger along it to wake it up. “Never thought I’d be saying this, but… I suppose we should see if there’s enough juice left in this thing to get us back to the TVA…”

“-Wait, hang on a second,” Loki reaches out a hand to stop her from activating anything on the TemPad. Sylvie pauses, looking up to him with her brows raised in surprise. “How will we know which TVA it’ll take us to?”

“We won’t,” Sylvie answers grimly. “If things go south quickly, then we can just grab another TemPad and get the Hel out of there. At least with one of the TVA’s TemPads, I know how to use them and how to charge them -- and that they can even be charged.”

“And then what? Sylvie, we need the TVA’s help with this, whether we like it or not. They’ll know more about what’s going on out there than we do. We need to know how to use that TemPad properly: how to jump between multiverses; how to select specific timelines to travel to. Otherwise… we’ll end up lost in a web of universes.”

“Then… then I don’t know,” Sylvie admitted defeat. “We can’t just keep jumping between TVA’s, hoping that the next will be ours, or at least better than the one before. But we also can’t just go up to whoever at whatever TVA we end up in and demand they tell us all they know. Magic doesn’t work in the TVA, remember? So, enchanting is off the table. Really, we’ll be lucky we aren’t surrounded and with a collar around our necks the second we step in there…”

“Or… come face to face with another version of Him…” Loki says, grimacing at the thought.

Then, an idea springs to mind. Loki straightens up as the realization hits him, turning to Sylvie. “Almost sounds like… we could use a guide?”

Sylvie frowns at him. “A guide?”

“Of course!” Loki exclaims. “Someone who’s familiar with the TVA perhaps? Someone who knows their way around the place, knows what files to find, holds some information that could be of use to us?”

“Well, yeah, that’d be great,” Sylvie says, frown still etched onto her face. “But there’s no one in the TVA that would help us.”

“What if they’re not in the TVA?” Loki counters with an excited smile. “At least, not right at this moment.”

Sylvie’s narrowed-eyed look of suspicion grows. “….Such as who…?”

“Well…” Loki trails off, glancing down to the TemPad on Sylvie’s hand, and then back up to her. “You think there’s enough juice in that thing to re-open a time-loop?”

* * *

Sylvie was right: Mobius’s time-loop was nice.

Which… kind of explained why they were here, he supposed. It was kind of comforting knowing that, despite they weren’t the same Mobius’s, they seemed to share the same type of desires. And, if this was the good memory Sylvie had recreated in a Time-Loop for him, then… perhaps he was more like his Mobius than he thought. Perhaps… they had a good chance of swaying this Mobius over to their side.

That was enough for Sylvie’s eyes to freeze in place from where they were scanning across this unknown environment, slowly turning to Loki with a questioning look. “I’m not sure if I even want to ask…”

Loki could only shrug. “It’s not a good day when you lose count of the number of times someone’s kneed you in the crotch…”

Even Sylvie had to wince at that.

Loki placed his hands on his hips as he peered out to the bay they found themselves in, searching the crowds of people both in the ocean and on the beach itself for a familiar gray hair and mustache combo. Even in what was only a re-construction of an actual time – more of a memory, really – the two of them still gained a few curious looks. This was to be expected, of course, being the only two people dressed like they didn’t belong: one looking like he had just come from the office, and the other looking like she had just returned from battle.

“Do you remember where he was last time?” Loki asks Sylvie, wading through the shallow water and out onto mostly dry land where she stood. “I’m saying this under the assumption you didn’t just shove him through the Time-Door and slam it closed behind you, of course.”

“I couldn’t exactly hang about in here,” Sylvie retorted. “I was working on getting you out of the TVA, remember?

“So… you did shove him through the Time-Door and slam it closed behind you?”

“No,” Sylvie all but groaned. “I told you already, I had to enchant him to keep him calm. It sort of… placated him, I think. Helped remind him that he actually enjoyed the life taken from him. At least, enough so that he would forget about the TVA for a little while and just… re-live his memories. But I don’t know how long that would have lasted. The effects of enchantments don’t last forever…”

That… was better than so many other outcomes, Loki thought.

“In that case, I can’t imagine he’ll be too thrilled to see us again…” Loki said, now more on the lookout for a very disgruntled, ‘could possibly throw a punch on sight if they’re not careful’ mustached man. “Is there any chance he could have escaped? Maybe there’s some kind of… escape hatch of some sorts that we don’t know about?”

“Uh… I’m gonna guess no,” Sylvie had her eyes fixated on something in the distance, which Loki – who was still busy searching the closer vicinity – did not notice.

“And why’s that-,” Loki begins to ask, but stops talking when Sylvie grabs at his arm for his attention, pointing out to a section of the bay not too far ahead.

“Because Mobius is right there… and… Loki, I don’t think he’s alone.”

Sylvie was right. As they trekked across the beach and closer to Mobius, ignoring the stares of the cautious but, thankfully, fake beach-goers, they could clearly make out that it wasn’t just Mobius sat upon the jet-ski that they had spotted him ripping around the bay.

“Now you see, you want to be a little bit less trigger happy with the throttle there.”

A part of Loki didn’t want to approach Mobius anymore. Even Sylvie seemed to hesitate, her long strides turning shorter and sluggish just as his do the closer they get. The jet-ski had been brought to a standstill, bobbing away on the peaceful waves near the shore. Seeing Mobius without his usual suit and tie get-up was jarring enough, so seeing him in only a pair of swim-shorts was quite the sight. Mobius had his body craned around a young boy that sat in front of him on the jet-ski, pointing out various instruments of the vehicle as he – presumably – was giving the child some driving tips.

“Trust me kiddo, I get the need for speed same as you do,” Mobius said with a gleaming grin, patting the boy on his shoulder. “But I think it’d be best we avoid giving your mom a heart attack if we take off like that again.”

Loki wanted to sink into the sand. He wanted an astronomically large tidal wave to appear out of nowhere and swallow him up. Mobius did have a family. A family. And he had had that taken away from him. Somewhere out there is his Mobius, trying to turn the TVA around, trying to do the right thing, and he doesn't even know.

The two of them probably looked incredibly suspicious – just stood there in the sand, dressed in clothes that definitely were not beach appropriate, watching a father and son live out one of their fondest memories. Luckily, Mobius hadn’t noticed them just yet, his focus solely on his son who rolled his eyes at his father just as every child who thinks they know better than their parents does.

“What if I take us out slowly around the corner of the bay, then once we’re out of sight from mom I can really open her up?”

Mobius laughed heartily at his son’s enthusiasm, giving his son’s shoulders a playful shake when he pouted at his father's reaction.

“Well, for one… I think us being out of her sight would give her even more of a heart attack,” Mobius said. “And secondly… you know better than I do that your mother has eyes in the back of her head. Really, there’s no such thing as ‘out of sight.'"

“That’s the right answer.”

Both Loki and Sylvie looked over to the woman who had seemingly appeared from within the crowded beach, walking over to the edge of the beach and stopping just before the incoming waves would reach her feet. She looked to be around the same age as Mobius, although her black hair had streaks of gray running through it instead of being fully gray as Mobius’s was. Her face looked kind, ingrained with laughter lines that hinted at a well-loved life.

“How many others do you think are out there?” Sylvie got out through gritted teeth, the heat in her voice taking Loki by surprise.

“How many of what?”

“Families ripped apart by Him,” Sylvie answered, her face scrunched up in disgust. “People who, just like us, took one wrong step – as decided by Him – and were just… whisked away from their lives, brainwashed, and forced to work for the group that had kidnapped them in the first place. And their families?”

Sylvie laughs a humorless laugh, gesturing with a lazy flick of her hand to Mobius and his family. “Nothing more than memories now. His real family were… well, they were just another meal for Alioth, I suppose.”

“Until you changed that,” Loki said softly, tearing his eyes away from Mobius and down to Sylvie next to him. “Somewhere out there… there’s a variant of Mobius that was never taken from his family. Infinite variants, even.”

“And what of this variants family?” Sylvie asks, gesturing to Mobius with a flick of her chin. “And what of our Mobius? What I did doesn’t change their fate.”

“No, but at least now they have the opportunity to make a difference,” Loki stressed his words, the back of his hand lightly brushing against hers in an attempt at comfort. “They can help us to make sure no other variants of themselves have to go through what they went through.”

“...Dad?” The sound of the young boy's fear-filled voice snapped their attention back. It seemed that Mobius’s son had been the first to spot them, his eyes fixated on the two mysterious strangers who had been watching them. “Dad, who is that?”

The moment Mobius’s eyes landed on them, it was like he changed into a different person completely. Gone was the carefree and laid-back father. Gone was the happy-looking family man spending a day at the beach. His entire demeanor hardened, eyes cold and calculated as he stared at them. He could no longer pretend that this Time-Loop was his life. Now, he was faced with the reminder of why he was here in the first place.

“Get over to your mom real quick, would you?” Mobius instructed his son, but he kept his gaze solely on them. “I need to talk with… some people from work.”

Mobius’s son looked like he wanted to ask more questions, but knew better. He slid down from the jet-ski in a hurry, wading through the shallow water as fast as his little legs would carry him over to his mother. It was only once the young boy had safely reached his mother’s side – who briskly pulled him out of sight – that Mobius moved from the jet-ski. He slowly slid down from the vehicle, keeping a hand on its seat as he stands silently, waiting for them to come to him.

Loki and Sylvie exchange nervous glances, unsure as to whether this was going to be an actual talk, or more… the kind of talking you do with clashes of steel and the spilling of blood. Then again, it wasn’t exactly like Mobius was able to hide a weapon when he’s clad in only a pair of swim-shorts…

Loki and Sylvie both nod at each other in silent understanding, choosing not to pull out their weapons and potentially freak out the people around them – even if they were nothing more than memories. They both slowly advance towards Mobius, who continues to stare them down, understandably cautious of their approach.

“Mobius…” Loki says his name conservatively in greeting.

Mobius’s eyes flick between Loki and Sylvie, landing on the both of them for a few seconds each before settling on Loki. “Loki.”

“You remember my name?”

“Not every day I have someone in a TVA uniform come up to me in a blind panic, tell me they don’t actually work for the TVA, tries to get me to turn against my people, and then disappears around the same time I find myself kidnapped and placed in a Time-Loop.”

Loki and Sylvie look to one another again, a movement that – surprisingly – get’s Mobius to groan in annoyance.

“And here I was thinking what happened with you two was just two random different events. Should have known you were both involved with one another,” Mobius sighs, glancing back to where his family had disappeared into the sea of people. “So… what now? You here to kill me?”

“No,” Loki answered, voice pitched up in surprise that Mobius would think that. “No, nothing like that, Mobius. We just… we want to talk.”

“About what?”

“About the TVA,” Sylvie said, garnering Mobius’s attention.

Mobius narrowed his eyes at her, head tilted to the side as he looked her up and down. “And… who are you, exactly? I didn’t quite get your name before you–” Mobius bent his arm, mimicking a choking motion. “–put me in a choke-hold and violated my privacy by digging around in my memories.”

Sylvie at least had enough kindness to look ashamed at her actions. “My name is Sylvie.”

“Sylvie…” Mobius repeated her name, dropping his arm back down. “Can’t say I’ve ever heard of you.”

“There’s a reason for that,” Loki piped up. “Sylvie is, uh… well, technically she’s me. Another variant of me, anyway. And if what you said about me not being on your files was true, then… Sylvie wouldn’t be, either.”

“Hang on, what?” Sylvie spluttered, wheeling around to face Loki. “We don’t exist in this timeline?”

“I guess not?” Loki said, sounding unsure. “Either that, or we haven’t done anything in this timeline to become variants.”

“Wow…” Mobius interjected, staring out blankly into the distance. “I knew that whatever had happened to make the sacred timeline erupt like that would be bad but… I don’t even want to think about the shambles it must be in right now…”

“Believe me, you don’t even know the half of it,” Sylvie grumbled.

“Mobius, you…” Loki begins, the corner of his mouth pulling into an uncomfortable grimace. “I don’t get it. You’re a variant-,”

“I’m aware,” Mobius stated dryly.

“Already told him, Loki,” Sylvie reminded him.

“But… now you know that your TVA isn’t the only TVA,” Loki pointed out. “Your timeline isn’t even the sacred timeline. Hel, mine and Sylvie’s timeline weren’t the sacred timeline, either. We just sort of… found our way onto it.”

Mobius cocked a disbelieving eyebrow at them. “And… how did that happen?”

“Well… you, actually,” Loki said. “You – the version of you we know – was trying to track Sylvie down. I had been brought in by the TVA for, um… you know what, it’s not important. You stopped me from being reset. You thought that the best person to track down me would be… me.”

Mobius huffed out a breath of laughter at that, crossing his arms against his chest. “I’m assuming the other me was right?”

“Well, I did find her,” Loki said, voice full of pride as he jabbed a thumb in Sylvie’s direction. “And… well, it’s…”

“I have an idea,” Sylvie suddenly whispered in realization. “We could try telling you what happened, but I doubt you’ll believe us.”

Mobius shrugged his shoulders in a way that said that would be exactly the case.

“Alright, fine,” Sylvie said, and before either Mobius or Loki knew what she was doing, she grabbed hold of Loki’s arm before stepping forward and grabbing Mobius’s.

Loki didn’t even know that enchantment could work this way. Instead of searching through Mobius’s memories, she was scrounging through both hers and his and, like a reel of film, she let them play. All three of them watched as the series of events that had led them here flitted by: Loki crash landing in the deserts of Mongolia and swiftly being apprehended by the TVA, and coming face to face with Mobius for the first time as he saves him from being reset –

– Sylvie burning the TVA workers to a crisp in the fields of the past and snatching the reset charges left behind –

– Loki and Mobius discovering Sylvie’s hiding trick within the Apocalypses of the Universe; the first time Loki sets eyes on the other version of himself as she playfully waves at him before stepping through the Time-Door –

– The two of them running through Lamentis, just trying to survive an event that no living being is supposed to survive; the moment that a nexus event Mobius had never seen before spikes on the monitor, as two of the same beings reach out for one another –

– Loki pleading with Mobius with everything he’s got to believe him, that Mobius had been taken from his life just as everyone else in the TVA had –

– The brief moment it seemed they may have a chance before Mobius was pruned before Loki’s very eyes, losing one of the few friends he’s ever had in his entire life –

– Watching in horror as the decapitated head of a Time-Keeper falls to their feet, realizing that the all-knowing Time-Keepers were nothing more than robots being used for show to keep the workers of the TVA in line. Then, that small yet significant moment where Loki dared to take a leap he never thought he would make, only to feel his body disintegrate as Renslayer’s pruning stick is pressed against this heart –

– Sylvie, not long after, shoving that very same pruning stick into her heart, joining him in the Void. The briefest of glimpses she got of the Citadel as she grabbed hold of a part of Alioth, before being reunited with the man she had spent her life running away from. All three of them, accompanied by a few peculiar Loki variants, hatching a plan to bring down the TVA once more –

– A tender goodbye shared between a rapidly formed yet strong bond between the three; a hand stuck out in an attempt of a goodbye that was deemed not enough by Loki, who couldn’t bear to let the other man leave without a word of thanks, both spoken aloud and with the gesture of arms wrapped around one another –

– Stepping through into that Citadel that sat on the edge of time, the two of them being offered what was once all they ever wanted. Then finally, finally, meeting the man responsible for it all. Listening as he regaled his life story, trying valiantly to defend his actions to two people whose actions he had wronged –

– Loki’s hand on her shoulder, trying desperately to pull her back as she advanced towards He Who Remains with sword in hand. Loki’s heart-filled attempt to get Sylvie to stop before all hell breaks loose, and they find themselves fighting the one person they never truly want to hurt. Then, knowing what she knows, Sylvie chooses to let herself enjoy the briefest of moments where Loki made her feel like she could be okay before shoving him through that Time-Door –

– The emptiness Sylvie felt inside as she plunged her sword into He Who Remains’s chest, feeling no sense of the satisfaction she thought she’d feel as the light left his eyes. That emptiness being replaced by complete and utter regret as she watched the timeline ripping itself apart, already imagining all the other versions of Him forming into existence as she dropped to the ground –

– Loki’s similar feeling of emptiness as he sat within the TVA, the shock steadily giving away to the aching pain in his chest, now knowing what it felt like to be on the other side of a Loki betrayal. That pain only becoming infinitely worse as he finds the friend he was looking for, only to be slapped with the realization that whilst the man in front of him may have bore the same face as the man he knows, he was now nothing more than a stranger to him –

Mobius gasped as he was wrenched out from the memories, nearly falling over his jet-ski as he stumbled back and away from the two of them. Loki instinctively reached out a hand to help steady him, but stopped himself, unsure as to how this Mobius might react. Mobius’s face was scrunched in pain, holding a hand up to his head as the images of what he had seen remained burned in his memory.

“I know it’s a lot,” Sylvie said apologetically. “But it’s important. I… we needed you to see.”

“I… I don’t understand…” Mobius mumbled, his eyes rapidly moving side to side as he was lost in his thoughts. “Why… why wouldn’t He tell us? He… he told us our jobs were important, that we were protecting the entirety of time, but… we didn’t know we were protecting it from Him.”

“Do you see now?” Loki asks, taking a risk and stepping closer to Mobius. “Your leader… he isn’t the only one of him out there now, and if we don’t do something, then… there will be nothing left but death and suffering.”

Mobius swallowed harshly, giving a small nod of his head as he struggled to get his thoughts under control. “I… I don’t even know what to do, now… Everything I thought I knew, it’s… it’s…”

“It’s never how you think it is,” Sylvie finishes for him. “But you can help us, Mobius. Help us find a way to make things right.”

“How?” Mobius asked, forcing his head up to look to Sylvie. “I’m just an analyst-,”

“Precisely!” Loki cut him off. “You know more about the inner workings of the TVA and the timelines than we do. If you don’t want to get involved, that’s fine. All we’re asking is for some information from you. Give us a chance to find some people that can help, and fix this whole mess.”

Mobius sighed, running a shaking hand through his hair. “I… I suppose that might be possible… What kind of information are we talking about here?”

“For starters-,” Sylvie brought up her hand, showing Mobius the TemPad wrapped around it. “-Any information you have on this thing would be good.”

“His TemPad…” Mobius uttered in amazement, looking moments away from reaching out for it before thinking better of his actions.

“His?” Loki asks. “Does your version of ‘He Who Remains’ have one of these, too?”

“That he does…” Mobius confirms, looking almost transfixed by the TemPad. “I’ve never actually been able to see it up close myself – having never met Him face to face – but… I know of it. Not much, I have to warn you. Although… there might be some files on it stored away within the TVA…"

“He keeps files about it?” Sylvie asked.

“It’s His pride and joy,” Mobius answered with a short chuckle. “While we’re left slumming it with the older versions, he’s the only one that gets to use the ‘new and improved’ model.”

“Huh… guess your version of ‘He Who Remains’ is kind of similar to the one we know,” Sylvie noted, running a finger across the TemPad.

“I wouldn’t know,” Mobius said with a shrug of his shoulders. “He’s just sort of… there. An imposing leader. A…”

“A threat?” Sylvie guessed. “Something to keep you in line?”

Mobius paused, pondering over her answer for a moment. “Kind of. Someone to respect, but also… someone to fear.”

Mobius twisted his neck around, looking around to the crowd of people that were still around them. He turned back to them, flicking his head for them to follow as he moves away from the jet-ski, making his way onto the shore. Loki and Sylvie obediently follow, keeping on Mobius’s heels as he carves a path through the name-less beach-goers.

“I don’t think I can do much for you,” Mobius said over his shoulder as they pushed through to a less densely populated area of the beach. “I’m… I’m not much of a fighter; I wasn’t trained for that. I know how to find information that would be of use to me, and apply it effectively. That’s what I’m good at.”

“And that’s all we’re asking of you,” Loki said. “We could really use a guide through the TVA.”

Mobius came to a stop with a heavy sigh, spinning around on the spot to face them. “I hope you realize what you’re asking of me here. The TVA it’s… it’s all I know. They’re my family-,”

“No, they’re your family,” Sylvie insisted, pointing back to the crowd of people they had walked away from. “And I know there’s nothing we can do to bring them back. But the person who did this to you, who took you away from your family? He’s still out there.”

“I know,” Mobius said gently, eyes glazed over as he looked to where Sylvie had been pointing. “I thought that… that the ends justified the means. I knew that I was doing to other people what had been done to me, but… He… He was so assuring, you know? He made us believe there was truly no other way.”

“He’s a very convincing man,” Loki agreed, glancing over to Sylvie with an awkward wince. “But we’re going to find a way to stop him. There has to be a way for the multi-verse to exist in peace. We just need to remove the dictator – every version of Him.

Mobius nodded at that, taking in a deep breath through his nose. “Okay then,” He said, shortly before spinning back around and walking away from them.

Loki and Sylvie looked at each other, eyebrows raised in surprise as Mobius continued to just walk away from them. “Wait -- where are you going?” Loki called out, unsure whether they were supposed to follow.

“Well, I’m not just gonna rock back up to the TVA in swimming trunks, am I?” Mobius called back with a grin, walking backward to face them as he gestured down at himself. “And, uh… whilst you’re technically in uniform, you should probably clean up all the sweat, and dirt, and… and is that blood?”

“It’s been a rough few days…” Loki grumbled. “It’s been a rough damn existence.”

“Isn’t that the truth…” Sylvie added.

“Oh, and you-,” Mobius said, clicking his fingers as he pointed to Sylvie. “Not saying that I don’t admire the armor set, but uh… you might want to think about wearing something else if we’re going to blend in.”

Loki turned to Sylvie with a knowing grin, enjoying the apprehensive look on her face just a little bit more than he should. “Guess it’s time to see if we can conjure you’re a new outfit.”

Next Chapter - - - >

#sylki #sylki fanfiction #sylki fanfic #pro sylki #loki//sylvie #lovedagger #enchantricks

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x0401x · 4 years

Note

People keep talking about a hotel scene that was skipped from episode 12, can you tell me what was this scene?

OH, BOY. HERE WE GO.

That scene is one of the best ones between Richard and Seigi and one of my favorite highlights of their relationship because there’s a huge display of trust and love between them in it. But there’s actually a lot to unpack, so for context, I’m going to explain some extra stuff too. As far as I know, though, there’s someone on Twitter who has made a summary of each volume, so they might be more useful for this. I’m not the best person to judge since I haven’t read those summaries, but I saw that the threads were lengthy, so I guess they must be detailed. The link to their Twitter is in my Richard tag!

Warning: this is gonna be long.

All right, starting from the moment Seigi tells Richard he wants to quit. Part of it is because he wants to shield Richard from whatever Hisashi might do if he finds out Seigi works for a filthy-rich foreigner who definitely pays well and treats him to expensive dinners every week. But most of it is because Hisashi brings out a lot of ugliness in Seigi (take almost stabbing Hisashi as an example), and he doesn’t want Richard to see it and be disappointed.

Just like in the anime, Richard accepts it rather easily and invites Seigi for one last dinner together. Seigi complies, because he’s not just planning to quit Etranger; he’s also planning to cut his ties with Richard so that Hisashi won’t go after him, so this is the last time they’ll hang out with each other. He promises himself he’ll make it the best night they’ve ever had, since it’s going to be the last, and honestly, the fact that he doesn’t think there’s anything ambiguous in this thought process says so much about how he is in canon. Meanwhile, just imagining never seeing Richard again is enough to make Seigi almost cry several times.

They go to a high-class hotel for dinner this time. Afterward, they go to the hotel’s bar, and at some point, Richard simply drops this bomb on Seigi’s lap and pulls a cardkey from his pocket while they’re drinking and eating:

“This is so good it feels like a waste…”“I think so too.”“Hm?”“I don’t want to...”“Did you say anything?”“I don’t want to let you go home.”

Seigi actually fucking looks around and asks Richard if that was meant for him.

“Is there anyone else around?”“No.”“Then I would assume it was for you.”“I see.”“Right.”

Harold, they’re in love and also fucking dumbasses. This scene is mad levels of latine telenovela bullshit, except it’s also dumb and awkward 2000′s love comedy bullshit at the same time. I love it. Anyway, since Seigi had already committed to make the best out of this night, he didn’t consider saying no to Richard as an option, so he just asks “what floor”. Boy. Son. Child. When they get to said floor, Richard gives Seigi the key and has him open the door.

Now in comes the scene that everyone was probably talking about. Yes, it does get worse than this. And yes, this scene is pretty long.

Not to transform all this built-up tension into a huge deception, but when they get into the room, Jeff is there waiting for them. It wouldn’t be Jeff with a really goofy introduction, but Seigi is so surprised he almost runs the fuck away, except Richard stops him, brings him back into the room and makes him sit down. Jeff then reminds Seigi that he’d been investigating (okay, he says “legally stalking”) Seigi for a long time and sort of reveals that he obviously knew about the problem dad. He was also the one who told Richard about the whole thing, and I gotta add that it was quite a punch in the gut for him. That’s where Seigi gets indignant at the invasion, and also where Richard tells him “you did not tell me anything either before coming to London”. Get rekt.

Then Richard starts trying to convince Seigi to open up by monologuing about how Seigi is like a distorted mirror to him, as in that they’re opposites but also the same. He grew up hating mirrors because they would make him realize how keenly he resembled his mother, but that wasn’t the case with Seigi. Both of them had lived very different lives, but they basically held the same values to heart. Just like how Seigi went after Richard to help with his family issues, Richard is doing it for Seigi, and now they’re again in a hotel room with one of them talking about how much he likes the other. That’s when Richard dumps the “I like you so, so much that I cannot help myself” line, which the anime thankfully kept. And then he literally goes into “how dare you do not lean on me for help when I’m more than capable of giving it” mode and throws in a “what am I to you”, ‘cause we readers deserve to die. Meanwhile, Jeff leaves the room for a bit.

Seigi still doesn’t want to talk things out because he might’ve been more influenced by his father than Richard could ever know, and he doesn’t want to “taint” Richard with his matters because he deems them as dirty, but in the end, he gives in. Turns out he looked up stuff on abuse because of his family circumstances, and one book mentioned what we all know: boys who witness abuse have more chances of incorporating it and becoming abusers when they grow up. He gives the way he tried to break Richard’s family inheritance as an example of possible tendency to be violent. He also says that his mother probably got him into karate because he had the habit of kicking walls, which got so bad that he opened a hole into one when he was a kid. Basically, he had an understandable amount of pent-up frustration and practiced karate to let it out. It was also to make him realize how much hitting and being hit hurts.

He goes on to say that all he wants is to be seen as a good person in the eyes of who he likes and then off himself into oblivion, because he fears that the other party will realize what kind of person he really is if he stays too close to them for too long. He adds that he’s scared of finding someone that corresponds to his affections, as he’s pretty sure that he’d abuse them. I can’t stress enough how contradictory this feels when we consider his feelings for Shouko, because he tried really hard to be her romantic partner. It’s one of the things that have me pondering if those feelings really weren’t just a glorified friendship, like I’ve mentioned before, and if the one he truly likes isn’t actually Richard. I mean, he keeps telling himself over and over in every single volume that what he feels for Richard “isn’t like that”, as if he’s trying to find excuses not to be romantically involved with Richard despite showing more affection for him than for any other character. Sum that up with the fact he doesn’t want Richard to see the bad in him and it all kinda makes sense.

Richard at some point says that Seigi is doing nothing but hold prejudice against himself and therefore he’s also prejudiced against all other children who are or have been in the same situation as him. He argues that someone who can’t be kind to himself also can’t be truly kind to other people. He then adds that he finally gets why Seigi sees him as immutably beautiful. He doesn’t become used to Richard’s beauty, no matter how long he’s been looking at it, because he always sees Richard from a distance. He doesn’t deem Richard as reachable and refuses to get closer to him, in spite of claiming that he wanted to be closer. He won’t diminish the gap between them and he won’t let Richard reciprocate his affections (again, this brings me back to his feelings for Shouko and how Seigi would probably let her do that).

Richard also tells Seigi about how he hit Jeff back when Jeff betrayed him, and Seigi thinks that’s only the expected. So he begins to wonder if he wasn’t just thinking that this “expected” didn’t apply to himself. He finally begins to conclude that maybe he was just looking down on himself and by default also looking down on people who went through the same as him. Richard then says Seigi should ask for help when things come to this, not only from him but also from other people. All of this seems pretty harsh but Richard was being very gentle while saying it, and he kneeled down next to the chair in the process. It makes Seigi think that they look just like an adult comforting a child, and he starts crying for the billionth time in this volume.

Seigi’s phone then starts ringing, and Richard tells him to answer. It’s Hisashi, saying he’s near Seigi’s apartment. He asks Seigi to come over, by himself. The scene ends with him accepting to go, but as we know, he doesn’t go alone, just like in the anime. Except, in the novel, Jeff jokes before they leave that Richard might look slender and all, but he actually had muscles under his clothes, meaning he was up for a fight if the worst happened. This totally doesn’t sound like Jeff was trying to make Seigi imagine Things. Not at all.

By the way, a bonus: while Richard and Seigi are in the car going to Seigi’s apartment complex, Richard asks how Seigi could’ve been so innocent to agree to that invitation for going to a hotel room with him. He had actually expected Seigi to say no and had thought of a lie to convince him. Seigi says he’d have tried to flee if it were anyone else, but he trusted Richard.

Sorry for taking so long to answer this, but here you have it! As you can see, it’s an awesome scene.

#housekishou richard shi no nazo kantei #the case files of jeweler richard #richard #richard ranashinha de vulpian #nakata seigi #jeffrey claremont

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theshrubbery · 3 years

Link

Here’s my new snowbaz fic!!

Summary: Back at Watford I was always on the ball with these things. I spent years suspecting he was a vampire and yet here I am, completely oblivious. Sometimes I feel as though I left all of that at Watford, like Baz took on a new identity when we left, like that’s an old life that I’m not a part of anymore.

Sometimes I forget that I’m not the only one with scars. My tail flicks pointedly.

Or; 5 times Simon forgot that Baz was a vampire, and 1 time he didn't.

________________________________________________________________

Baz has been gone for far too long. He’s never out this long. Especially not when he has uni the next day. It’s way past midnight, probably past one now. I haven’t checked in a while because that would mean I have to stop pacing long enough to look.

He should be back by now. Where is he?

He said he’d be back over an hour ago and he’s not answering his phone. It’s just ringing straight through to voicemail - he doesn’t even have the excuse that it’s died. Unless he’s lost it? But that’s unlikely. Baz never loses anything, Merlin knows how.

I can��t take much more of this. I stop pacing, growl in frustration, run my hands through my hair and then slide my phone out of my pocket.

he’s still not back pen I type out quickly, sending it to Penny. She’s at home visiting her parents for the weekend, it’s her mum’s birthday. I’d give anything to have her here now, she always knows what to do. Unlike me. So much for being the chosen one, Merlin and Morgana I can’t do anything on my own.

Give him a little longer. Penny texts back in reply. I rush to unlock my phone so I can read it in full. Don’t go looking for him. Not with your tail and wings out.

Frustration bubbles up from my stomach to my chest. I hate this. I hate that I can’t just go out like a normal person. I hate that I can’t even open the door for a bloody delivery driver anymore without someone spelling all my extra parts invisible first. It’s demeaning and ridiculous and I feel like a ninny.

I clench my teeth and walk stiffly over to the table, finishing off the dregs of a bottle of cider - my third one of the night. So far. I shake the bottle a few times over my open mouth and then slam it down and continue to pace. At least it’s gotten me off the sofa, I suppose.

My stomach is in absolute knots. I’m so worried over this it’s making it ache. It doesn’t matter that we’re living safely amongst Normals, anything could have happened. It’s not like the underbelly of the Magickal world pays any attention to the rules.

Then, just as I really am about to go insane with worry, there’s a dull thump at the door. It rattles on its hinges, like someone’s thrown themselves against it and all I can think is I swear Baz took his keys when he left.

I rush to look through the keyhole, just in case. It’s a habit Baz and Penny absolutely drilled into me so that I didn’t swing the door open to anyone with my wings out.

It’s Baz. Oh, great snakes. Thank Merlin. Though the relief is short lived.

I yank the door open and my heart instantly drops to somewhere near my intestines.

Baz is heaving for breath, one arm clutching his bloodied shirt and the other hanging limply at his side, his wand in his hand. His clothes are dirty and torn, blood is puddling slowly at the floor by his feet. I’m having trouble breathing. It’s like the fight with the Mage all over again, it’s Ebb’s dead body.

Baz mutters a spell under his breath, I don’t catch what it is but it magicks the floor clean. Has he been doing that the entire way up here? Surely that’s draining way more magic than it’s worth! Energy that Baz could be better using to just concentrate on getting to the flat and not dying in the process.

“You goin’ to… You going to let me in or what?” Baz slurs, catching himself halfway through and fighting to get the words out. He’s gritting his teeth, his perfect mouth is stained red. I don’t think I’ve ever heard Baz slur, it’s disconcerting. I’ve known him most of my life and in all that time his enunciation was always near perfect at the worst of times, impeccable at the best. It’s part of what makes him so talented with magick.

“Oh fuck. Baz? Baz, what happened?” I rush out, distantly noticing I’m swearing like a Normal from the stress. My hands flutter around Baz, I don’t know where I should touch him, I don’t know if I can touch him. What if I make it worse? What if I hurt him?

“I got jumped,” Baz tells me, starting to shoulder his way past me and into the flat. “I got stabbed. Quite a few times, actually.”

I block the way, glad that Baz doesn’t seem to have the strength to boulder his way past me.

“Oh, god. We need to go to the hospital.” I dart to the dish on the hallway side, my vision tilting in panic as I grab my keys and wallet. I can’t believe this is happening. I can’t believe what we’ve fought together and he’s been so badly maimed by muggers. This might even beat the Numpties incident. I can’t believe I’m thinking something like that at a time like this - this isn’t the time for jokes. Oh, god.

“I’m not going,” Baz says, pushing past me. I grab his shoulders to stop him, and then let go with a sickened jolt when he winces.

“Stop being stupid, Baz. Hospital. Now.” Baz leans his forearm on the door-frame and begins to bow over himself, groaning. My heart is hammering a mile a minute. “Look at you, you’re bleeding to death!”

Baz snorts. “If only.”

“What?”

“Merlin and Morgana, just let me in.” Baz spells the floor clean again. “Hurry up, before someone sees you.”

“But the-”

“Simon.” Baz lifts his bowed head to look at me, his forehead is crinkled. “Trust me. Don’t-” he breaks off with a load moan of pain, turning to rest his forehead on the arm holding him up against the frame.

“Baz!” My voice is shaking so hard it’s difficult to imagine I ever stood up to dragons, if this is all it takes to bring me down. To be fair, I think I’d go down with a lot less, too, these days.

“I need to lay down,” Baz says faintly. I really don’t like this. I mean, who would? But this is terrifying. It’s always Baz cleaning up after me, Baz patching me up, Baz is never the one as vulnerable as this. I don’t like it, I hate it, and I hate that I don’t have a single clue what to fucking do.

“Fine. Fuck. Okay, come on,” I stutter out. I take Baz’s wand, ignoring the pang in my chest at holding it, and sling his arm over my shoulders. I lead him into the flat, kicking the front door closed behind us, and walk us slowly to the sofa.

Baz staggers his way over, holding out his other arm and grabbing at things as we pass them. He grabs the back of a chair, the sideboard, the back of the sofa. He’s leaving blood stains but I don’t care.

“Easy, Snow,” Baz says as I lower him down, as gently as I possibly can. Baz’s eyes look a little glazed and I feel sick.

“I got you,” I tell him quietly. I put his wand on the coffee table.

“Your hands’re shaking,” Baz mumbles, his words stringing together, like that’s the most important fucking thing to be realising right now. Maybe he’s going into shock? I really doesn’t know what to do. I needs Penny. Penny would know what to do.

Once he can feel the sofa beneath him, Baz lays himself down and I lift both his legs up onto the sofa for him. I try to make him as comfortable as possible despite the way they hang, lanky, over the arm. Or as comfortable as one can be when he’s fucking bleeding out and refusing to get any medical attention .

“Do you need anything?” I ask quickly, already pulling my phone out to scroll for Penny’s number.

“Towel or something, please. Just to soak the blood.”

“Okay, love. Okay. I got it. I’ll be right back.” I kiss his forehead and rush off, holding the phone to my ear with my shoulder as I crash my way into the bathroom and start rummaging around for towels and anything that might possibly help.

“Simon? What is it?” Penny's tinny voice asks. Not even a hello, that’s so typical, straight to the point. Right now I’m extremely thankful for it. I pull a plastic bowl out of the sink and throw some towels in it as I reply.

“Baz’s hurt. He got jumped. I think he’s been stabbed.”

“Merlin, stabbed? How is that possible? Is he alright?”

“He’s bleeding bad and refusing to go to hospital.” I throw a half empty packet of plasters in my bowl as though they’ll help anything. “I don’t know what to do, Pen.”

“I mean… He can’t go to hospital anyways, Simon. He should be fine unless it was some special sort of weapon. I mean, I can’t think of many ways that a knife can actually kill a vampire.” And then the other shoe drops.

“Oh, shit,” I swear, realisation washing over me in a great big wave of Simon you complete buffoon.

“What is it?”

“A vampire. Great snakes, Pen, I forgot he was a bloody vampire!”

“Oh, Simon,” Penny says with a sigh. Though there’s still a worried edge to her voice. “No wonder you were worrying so much.”

“Now it makes sense why he wouldn’t go to hospital.”

“Go and look after him, Simon. He’ll be alright. Just keep him comfortable and he’ll be healed up in no time. If he’s still not healed by the time I come back home I’ll sort him out.”

“I will. Sorry, Pen. For disturbing you so late. But- thank you.”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s what I’m here for.” There’s a muted beep as she hangs up the phone, and I shove it back in my pocket. I feel like a complete idiot. Vampire. How on earth could I possibly forget that? I’m going to blame it on my panic. I’m going to blame it on the fact Baz doesn’t hang from walls and kidnap virgin maidens to drain their blood, the fact he doesn’t turn into a bat.

Or at least not that I’m aware of.

I take the towels and box of plasters out of the empty bowl and fill it with warm water out the bathroom tap instead, then carry all of it back to the sofa and set it out on the floor next to Baz.

He’s still lying exactly how I left him, though with one arm draped over his eyes, the other clutching in a white-knuckled grip at his torso.

“Took you long enough,” Baz says in a low voice. It almost sounds like a groan.

“Sorry, Baz.” I kneel down, my legs tucked under me. “I completely forgot about the whole… Vampire thing.”

“Vampire thing,” he parrots back. “Right. So I heard. That would explain things.” Guilt rushes through my system, heats my cheeks. Of course he heard me on the phone. Back at Watford I was always on the ball with these things. I spent years suspecting he was a vampire and yet here I am, completely oblivious. Sometimes I feel as though I left all of that at Watford, like Baz took on a new identity when we left, like that’s an old life that I’m not a part of anymore.

Sometimes I forget that I’m not the only one with scars. My tail flicks pointedly.

“Does it hurt?” I ask him, dunking a towel in the water. “How did it even happen?”

Baz nods and makes a small noise deep in his throat. “Yeah. It hurts. It probably will for a few hours, then it’ll mostly just be itchy. I’ll heal in no time. The only reason I’m even bleeding like this is because I’d just fed - I’ll have to go again once this is sorted.”

“But how did it happen? Was it another vampire?” Surely there has to be more to the story than this. Baz looks uncomfortable, if a little sheepish.

“Just your average alleyway muggers, really.” I raise my eyebrows.

“Crowley.” I curse. “How’d you manage that?”

“I didn’t want to hurt them,” Baz admits with a wince, lowering his arm and staring up at the ceiling. “It would, of course, been fairly easy to tear them to shreds with my bare hands. But that isn’t something I was willing to do.”

“Christ, Baz. There’s going easy on people and then there’s this.” I let go of the towel and gesture sweepingly across Baz’s abdomen and chest. “They shouldn’t have been able to leave this much damage on you.”

Baz looks distant, like he’s weighing things up in his head. I hate that look. It means he’s deciding how much I need to know.

We haven’t really been getting along as well as we used to, recently. Or maybe, it’s just hard to transition from sworn enemies to boyfriends in the matter of a few days. We’ve only been out of Watford a couple of months, but it’s been difficult for us. At first we couldn’t stop kissing and groping for long enough to watch a full episode of the Bake Off but recently it’s like there’s some invisible wedge growing between us.

I still love him, I’m sure of it. I think he loves me, too. But I don’t know what I’m doing. What we’re doing. We need to talk, communicate, but I’m terrified that if we do he’ll leave me. So I just let the divide deepen, and hate myself for it the entire time.

Looking at Baz now, though, I’m scared that I’m looking at the same Baz that tried to set himself alight in the woods. He has issues too, he just hides them better than I do. I feel like such a shit boyfriend, I can’t help him. One day he’ll realise he’s better than me, that I’m not good enough. But I don't want him to go, and that's selfish.

“I didn’t want to hurt them,” Baz repeats after a long silence. “Either way, they were pretty scared by the fact I stayed on my feet for so long.”

“Of course they were, if you were normal you’d be dead.”

Baz immediately flinches, his smirk drops along with my stomach.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean it like that,” I say quickly, but the words catch in my throat and sound like an insincere stutter. “You are normal. For you, I mean.”

Baz sighs. For a second I think he’s going to punch me, but then I realise it’s the opposite. He deflates; his pinched brow and glazed eyes are the fight leaving him.

“Help me out of this shirt,” he says, letting it go.

“I’m sorry, I-”

“But I’m not normal, am I? Not for me. I wasn’t born this way, I was made. It was forced on me,” he quips. Sharp and fast and unfaltering. His eyes are blazing again.

“I-”

“It’s fine.” As quickly as the sparks catch they return to ash again. I really am sorry though. He won’t let me say it, not out loud, so I carry it like a mantra through my thoughts; I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I love you, I’m sorry. “Help me with the shirt. Please, love.”

I bite my lip, but the endearment melts me a little. I know that it’s genuine, even if there is a whole void of unsaid things drifting between us. I reach for the buttons, undoing them as best I can with how my hands are shaking. I have to fight to keep my wings still, my tail, but it’s a losing battle. It’s written all over my body how agitated and nervous I am.

The shirt (the white shirt, why Baz hunts in a white shirt is beyond me) is torn across the chest and stomach, and as I undo the buttons and push the sides apart, my hand accidentally slides through the slash. Baz flinches, though he tries to control it.

“Watch the gaping bloody holes,” he says bluntly. I wince. There’s two glistening puncture wounds, I do my best not to look at them.

I pull the shirt away from him, bracing a hand on his back to help him sit up so I can pull it from under him even though I’m fairly sure he doesn’t really need the help. Looking at him, I can already see where the skin is healing. It doesn’t scab and clot, like flesh wounds normally do, the skin just seems to stitch itself smoothly back together.

I ball his shirt up and throw it to the side, then gently begin wiping the blood away with a damp towel.

“Careful, Snow,” Baz warns with a quiet hiss.

“Does it still hurt?” I have no idea how vampire pain receptors work.

“Crowely, Snow. Of course it hurts. I got stabbed .” Baz doesn’t really sound mad, but his voice has an edge to it.

“I’m sorry,” I say again. I don’t really know what else to say.

Baz doesn’t reply straight away. I can’t tell what he’s thinking. I carry on wiping at the blood, vaguely recognising that, really, this isn’t even Baz’s.

“Why do you keep apologising so much?” He asks softly.

“I just- I don’t know.” I really don’t. “I just keep making you feel bad, and what sort of boyfriend forgets his boyfriend is a vampire? I’m sorry, Baz. Really.”

“It’s alright, Simon.” My stomach flutters at the use of my first name. “I’m glad I have you.” Baz always does this. He puts affection over everything like a salve. Lately he won’t let me be in the wrong, not him or Penny. The both of them walking on eggshells with me. It’s why nothing ever gets properly sorted out. Now isn’t the time for a fight, though.

“I bet you could do a better job with magic,” I mutter bitterly anyways.

“I don’t want to use magic. I’ve used enough magic. I don’t think I’d have enough left in me if I wanted to regardless.”

“Are you sure this is okay?”

“Absolutely, Simon. Absolutely.”

I carry on patching him up in silence. Even though it’s pointless. He’ll heal anyways, but he doesn’t stop me from wrapping the towels around him like a bandage and applying pressure with my hand. I look at where my hands are pressing over the wounds, trying to focus on the solid pressure of Baz beneath them.

The pain is mostly gone out of his face now, he just looks uncomfortable.

I wonder how indestructible Baz is. I wonder how long he’ll live. I wonder- no. I swallow. It’s no good thinking about all of this, not now, at least.

“I’m going to nap,” Baz says.

“Here? Or…?”

“I’ll be alright here, don’t worry.” I stare down at him until he looks back up at me. My heart squeezes as our eyes make contact and I reach up to press my hand against the side of his his grey face. His eyes seem to melt a little, he smiles and turns his head to kiss my hand.

“Come to bed. With me,” I whisper. I don’t want to be away from him right now. I need him near me, I need to feel that un-dead chest breathing.

It’s a struggle, but I help him up, and keep an arm around his waist as I lead him to the bedroom. He gets into bed first, lifting the covers and sliding in with a low hum. He’s falling asleep almost as soon as his head hits the pillow. I notice how he pushes the covers away so that they don’t get stained.

I don’t care, I climb in and pull them over the both of us.

Baz lays still for a moment, tense. Then he shuffles closer to me, rests his head on my shoulder. I press my cheek to the top of it, hoping to smell bergamot. All I can smell is the tangy copper of blood. He’ll be wanting to shower once he’s awake, Baz hates being a mess.

He’s cold where he presses against me, but I don’t mind. He’s a vampire. It’s part of the deal. I want him as he is, not as he wishes he should be. I wonder if he thinks the same of me.

#snowbaz #simon snow fanfiction #snowbaz fic #fic rec #baz pitch fanfiction #simon snow #baz pitch

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pretend-writer · 4 years

Text

Down Below (Chapter 67)

Summary: After being sent down on Earth with the other prisoners from the Ark, Y/N Reyes faces series of events and learns about survival. With new things happening around her, she is now starting a new chapter in her life.

Pairing: Bellamy Blake x reader, John Murphy x reader, Raven Reyes x sister!reader

Word Count: 2.6k words

Warning: mention of death, mention of violence, swearing

✤ · ✤ · ✤ · ✤ · ✤

It was hard to believe in second chances after all I’ve done down at the bunker. Despite telling myself over the past few years that what I did was for Wonkru and to support Octavia, I knew in my heart that it was a shitty thing to do.

But here I stood next to Bellamy as we looked out the window of Eligius IV, staring at our possible new home that Monty researched for us all these years we were in cryo sleep.

‘Monty did all of this... for us...’ Bellamy mumbled to himself, looking at the new planet in awe. ‘This...’

‘This is amazing.’ The words slipped out of my mouth, enjoying the beautiful view we had from up this ship. Who would’ve known that Earth wasn’t the only livable place in the universe? By the way it seemed, the planet full of green life, it was habitable for humans. But we wouldn't know for sure until we get to the ground.

‘Yeah, I’m really excited actually. I don’t know a life outside this ship.’ Jordan grinned widely, ‘Also, it’s nice meeting you two finally. Monty and Harper talked a lot about you guys.’

It was crazy to think that Monty and Harper had a child, but it was more insane to think that they were both gone. Instead of going to cryo, they’ve decided to live the rest of their lives together.

They had their own family, finally had a life away from war and lived in peace. Now that I think about it, it sounded so beautiful. I knew that Monty and Harper were happy together, they deserved all of that and more.

‘Y/N, before I log off from my final video...’ Monty smiled through the camera, ‘I want to thank you for taking care of Jasper. I always wonder if I tried hard enough, he’d still be with us today. Because of everything you’ve done for him, I know that all that happened at the bunker wasn’t the real you, I truly believe that. Even though you did scare me.’

‘Throughout the times from when we landed on Earth to now, you’ve always done what’s best for everyone. That’s all that matters in the end. I hope that on this planet, we can all do better and look out for each other.’ Monty smiled one last time, ‘I believe in you guys. May we meet again.’

‘May we meet again.’ Bellamy and I whispered as Monty logged out of the video. The tears streamed down my face, not being able to process that Monty wasn't with us anymore.

He was the one that gave me hope; after dealing with Mount Weather, Monty was the one that made me realize that I had to push through to be an asset again. He pulled me out of a dark place that I never thought I'd ever leave. He even realize that Skafaiya had changed, that I was being better.

If it wasn't for him, reassuring that I can do better I would of never realized what I've become and all that bad that I've done. I should be thanking him for that, I wish I thanked him before we parted ways.

'Who else should I wake up?' Jordan asked sweetly. 'My dad programmed cryo to wake us up but not the others.'

My dad. Wow I could never get used to that, I thought to myself. I wish I was able to congratulate Monty and Harper, except it happened a hundred years ago.

'We can't wake everyone, it'll be chaotic. We can get the people who can go down and help us search around. Starting with Shaw, the pilot.' Bellamy nodded, he turned to me and flashed a smile.

I shrugged, not really in the mood to talk to him. After what Raven had told me about Bellamy and Echo, I didn't know if I was able to stand him. 'Yeah. Okay. Sounds good.'

'You okay, Reyes?' Bellamy reached for me to hold his hand, except I took a step back. He cocked his head, confused. Last time I saw him, we were in good terms and wanted to start over again. 'What's wrong?'

'Nothing.' I avoided his eye contact as I left the room. Bellamy followed me into the cryo room, not saying a word as he tried to give me space.

I'd rather not wait and instead, tell him the whole truth about what I knew about The Ring. The problem was the fact that he was acting as if nothing happened, as if he didn't kiss another girl while he was in space. Bellamy made me feel bad about the bunker when the fact was that he was hiding things from his at-the-time girlfriend.

As I worked the cryo machine, I woke up the people we needed to venture down with on the new planet. Each person popped out of cryo, slowly waking up as if they were just taking a short nap.

'No, not her.' Bellamy rested his hand on mine, stopping me from pressing the button. 'We can't wake Octavia up.'

'Why not? Are you still scared of her?'

'If someone is already living on this planet, we don't want Blodreina fucking everything up.'

'Well, if someone is actually down there and if they happen to be savages, don't we need someone who can fight?' Murphy walked towards us, giving me a hug from the side. 'Just saying.'

Bellamy rolled his eyes, didn't know if it was from John being close to me or the fact that he was told what to do about his sister. 'I'm not taking that risk. I'm sure we will be fine ourselves.'

'Alright, you're the boss.' John dropped the conversation, quickly turning to me. 'Can I talk to you, Y/N?'

'Yeah, of course.' I nodded, smiling at him before he walked away.

In the corner of my eyes, I saw Bellamy staring at me. I could tell that he was confused, maybe a bit jealous too. With all that's happened, I didn't know whether to feel bad or let him be. Either way, I left the room.

Following Murphy out of the cryo room, he led me to the hallway. 'I missed you. Even though it feels like I just saw you 10 minutes ago.'

I giggled, feeling butterflies like I did when I kissed him before we headed to cryo sleep. 'To be fair, it's been over hundred years.'

'And yet, your shot wound hasn't healed.' John pointed at my leg, 'Saw you limping earlier.'

'Yeah, I'll be fine. I'm always fine.' I smiled. Wanting to get everything out the way, I decided to talk to him about the obvious topic we had to discuss. 'I haven't told Bellamy by the way.'

He nodded, 'I figured. It's okay, there's no need to rush it.'

'But I feel bad, I don't want it to be a secret or anything.'

'Don't feel bad because whatever we have, it's worth it. I don't mind the mystery either. Besides, sneaking around is kind of a turn on.'

This feeling I had for him felt so right, so nostalgic; felt way better than feeling pressured by Bellamy to be different and to feel bad about who I was. I didn't have to pretend with John, we knew each other majority of our lives and he understood what I've been through.

What I didn't understand was why all this time, Bellamy guilted me about the years I spent in the bunker when he had secrets he was keeping from me.

Jackson suddenly rushed towards me and Murphy, looking at me as if he was very stressed. 'Jackson, what's wrong?'

'We're prepping Kane for surgery. He's awake and somewhat stable for now but-' He paused, I could tell he was scared of my reaction.

'What?'

'Kane wants to see you.'

My heart dropped, not expecting to see Marcus at all. Last time I saw him, he was unconscious and when I spoke my final words to him back at Polis, I said some pretty mean stuff.

'Can I just see him after surgery?'

'Bellamy is preparing with Clarke to go check out the new planet and he told me you're going with. Also with Kane's condition, we're afraid he might not make it.'

'You should go see him, Y/N.' John tapped my arm, 'I can come with you if you'd like.'

Marcus' condition? How bad was his injuries? I knew that one of Abby's patients attacked him but I didn't know it was this critical. No matter how much pain he brought me after all the betrayals, I wasn't ready to say goodbye to him.

'I'll be okay.' I faked a smile to John, but instantly he knew I was lying.

He didn't push it though, instead he nodded in return. 'Let me know if you need me.'

'Thank you, John.' I said before I followed Jackson into a room. Raven, Abby and Bellamy looked up as the door opened for Jackson and I.

'What is she doing here?' Abby growled, staring at me as if I came to kill Marcus myself. 'She's going to trigger him and make his condition worse than it already is.'

'Kane personally asked for her. I think he has a right to see her, Abby.' Jackson replied back, 'We should give them some privacy.'

Raven nodded, 'I agree. We'll be right outside if you need us Y/N.'

'Thanks.' Raven and Jackson left the room, Abby still glaring at me as she stood next to Kane laying on the bed.

'I'm not going anywhere Y/N. I don't trust you for-'

'It's okay Abby. Give us some space, I need to speak to her.' Marcus spoke up, putting his hand on hers. 'We will be fine.'

Abby huffed as she headed to the door. 'If anything happens to him, it's on you.'

Bellamy looked at me with sad eyes, I guess he understood my situation with me and Marcus after I told him before he got into the fighting pit; sorry flushed across his face.

He reached for my hand but I quickly swept it away, I didn't even mean to do it. 'I-I want to be alone with him if that's okay, Bellamy?'

'Ah. Sure.' Bellamy whispered, scratching his temple as he left the room.

I slowly walked over to Marcus' bed, holding my breath. I didn't know what to say or what to feel after everything that had happened.

'How are you?' He whispered, not being able to speak loudly. The patient had stabbed Marcus on his neck, causing him to lose a lot of blood.

'I should be the one asking you that.' The bloody bandage on his neck scared me a little, I've never seen him so helpless.

'Physically, I can tolerate this pain but emotionally I'm not okay.' Marcus' voice cracked, 'I'm sorry for what I did to you.'

'What are you sorry about exactly?' I didn't mean to sound petty, I genuinely needed to know if I was ready to forgive him. It hurt that someone I love so much turned his back on me, but it was hard to keep hating him also.

Marcus paused, carefully turning his head toward me. His eyes started to water and he lightly whimpered. 'About everything, monkey.'

I bit my bottom lip, trying to hold my tears in. It made me feel sad for him, but for what? He betrayed me not once but twice; The first time in the bunker after he never believed that Abby blackmailed me and when he turned against Wonkru to work with Diyoza.

His betrayal made me angry but it made me even more upset at myself for still caring for him. Just like he told me at the fighting pit, I tried to stop him for a reason. And that reason was that no matter how much pain he put me through, I cared for him.

'You know, Octavia came to me and told me what happened when the Dark Year began. That Abby had told you to shoot those people. I didn't want to believe that someone I love did those things to you. I also couldn't believe what I saw when you shot and killed Wonkru.'

'But you chose her over me, even when I came up to you about Abby. All those years you took her side and left me in the dark, made it mine and Octavia's fault that the Dark Year happened.'

'I know... I know...' He breathed, 'I just didn't want to admit that Abby would do that. I saw what you did and I didn't wanted to believe that she was behind all of this.'

'So you were okay with blaming me and not her?'

'No, I wasn't. Not at all.' Marcus held his breath, gently wiping his tears that were streaming down his face. 'I was confused, I felt like everything was falling apart. I chose the easy way out, turned you into an enemy. I never even considered how you felt at all.'

It made me mad, knowing that he knew he was wrong for blaming everything on me. All I wanted was a hug, an "I love you" or just any support from him. 'You made my life a living hell.'

'I know Y/N, I know.' He reached for my hand, his hand shaking from weakness. 'I'm sorry, I'm so sorry.'

Leaning in closer to him, I felt his touch on my cheek. It's been a long time since I've been this close to Marcus. 'I was just a kid, I was scared what Abby was going to do to Octavia. She had a gun... and I knew her drug problems and I-'

'I'm sorry, Y/N.' Kane sobbed, caressing my cheek. 'I'm sorry.'

Gently and carefully, I wrapped my arms around Marcus. Making sure not to put my whole weight on him, I hugged him as I buried my face into his chest. Tears fell down my eyes, staining Marcus' shirt with tears which added to the blood stains from his injuries.

'I just wanted you to believe me, that's all I wanted.'

'I'm sorry.' Marcus repeated over and over again. 'I'm proud of you okay? For overcoming this without me, without Bellamy or your sister.'

'Octavia was with me. She helped me through everything.'

'Oh, baby.' He shook his head, holding me tightly as he can with all the strength he had left in him. 'Why did I do this to you again? I told myself after what happened at the Ark, I wouldn't ever do anything to lose you again... Why... why?'

Even though I hated that he took Abby's side, it must've been hard for him to see her in that way. I can never justify or maybe even forgive him when he turned his back on me but I can understand the confusion he must of had.

Everyone knows I was not innocent in this at all. Not at all, not even close.

'Thank you, for apologizing.' I mumbled into his chest, hugging him a little bit longer.

'No, thank you for even coming to talk to me.'

Taking a deep breath, I recollected all my thoughts. I tried to wipe my tears off of his shirt but it all sank in. 'Sorry your shirt is wet now.'

Marcus laughed lightly, shaking his head. 'Don't worry about it. I need a new one anyway.'

Placing my hand on his cheek, I wiped his tears. 'Don't leave me again.'

'I'll try not to.'

'No, promise me you won't. You can't leave me again. Not after all that's happened.'

He looked at me, smiled as he nodded. 'Okay. I promise Y/N.'

Nodding in return, I gave him a kiss on his forehead. 'For good luck.'

'Thank you, monkey.'

'May we meet again.'

Marcus smiled once again, 'I'll see you soon kiddo.'

#bellamy blake x reader #the 100 rewrite #the 100 series #down below series #bellamy blake series #raven reyes x sister!reader #the 100 fic #bellamy blake

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elaboratedbee · 4 years

Text

Bigby x Reader

Pairing: Bigby Wolf x Reader (i changed this to be gender neutral!)

Summary: bigby deals with his rapidly growing feelings for the new Fable that moved into the apartment above his, a nymph. (alternatively, you give bigby flowers)

Rating: E (hella fluff)

Word Count: 4208 (idk how it got long it just did i’m so sorry)

Note: hey guys, this is my second imagine! :) I just love this wolfman rn and I literally cannot wait until s2! i’m a new blog so pls feel free to interact, or request something, bc corona has given me hella free time ;)

You Belong Among The Flowers

You

As you set down the last box in your new apartment, you let a sense of accomplishment wash over you. It hadn’t been easy to save enough money to afford an apartment in the Woodlands, but you worked hard managing your business, growing flowers and owning a florist as well as growing fruit and vegetables which you sold to the grocery stores in Fabletown. When Snow had informed you of the two new apartments that had become available, you couldn’t help but fall in love with the idea. The place you were living before was a little sketchy (read: it was a total shithole, and you were definitely close to getting stabbed on several occasions).

This way, you would be closer to the allotments you had managed to buy right at the edge of Fabletown, closer to Snow who you had thoroughly enjoyed getting to know during the first couple of months of her deputy mayorship, and it was a hell of a lot safer. The Woodlands had the extra insurance of being the home of the big, bad wolf. Fabletown harboured some pretty stupid criminals, but there weren’t many people stupid enough to target the apartments across the hall from the Sheriff.

The place needed some life in it, as soon as was possible, however. The stark and empty room made you uncomfortable, and as soon as you set your first fern down on one of the shelves, you immediately felt better. The best part about the place, which really convinced you to part with most of your savings, was the balcony. You couldn’t wait to have it bright with life, a practical jungle on your doorstep. A flower nymph with no flowers was not a happy being, so that was the first thing you got to work on, planting your seeds and setting out your pots.

It was already falling dark by the time you were done, but you were more than content to spend the night on a mattress in the middle of the floor now that you were surrounded by, at least the beginnings of, a flower garden.

Bigby

By the time Bigby reached his cramped, little apartment in the evening, it was usually long after darkness had fallen over Fabletown. As he turned the key in the stiff lock, a sigh escaped his lips. He’d been tracking a car thief all day and had not been successful. The detective hated going home with a case hanging over him; there was no way he would be able to get any real sleep while all of his thoughts and theories were racing through his head.

Bigby opened the door, dim yellow light from the hallway seeping into the room. The lingering smell of smoke from his Huff and Puffs and the scent of whiskey hit his nose even harder once the door was opened, and even he grimaced slightly at the smell. He flicked on the light and took his phone off of the ringer, a habit that he’d developed long ago. It was nice to be enveloped in peace and quiet in the evening. It was the way he liked it, he told himself. Somewhere in the very back of his mind, he knew that he really made himself unavailable because that way he could pretend that being alone was a conscious decision that he made.

Making his way to the small window in his living space, he opened it in an attempt to allow some fresh (well, as fresh as it got for New York city) air into his apartment. Bigby froze as an unexpected scent was the first to hit him, and he inhaled deeply. It was a floral scent, different kinds of mingling together. Some overpowered the less aromatic ones, but Bigby’s sense of smell was heightened enough that he could pick out each individual smell and he traced it to somewhere above him. The pitch-black darkness outside made it a futile goal to find out where it was coming from, so he simply stood and basked in it, sure that it would be gone in the morning. He assumed that someone in a nearby apartment had received a bouquet of flowers and had left it on their windowsill. It was concerning that they had left their window open, he noted, even the Woodland building wasn’t particularly safe.

A bittersweet pang of homesickness ran through his body like a shiver, pooling in his chest and making his heartache. Mostly, he avoided thinking about the Homelands, as it always resulted in the sad longing that he was feeling now. But with the scent in his nose so reminiscent of the beautiful woodlands and sprawling idyllic spaces that they had once called home, there was no way he could avoid it now. Once the initial sadness passed, he allowed himself to relax into the sense of security and joy that were stronger than any negative feelings when he thought back to their home and all of its splendour. Although the person, or monster, that Bigby had been back then was a source of regret, he could not deny that he’d do almost anything to trade the dirty, concrete cityscape outside of his window for hills and mountains, forests and rivers.

For the first time that he could remember, he didn’t reach for a cigarette or a tumbler of whiskey when he sat down in his chair to rest at last. Instead, he inhaled deeply, and let the smell of flowers lull him to a restful sleep.

When he awoke, he was pleased to find that the pleasant smell persisted, which made him considerably more optimistic about the day ahead. There was one lead that he thought to chase up, but he figured that he ought to fill in Snow on the recent happenings before making his way out. She was much busier now, since the Crooked Man. Things weren’t perfect, he didn’t think they would ever be, but they were certainly better. Snow was making changes, just like she had promised to herself and everyone that she would. When Fables came through the door of the business office, their wishes weren’t always granted, but they were always heard.

Bigby thought that was a step in the right direction.

After showering and getting dressed, he stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for the correct floor. The line for the business office was already fairly long, despite the early hour of the morning and he resolved not to take up too much of Snow’s time. Ignoring the eye rolls and general disgruntlement from the Fables in the hallway as he bypassed the line, he made his way into the office. Snow was busying herself with a stack of papers, looking rather stressed at it all. He didn’t like to see her that way, but he did prefer it to the look of frustration and helplessness that he caught glimpses of when she was working as an assistant.

Opening his mouth to announce his presence, he promptly closed it as something took him by surprise. On Snow’s desk was a vase of flowers, a big and beautiful bouquet. Proud white roses were peppered with baby's breath, all sitting on a luscious green bed of eucalyptus and hydrangeas. It was perfect, it was if it were an incarnation of Snow herself. He looked at it and realised, at that moment, exactly why people gave each other flowers, he had never had a reason to consider it.

He must have been staring for a lot longer than it felt like because what finally broke him from his reverie was the sound of Snow’s laughter, soft and musical. Frowning at the sight of her mocking him, he flipped her off, which only made her laugh more. “Who’s the secret admirer?” He inquired, “I’ll need their address too, you know, just in case.”

Snow glared at him.

“I’m kidding.” Bigby placated her, raising his hands in mock surrender. The smell of this bouquet was different from the one coming through his window, telling him that it was a different set of flowers, but surely the giver of these was also the source of the others. It seemed like far too much of a coincidence, otherwise.

With a pointed look, Snow said, “you already know it. I told you last week that someone new was moving into the Woodlands! Since Crane is gone, we renovated his hideous penthouse into two new apartments.” Even the mention of his name raised Bigby’s hackles and got his blood boiling, so he could only imagine the disgust that his friend must feel whenever he’s brought up.

“Right,” Bigby agreed, hazily recalling the conversation that he had definitely not paid his full attention to. It was no wonder that Bigby had missed them moving in, considering that he usually leaves the Woodlands in the early hours of the morning and returns in . . . the early hours of the morning. Yikes.

“I told them about the apartment, so they sent me these as a way to say thanks,” Snow explained, gesturing toward the flowers.

He wondered what their connection was to the flowers, whether they just liked them or whether they were a part of their history, their story. Once again, Bigby opened his mouth only to be interrupted by an inpatient sounding knock on the door. Snow jerked her head towards it before throwing an apologetic smile towards the Sheriff. “I’m sorry, Bigby. I have a lot to do. I should probably get going with these meetings.”

That was his cue to leave, so the wolf nodded at her and made an exit from the office. He was busy, too, and things were never really peaceful in Fabletown, so it was probably for the best that he got going, but he couldn’t help but wish he had asked for a name.

He was soon to find out, however, only a couple of days later. Taking a long drag from his cigarette, Bigby used his free hand to open his mailbox. It was more of a tradition at this point, considering he couldn’t actually recall the last time he received a letter in the post that wasn’t a bill.

An out of tune ding announced the arrival of the elevator but Bigby didn’t turn around, not wanting to invite conversation. He had just placed the car thief into custody, and Snow was going to arrange a trial for tomorrow. The system was much fairer now, more democratic and he liked it that way. Being the final authority on the Crooked Man last time was some heavy stuff, and there was no way to make everyone happy. Now, there was a jury, a real trial, fair sentencing. Fabletown was slowly but surely dragging itself off the ground and trying to become a more just place, a more safe place. If Bigby could do anything to make sure of it, he would.

Finally looking up, he turned his head to see which of his neighbours had joined him at the letterbox. It was you.

He almost choked on the cigarette in his mouth as he regarded you, and when he took it out and crushed it underfoot, he could smell you, too. Without the overpowering scent of smoke under his nose, the floral scent that he had been succumbing to every night since the first overtook him and he felt a strange constriction in his chest.

You were beautiful, ethereal, but in a much different way than he could usually describe. It was the quirk of your mouth as you offered him a grin and the glint behind your eyes that suggested you were laughing at your own joke internally. “Sheriff.” You addressed him by his formal title and Bigby was torn. He wanted to hear you say it again, over and over. Sherriff. You said it with respect, with admiration even. It wasn’t an insult, a sarcasm, unlike when most of the Fables addressed him with his title. But he also wanted to hear you say his name. It was this desire that returned his ability to speak.

“Call me, Bigby.”

You closed your mailbox, holding your letters in your hand and smiled wider, introducing yourseld in return.

“I’ll see you around, Bigby.”

You were walking away, and Bigby, for the first time, was struck with the desire to stop you, make you stay, talk just a little longer.

“I, uh, I like the flowers.” He managed to growl out. You looked a little taken aback at his tone and he cursed himself, but you recovered and offered him yet another smile. He noted how you gave them out like it cost nothing.

“Oh, Snow’s?” You prompted him for more information.

“Yeah, and I can,” he made a vague gesture towards his face, “smell the ones you have in the windowsill. From my apartment.”

Your eyebrows raised a fraction in surprise, and he felt a weird sense of pride. What the fuck is wrong with you? He thought to himself.

“Really? I’ll keep them there,” you were so sincere, you made such a simple comment sound like a promise. He nodded, unable to think of yet another reason to delay you and altogether confused about why he was freaking out the way that he was. You stepped into the elevator and was gone.

You

You stepped off of the elevator and into your apartment, placing the letters down onto a table. The place wasn’t huge but you had made the best of it. The walls had a fresh coat of white paint, making the place seem more open and bright, the furniture was simple, mainly second hand, but it fits. Best of all, your beloved balcony. You guessed that’s what the Sheriff had confused for the flowers on your window-sill.

Great, leafy ferns and potted plants adorned your apartment all over, but the balcony was the centre of it all, and it was only just beginning. You had planted all manner of things, and you were only getting started. Due to your being a flower nymph, they grew faster, strong and healthy, and the seeds that you planted mere days ago were beginning to form buds, and even open up. The scent was sweeter. The plants were happier, but you couldn’t really explain that sort of thing to another Fable. They would laugh at the notion, but you could feel it.

Moving to the city had been hard for you, really hard. The nymphs were the caretakers of the homelands, the trees, rivers, lakes and plants. The animals, too, even if they didn’t always know it. To have it ripped away was more painful than anything else you could have experienced. It wasn’t just a home that had been taken from you, it was a part of yourself that had been left behind.

Your mind drifted to your recent interaction as you watered them with care, and you felt your heart rate pick up when you thought of the Sheriff. He was tired, you could tell, but he seemed kind enough. It was a common mistake that nymphs only took care of the plants in the forest, when really they guarded the animals, too. It gave you more of a read on the beastially inclined residents, and you could almost feel the weight on Bigby’s shoulders as you stood next to him.

I like the flowers.

The compliment played over in your mind. It had taken you by surprise, considering what all of the other residents had told you about the big, bad wolf. You trusted Snow’s word above the others when she told you about him, that he was a man that wanted to change, had changed. He wanted to make this place better, she had told you, just like her. But even Snow had grumbled to you a few times about how stubborn, how hot-headed and how harsh he could be.

Over the next couple of days, he was stuck on your mind. You paid far more attention to the coming and going of the wolf than before, realising for the first time that he was rarely home at all. Could this really be the same man that everyone complained about downtown? The one that Fables still questioned as to whether or not he really cared at all? Every time you passed him, you sensed his exhaustion, his frustration. His loneliness. But there was something else when you passed him, too. This little spark of joy and excitement. You knew it must be the scent of the flowers, what else could it be? He had already remarked on it.

Deciding enough was enough, you went about making him the perfect bouquet.

Throughout the week, you worked on your gift. You arranged it untraditionally in a long, thin wooden box which was overflowing with greenery. Succulents and hydrangeas were scattered amongst them like stars in the night sky. Wild berries shone like jewels, clinging to their stems. Most importantly, bright white lily of the valleys hung like bells. You picked them because of their sweet scent, hoping that the wolf would enjoy them. They were common in the homelands, and you wondered if it would remind him of the place.

Finally satisfied, you picked up the arrangement late one evening and stepped into the elevator. Am I being crazy? You thought to yourself as your grip on the box tightened. You just thought that all of the things the Sheriff did for Fabletown deserved a little recognition. It was the least you could do say thanks, right?

Arriving at the correct floor, you took a deep breath before knocking on Bigby’s door. It was a little late for a house call, you realised, but he wasn’t home at any other hour. The wolf opened the door, scowling until he saw you. Confusion replaced the general displeasure on his face until he noted what was in your hands. “Oh,” his voice was full of realisation, “I can hand those to Snow if you want, but if you just wait until tomorrow, she’ll be back in her office,” he explained to you.

What? You realised quickly that he thought the flowers were meant for Snow and you shook your head, a little saddened that he didn’t even think that they could be for him.

“Actually, Sheriff, they’re for you. For your windowsill.”

The man’s face went completely blank while he processed the information, which was kind of scary. The guy really didn’t give anything away.

“For me?” He repeated, sounding almost suspicious as he raised his hand to his mouth and removed his cigarette, seemingly wanting to inhale the flowers instead.

“Yep.” You assured him firmly, “you said you liked the scent of them so I thought you might like some of your own.” With your words, the energy of the wolf changed. The exhaustion and anger faded substantially and he finally seemed warm, almost as happy as your flowers. You seized the opportunity. “You mind if I come in? I can tell you about watering them and stuff.”

Bigby failed to hide his face a little more this time, a hand coming up to rub the back of his neck in embarrassment. “I don’t have anything to offer you, and the place is a real shithole.” He warned you.

“I didn’t come for anything, I just want to bring you these,” you answer and he relents, stepping backwards and opening the door to allow you in. You expected the smell of cigarettes to be worse, but he had an open window that seemed to be helping with that. You set the flowers down on the windowsill and turned to face him. He was closer than you had expected, and a blush broke out onto your cheeks at the proximity of the wolf to you. You are overwhelmed with the desire to step even closer, but you stay put. The man was already freaked out, he didn’t need your crush to make it any worse.

“Why?” He seemed reluctant to ask like he had been trying to answer the question himself but just couldn’t figure out the answer.

“To say thank you. You do a lot for us, especially those of us who live in The Woodlands. I think of how much safer this place is just because you live here. And you said you liked them.”

“I don’t exactly do anything other than be the Big, Bad Wolf.” He points out, and you catch a cutting undertone to his argument.

“Bullshit.” He seems surprised at your choice of words and raises an amused eyebrow at you. “You get up at the crack of dawn and you get home little before then, sometimes not at all. You single-handedly protect all of the Fables in this town. You deserve a hundred flowers.” You pointed this all out casually, shrugging your shoulders but Bigby looks deeply uncomfortable. You wondered why he was so tense as you pointed out all he does.

You wondered if anybody does.

Bigby

He thought that if you come any closer to him then he won’t be able to stop himself from kissing you. He also thought that he can’t move away.

The scent of the flowers, your scent, was making him feel almost dizzy. It was hard to believe that you were in his apartment, that you brought him flowers. You brought him flowers, you brought him flowers, you brought him flowers. Ever since they spoke, such a small, meaningless conversation, he hadn’t been able to get you off his mind. Sure that you had forgotten it by the next day, he felt like such an idiot replaying it in his mind before he could fall asleep at night.

But you hadn’t. You had remembered what he said and brought him flowers.

“Thank you.” He realised he hadn’t even said that yet, and he turned away to admire them, and so that he didn’t have to look at you anymore. Clenching his jaw, he implored himself not to ruin this already, to just control himself, like he had with Snow once upon a time. But this time, it seemed impossible.

Then, you touched his arm.

He was so acutely aware of your hand on his skin the whole time that it was there that he could barely hear what you were saying. All of the nice things you were saying about him, falling on deaf ears. God, he felt pathetic. Was that really all it took to turn him stupid? One compliment, one touch.

He hadn’t been touched in a while, though. Not like this. By someone who wasn’t trying to hurt him, or calm him down. Not by someone who just wanted to be close to him.

Fuck it, he thought, and stepped closer, leaning into your touch. There were inches between you now.

You

All of a sudden, he was in front of you. His skin was warm to your touch, and his eyes were simmering with something. You think back over the last couple of days. The way you had watched him, the way you’d thought of him. How you had spent hours finding the perfect flowers, arranging them just so. That wasn’t gratitude or friendly admiration and you knew it. You wondered if he knew it.

You looked up and met his eyes, they were almost gold now that you were close, more than brown. That’s the last thing you remember thinking before you weren’t thinking anything, but feeling the wolf’s mouth on yours. His hand comes up to cup your face, holding you close and the other hand moves to your waist. It’s needy, and almost desperate as the both of you simply give in to whatever desire you were pushing back.

His face was rough, and you delighted in the coarseness of his hands, a shiver running through your body. He invaded all of your senses, occupies all of you for the minutes, or hours that the two of you are interlocked. The sharpness of his teeth on your bottom lip, gone as quickly as it came prompted you to gasp ever so slightly, allowing his tongue passage into your mouth. When you finally pulled away, air a terrible, evil necessity to you now, you dared to open your eyes and reassure yourself that you weren’t dreaming. Bigby was still pressed up against you, his eyes a brighter gold than they had been before and his breathing urgent.

“I like the flowers,” he chokes out, “I really, really like the - “

You cut him off by grabbing him by the tie and pulling him down towards you once again, rolling your eyes slightly at how awkward he was. You’d figure it out. Kissing him breathless, you finally released him and met his eyes. “I like you too, Bigby.”

The wolf shared a genuine smile with you, one that reached all the way up to his eyes and flashed his sharp incisors. You wanted to see it again, a million times.

You were going to need more flowers.

#the wolf among us #bigby wolf #bigby wolf x reader #bigby x reader #twau #imagine #bigby wolf imagine #my underappreciated baby #someone give him a hug #the wolf among us fanfic #bigby wolf fanfiction #the wolf among us imagine

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Harden My Heart

A/N: This is my entry for Mimi’s one hit wonder challenge! I chose “Harden my Heart” by Quarterfish.

@captain-rogers-beard is an incredible writer and even though I’m far from worthy of her existence and writing talent I decided to take a stab at my first writing challenge! Congrats on 11k!

Y/N Y/L/N format, and no beta so just me owning my mistakes. Bold Italics are thoughts.

Pairings: Steve Rogers x Fem!Reader

Words: 3,845 (Ish)

Warnings: Some angst with unrequited love, but there is a happy ending! Language, alcohol use (a lot of it), and some crude humor. Hopefully this comes across as funny as I imagined it.

Summary: A night out with the Avengers is always a bad idea when you mix them with heartbreak and booze.

Enjoy!

Harden My heart

Why did it have to be raining?

Because fate was cruel, that’s why. So here you stood, on the corner of the street under the barely there cover of a random bar’s awning. Waiting, like you always did. The glowing of the neon in the bar’s window reminded you why you were here tonight.

Karaoke.

The bellowing laughter poured out of every crack of the establishment’s walls as you bounced from foot to foot, nearly catching your death in the chilly air. That’s what you had been good at after all. Patiently waiting for one Steve Rogers to make his presence known. He had promised tonight would be different. He promised you. And Captain America never broke a promise.

Right?

~~Earlier~~

It started the same way it always did. Fourth Friday. Eight thirty in the morning. A marathon of meetings going over the end of the month numbers for Stark Industries. Sheets of notes hastily scribbled and multiple cups of coffee ingested. The occasional cough from suited investors and higher management as the illustrious Tony Stark boasted the climbing stock percentages. You had been the eccentric billionaire’s assistant for nearly a year now, and you had come to know that the end of the month was everyone’s least favorite time.

Tony Stark hated Fourth Friday.

The day flew by in a haze, you absentmindedly chewing on the end of your pen deep in thought on the merger that would be taking place next month. Tony assured you that you’d still have a job, but if he had it his way you’d get your own assistant. You weren’t complaining, as the work load kept getting heavier as time went by. Another pair of hands would be extremely welcomed right about now.

The loud sound of a hand smacking the table jolted you to reality, you giving a timid smile to Sam Wilson, his own gap toothed smile spreading across his face.

“Y/N! Welcome back to earth.” You released a chuckle, trying carefully to calm your hammering heart. He loved making you jump, which wasn’t hard as you scared so easily. “You comin’ to team building tonight?”

Ah yes, team building. Tony did this every Fourth Friday. He dragged everyone in the Avengers (and usually you) to do things to “relax” after stressful meetings and even more stressful missions. Your first team outing was laser tag. He rented out a whole roller skating rink once, another time you were roped into inflatable obstacle courses for an afternoon. You partook in paintball and movie nights. You actually came to look forward to the adventures, as it so happened you didn’t have a lot of your own friends. But the team took you in, making you comfortable and never pushing you past your admittedly long list of limitations. You weren’t chicken, but you weren’t stupid either.

But the best part about the team building evenings, and working for Stark in general, came in the form of Steve Rogers. He had been the first to introduce himself to you on your first day working for Tony. He even accompanied you to lunch the whole first week, made sure you met everyone you needed to and answered any questions to put you at ease. Tony had joked that Steve liked taking in strays so they didn’t run away. You didn’t mind in the slightest, and you grew to get on like gasoline on a fire. And that also meant like so many other women, you found yourself harboring feelings for the man out of time. An absolute cliché, but it had been too late to catch yourself when you fell.

“What’s on the docket for tonight Sam?” You asked, staring into your coffee cup and bracing yourself for whatever crazy idea Tony had gotten in his head.

“Karaoke!” You looked up at the second voice, smiling warmly at the tall blond that joined the two of you in the otherwise empty conference room. Steve looked positively delicious in his dark blue button shirt and gray slacks. You had to remember to breathe, choking on nothing when he got closer to you. You would never get tired of the tall drink of water. You swore that man could wear a potato sack and you’d still gladly let him ruin you. “What do ya say Doll, you in? I got your first round of drinks.” He smiled and a whole conservatory of butterflies erupted in your stomach.

He already had ruined you, in a way.

“Depends, you actually going to show up this month?” You cheekily replied, a slight hint of bitterness in your voice. It should be noted that you had been inseparable in the beginning. After you got the hang of your job Steve started inviting you out for coffee. Then he asked you on walks in the morning before he went on his runs. You did everything together for the first six months. Everyone pestered you to find out if you were dating, and you would have jumped at the chance, but he was always quick to fire off that you were just friends. Even though it felt as if he was chipping away at your heart with a pick axe you never confronted him or confessed your feelings. After all, you got to be close friends with Captain America, what more could you ask for?

Then he met Camille.

Three months ago felt like a lifetime to you. Camille Straughton was the daughter of some big wig investor for some company you couldn’t care less to know about. She was gorgeous, her features exact opposite of yours, and didn’t have an insecure bone in her body. Everyone fell in love with her upon meeting her. She was nice to you and you wanted to drop a piano on her. She brought everyone homemade sweets whenever she visited and you imagined pushing her in a vat of hot wax. Alive and screaming the whole way in. The way she said Steve’s name had you sharpening your imaginary pitchfork, torch at the ready.

She was nothing short of perfect, which sucked, and she seemed to have her sights locked on your favorite blond. You didn’t think you were capable of hating someone so much.

Steve told you not to worry. That you couldn’t be replaced. That you were still one of his best friends. Idiot. So when he skipped lunch with you the first time to grab a bite with Camille you did your best to hide your disappointment from everyone else. Wanda found you crying in a supply closet on the seventh floor five til five and held you until your mascara stopped running. It wasn’t hard for her to figure out why, and you made her swear not to utter a word.

Steve apologized the next day but made a habit of it after that. You eventually got used to eating alone.

When she kissed Steve on his birthday in front of everyone, he returned the favor, everyone “Aww”ed and “Oooo”ed at the now “official” relationship. You took up shooting lessons. Sam and Bucky became increasingly impressed and terrified at your progress. Carol, Maria Hill and Nat dragged you out for a “Men are trash” party and after drinking too much you found yourself crying into homemade cupcakes on someone’s kitchen floor. You made a promise to yourself that you wouldn’t cry over him anymore after that. The hangover of the century the next day helped drive that promise home.

Everyone else didn’t notice how you’d managed to become even more reserved, keeping your smiles to yourself in a lock box that once held your heart. Sounds pretty pathetic right? Steve saw you less and less. Tony said he’d come around. That Camille was good for him, but he’d eventually need to come up for air and want to see his friends.

Then he missed team building for the first time. Tony had kittens. Then the second month he missed it Tony slapped Steve’s face on all the coffee machines and milk jugs in the building, looking for the “Missing Blond Neanderthal that sometimes answers to Capsicle”. By the third time you had accepted the new norm, but Tony screamed so loud that everyone in the limo remained silent for the duration of the travel time to the Drive in theater. A whole forty minutes, not a sound being heard except Tony’s fast and angry fingers typing empty threats into his phone. You learned quickly not to engage Steve in conversation, keeping your replies short and sweet unless you wanted to hear about Camille. Which you most certainly did NOT.

So needless to say you had to cover your obvious shock when he nodded vigorously at your question that cloudy Friday afternoon.

“I promise Y/N. I’ll be there.”

~~Present~~

And this is how you found yourself in slightly damp clothes waiting outside for a little less than an hour, darting your eyes down the sides of the street with an unopened umbrella and slowly diminishing hope.

“Y/N come inside already,” Tony called from the doorway as he pushed the door further out for you, “You knew better than to believe he’d actually make it.”

You shuddered, turning on your heel and walking into the mouth of the rented out bar with a defeated sigh. “He promised Tony.”

“I know, but he’s too wrapped up in her to care about us anymore,” He patted you on the shoulder as you shrugged out of your coat, the knockout outfit you had picked out for tonight falling on blind eyes. “You know she demands that he calls her when we leave for missions and the second we land? How suffocating. Pep would beat my ass if I was that annoying.”

“Bold of you to assume she doesn’t think you annoying to begin with.” His redheaded wife clapped back and you only nodded, not really paying to the conversation after that. This wasn’t the first time you had waited for him in the rain. This wasn’t the first time he had told you something and did something else. You should be used to it. But it didn’t make it hurt any less.

The first shot of tequila went down like battery acid, Bucky’s look of understanding spurring you on to your new goal of drinking to forget Steve’s empty promises. Screw him.

It was during Sam’s cringe worthy performance of “Danger Zone” that Nick Fury entered the bar, Maria hill accompanying him and nearly dying of laughter when he stared at everyone.

“What the actual fuck? I picked this bar to get AWAY from my job. I just want some damn peace and quiet! That too much for a motherfucker to ask?”

You bought him a drink for his troubles. Maria and you threw back another shot to “Fourth Friday” while Fury kept complaining, sipping his bourbon the whole time.

“Here Y/N, pick one!” Sam slammed a large tome of songs down next to you awhile later, a high pitched yelp jumping out of your throat and landing on the bar with a loud SHIT. “Jumpy much?”

“Get bent Wilson.” You muttered into your glass of whatever fruit drink Nat ordered you. He laughed when you flicked the tropical paper umbrella at him before thumbing through the cracked and water damaged pages. “They should laminate these….” You pulled a face, barely reading the titles. Not that you could make out more than a couple words anyway.

Your gaze zeroed in on a song and you flattened your index finger next to it. “This one. I’ll do this one. But not now, maybe when I’ve had a few more?”

“Whatever you want Y/L/N, shot time?”

The third shot went down like water, as did number four.

Nat, Carol, and Wanda all got up to sing “Girls Just want to have fun” you had politely declined, although you were a girl, you were not having fun. Nor did you want to.

Tony wrapped up the nine o’clock hour with an atrocious cover of “Baby got Back.” The slap that Pepper gave him when he suggested that she “Turn around” and “Stick it out” was heard around the world.

Everyone decided to take a small break from the singing after that.

You toasted Sam and Pepper, who had agreed they needed alcohol to burn Tony’s very dated dance moves out of their memories. You decided against another shot for now, not wanting to overdo it when Stark had planned on closing the joint down. Can’t take him anywhere really.

Thor found you an hour later after belting “I would do anything for love (But I won’t do that)”. You hadn’t moved from your spot at the bar, even when the MC reminded you that after Tony it would be your time to sing.

“You look really beautiful tonight Y/N. Is that a new dress? That color really suits you.” His compliment made you beam in thanks, the same blinding smile that landed you the job and put people at ease. “There’s my favorite smile. Who made you hide it away for so long?”

Did I get feelings for the wrong blond?

“You’re too sweet Thor. It wasn’t hidden, just taking a break. Can’t have it out on display all the time you know.”

“Well you wouldn’t hear me complain if you did. I hate seeing you upset. You doing alright?”

“I will be after another shot I think.”

“Then it must be done! Barkeep!”

You both exchanged shot glasses, fully knowing it would do nothing for the Asguardian but he thanked you none the less. By the time midnight came around you were good and tipsy, clinging to the mic stand for dear life as the room spun around and the small squares counted you in on the screen you desperately focused on. As if you didn’t know the words. You could belt this tune in your sleep.

“Cryin' in the corner, waiting in the rain, I swear I’ll never ever wait again. You gave me your word, but words for you are lies.”

Nat and Wanda cat called you from the side of the small brightly lit stage and you felt your confidence, entirely alcohol fueled, soar. You stood up straight, imagining telling off a certain super solider with the song lyrics with newly found power. Douchey, stupid, hunk of perfect idiot. I’ll show him. I will.

“Darlin in my wildest dreams I’d never thought I’d go, but it’s time to let you know, oh

I’m gonna harden my heart. I’m gonna swallow my tears. I’m gonna turn and leave you here.”

As you kept belting out lyrics to the heartbreak ballad everyone tried to hold in their amazement. You were so engrossed in your own imaginary confrontation you didn’t catch the very real and very taken back Steve Rogers practically running into the bar, a pained and confused look on his face as he watched the group of heroes sway and cheer on your impressive vocals.

“Where did she get those pipes?!” Sam excitedly exclaimed as Steve neared the stage, the lights far too bright for you to see past the dingy dated monitor.

“I have no idea, but I TOLD you this was a great idea! As all of my ideas usually are.”

Sam side eyed Tony before knocking back the last bit of his drink, shaking his head.

“Darlin in your wildest dreams you never had a clue, but it’s time you got the news. I’m gonna harden my heart. I’m gonna swallow my tears. I’m gonna turn and leave you here.”

You repeated the chorus and slowly trailed off the end of the song, praising yourself for keeping your pitch in check and not slurring you words to the point of incoherence. The loud clamoring of applause and shouts broke you from your power trip, you giving a small curtsy and taking a large hand off the stage.

When your eyes came to focus on who the hand belonged to you released it as if it had bitten you. Drunken tears welled up in your eyes as Steve appeared in front of you. Without the incredible she-bitch. Your flight instincts kicked in and you promptly turned on your heel and ran awkwardly into the bathroom, heels clicking the whole way as you locked yourself in.

He can’t get me in here you cackled triumphantly, before the dam broke and you started crying your heart out on the hard tile floor. Screw the promise. The booze was more than effective now, your vision blurring from all of the shots and heartache. How dare he show up tonight. What was he playing at? Was he some kind of sadist? As if all of this wasn’t hard enough already. You couldn’t feel your toes due to the heels. So you tore them angrily off your feet and threw them at the door for good measure. Sure showed him huh?

Your thoughts drifted off, the amount of hard liquor finally catching up to your body and forcing you into a unwelcome blackout sleep. You didn’t notice Wanda walk in and levitate your body out of the bathroom ten minutes later, safely putting you into Steve’s arms and telling him sternly,

“You did this to her, you can deal with her.”

You woke up in a bed that was most definitely not yours some time later. Your eyes and throat burned as you groaned, the thunderous banging of your own pulse making you nauseous. You attempted poorly to shield your eyes as the sun glared in through the window without mercy. Where in the hell am I? Checking to make sure your clothes were still on you slowly pulled yourself out of the massively comfortable bed.

Cold hardwood met your feet, eliciting a short squeak from your mouth upon contact. Where the hell are my shoes? Steeling your nerves you were relieved to find the room empty, padding across the floor and inching the door open to the living room. The smell of coffee and hot bacon assaulted your nose and your mouth began to water. The door then decided to release a loud creeeeeaaak causing the subject of your dreams and your most recent nightmares to turn around from the stove.

“Morning sleeping beauty. Rest well?”

He chuckled at you confusion covered face, placing a mug of steaming life juice on the island in front of him and sliding it towards you. “I imagine you could use this.”

“Stop…screaming…head….hurts…” Broken sentences were the best you could manage in your current grogginess, greedily snatching the mug off the counter and relishing the hot liquid climbing down your body and bringing it to life as if it were Frankenstein’s monster. “What…what happened….last night?”

“Before or after you blew everyone away with your singing?” Steve smiled as a blush crept over your face and neck.

“After.”

“Not a damn thing.” He said confidently, turning to the stove to shut off the burner and plate the remaining bacon. “You passed out in the bathroom and Wanda got you out. She blamed me for your knocked out state and demanded I fix it.”

“You know Wanda,” You hastily tried to cover up your embarrassment, waving your hand, “She always has had a way with words.” A nervous laugh echoed into your coffee cup, noting it was the one you had bought him for his birthday. Peachy. This brought back great memories. Not

He placed a plate of food in your line of sight, complete with a couple aspirin.

“Where…where’s Camille? I don’t think she’d be okay with me sleeping in your bed…”

He shrugged, “Well we broke up last night so I honestly don’t care what she thinks anymore.”

You stared at him with wide eyes, the fork loosely hanging in your fingers mid bite.

“Oh Steve I’m…”

He waved you off. “Don’t say it. We both know you and everyone else were hoping we’d end things. It was exhausting living up to her expectations of me, so I called it quits.”

You nodded, chewing your food as he began to pick at his own. “I can understand that. Relationships shouldn’t feel forced.”

“You’re damn right.” He sighed, taking a bite of bacon and looking at you. “I can’t believe I let her control me so much. I’ve missed everyone. I’ve missed you so much.” He let out a bitter laugh, “Why do I always date the crazies? My dumb luck right?”

“Hey love makes you do crazy things Steve. And your luck isn’t that bad.” You offered a small smile, to which his frown deepened.

“Oh yea?” He questioned, folding his arms and staring you down, “If my luck isn’t so bad then why am I not dating someone like you?”

You stared at him as if he had sprouted a second head. “Ex…excuse me?”

“Did I stutter?” He asked simply, knocking the air out of your lungs as you clung white knuckled to the marble. You stared at him in a stunned silence as he merely shrugged as if it were nothing, “You’re kind, massively intelligent. Beautiful without trying. All of my friends already like you. You don’t belittle me or try to control every aspect of my life. You don’t make me contemplate murder on a daily basis.”

Another deep sigh and agonizing silence before he spoke again, his voice cracking slightly,

“If someone like you would even think about dating me, I’d be the luckiest man I know.”

You couldn’t help it. You started laughing. Months of emotions poured out of your mouth, your laughter on the edge of sounding like that of a lunatic’s. But you couldn’t stop, tears springing to your eyes as you held your sour convulsing stomach. It was Steve’s turn to look stunned.

“You....you moron!” You accused between giggle fits, “I’ve been in LOVE with you for MONTHS!”

Steve started nervously chuckling at that, “You…you are?”

“Yea you big dumb Neanderthal. Where have you been?”

“With the wrong person.”He didn’t waste another second, coming around the side of the island and scooping you up in his arms. His lips met yours and you let out a contented sigh before breaking away from him. “We should probably take this slow. I don’t want to feel like the rebound here.”

“Oh, yea, of course not.” He set you back down on the floor, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck as you giggled, closing the distance and relishing how nervous he looked. “Can I…can I ask you out to dinner sometime then?”

“I got no plans tonight.” You offered, watching him with amusement as he did a double take. “What? I said slow not no. I’m not going to let you get away again, Captain Rogers.”

“Tonight it is then.”His arms found his way around you again as he pulled you into a hug, chuckling softly into the side of your neck. “So last night….were you…were you singing about me?”

“I plead the fifth.”

“I deserve that I suppose.”

“Damn right you do.”

End

tagging @kaytizzle @cuffski @giggleberts @pies-wands-and-more

#mimi's one hit wonder challenge #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x reader #captain america fanfiction

193 notes · View notes

miracle-sham · 4 years

Text

Death is the Stage, My Art is Your Grave.

| {Maribat 2k20 – Day 4: Crime Scene(s)} |

| Triggers/Warnings: Implied/referenced Character Death, Blood and Violence, Minor Violence, Minor Injuries, Implied/Referenced Needles, Implied/Referenced Injections, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Non-Consensual Drug Use (knock out drug only), Murder, Murder Mystery, Serial Killer, Attempted Murder, Kidnapping, Attempted Kidnapping, Explicit Language/some swearing. |

| Marinette Dupain-Cheng is a rookie police officer in the GCPD. On her first day she's assigned one hell of a case. On the bright side, by working on the case she's somehow managed to catch the attention of a couple of bats. |

| Word Count: 5215 |

==–==

| A/N: So as I mentioned in the authors note of the previous ficlets, I got mugged in the dark dank alleyway by the Maribat2k20 MariTim prompt calendar and stabbed by the knives of inspiration. However, like VYSUYK, this too was a knife of the angst inspo, also it's sort of slow burn? In the fact that it's 5k and I kinda forgot the ship was the main point of this ficlet. The ship's still there, it's just sorta slow burn for a oneshot. |

| If you want to be tagged in future oneshots/fics, or a specific Au, then send me a DM or an ask! |

| Also side note, Don't Like? Don't Read. Also please do not criticise any of my writing. This was written for fun and receiving criticism, even in a compliment/criticism sandwich, is the exact opposite of fun. |

==–==

Marinette stares down the Gotham Police Department building and asks herself, first day on the job, how bad can it really it be?

She's heard rumours, of course. Of how horrible, crime-ridden, crazy infested, rotten, filthy, and decaying the city is, that is Gotham. It's a stark difference to Paris. From its reputation alone, no wonder so many tried to discourage her from doing this—moving here and taking up this job. But it's not like I had a choice, really. I mean I did but ever since I took off the Miraculous for the last time, it's been difficult to adjust to a life with no crime-fighting.

So here she is, "bright-eyed" (Chat Noir—Adrien always did say no matter how haunted she looks, she can still pull off pretending to be naïve and innocent) and fresh from the police academy. Rookie, fresh blood, fresh meat, newbie, whatever. She's here.

Marinette breathes in deeply and sighs. She hops up the last few steps leading up to the building and walks in. Someone grabs her by the arm before she's barely made it five steps through the door. Focussing on her breathing pattern, she violently shoves down the instinct to flip the person gripping her over her shoulder. It wouldn't look good for the small female inexperienced rookie from Paris to immediately assault someone inside the precinct. Yeah.

The someone who has grabbed her speaks up, voice gravelly with the undertones of stressed, tired, and agitated. “Y'lost pipsqueak?”

Slowly, she shakes her head, chanting a mantra in her head, stay calm. Not an Akuma. Don't fight. I'm not in danger. She catches sight of the person, some ragged looking old white police officer dude, charming. “'Looking for Commissioner Gordon? Is he around?”

“Why d'you wanna know?”

Marinette gestures with her free arm towards her clothing—her police officer uniform. “I'm new, got called in to come in now instead of earlier with the rest of the rookies.”

The grip on her arm loosens somewhat as the person speaks again. “Huh, alright then kid. He's in 'is office.”

“Not a kid.” She automatically responds—an old habit from her days in sparkling spotty magic Spandex—and takes a step away from him, removing her from his grip.

The person laughs. “M'name's Harvey, kid. Harvey Bullock. Nice to meetcha.”

Marinette raises an eyebrow. “Marinette Dupain-Cheng. Now if you'll excuse me…”

The man—Harvey waves his hand, “Yeah, yeah, don't wanna keep Gordon waiting.” And walks off. Without giving her the directions to Commissioner Gordon's office. Great. Just great.

She huffs bitterly and makes her way further in before spotting the glass-windowed room that looks like it's probably the Commissioner's office. Switching directions to head there, it feels like it takes ages but that's just because she's being hyper-aware of her surroundings, not wanting to get caught off guard again by shadow-lurking creeps—and by that she specifically means vigilantes and criminals, and by extension villains too, not that they're likely to be sneaking around a police precinct but point. Once she reaches the office, delicately, she raps her knuckles against the wood of the door.

“Come in.” Calls the commissioner.

Quietly, she opens the door and slips through, closing it behind herself. “You asked to see me now, instead of earlier with the other rookies.”

Commissioner Gordon glances up at her from his mountain of paperwork, “I did,” there's a shuffle of paper before he continues, sounding bone-tired. “We're assigning you to be Detective Grayson's partner. He wasn't here this morning but he, and by extension, you now, have been assigned a difficult case and I'm sorry this is going to be your first case but I need you to head over there immediately. Grayson should be there when you arrive.”

Marinette nods, not really having expected anything less.

“Detective McKenna is on a case not far from yours and so will drop you off, so you don't get lost since you're new in Gotham.” He adds on. “She's waiting in the car park.”

Marinette waits for a second in case he speaks more but all he does is return to the paperwork. She spins on her heel and exits the office.

==–==

When she reaches the car park she spots who she assumes is Detective McKenna, leaning against a police car. She waves at her and hurries over. “Hi, are you Detective McKenna?”

“Yeah, now get in. You wanna get to your crime scene before the vigilantes get there, don't you?” Detective McKenna opens the car door to the driver's seat and sits down.

Well someone doesn't like vigilantes. Marinette thinks, hesitating before going around the other side of the car and opening the door, slips into the passenger seat.

==–==

She's dropped off by the rest of the police cars parked near the crime scene—Aparo Park—and there's no sign of her partner anywhere. She sighs and gets work, talking over what's already been found and other case-related information to the rest of the officers on the scene. She's yet to see what the actual crime scene looks like but from what's gathered she's not sure she wants to. Apparently, the victim is a meta who could create sparks and small flames from their fingertips—minor pyrokinesis. Ironic, according to the officers and Crime Scene Investigators that have already seen of the state of the victim.

All too soon she runs out of information to hear and walks over to the scene of the crime—and she blanches at the sight of it. Oh god, It takes her a second to process what she's seeing and compare it to what she had heard about it. It's, it's a sight and a half for sure, and not in a good way.

In the middle of the bandstand is a twisting structure of orange and yellow glass shards stained red in places where rivulets of blood have dried. The way the shards are arranged makes it look like it's supposed to look like flames. In the centre of the glass piece, there's a corpse with the back cut open in the "blood eagle" style of execution. The way the corpse is positioned, it looks like it's rising from the fire, arms outstretched. The corpse is also wearing a crown of golden feathers.

Marinette steps away from the bandstand and spots an easel resting unobtrusively against the outside. Oddly enough the canvas on the easel is the wrong way around, only the side with the back and frame is visible. There's scrawled writing on the back which says "Aparo Phoenix Rising". That's when she spots the flecks of red on the edges of the easels frame. She spins around and catches the attention of one of the Crime Scene Investigators, waving them over, and turning to point their attention to the easel. It could just be paint, but it won't hurt to double-check.

The Investigator turns the canvas over with gloved hands and whistles appreciatively. “Shit, this one fucked up bastard, don'tcha think?”

Marinette stares at the turned over canvas with wide eyes and a wave of nausea crashes over her as she realises what she's seeing. Because on the canvas is a painted rendition of the corpse sculpture in the bandstand. “Yeah…”

She's jolted from her shock as she spots three figures a little ways behind the bandstand, lurking in the shadows. So she does the smart thing in this situation, not, and speed walks over to the trio. Once she's close enough to make out the figures a little better, she recognises two as the Gotham vigilantes Red Hood and Red Robin—and dang is the second one cute, she shakes her head, no time to be distracted; job first, hero crush later—and the third figure is wearing GCPD officer uniform.

The figures all spot her before she can get within two metres, the two vigilantes looking awfully flighty the closer she gets. As if I'd arrest them, I'm no hypocrite. She puts on her brightest smile and stops a few places away. Keeping her main gaze purely at the officer, she offers her hand out for a handshake. “I'm assuming you're Detective Dick Grayson, correct?”

The man gives her an odd look then a positively dazzling grin and shakes her hand. “Yeah, that's me and who are you?”

From the corner of her eye, she can see the two vigilantes eyeing her like a threat. “Pleasure to meet you! I'm Marinette Dupain-Cheng and I've just been assigned your partner, I'd say in crime but I feel like that'd be a poor joke to make as a new police officer!”

Detective Grayson's smile softens around the edges, becoming something more real. He opens his mouth to speak but is cut off by the Red Hood striding forwards and presumably glaring her down but it's hard to tell with the whole red helmet in the way.

“Aren't you gonna arrest me?” He pauses before tacking on, “not that I'm complaining.”

Marinette shrugs, tilting her head to the side like a confused small baby animal but also returning the (presumed) glare, hands on her hips. “Don't the police here work with the heroes? I mean that's how Paris does things, I didn't think it would be that different here. Especially since Gotham's apparently had its heroes a lot longer than Paris did.”

“Vigilantes.” All three correct, slightly out of sync, casting glances at each other all the same time.

Red Robin puts his hand on Red Hood's shoulder and pulls him back, away from her by a few places. “No, the GCPD doesn't really like us for the most part. They're not exactly happy when we complete their cases and make their arrests before them.”

“Well, you seem pretty familiar with Detective Grayson.” Marinette retorts, raising an eyebrow.

Detective Grayson splutters and mumbles out a bunch of excuses.

She shakes her head. “Well as long as you don't impede the investigation and let me make the final arrest then I won't stop you vigilantes poking about.”

Red Robin hums, head tilted to the side as if thinking the preposition over. “And why should we let you make the final arrest?”

Marinette grins cheekily. “Think of it as a first police case present from you to me.” She snorts. “I'm kidding, now if you vigilantes are done stalking the shadows, Detective Grayson and I have a case to work on. Au Revoir!”

Spinning on her heel, she speed walks back to the bandstand, Detective Grayson following a step behind—unbeknownst to her, she turns in time to just miss the flustered look on Red Robin but she does hear the raucous burst of laughter from Red Hood. She rolls her eyes.

==–==

A fortnight passes and they don't manage to collect enough evidence to find a culprit before the Aparo Park killer strikes again. This time the crime scene is in Puckett Park, centring around the middle of the park's fountain.

Marinette grimaces, crinkling her nose as she approaches, Detective Grayson isn't here yet, probably late—again. So she had to catch a lift from another officer heading to the scene; luckily it wasn't Detective McKenna again, I don't think I'd be able to keep quiet if she keeps bad-mouthing the local vigilantes.

Tugging on her jacket in attempts to adjust it whilst keeping herself warm in the chilly Gotham night air, Marinette regards the scene, squinting and subconsciously curling her lips at the sight. Another victim, another corpse sculpture. One more like this and we'll have a serial killer on our hands.

The main water feature in the fountain has been ripped out of the fountain and the rubble is scattered around the pool in such a way that it only adds to the sculpture.

The corpse sculpture itself is the same modus operandi as the previous one. Stained glass in a twisted tower with a corpse half impaled on it, back cut open blood eagle style, and the victim's body posed to look as though it's rising (from the water in this case) with their arms outstretched.

There's even another easel leaning against the stone rim of the fountain, with the canvas turned over.

This time, the glass shards are white and blue, also with dried rivulets of blood down them. It looks like the shards are arranged to replicate waves as opposed to the previous one's flames. The legs of the victim are twisted together and wrapped in silver scale mail to mimic a fishtail.

If it wasn't so horrific, it would make for a beautiful painting. Like something you'd find in an expensive art gallery. Marinette muses, paling the longer she stands there analysing. Actually, thinking about it, I wouldn't put it past the rich to try and buy the paintings if—once the case gets closed.

Marinette shakes her head and steps close enough to the easel to read the scrawled writing on it, "Puckett Hippocampus Rising". As she's reading, a Crime Scene Investigator joins her—surprisingly it's the same one as before. She nods to the Investigator, “hey.”

“Hey to you too. So the fucked up bastard struck again huh.” The Investigator responds, turning over the canvas with gloved hands to reveal a painted rendition of the corpse sculpture scene before them. “Had any luck narrowing down the perp?”

She hums noncommittally. “Police case confidentiality, sorry.”

The Investigator shrugs. “I expected as much. By the way, they managed to ID the vic by the way, a teen who was kicked out of their house for having hydrokinesis, another meta.”

“Ah…”

“Yeah.”

Marinette pauses, narrowing her eyes at the shadows by a cluster of trees off to the side of the fountain. “I think I spot my partner, bye.”

She jogs over to the trees and lo and behold, there stands Detective Grayson, accompanied by Red Robin and Batgirl. No Red Hood in sight so maybe hopefully she won't get glared at. “Detective Grayson!” She greets with no real bite behind her words, “nice of you to finally arrive.”

“Ah well, you see…” Detective Grayson starts, smiling sheepishly and rubbing the nape of his neck.

Shaking her head and waving a hand, Marinette rolls good-naturedly before pursing her lips and side-eyeing the vigilantes, cocking her head to the side. She stabilises her stance and plonks her hands on her hips in an action reminiscent of the pose she took when glaring down the Red Hood. “Look I don't know how or why you're involved with Gotham's heroes—”

“Vigilantes.” The three corrected, in chorus this time.

Marinette narrows her eyes at the three of them. “—Vigilantes then but I don't care, you're business is your business and they're certainly doing good for this city from what I can see.” She takes a breath and then continues lecturing. “But my point is, regardless of whatever your reason for being involved with them is, you shouldn't be acting so familiar with each other in such plain view.” She gestures back towards the crime scene, where the Crime Scene Investigator she had been talking to waves at them. “What if a villain saw you and decided to blackmail you into betraying them, kidnap, torture you for information, or kill you just to get at them? Especially if a villain assumes you know their identities. So just be more careful next time.” She finishes with a shake of her head and blows a stray hair away from her face.

Red Robin and Batgirl valiantly try to quell their giggles and snorts but quickly become forced to lean on each other as they barrel over in laughter. Batgirl even wipes a finger just under the whiteouts of her mask, as if to wipe away a tear.

Whereas Detective Grayson looks thoroughly chagrined. “I-uh, right…” He pauses and stares at her wide-eyed, “wait I hope you didn't just imply that you think I'm having a secret affair with one of the vigilantes.”

His response seems to only fuel Red Robin and Batgirl's amusement.

Marinette shoots him a look of disbelief. “I am well aware that not every relationship a civilian and hero can have is purely romantic thank you very much.”

It takes a solid minute before the vigilantes are able to breathe without devolving into more giggles. Although their attempts certainly aren't helped by the looks of concern and betrayal Detective Grayson keeps sending them.

She turns to Red Robin and Batgirl. “Right well if you're both finished—”

Batgirl raises her hands in defence. “Oh no! We know all about how to properly interact with civilians when in the mask, we don't need a lecture too!”

Raising an eyebrow at them, Marinette rolls her eyes and deadpans. “—I was going to ask if either of you has had a chance to investigate the crime scene yet?”

Batgirl glances always and mumbles something under her breath that Marinette can't quite catch but it causes Red Robin to snort.

He takes half a step forward and shrugs. “No, we haven't yet. We were going to until you and Detective Grayson showed up.”

Marinette flashes him a humorous smirk. “Well I need to report the updates on the case to Detective Grayson anyway, so you and Batgirl might as well stick around to pay attention.”

Red Robin smirks back at her, “That would be easier.”

And Marinette has to stop her heart from fluttering at the sight of his smirk and—is he blushing? Oh no—by mentally reminding herself to not get attached—Stop getting distracted by how cute and pretty Red Robin is! Job first, hero crush later. It does not stop her from blushing as well.

Beside them, both Detective Grayson and Batgirl facepalm.

Clearing her throat, Marinette shakes her head and proceeds to rattle off all relevant information to the case and crime scene.

“Thanks, Officer Dupain-Cheng.” Red Robin says, winking at her.

Batgirl makes a noise of distress and irritation. “Yeah, thanks…”

“No problem!” Marinette grins, trying to keep her blush from getting any redder.

Detective Grayson takes her by the shoulder and starts leading her away from the vigilantes. “Okay, I think that's enough fraternising with the dubious vigilantes.”

Red Robin and Batgirl make similar noises of offence. “Hey! We're not that dubious!”

As they arrive at the centre of crime scene again, she catches sight of Batgirl elbowing Red Robin in the side, his face bright red and he's staring after her.

==–==

Another fortnight passes and no there's been no more progress on their mysterious art park killer. Marinette's on her way back from the fashion district, having gone for a quick shop to grab some more supplies, coffee in hand. She's passing through Grant Park when a familiar structure meets her eyes. She blanches and her shopping bag slips from her grip but thankfully she doesn't drop her coffee. “Shit.”

She steps closer to double-check it is what she thinks it is. Inside one of the fenced-off flower beds, is another corpse sculpture, same as the previous two. Green and brown stained glass arranged to look like vines and roots in a twisted tower with a corpse half impaled on it, back cut open blood eagle style, and the victim's body posed to look as though it's rising from the flower bed with their arms outstretched. And surprise, surprise. An easel with a turned over canvas is set up on the other side of the sculpture.

Marinette fumbles for her phone and swipes down to call Detective Grayson, and then Commissioner Gordon, to inform them that she's found another crime scene with the same modus operandi to their park killer case. Elevating their crim from a themed killer to a serial killer.

She sets going about the protocol for taping off and preserving a crime scene for when the investigation team arrives.

Ten minutes later, the crime scene investigation team and police squad arrive and Marinette picks up her supplies then sits down on a bench out of sight from the rest of the force but with a view of the scene. She takes slow sips of her coffee. For once Detective Grayson is on time but she still managed to beat him here.

Marinette watches as he scans the crime scene and bustling team of investigators. She hides a smile behind her coffee as he perks up like a puppy and bounds over to her.

“Hey, you okay?” He asks, a look of concern furrowing his brow, eyeing her like he's almost expecting her to be hurt.

If this was an Akuma related situation, she could understand that sentiment but accidentally coming across a crime scene didn't warrant that sort of concern. Marinette shakes her head. “Would you believe if I said I've had a long night?”

Detective Grayson glances down at his wristwatch and then back to her, looking even more concerned. “It's only just gone eight o'clock.”

“A very long early night then.” She takes another slow sip of her coffee. It's practically luke-warm at this point but the familiar taste is a small bit of comfort.

He hmphs and there's a lull of relative silence.

The Crime Scene Investigator, who she chatted with at the previous two crime scenes, walks over to them. “Killer's M.O.'s the same.”

“Painted rendition on the turned over canvas?” Marinette checks reluctantly.

Staring at her, the Investigator adds, “yeah, this one was titled Grant Owlman Rising this time instead though. Also, we've managed to ID the vic.”

“Already, that's quick?” Marinette frowns, getting a niggling suspicious feeling, not noticing Detective Grayson paling at the title.

“Uh-huh, they're another meta, got minor geokinesis. I need to return to work now, but I thought you'd appreciate the heads up.” The Investigator waves and walks away.

“Mhmm, thanks,” Marinette responds on autopilot, mind whirling with thoughts and theories. She chews on her lip and squints at the crime scene. She turns to Detective Grayson. “I'm starting to think our killer's an AtLA fan?”

Detective Grayson twists his mouth and cocks his head to the side. “AtLA?”

Marinette turns her squint onto him. “Avatar the Last Airbender! Have you seriously never heard of it before?”

Shrugging, he rubs the nape of his neck. “I think I've heard it in passing but being a police detective hasn't exactly left me time to check out new shows...”

Marinette mock gasps. “Inconceivable!”

Detective Grayson snorts. “I don't think any of my siblings have seen it either.”

“Oh, the horror! As soon as this case is over we'll have to remedy that! What better excuse than this for Family plus one co-worker movie night!” She jokes, grinning stupidly.

Detective Grayson opens his mouth to answer but another Investigator calls him over to the crime scene.

Barely a second after Detective Grayson's departure, a familiar red and black-clad vigilante hops down from a tree.

Marinette gives him a deadpan stare. “If you wanted info on the case, you didn't need to stalk us or eavesdrop. Asking politely is an option.”

Red Robin flushes bright red, looking positively scandalised. “I wasn't stalking!”

She raises an eyebrow. “Uh-huh.”

“You just happen to be sitting at the most strategic place to survey the crime scene without getting caught by the GCPD.” He explains flimsily.

“Then what is Detective Grayson and I? Chopped liver?” Marinette challenges.

“I'm not going to answer that.” Red Robin responds with a half-smile.

“Good idea.” Marinette teases, grinning widely. Then she hesitates, grin faltering.

He notices this, going straight into concerned™ mode. “Is something?”

She tilts her head to the side. “There's a pattern with the victims. The first had a fire-themed sculpture and had pyrokinesis, the second had a water-themed sculpture and had hydrokinesis, and the third has a plant-themed sculpture and geokinesis. Meaning there's one more element left, air. So you wouldn't happen to have a way to somehow find a list of all the metas with aerokinesis, would you?”

Red Robin hums. “I might.”

Marinette pulls out a notebook and a pen and quickly scribbles down her phone number. “Here,” she says, ripping the note from the book and passing it over to him. “Text me a list if you're able to?”

He nods. “I'll try.”

She grins, suppressing the urge to give him a hug in thanks. “Thank you!”

Saluting, Red Robin disappears into the shadows.

==–==

Thirteen days later, Marinette finishes up the last of her paperwork. She fires off a quick text tell Detective Grayson that she's going to check on the other half of the people on the list Red Robin provided her.

Five hours pass, and she's checked through eight names on the list. The next potential target is a young nurse.

Marinette walks towards the hospital the nurse is working out and spots the nurse leaving. She's about to jog to the nurse instead but a familiar person steps out from the shadows in front of her, the Crime Scene Investigator.

“Hey. You shouldn't be walking 'round Gotham alone this late.”

With a tight-lipped smile, Marinette responds, “That's nice of you to worry but I'll be fine. Now if you don't mind, I have to talk to someone and I'm in a rush.”

The Investigator grabs her by the wrist and it takes all her willpower to not throw him into the nearest wall. He gives her a slow uncurling smirk. “Mhmm, you're looking into people you think might be the next vics, ain'tcha?”

Several alarm bells are ringing in her head at this point and she carefully sends an SOS message with her location attached to Detective Grayson, without the investigator noticing. “I might be, I might not be.”

The Investigator chuckles. “You're a bright one. Unfortunately, I can't have you interfering with my plans yet.”

It takes a second for her to process what the Investi—serial killer just admitted. She sends a message over text to Detective Grayson informing him that she's found the serial killer. Luckily for her, the Investigator seems to enjoy monologuing in her ear about the murders he has committed and lamenting how none of the police force appreciates his genius. In one move she pulls her phone out, snaps a photo of his face, and sends it to Detective Grayson.

The Investigator snarls. “You bitch!”

She tries to flip him over her shoulder but he pulls her into a chokehold, sapping away her strength, and then there's a pinprick of pain from the side of her neck.

Marinette tries to scream and break out of the hold but with her strength gone and whatever she was injected with working too quickly, the chokehold is impossible for her to escape. Her phone falls from her hands and clatters to the pavement, screen shattering while darkness pulls her under and she goes limp.

==–==

When Marinette comes to, she's blindfolded and gagged, with her wrists and ankles chained together. Everything's numb and fuzzy. She can hear shouting, clanging, and gunfire in the distance but her head and ears feel like someone stuffed cotton wool inside.

Marinette's not sure if she's drifting in and out of consciousness or not but the sounds seem to be steadily coming closer. The closer the sounds get, the more an achy pain forms.

Then she hears a vaguely familiar voice very close by, “shit, no-no-no! Dick, I've found Marinette.”

There's a rustle and then a faint pressure against her ribs followed by a flare of red hot pain. Instinctively, Marinette tries to curl up and protect herself.

The gag and blindfold are removed and Marinette's greeted with the sight of a very worried (and very blurry) Red Robin. She's also in a warehouse—typical villain lair.

Her vision swims as she tries to speak but her words slurring slightly, not completely convinced what she's seeing is real—why would a hero save me? After all, no one tried to save me when I was hurt as Ladybug so why would anyone care to rescue me as my civilian self? “Red Robin? What're—what are you doing here?”

“Definitely has bruised ribs, and has been drugged, there's some needle marks on the back of her neck.” He reports, ignoring her.

Marinette furrows her brow and squints at Red Robin. “'M fine?”

He turns to her and gives her a wry look. “You're phrasing that like a question. So clearly you're not.”

She watches as Red Robin fishes a lockpicking set from his utility belt and gets to work unlocking the chains around her wrists and ankles. As the drug wears off, a wave of pain hits her. Marinette yelps and tears spring to get eyes.

“You're gonna be fine. Not much longer and we can get you to safety.” Red Robin assures.

“I know,” She mumbles, “you're here after all.”

Red Robin blushes bright red. “Oh.”

She goes to say something else but the click of the locks falling off distract her. Stiffly she stands up, partially—mostly leaning on Red Robin for support and rubs at her wrists. “Ow.”

Gently, he took her by the shoulders and guided her towards the exit of the warehouse. “Come on, you need to be checked by the parameds.”

Marinette stumbles and stops, refusing to move any further. “Wait!”

Red Robin freezes. “What's wrong?”

“Kiss me like a damsel in distress,” Marinette mutters in demand, only half aware of what she's saying—still convinced her rescue is actually just a really vivid dream.

“What? No, you're drugged!” He responds in horror, stepping away from her then realises his mistake as she sways and grabs her by the shoulders once again before she can fall over.

Marinette huffs, mildly irritated but finally sounding far more lucid than when Red Robin found her. “It's just ketamines, that's why I'm hallucinating getting rescued. So hallucination Red Robin, gimme a kiss before the hallucination ends because you're cute and I'm a damsel in distress and everyone knows the hero kisses the damsel in distress after rescuing her.”

“Oh, Marinette…” Red Robin stares at her, conflicted but will quickly dissolving. “Fine.”

He takes her breath away with a kiss. Her eyes widen in surprise, not having expected him to comply.

“Oh.” She says when he takes a half step back, heart fluttering and mind spinning, only just realising that she's fallen head over heels for him, and more importantly realising that this wasn't a hallucination but the actual Red Robin. “Oh.”

She chews her lip anxiously. “Wow. Okay. Uhh, so you're not a hallucination?”

“Er, no… sorry for taking advantage of you.” Red Robin responds, looking equally anxious.

“No, no, I did ask you to kiss me and everything.” She pauses to say something else but a flash of shadows behind them catches both their attention.

“Dick?” Red Robin stills and asks slowly—tone dangerous. “Did you just take blackmail photos of me kissing Marinette?”

Detective Grayson steps out of the shadows looking very sheepish. “You forgot to mute your comms. What else was I supposed to do? Interrupt you two? that would be cruel!”

“Oh my god.” Marinette slaps her hands over her face.

Red Robin wraps a protective arm over her shoulders and pulls her against his armoured chest. “Dick, you should be so glad that you're on duty right now and that I abide by the no-killing rule. Because you're so dead. Delete. The. Photos. Now.”

Detective Grayson smirks and sprints away. “No can do! Gotta go arrest our killer!”

==–==

| [Sequel Link] |

| Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this little oneshot! Comments, likes, and reblogs are much appreciated! |

@maribat-2k20

#Miraculous Ladybug #ML x DC #DC x MLB #Maribat #Timinette #MariTim #Timari #Tim x Marinette #Marinette x Tim #Maribat2k20 #Maribat2k20 Tim x Marinette #Maribat2k20 Day 4 #Maribat2k20 Crime Scene(s)#Death is the Stage My Art is Your Grave #DitSMAiYG #Sham's Posts #Sham's Writing #Sham's Fics

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jelzorz · 4 years

Text

four pillars (a moonfam Hogwarts au)

A/N: All this covid madness is driving me insane and I needed the stress relief so this is just for funsies and to see if anyone’s interested in a dumb moonfam Hogwarts au. If people like it enough, I’ll put it on Ao3 and keep going. For now, enjoy! Reposting bc tumblr ate my tags. Sorry for the double post!

There’s a girl at the Ravenclaw table that Lain’s been glaring at for about ten minutes now. It’s pretty out of the ordinary for him. Usually he saves this kind of unwarranted animosity for that Slytherin kid, Runaan, but there’s something… different in the downturn of his lips that piques Ethari’s curiosity.

It’s early for lunch. The Gryffindor table isn’t so crowded yet, and it’s not like Ethari’s a stranger here at all - Lain spends plenty of time at the Hufflepuff table to make up for it - but he pauses for a moment anyway, looking up and down the mostly empty table before he climbs over the bench to join him.

“That’s not how you get a girl’s attention, you know.”

Lain scowls, working his fork into the almost unrecognisable remains of the rissole on his plate. “I don’t want her attention,” he snaps, stabbing at a bit of mince probably a little more aggressively than he’d intended. “She’s not worth my time.”

Ethari raises an eyebrow at him. “So… why are you giving it?”

“I’m not.” He snatches at the jug of pumpkin juice in the middle of the table, and the only reason he doesn’t knock over a pile of scones is because Ethari has the sense to move them out of the way. He’d been wondering already, but the sourness of Lain’s pout and the frustrated tinge of pink in his cheeks just makes him all the more curious. It’s rare for someone not Runaan to invoke Lain’s unbridled rage like this, and the only reason that rivalry exists to begin with is because they’re equally matched in everything from Charms to Potions to Quidditch.

This is something different.

This is something else.

“What’d she do?” he tries.

Lain grumbles something unintelligible into his pumpkin juice, and Ethari lets out a long, patient sigh, and tries again.

“What’d you do?”

That gets him. “I didn’t do anything,” he snarls, slamming his goblet down. “Runaan provoked me. I was just minding my own business on the way to Herbology, and he comes out of nowhere being a pain in the backside, as always, and then she comes along and I tried to explain myself, because it wasn’t my fault, but she - she hexed both of us, and next thing I know, Professor Ibis is there now we’ve both got detention, all because bloody Runaan -”

Ethari holds up a hand. It’s not all true and he knows it - Lain has a habit of twisting stories like these to sound less incriminating, and his stupid rivalry with Runaan’s got them both into enough trouble that he knows rubbish when he hears it. “Runaan provoked you?” he asks, “Or were you provoking each other like you always do and Tiadrin just happened to be there to hex both of you before you could hex each other again?”

Lain falters. Then he narrows his eyes. “Tiadrin?”

“Yeah, Tiadrin.” Ethari snorts at him. “I make it a point to know the kids in our year. Sorry you’re not as popular as you think you are.”

Lain presses his lips shut, golden eyes hard with betrayal. “I didn’t do anything wrong,” he grumbles, turning back to his butchered rissole. “Runaan had his wand out first. She didn’t even let me explain -”

Ethari stifles a snort. “Don’t blame her,” he mutters into his goblet, and Lain shoots him a look that he pointedly chooses to ignore.

“I should have known better than to try,” says Lain shortly. “She’s all buddy-buddy with Runaan. Of course she’d take his side.”

“You said she hexed both of you.”

“She still took his side.” Lain glances at her once more, his head bowed towards his plate in a poor attempt to be subtle about it, but his eyes flit back to his rissole when Runaan approaches her looking just as sour. “See what I mean?”

“Er. No,” says Ethari, because he doesn’t. Even from here, Runaan’s scowl is hard to miss. Tiadrin, on the other hand, looks pretty smug about it, and again, he can’t blame her. Lain and Runaan’s rivalry is stupid and childish, and he’s certain she’s not the first to want to stop them before they start all over again - she’s just the first to actually do something about it. He makes a note to congratulate her about it later - and to ask her what really happened. He has a feeling her version might be closer to the truth. He clears his throat. “I don’t get why you’re so pissy about it,” he says. “You and Runaan get detention often enough on your own. What’s so different about this time?”

Lain grinds his teeth and glares down at his plate. “She upstaged me,” he mutters, so quietly that Ethari struggles to hear it.

“She what?”

Lain takes a breath. Uses it to steel himself like he’s about to divulge some kind of horrible secret. Glances up and down the table to make sure no one else is within ear shot. “She upstaged me,” he grumbles again.

That’s what Ethari thought he heard. Lain’s not one to throw tantrums like this - not usually - but then no one really upstages him either. He and Runaan are equally matched. It’s rare that one ever gets the upper hand, but the fact that Tiadrin had honestly just makes Ethari want to congratulate her more. “Upstaged you?” he asks, dubious.

“Yeah,” mumbles Lain. “She was so fast. Had her wand in her hand before Runaan and I even blinked. Stuck me with a Stickfast Hex so good Professor Ibis had to undo it for me. Runaan had sardines coming out of his nose. It was amazing.”

Ethari stares at him. “She got you with a Stickfast Hex and you’re calling her ‘amazing’?”

Lain flushes. “Credit where credit’s due,” he mumbles, hiding his face in his goblet.

There’s a pause. Lain spends longer than he needs to gulping down the rest of the pumpkin juice that Ethari’s pretty sure he’s only doing it to hide the rising blush in his face. The issue here is so obvious he wants to laugh, and as much as he wants to take pity on Lain and his lack of emotional maturity, it feels like it might be funnier just to sit back and watch this disaster unfold. Lain’s always been a bit of a ladykiller, but this is going to be a trainwreck in the best possible way, and he’d be a poor friend if he tried to stop it.

He’s got Transfiguration with the Ravenclaws after lunch, which means Lain will have to spend Potions brooding over this with Runaan in the same room, and Ethari almost wishes he was in Gryffindor just so he can make jokes about it all period. But he eyes Tiadrin instead, a smirk pulling at his lips and a plot coming together in his mind. If it works, maybe Tiadrin will rub off on him, and Lain might deflate his ego enough to see that he and Runaan would probably get along if they weren’t always at each other’s throats.

If it doesn’t - well. It’ll be fun to watch, at least. Maybe Tiadrin will rub off on him anyway. He can hope.

He claps Lain’s shoulder. “I’m going to class,” he says. “You’re going to stew on this whether I try to stop you or not, so I might as well save myself the trouble. At least Tiadrin’ll be easier to talk to. See you in Charms.”

“What - wait!” Lain makes a grab for the sleeve of his robe, and Ethari pauses, trying not to let his amusement get the better of him. “What - Have you got class with her or something next?”

“Sure do,” Ethari tells him mildly.

The flush returns, and Lain ducks his head. “Can you - uh - can you explain for me? Tell her it wasn’t my fault?”

“Why?” This time, Ethari can’t stop himself. He does smirk. Lain’s panic is too much. “I wasn’t there. I don’t know what happened. Alternately, you could try to talk to her yourself like a normal person.”

“Yeah, but -” He swallows and twiddles his thumbs. “She won’t give me the time of day. You could at least like… soften her up or something. And then maybe she’ll actually listen to me.”

Ethari lets out a snort. “I’ll see what I can do,” he says, tugging his sleeve out of Lain’s grip.

(Oh, he’ll see all right. With any luck, they’ll be on more than just speaking terms by the end of the semester. Maybe then, he’ll finally have some peace and quiet in the halls).

#the dragon prince #ruthari #laidrin #canon six #moon fam #hogwarts au

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5-falsehoods-phonated · 4 years

Text

Ruin

Summary: An attempt to get Roman and Remus to get along fails and leaves Remus reeling. Indulging in a bad habit to try and keep the thoughts away from Thomas leads to Logan finding out, though instead of the ridicule he's expecting, he receives kindness instead.

Warnings: self harm, slight unsympathetic Roman, slight disassociation, hurt with happy ending

Please do not read with the intention if triggering yourself. If you are triggered by self harm I and other authors have others stories for you to read. Stay safe.

Ships: platonic intrulogical, Logan x Remus

WC: 2, 140

"You're just useless! Nothing you do has any purpose other than to torment and I'm so sick of it!"

Remus recoiled from his brothers harsh words, cookies spilled on the floor from where he had swept them away. He had been rather pleased with how vague the penis shape actually was, chocolate chips painstakedly placed so you'd only notice if you looked closely. Roman had looked closely.

Sometimes Remus genuinely couldn't help doing things impulsively; the idea had come to his mind and he had done it without a thought to any possible repercussions and now Roman was mad and it had actually been going well for once but now he had ruined it just like he always did and what if he just stabbed him to get rid of the problem?

The thought came abruptly and without prompt, making him blink back to reality as Roman continued to rant before noticing he hadn't been paying attention.

"But of course you don't care. You aren't even paying attention to a word I'm saying. You ruin everything and I don't understand why I even try!" Ever the dramatic, Roman sunk out with a final huff and throw of his arms, leaving Remus stuck standing trembling in the middle of a mess. No one else was around, leaving the twins alone for "bonding time". Wasn't that a laugh and a half.

'I wonder if the cookies could act like marbles in those old cartoons and I'd slip and fall and crack my head open and-' Drawing a shaky breath his busied himself with cleaning to try and dispell the unwanted thoughts. It was in his nature to be impulsive, brash. He was loud and insistant, truly the living embodiment of Intrusive Thoughts that plagued Thomas' mind when it got to be too much to hold in.

'What if you smashed your hand in the oven?' He turned the oven off and went to grab a broom. 'How hard would you have to fall for a broom to stab through your intestines? How fast would you have to run to stab someone else's?'

Kitchen relatively clean he spun around once more to make sure. 'Just grab a knife. You don't have to use it, just feel it.'

If he sunk out while holding the fridge could he smash Roman with it?

Roman's dark blood staining the carpet an even deeper red.

Remus standing by as the other screamed.

How easy would those screams be to shut up.

How easily would he be to shut up.

Could fascets die? Was it worth trying to find out?

Subconsciously he realized he was walking down the hall to his room, eyed glazed over as the thoughts continued making him feel spacey and fake. He shut the door behind him and stood for what felt like hours, head going everywhere and no where at once until one thought forced him to snap out of it slightly.

'You're going to hurt Thomas. You're going to make him want to hurt others.'

He embodied intrusive thoughts and bad creativity but most of the time those thoughts were just remembering unpleasant sensations or thinking of a crude or out of context joke that would be inappropriate to say out loud. It was random, harmless thought spirals that most of the time you could shake your way out of and Remus simply did whatever random thing there was to do around the mind scape to get rid of excess energy. When he was upset however, the thought spirals grew darker, more suggestive, supplying ghastly images that he wouldn't mind seeing if it was sat in front of a horror movie but as it was...

Persistent thoughts continued to pound through his head, flicking between hurt to angry to apathetic and back before he could breathe. He wanted to hurt something, someone, and he could practically feel the toxic mindset leaching into Thomas' thought process even as he struggled to contain it. He ripped through his desk drawers desperately, everything neat despite his chaotic nature though the desperation rose as hiding spot after hiding spot came up empty. Chewed nails scraped at the underside of the bed frame then groped in the darkest corners of his room. His eyes landed on a small picture frame, a drawing he had done that Janus had framed long ago before any of this had been a problem and quickly went to rip it off the wall.

Taped to the back a small blade glinted passively in the dull light, making his breath hitch in relief as he grabbed it out of its confines. His sleeve went up without a thought until he forced all of concentration on the task at hand.

The first few, well several, cuts were nothing. His skin tingled numbly as straight lines were drawn across it, taking a second or two to well up with blood but by then he had already moved on. Just a small patch, right below his elbow on his outer arm. Thicker skin made for more lines. It wasn't until they began to overlap that he truly felt it, minutes later, stinging and angry and flowing and...

Quiet.

His mind was silent for once. Blissful peace after the turmoil of not ten minutes before hand. The razor fell to the floor as he bit his lip tiredly and stared at the slow growing puddle on the floor. The blood flow slowed, just barely pulsing out with his heartbeat. Looking around reality set itself in place and the slight whooshing in his ears abated just enough for him to hear persistent knocking at the door.

Wait.

Scrambling in a half panic Remus yanked his sleeve back down, letting out a hiss before shoving a blanket to the floor and stumbling over to the door, nearly getting a fist to his face when he got it open.

Logan's startled face quickly knitted into concern as he glanced Remus over, pursing his lips in thought.

"What is it Nerdy Wolverine." His tone was flat but he couldn't bring himself to care.

"I overheard your argument, I thought it would be alright to assume you may need some level of...comfort."

Remus laughed tiredly. "Did Ro not open his door?"

Logan had the decency to look confused. "I don't know, I didn't check."

"You didn't....check on Roman? You came for me first?" It had to be a trick, some idiotic set up Patton had created. Check on the evil twin first to make sure he isnt wrecking havoc then check the better one to be sure he's okay. "Get out."

He slammed the door unceremoniously in the logical sides face, leaning against it heavily.

"Remus." His voice came through muffled. "I assure you I mean well. Roman can be...a lot. I simply wish to make sure everything is alright."

Remus didn't answer.

"Remus I will be frank," and Remus could barely make out the added 'though my name is Logan' mumbled as an afterthought. "I smelled the blood. Either you tell me why or I will come in and figure it out myself."

Swallowing Remus called out weakly. "It was an experiment Google Dex, it's fine."

"The fact that there was not one disturbing punchline in that sentence says otherwise."

"You can't come in."

"I could."

"I might hurt you."

"You won't."

"I'm dangerous."

"You're not."

"You don't know that."

"I do."

"I ruin everything."

"You aren't ruining anything."

"You've said that before. To Virgil"

"Yes. But saying it before to a different person doesn't make the statement any less true."

Remus gripped at his still bleeding arm, knocking his head against the door softly before rocking himself to his feet and stepping back. "Fine."

The door opened and Logan immediately swept the room before settling on first the tipped drawers, then the blanket still heaped on the floor and finally settling on Remus himself. He zeroed in on the arm he was still holding, prompting the darker side to drop it immediately even though it was too late. Silently Logan held out his hand and looked imploringly at Remus, starting him to comply.

"I know. And it's alright Remus it truly is. I just want to help."

Confused but intrigued Rrmus let his hands be taken and tugged to the bed, giving a half hearted eye brow wiggled that earned a small smirk from Logan before he snapped up a first aid kit. He carefully rolled up the sleeve, not even flinching as the mess was revealed to him. Five babywipes and a roll of gauze later his arm was bandaged neatly, causing him to look questioningly at the other.

"How are you so calm about this? You don't"

"No. But I know basic first aid." Logan sat back and looked up at him. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Remus looked up and away, tugging his sleeve back down and wincing at the dull ache the action caused. "I made Roman mad because I was being stupid-"

"Falsehood. Try again."

Snapping his head back he opened and shut his mouth before blurting out another excuse. "Roman yelled because I was being impulsive-"

"Nope. Again."

"I was-"

"Remus." Logans tone effectively shutting him up he couldn't help but squirm in confusion. "You didn't do anything. Maybe you could have discussed the....creative take you were going with with your design, but you had split the batch had you not? Roman should have stayed out of what you were doing with yours."

"You were watching?"

"I wanted to make sure no one got hurt. You two tend to become physical and I was there to expel any conflict should it turn violent. I was not however, prepared for a one sided screaming match. Roman has been stressed and while that isn't an excuse it isn't a new occurrence. Why was this-" Logan gestured to his arm. "Done as a stress response? You've argued before haven't you?"

Remus twisted his fingers together. "My head gets loud. And bad. Sometimes I'm afraid I'll make Thomas hurt something, so I hurt instead to calm it for a while."

Logan nodded. "That's perfectly understandable."

"It is?"

"Unhealthy. But yes, understandable. I will ask that you try finding a less destructive way to calm these thoughts. You may think this is helping Thomas but I assure you he'd much rather work with you in a healthy way than you destroying yourself in the background."

Slowly, Remus blinked down at him. "What?"

"I said-"

"I know what you said I just...why do you care?"

Logan stood. "Why wouldn't I? You are an integral part of who we are and as unconventional as you may be at times, you are still apart of the family. I care a great deal."

He said this flippantly, as if it was obvious, completely oblivious to the way it took Remus' breath and heart and soul and made him want to projectile vomit it onto the floor in front of the other man's feet.

"You really care?" Remus blurts out quietly.

"Of course." Logams reply is simple, logical. Clipped but with an undertone that was unmistakably kind even with the impassivity he was attempting to pull off. He sucked in a breath as a hand was extended to him, looking up with a raised eyebrow.

"I thought you might like company, and it might be a good idea to not be in this room right now. Staying in a place of hurt often makes you want to continue the hurt and I'd rather it cease for today."

Hesitantly Remus took the offered hand and followed Logan out the door and into another room lined with books and posters and odd sciencey bits and baubles. He immediately gravitated towards the bookshelf after getting a nod of consent from the owner, plopping down and curling to the side to read the spines. Feeling a nudge he turned and was met with a plate with a few of his cookie creations placed neatly on it.

"Some weren't knocked down and were salvageable. The chip placement makes for a very symmetrical taste experience that I quite enjoy." Remus looked on in amazement as Logan prattled on, taking a cookie for himself and watching Logan take two before sitting down at his desk to eat and work. Grinning to himself he stuffed the rest of the treats in his mouth and bent at a different angle to read book titles again, sharing the silence with the other side contentedly.

He still felt bad and useless and a million other things at once that crawled beneath his skin and raged against his nerves. He looked over at Logan happily munching away at the crude cookie making him smile wider.

He still felt shitty but maybe there were things he didnt ruin after all.

This work and others is available on AO3!

Please do not tag duke don't look.

#sanders sides #thomas sanders #self harm #tw self harm #tw dissociation #unsympathetic roman #logan sanders #remus sanders #ts intrusive thoughts

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dlwritings · 4 years

Text

Got Your Six | Tom Holland | pt 7

series masterlist found here

general masterlist found here

pairing - mob!Tom x reader word count - 4,430 warnings - cocaine usage, swearing, drinking

summary - Harrison crosses a line, and (Y/N) and Tom take a stab at friendship.

(previous) (next)

(Y/N) and Tom got back to the house, and Tom left her alone. He knew he probably should’ve gone down to the gym, but he went to his room instead. He needed to do something. Hit something. Fucking do anything. Do anything to get his mind off the blood that was rushing to his cock when he watched (Y/N) use that gun.

It was the hottest thing he had ever seen in his life. Who would’ve thought a girl with a pistol would be such a turn on for him?

But he refused to jack off to the thought of her. Not again. Not when she was in his house, and not when they were trying to actually get along.

Tom paced around his room, tugging his fingers through his hair in frustration. “Fuck!” he almost shouted, clenching his fists and digging his nails into his palms. He knew what he wanted to do. The one thing that always, without fail, got his mind off the things he didn’t want to think about.

Tom went into his bathroom and dug through the top drawer. Pushed in the back was his stash of cocaine. He grabbed his wallet out of his pocket and got out his debit card, then dumped a little bit of the powder onto the counter. With the card, he made it into two lines, but before he could actually snort the powder-

Tom stared at himself in the mirror, gripped the counter in his hands, and clenched his jaw. He could practically hear Harrison in the back of his head, reminding him of all the reasons he should kick the habit. And deep down, he knew he was right. But life was hard and his job put him under a lot of stress, and with the girls in the house, he was way more on edge than usual, now having to keep an eye on two other people who weren’t even -technically- his responsibility. And now these feelings? He couldn’t have those.

“Fuck it.”

Tom went upstairs as soon as we got home, so I just went into the living room. April and Harrison were there, flicking through titles on Netflix. “Hey,” I said, smiling at them. “Can I join you?”

“‘Course,” April said with a smile. “We’re trying to find a movie.”

“Gotcha,” I said. I plopped on one of the recliners and tucked my feet up under me. While they scrolled through the movies, I was thinking about the time I had spent with Tom. I actually had so much fun with him. We were laughing and talking, and he was nice. Maybe our bickering had all just been stupid and pointless. Maybe this truce was a good idea.

I couldn’t help but wonder if one of the reasons his personality had shifted was because of what happened to me when I went out. It was the first time I had seen him treat me with any emotion except anger and annoyance. He cared. I could tell the minute I woke up in the morning and saw him with the others in the kitchen. I wish I had a clearer picture of what happened the night before. Why did Tom come into my room that night in the first place? Why did he care about where I was or what I was doing? Was it guilt? Guilt that I was in this situation? An obligation he had to fulfill to Harrison? Or did he actually care?

“Hey, Harrison?” I asked. He and April looked at me. They had been bickering between two movies: Get Smart and Waterboy.

“What’s up?” Harrison said.

“This is probably a dumb question,” I said, furrowing my eyebrows and thinking about how to phrase what I wanted to say. “Tom’s kind of a closed book, yeah?”

Harrison shrugged. “I guess.”

“So, when we first met and he was -you know- a dick, was that just-” I hesitated. “-is that just normal Tom?” When Harrison hesitated, I realized I didn’t want to know the answer. “Okay,” I said, shaking my head. “Forget it. I’m not even making any sense.”

“No, no, I get it,” Harrison said. “He’s, Tom’s kind of complicated.”

“I guess I just don’t get what changed,” I said.

“What do you mean?” April asked.

“I mean, he hated me, right?” I said. “He hated me, and then all of a sudden, I got drugged, and he actually seemed to care. So does he hate me or not?”

“Tom’s not that black and white,” Harrison said. “There’s a lot about him that you don’t know. He’s got triggers, just like everyone else. I think what happened to you triggered some stuff for him. Made him rethink what a dick he was being.”

“What did it trigger?” I asked.

“(Y/N),” April said with a slightly warning tone. “You probably shouldn’t pry.”

“Harrison doesn’t have to tell me if he doesn’t want to,” I said.

“I mean, it’s really not my story to tell,” Harrison said, rubbing the back of his neck, “but, if we’re being honest here, I’ve been trying to get him to talk to people about it for a long time now, but I know he’s not going to tell you, and I think he should.”

“Harrison-”

“It might ease the tension if you understand him a little more,” Harrison said, ignoring April. “And maybe it’ll help you know what areas of conversation you should avoid.”

“Exactly,” I agreed.

“Part of understanding him,” Harrison continued, “is understanding where he comes from and what’s happened in his past. Whether he knows it or not, it’s good for people to know that.” Before April or I could say anything, Harrison breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth. “Tom’s mum was drugged by another family when his dad was boss.”

My lips parted as I stared at Harrison. I didn’t even look at April to see her reaction. “What?” I breathed out.

Harrison sighed again. “She had gone out with some friends, and some members of another family drugged her drink. Obviously she didn’t know, so she drank it, and her friends weren’t watching, and she went off with one of the men. And he took her, and-”

“That’s enough!”

The three of us jumped when Tom came into the room. He looked angrier than I had ever seen him before. It wasn’t the same kind of anger that came with us bitching back and forth at each other. This was real, pure anger that came from somewhere deep inside him. “I told you,” Tom said, his fists clenched at his sides, “to never tell that story.”

Harrison stood up from the couch. “They should know why you’re taking this so-”

“There’s nothing they need to know!” Tom shouted. He walked up to Harrison and shoved him against the wall. Harrison held his hands up in defense, and I held April’s arm to stop her from standing up and approaching them as soon as Tom reached behind him and pulled out his gun, pressing it to Harrison’s temple. I watched Tom’s hand, noticing that he never turned off the safety, and his finger was still outside of the trigger. The observation put me slightly at ease. He wasn’t going to shoot. “Listen to me, Harrison,” Tom growled, “I’ll protect them. I’ll teach them how to protect themselves, but I will not let them into my fucking life. And if you ever so much as mention my mother ever again, I will put a bullet in your skull.” Harrison was quiet for a moment, and his eyebrows furrowed like he just realized something.

“Are you high?” he asked. I parted my lips slightly and took a deep breath as I watched the situation unfold.

“Don’t fucking change the subject!” Tom shouted, slamming Harrison’s body against the wall again.

“Tom-”

“Do you fucking understand me, Harrison?” he spat. “I don’t care about our friendship or who you are in this family. If you ever, ever speak about her, I will end you. You got that? Fuck the commandments. I don’t care. I will end you without question.” He paused, breathing heavily and licking his lips. “Do you understand me?” Harrison took a deep breath in and out through his nose, licking his teeth behind his closed mouth.

“I understand-” He paused for a beat. “-boss.” Tom pushed Harrison back against the wall, shoved his gun in the back of his pants again, and turned to look at April and I. His eyes were furious and slightly red. He was breathing heavily, and his chest was heaving. Without another word, he walked over to the bar across the room. We all watched as he went into the cupboards to search for liquor. He got down whiskey and a glass and poured himself some. Harrison sighed and walked over to him. I couldn’t help but follow and watch everything unfold. April walked hesitantly behind me.

“Tom,” Harrison said, “why don’t you go take a breather?”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Tom snapped, downing the whiskey he had poured. He cringed for a moment before pouring himself some more.

“Mate, you don’t need this,” Harrison said, trying to take the alcohol from Tom’s hand. “You’re already high as shit, you don’t need-”

“Don’t tell me what I need!” Tom shouted, taking the whiskey glass and throwing it at the wall. I winced as it shattered. “You don’t fucking know what I need!”

“Tom, I’m just trying to help.”

“I didn’t ask for your help!”

“Just give me the-”

As Harrison reached for the bottle again, Tom balled his hand into a fist and punched him across the face. Harrison staggered backward, and April rushed to his side. “I’m fine,” Harrison said to her, holding his hand up to stop her from touching him. I expected Harrison to get back at Tom, but he didn’t. Tom’s chest was heaving again, and his hands were still in fists.

Maybe I had imagined it, but when Tom looked at me, I thought I saw a flicker of sadness in his eyes. Sadness or, or guilt or something. Something vulnerable. It gave me this sliver of hope that maybe there was something I could do.

So, even though I had no plan, when Tom turned back to the liquor cabinet, I walked up to him and laid my hand on his arm. He winced and looked at me. His jaw was clenched, and his nostrils flared. “What the fuck do you want?” he asked. I wasn’t oblivious to the crack in his voice. “I’m not going to tell you about my fucking life, so if that’s what you want-”

“I don’t want that,” I said with a shake of my head.

“Then what?” he snapped.

I hesitated and glanced at April and Harrison who were watching me intently. “I want to go for a walk,” I said.

“So go for a walk,” Tom snapped.

“Can’t go anywhere alone,” I said with a shrug. Yeah. I didn’t have a plan. I just felt obligated to do something since I was the one in the first place who had pried like I had and had basically started the whole thing. After a bit of contemplating, Tom gave me a short nod and headed out the back slider door. I spared one last look at Harrison and April before following him.

Tom and I walked outside and started down the sidewalk in the same direction as where the building with the shooting range was. I put my hands in the back pocket of my jeans, and Tom shoved his in his hoodie pocket. We were both quiet as we walked, nothing but the sound of gravel crunching beneath our feet. I didn’t know what to do. I was half wishing I hadn’t put myself in this situation, but I couldn’t help it. It was my fault that Harrison had been punched. I felt like I needed to do something about it.

“I shouldn’t have asked Harrison about your life,” I told Tom. “It was out of line.” Tom looked up at me, and I noticed the edges of his eyes were still red.

“You asked him?” Tom said. I nodded and stared down at the ground again.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” I said. “I just, I guess I was confused. I was hoping he could clear things up.”

“Clear what things up?” Tom asked. I licked my lips and kicked a stone we came across on the path. I decided that honesty was better than lying to him. If we were going to be friends -or at least not enemies- then I wasn’t going to hide anything.

“You were such an asshole to me,” I said. “From the moment I met you, you were rude and arrogant and, and just a total dick.”

“You weren’t exactly America’s sweetheart,” he said.

“No, you’re right,” I said, “but you can’t deny that you didn’t even give me a chance.”

“I could say the same about you.”

We were both quiet again, and I took a moment to recollect my thoughts. If we kept talking this way, I’d probably end up yelling, which was the last thing I wanted. “So we’re both at fault,” I said. “But what changed? All of a sudden, after you brought me home that night, you wanted the truce?” I shook my head. “It didn’t make sense. You still have no obligation to help me, but you are. Why? I figured there had to be a real, or some sort of real reason, so I asked Harrison.” Tom was quiet then. I wanted to push him to talk, but I knew better. He was clearly high and moody, and I didn’t want to set him off.

“I’m not going to suddenly give you a rundown of my life,” Tom said, still not looking at me. His eyes were trained on his feet. “I’m not going to tell you about my mum or any of that shit. So let’s just say I had a change of heart and leave it at that.” I scoffed, and Tom let puff of air pass his lips. “I don’t like when innocent people are hurt because of me.”

“So why are you doing this?” I asked. “Why are you in this whole business?”

“I didn’t ask for it,” he said, his eyes narrowing. “What, you think there’s an interview to be a mob boss?”

“I don’t know how this works, Tom,” I said. “It’s not exactly common knowledge.”

Tom sighed and sat down abruptly on the grass beside the sidewalk. I furrowed my eyebrows at him, and he just motioned his hand to the ground.

“Sit down,” he said. I did. He laid down on his back and rested his hands on his stomach.

“What’re you doing?” I asked.

“Lay down,” he said. I did, mirroring his position. I didn’t know why I never questioned him when he told me to do something. I figured it was easier than questioning everything. That got exhausting. “I don’t know why-” Tom paused and cleared his throat. He was feeling awkward, I could tell. “-but I have this weird thing with you, alright? I don’t want you to get hurt in this whole thing, so I don’t like how, how close you’re getting to me. To us or, or this or whatever. Because you’re gonna get hurt, and it’s not fair. None of this is fair. This whole fucking thing is bullshit, and I didn’t want you to get in the middle of it.”

I was quiet for what was probably too long. I had no idea what to say. My cheek was against the grass as I looked at him, and he eventually looked at me as well. I looked up at the sky as soon as we made eye contact. “So you’ve been an ass to me to push me away?” I said.

“I guess,” Tom said with a shrug. “I don’t know.”

“That’s a little unfair,” I said.

“It worked though, yeah?” he said. I could hear the grin in his voice, and when I looked at him it was only confirmed.

“You’re insane,” I said, shaking my head. Tom just chuckled. “Are you going to remember this conversation tomorrow?”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“Well, you’re high, right?” I said. “Do you forget things when you’re high like you do when you’re drunk?”

“I’m not that high,” he mumbled.

“Do you get high a lot?” I asked. Again, Tom just shrugged. “Is it cocaine?”

“You ask a lot of questions,” Tom said. He turned to look at me again and sighed. “Yes. Fine. It’s cocaine. And yes, I’m gonna remember this conversation.” I turned to look at him, squinting against the sunlight. “Don’t worry.”

We both stared back up at the sky. It was nice out, a few clouds that were perfect for cloud watching. My mind though couldn’t focus on anything except our conversation. “You’re quite the character, Tom,” I said. “I don’t know how we’re ever gonna be friends.”

“You want to be friends?” he asked.

I shrugged. “We’re gonna be living together, right? I’m already closer to you than you wanted me to be. And now you’re confessing that you actually like me? I feel like we might as well try and be friends.”

“Might as well,” he repeated sarcastically. I laughed and looked at him again. “What’s the first step?” he asked.

“Hm?”

“To us becoming friends,” he clarified. “What’s the first step?” I pursed my lips and hesitated.

“I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe you should open up a bit.”

“About what?”

“About you? I don’t know anything about you except that you’re a mob boss who doesn’t know how to handle your feelings.”

“I resent that.”

“Well-” I shrugged. “-tell me something I should know.” Tom propped himself up on his elbows and looked at me with raised eyebrows. “Look, you opened this door,” I said. “You’ve opened it a teeny tiny crack, and now you can’t shut it. Now you’ve just gotta open it all the way. You can’t tell me why you were an ass to me and expect me to allow you to continue to be an ass to me. This is no longer a temporary truce. This is it. We’re going to be friends now.”

“What a great way to start a friendship,” he said with a grin. “Forcing it together.”

“Again, this is your fault.”

“Alright,” he said, laying back down and putting his hands behind his head. “Ask me a question.”

“How old are you?”

He turned to look at me quizzically. “That’s it?”

“We’re starting off small.”

“Fair enough,” he said. “I’m 23.”

“Mm, I’m 22,” I said. “Your turn.”

“I get to ask questions, too?”

“It’s only fair.”

Tom thought for a moment. “Do you go to university?”

“I graduated in May,” I said.

“What were you studying?”

I scoffed. “Journalism.”

“Why do you say it like that?”

“Because what am I going to do with that degree?”

“Become a journalist?”

“It’s a fucking hard business to get into,” I said. “Why do you think I’m still working at the bakery?” Tom pressed his lips into a tight line and nodded. “My turn,” I said, moving on from the awkwardness. “How’d you meet Harrison?”

“School in London,” he said. “We were 16. What about you? You have a lot of friends?”

I shrugged. “Not really, I guess, but I don’t mind. I’ve always got April. And my cousins and I are pretty close. I still text my friends from college, but they don’t live in the area so I don’t see them at all. You have many friends besides Harrison?”

He laughed, “There’s not a lot of room in this business for friends. Or anything else.”

“Right,” I said. “That’s why we’re here.”

“Do you have a boyfriend?” he asked. I grinned and turned my head to look at him.

“Shooting your shot?” I asked.

Tom laughed again, “In your dreams, darling.”

“More like my nightmares,” I said back. “No. I don’t have a boyfriend. I think I’m too-” I shrugged. “-independent.”

“No,” Tom said, his eyes growing wide with sarcasm. “You? Independent? I can’t believe it.” I laughed and gave his arm a little shove. We were both still laying on the grass, and I noticed the clouds had gotten a little darker.

“Do you know what time it is?” I asked.

“Is that one of your questions?” he asked.

“Shut up,” I laughed. He chuckled and looked at his watch. “Half four.”

“You think it’s gonna rain?” I asked. He looked up at the sky as well, and just as he opened his mouth, a raindrop hit my forehead.

“I’d say yes,” he said. It seemed to all happen so suddenly. Without any rumbles of thunder or cracks of lightning, rain started to pour.

“Shit!” I said, standing up from the grass. Tom laughed and stood up as well. “C’mon!” We both started jogging back towards the house, but the rain was still soaking our clothes. I thanked the Lord that my shirt was black and not white, because all it was doing was sticking to my skin. Tom and I were both laughing as we made our way to the house. I was laughing so hard that I hadn’t realized my shoe was untied. Before I knew it, I had tumbled to the ground. I tried to catch myself, but I ended up scraping my arm and hitting my chin against the pavement.

“Shit, (Y/N),” Tom stopped running and knelt beside me. “Are you okay?”

“Fuck,” I muttered. The pain in my arm was ignorable. It was my face that really hurt. When I hit my chin, I bit my lip. I hadn’t bitten through it, but I could definitely taste blood. I was more annoyed than anything else. Yes, it hurt, but how fucking dumb did I have to be to trip over a shoelace?

“You’re bleeding pretty bad,” Tom said. He lifted my arm and looked at it. The rain was making the blood run down my arm. “Let me help you.” I nodded, and he helped me stand up. My hand stayed glued to my lip as I watched him kneel and tie my shoe for me.

“Thanks,” I said, having to raise my voice a bit because of the rain.

He nodded. “Let’s go.” I took off in a jog again towards the house, Tom right by my side. By the time we got inside, I was shivering, and my lip was throbbing. “Come on,” Tom said, shaking out his hair. “I can get that cleaned up.” I nodded and followed him up the stairs of the house. I realized then that I hadn’t been upstairs at all since we had been there. Not that I had a reason to.

Tom’s room was insane. It was the epitome of a master suite. There was a king bed, a small sectional, a minibar, a TV, and even a balcony with a daybed. Tom led me to the bathroom (which was bigger than my bedroom at home) and motioned for me to sit down on the countertop. I did, and Tom started running a washcloth under the faucet. He stood in front of me and held the back of my head with one hand and gently started wiping away the blood with the other. I was getting a weird deja vu moment, and Tom must’ve been able to see it on my face.

“What?” he asked.

“Have we done this before?” I asked. Tom smiled softly and continued cleaning up the blood.

“Not really,” he said. I raised my eyebrows, urging him to continue. “I took your make-up off last night.” He gently ran his thumb over my lip. If I hadn’t been looking at him, I wouldn’t have even realized he had done it. His touch was so soft, so gentle. My lips were sure they had felt that before.

Tom pulled away from me and rinsed out the washcloth. After he turned off the faucet, he crouched down and opened a minifridge I hadn’t seen before. “You keep a minifridge in the bathroom?” I asked. Tom pulled out an icepack and handed it to me.

“It’s just a freezer,” he said. “I keep ice in there.”

“For stuff like this?”

“For stuff like this,” Tom repeated with a nod. I pressed the pack to my lip and winced. Tom smiled. “Why don’t we wrap it in a towel?” I nodded and handed Tom the icepack back. He wrapped it in a dry towel and handed it back to me. It was easier on my lip, so I mouthed a thank you. He went into one of his cupboards and pulled out some neosporin and a bandage wrap. He took the washcloth out of the sink and gently cleaned my arm. I winced a bit, and Tom whispered an apology. Once it was clean, he put some neosporin on it and picked up the bandage. “This seems a little extreme,” he said as he unraveled it, “but we don’t have a plaster that’ll cover it.”

“A plaster?”

“What do you call them?” he asked.

“Call what?”

“The thing you put over a cut.”

“A bandaid?”

“Sure,” Tom said. “A bandaid. We don’t have a bandaid big enough.”

“You call it a plaster?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s not what a plaster is.”

“What do you consider a plaster?”

“It’s like cement for construction.”

“Hm,” he hummed. He started wrapping my arm with furrowed eyebrows. “English is strange.” I giggled as he grinned and taped the bandage closed.

“Thanks, doctor,” I said playfully. He gave me a short nod and smiled. “We’ll have to continue our question session another time. I need to get out of these wet clothes and make a hot drink.”

“I was gonna go make some tea,” he said. “Would you like some?”

“Sure,” I said. “Thanks.” I jumped off the counter and moved the ice pack away from my face, pursing my lips a bit to unnumb them. Tom looked down at my lips and then licked his own before making eye contact with me again. I blushed and put the icepack back on my lips. “”I’ll meet you downstairs?” Tom nodded, so I left him alone in the bathroom.

I convinced myself that the tingling of my lips was from the cut and not the idea of Tom’s pressed up against them.

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

TAGLIST

#tom holland #tom holland imagine #tom holland x reader #tom holland fluff #tom holland angst #tom holland smut #smut #marvel #mob!tom #mob!tom holland #got your six

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chickensarentcheap · 4 years

Text

I Found -Chapter 19

Warnings: smut

Tagging: @alievans007 @hemmyworthy @beheworthy @c-a-v-a-l-r-y

His hands still. Gaze never wavering. Heart thundering in his chest, throat contracting and releasing, brain trying to register the words that had just tumbled from her mouth. She looks...scared. As if there's real threat to be found in what she just said and the new reality that was now surrounding them. In her mind, the threat that occurred outside of the home was less terrifying than his reaction. Or the immediate lack thereof. Silence hangs over the room. Tense. Uncomfortable. A dense blanket thrown over them; suffocating and heavy. Two weeks ago, the announcement would have been met with excitement. His desire to have another baby so quickly after their first fulfilled even sooner than either of them expected. Now the words just linger the air, yet pack enough power to nearly knock him on his ass.

She's watching. Waiting. Anticipating. Tears of worry filling her eyes. Top teeth digging into her bottom lip.

“Tyler...” her voice is barely above a whisper, and when she reaches down to place a hand over his, he snaps out of it.

Knocking her hand away, he returns to the task at hand; his touch rougher than before. Once surprisingly tender fingers now applying unneeded pressure to the cuts and gashes that adorn her legs. Mouth set in a grim line, breathing rapid, methodically applying the peroxide and then pressing it into the skin, placing bandages on the deeper wounds.

“Tyler...” she tries again, attempting to lay a hand on the side of his face, alone to have him use his elbow to push her away once more. “Please say something. Anything.”

“Some of these are pretty deep,” his voice is low and steady. Rumbling deep within his chest. And she winces when he presses just a little too hard on a particularly sensitive spot. “Hopefully we've done enough to avoid infection, yeah? Last thing we need is a trip to the doctor. Let me see your hands...”

She obliges, laying them on her thighs, palms up.

“What a stupid fucking mess,” he grumbles, and he's unsure if he means the injuries she's sporting, her hair brained idea to get out of the house alone, or the bomb she'd just dropped on him.

“I didn't think it possible so soon,” she says, as he tends to the abrasions on her hands. “She's only two months old. I've never heard of anyone having kids that close together. But it makes sense if you think about it. We haven't exactly been one hundred percent careful.”

He sighs. Dumps a little too much peroxide onto her hand and then mutters profanities as it drips onto her shorts and the carpet below.

“I have been sick a lot,” she continues, nervously rambling. “I didn't think much of it because this time I'm sick throughout the entire day. Not just in the mornings. And I have had headaches and trouble sleeping and I get dizzy from time to time, but I thought it was just all the stress from the past couple of weeks. And I know that my cycle has been screwed up and thrown off, but I've never actually skipped an entire one. This one is an entire week and a half late.”

“Turn your hands over,” he instructs, and she does as told. Running a dampened cotton ball along each finer and their respective knuckles. “You were lucky,” he says. “Things could have been a lot worse.”

“Could you please say something?” she pleads.

“Am I not talking?” he retorts, the harshness in his voice surprising even him.

“Not about this. I know how you feel about this. You think I was a dumb ass. That I was irresponsible. Careless. Foolish. You're pissed off that I put Ovi and Amelia in danger.”

He nods in agreement.

“But I need you to say something about the other...thing.”

“I don't know what you want me to say,” he admits, and reaches for the bottle of peroxide, applying and tightening the cap.

“Anything at this point in time. Or even some kind of reaction, at least. I need to know what you're thinking. What you're feeling. Because I don't like this. This silence. The way you get when you hear something you don't like.”

“It's not that I don't like it. And under different circumstances I'd be over the fucking moon. But right now...” he inhales sharply, then lets the breath release slowly as he finally composes himself. Is he shocked? Angry? Disappointed? Worried? Maybe a mix of all of those emotions? “...this is definitely not a good time for this.”

Was it ever as far as they were concerned? What was with the habit of introducing life altering decisions at the wrong possible times? It was as if bullshit was profoundly attracted to them. Reminding them just how fucked the start of their lives together actually was. Fate deciding that nothing could ever just be simple.

***

“You were the one that wanted another baby this soon,” she reminds him. “A week and a half ago you were talking about wanting them really close together. What's changed?”

“Everything. Everything's changed. Look where we are,” he can't control the anger that seeps from his voice. The frustration. “We can't even go home. We don't even have a home anymore. We have no idea where are going after this. All we have is our passports and whatever clothes we packed. We have nothing.”

“We have each other. We have our daughter. And now Ovi.”

“Where the hell are we going to go? We don't even have anything set up. So we just get on a plane and see where we end up? Hope we like it? Just say 'fuck it' and hope for the best?”

“I already told you that I was fine with Colorado.”

“And until we find a place there? We live in shitty hotels, eating shitty food. I have to go out and find a job. Somewhere that doesn't expect a resume. How do you think that would look on paper? Hired killer in the prior experience section? Or is that more a life skill?”

“That isn't the only thing you do,” she reminds him “It never was.”

“It's a big part of it. I kill people. Sometimes in the worst ways possible. And sometimes I do good. Sometimes I rescue people. That should find me a lot of jobs, yeah? When people see mercenary under previous employment?”

“There's so many things you can do,” she reasons. “So many things you'd be good at. You said it yourself that you could try construction. You could get into factory work even. Or roofing. Masonry. You've always been really good with your hands.”

“Sure. When I'm beating the hell out of someone or strangling the shit out of them. Not the experience most people are looking for, love.”

“There will be something,” she assures him. “You're smart. Crazy strong. Healthy for the most part. There's a lot you can do. And as far as shitty motels and shitty food, at least we'll have a roof over our head and food in our stomachs.”

“That's not the life I want for the daughter we already have, not to mention another kid. This is a bad time. Probably the worst possible time. With this job and the bullshit that comes with it and not knowing where the hell we are going to end up. And now have Ovi we're taking along and...”

“Ovi is the least of our worries. He's a teenager that can take care of himself. Please tell me you're not upset,” her voice trembling, tears threatening once again. “Please tell me that you're just shocked and you're not legitimately upset.”

“Shocked is one word for it, I suppose.”

“Because if it is true, if I am, it's not like you'd want to do anything about it right? Like you wouldn't want to get rid of it or...”

“What?” he asks incredulously “No. Never. I'd never think anything like that. You should know me better than by now. I'm surprised. I never thought it could happen this soon. And for the time it's happening at,” he shakes head, runs the palms of his hands along his thighs, knees popping and cracking as he stands up. “It's not the thought of having another baby that I'm upset about. And I'm not even upset. I'm...” he chooses his words carefully, wishing to avoid any further conflict between them. “...worried. I'm worried about having a baby in the midst all of this shit. About not even knowing where the hell we're going after this. With a teenager and another baby in tow. Without even so as much as proper medical care. If we don't have a proper place to live...”

“We'll manage,” she says. “We always do. Even when all the cards are stacked against us, we always manage to pull it together and make things work,” she takes his hands in hers, turning the palms up towards her; eyes never looking away from his own, fingertips gliding along each of his digits, over callouses on his palms, and down onto the insides of his wrists. “We always get through things. Always.”

Nodding in agreement, he attempts a reassuring smile. If there was one thing that they were exceptionally good at...aside from sex...it was their ability to work together and overcome seemingly insurmountable odds. Events that would make most couples and relationships crack under tremendous pressure. Instead of running when things got tough, they banded together. Worked even harder to make things work.

“I'm sorry,” her voice bears a hint of remorse. Maybe even some guilt. “I know this isn't the way you thought your life would turn out. The way you thought things would go for you. If someone had have told you a year ago that you'd be a husband and a father...”

“Esme...love...listen to me...” he is on his knees once again, ignoring that stabbing, burning pain that accompanies getting into such a simple position. “...listen to me...” he takes one of her hands in both of his, raising it to lips and pressing a tender kiss to the inside of her wrist. “...a year ago, I was thinking of saying 'fuck it' and putting a gun in my mouth. I was so sick and tired of all the bullshit. All the pain I was in, all the crap going on inside my head. And then you showed up completely out of blue at my place and changed everything. I don't regret what happened. Sometimes I wonder if things would have been easier if they hadn't have happened the way they did. I mean, how did G not mention that his wife had an insanely hot, single cousin?”

She gives a little snort.

“I so would have hooked up with at their wedding. That's all I'm saying. You wouldn't even have had to get me that drunk.”

A laugh this time. Short. But it's there at least.

“You came into my life when I needed someone the most. And I didn't even realize that I did. Just one day you were there and everything changed. For some reason it became easier to breathe again. You know, you say all the time that I came along and rescued you, but it was really you that rescued me.”

She gives a small, sharp intake of breath, taking back by the honesty in his confession. Tyler Rake was a man of very few words, but often the ones he did say came with an overwhelming impact. She takes his face in her hands, his beard scratching her palms as she leans forward to kiss him.

He can taste the salt of her tears on his lips, and when he pulls away they are flowing freely down her face; marking clear paths through the mud and grime that tarnishes her skin. Eyes closing as her hands slip around to the back of his head, nails lightly digging into his scalp as she presses a kiss to the bridge of tip of his nose, then the bridge, followed by under each eye and then his brow. A gesture so pure and tender that his own tears threaten and a lump of emotion lodges square in his throat. Head falling forward when her palms move to his face once more. Enjoying the way her nails scrape through his beard and the the pads of her fingers as they trail over his lips.

“Are you trying to seduce me?” he inquires, and he can feel her smile against his lips as she kisses him.

“I don't know. Is it working?”

“Yeah...it's working...” he confirms with a chuckle, opening his eyes and turning his face into her hand, pressing his lips against the bruised palm. “....we should get you cleaned up,” he suggests. “Feeling better?”

She nods. “I'm sorry. For sneaking out like that. And for taking Amelia and Ovi with me.”

“You scared the shit out of me. When you walked in and all I saw was blood...it scared the ever loving shit right out of me. This isn't like you. Doing things like that. You of all people know better. You're usually smarter than this.”

“Maybe it's the hormones,” she suggests, dragging her fingertips along the sides of his throat.

“We don't know for sure that there's a baby in there. It could have just been you being doing something stupid.”

“You must be rubbing off on me. You've been suggesting a lot of stupid shit lately.”

“How do you know it's not you rubbing off on me?”

“Because...” she tugs playfully at his earlobes. “...everyone knows I'm the brains and you're the muscle.”

“More like Beauty and the Beast. I'll let you decide which one of us is the pretty one.”

“You actually happen to very pretty. Well maybe not pretty. Pretty isn't the right for someone like you. With all that swagger and broodiness. And the beard and the tattoos? Pretty doesn't accurately describe you. More like, devastatingly handsome. Sexy as fuck. Those fit better. I remember walking into your place and thinking damn, he's fine as hell.”

“I asked Nik if she'd brought you there because the two of you wanted a threesome,” he admits, and she swats him across the chest. “You were cute as hell with your ponytail and your little shorts and those freckles across your nose. Until you downed two glasses of scotch and went from cute to hot as fuck in the blink of an eye. I almost wanted to marry you right there and then.”

“I don't know what world you're living in, but marrying someone and wanting to bend them over the kitchen table and have your way with them are not the same thing,” she teases, and it's turn to kiss her before struggling to get into a stand. “That bad, huh?”

“That bad,” he confirms, not knowing where to turn his attention first: knee or shoulder. “Come on,” he says, and offers a hand. “Let's go.”

“Where?” she asks, her fingers curling around his.

“Clean you up. Maybe I'll even wash your back for you.”

“And other places too?” she inquires hopefully.

“Only if you ask nicely.”

She grins.

Who says romance is dead?

****

“I can't believe you actually talked me into this,” Tyler remarks ten minutes later, when he finds himself immersed in a bubble bath. The tub is unusually wide and long; large and deep enough to comfortably fit his six foot three frame. The water is as hot as the human body can possibly stand, and it brings almost instant relief to his throbbing muscles and joints. “I'm going to smell like fucking flowers for a week.”

“Well, to be specific, you're going to smell like lavender for a week,” his wife says, as she lounges between his splayed thighs, back pressed against his chest. “Lavender is supposed to be very good for relaxation and sleep,” she continues, as she scoops up a handful of suds and blows them the length of the tub. “You know...” she nestles her head back against shoulder “...I realize I said I'd be perfectly content living with you in that old shack of yours, but I could get used to having a tub like this.”

“A tiny thing like you would probably do laps in it,” he chides, pressing a kiss to the side of her neck and chuckling when she elbows him in the gut. “You realize you're freakishly short, don't you?”

“Excuse you! How do you know it's not you that's freakishly tall?” she counters, giggling when he gently bites down on her shoulder.

He combs his hand through her damp hair; fingers pushing through the knots. Slowly moving from her forehead all the way down through those thick, dark tresses, then pushing them over her shoulder and placing a kiss on her ear. Hands finding hers under the water, their fingers entwining.

He closes his eyes, resting his head back against the cool marble tiles, allowing the hot water and the scent lingering in the air to calm him. Filled with a sense of peace and relaxation that he hasn't felt in a long time, the pain going from a throbbing, burning sensation to a dull, manageable ache. And he is stuck in that hazy place between sleep and consciousness when he feels her move against him. Arching an eyebrow she releases one of his hands in favour of wrapping her fingers around his cock.

He grins. “Can I help you?”

“Actually, I was thinking more along the lines of how I can help you,” she confesses, that delicate hand expertly stroking him. Long and slow upwards movements that have him hard in no time. Lips pressed against her ear when he issues a low growl.

“You are so good at that,” he praises, as his eyes close and his head falls back once more. His hips jerking forward when her thumb brushes against the engorged head. She is good. Way too good, in fact. The best pair of hands he's ever had on him. Always able to bring him close to the edge in record time.

Sliding his hand between her legs, he presses his palm against her shaven mound and slips his middle finger inside of her. It's her turn to sigh; back of her head falling against his chest as her eyes flutter shut. His free hand moves to her left breast,cupping it gently, those callouses scraping against the hardened nipple before taking it between his thumb and forefinger and pinching lightly. Her noises are louder now; whimpering and moaning as his finger moves inside of her, his palm coming in direct contact with her clit.

Her hand tightens around his cock and the strokes become harder. More forceful. Hand moving from head to base, until his hips are moving on their own accord, a mixture of guttural moans and profanities tumbling from his lips. He adds a second finger; pushing the two as deep as they can go, using them to fuck her at a steady pace until her entire body tenses and she cries out.

Even in her orgasmic haze her hand continues to pleasure him. Rapid, sloppy jerks that have him coming as well; her name flowing from his mouth like a well rehearsed and favourite prayer.

They settle against one another. Their breathing ragged, their bodies still trembling as their hands relax and slip out of their respective places.

“Better?” she asks. “Relaxed yet?”

He grins. “I'm getting there.”

****

Their bodies are still damp as they make love in the middle of the ornate king sized bed. His hands planted on the mattress on either side of her head, supporting his weight on his outstretched arms as he moves inside of her. Long, smooth strokes that have her wrapping her legs around his waist and her feet digging into the small of his back. Her hands roam his body. Fingers exploring his muscular arms; over the veins in his wide forearms, and along his bulging biceps and strong, powerful triceps. Up to his shoulders and then down his back. Loving the way the muscles move under her hands. He is all smooth skin and powerful physique, and her nails skim down his spine and grab at his ass, attempting to pull him deeper.

He groans. Head falling forward, hair tumbling across his brow. She lifts her head to kiss him as her fingers scrap along his rib cage and her teeth lightly clamp down on his tongue.

“Jesus Christ...” he breathes, and a hand leaves the mattress in favour of sliding an arm behind her back, flipping them over.

His hands settling on her hips as she rides him. Slow and steady at first, allowing him to slip completely out before she sinks back down again. Repeating the movement several times as his fingers bite into her hips and he watches her; the flushed cheeks and closed eyes, the sheen of sweat on her body and her breasts bouncing with each movement. And with one hand still on her hip encouraging to move faster and harder, his other hand comes up to fondle her breasts. Twisting and pulling at the nipples until he feels those powerful inner walls beginning to tremble and contract around him. And he presses a finger to her clit, rubbing it in smooth, firm circles until she's crying out in ecstasy.

As she comes down from her high, she collapses forward onto his chest, and he seizes both hips and thrusts up into her until she comes a second time. More powerful than before, causing him to reach up to clamp a hand against her mouth to muffle the scream that escapes her. He grits his teeth and keeps his pace; until his stomach starts to flutter and he feels the pressure building in his balls and the small of his back. And as he comes he buries his face in her shoulder. Inaudible noises and words and slipping from his mouth.

He wraps his arms around her slender body. Holding her close as she buries her face in the hollow of his neck.

He's asleep in minutes.

****

She hasn't had the nightmare in months. For weeks after the job in Dhaka and Tyler's near death on the bridge, she'd been badgered by vivid recollections of the event. Scared to close her eyes and actually succumb to sleep in fear of the reliving the horror. They were shockingly vivid, as if she had been transported to the very moment...the very second...that it happened. As he gunned down the last of those standing in the way of a safe crossing and struggled to make his way towards them. Bleeding profusely from bullet wounds and grazes and embedded shards of glass. The right knee shattered; the ligaments and tendons torn and muscles strained and severed, having to drag his leg behind him over the last fifty meters. It had been so close yet so far, and she, Nik, and Ovi had been filled with a sense of hope. In awe of the comeback he had made. Hoping and praying, counting down those last feet that he had to go.

And then that single gunshot; the bullet puncturing the jugular vein and bringing him to stand still. Shock registering on his face, revolver dropping from his right hand, his left coming up in a vain effort to stem the stem the flow of blood.

It is always in slow motion; the last thirty seconds in which he collapses to the ground and drags himself across the cement and onto the sidewalk. Nik valiantly attempting to refrain Ovi from running to Tyler's aid and ordering Esme to stay where she was. It wasn't safe; the kid who'd shot Tyler had gotten away despite her last ditch efforts, and there was no telling where he was hiding. And then her and Ovi were running together, rushing to comfort the man that lay dying in a pool of his own blood on that littered and cracked sidewalk. Feeling the blood that seeps through her clothing as she kneels down beside him; tasting her own tears as on her lips as she holds his face in her hands and begs him not to give up. To hang on just a little while longer. Help was on the way; he just needed to hang on. She tells him that she loves him. That she tried to stop feeling the things she did, but it had been impossible. That he had made her promises and they talked about plans for their future; of getting to know one another better, of seeing where things would take them.

She's never reached the end of the dream. She has no idea of it ends the same as real life or if his death plays out. She is always awake by that point; crying out and bolting up right in bed, sweat coating her limbs and her stomach churning. Her brain struggling to orientate herself with her surroundings, heart hammering wildly in her chest. And when the fear settles and she realizes just where she was, she would sob: a mixture of terror and relief. For what she had seen and an ending that could have been much, much worse.

Tonight is different; she can hear Tyler's voice and feel the strong, warm body beside her. His hands on her shoulders; gripping tightly and shaking her out of her near hysteria. Her first instinct is to fight; brain convincing her that there's a threat right beside her. And she grabs at his hair and directs punches to his chest and uses her knees in an attempt to push him away. But his size and strength are his advantage and he uses them, wrapping both arms around her torso to secure her arms to her sides and then effortlessly flipping her onto her stomach, Pinning her into the mattress.

“It's okay...” his voice is low, soothing. As is the heat of his body against hers. His arms loosen their grip and a hand comes up to rest on her head, lips against her ear as he strokes her hair. “...calm down...it's over...it was just a dream...” and he repeats that mantra until he finally feels her body relaxing under the weight of his own. Muscles releasing and heart rate settling. “...it was just a bad dream...” he says. “I'm here. I'm right here. Just listen to my voice.”

It takes several minutes for her to fully come down from the adrenaline high that had surged through her body. And he continues to hold her, assuring her that everything is fine. That he's here with her and not going anywhere. That he's alive and well and he loves her. More than he could possibly ever tell her.

Eventually he rolls over onto his side, a hand tangled in her hair as she turns to face him.

“You haven't had one of those in a long time,” he says, voice heavy with worry and sleep. “The bridge?”

She nods, lower lip trembling.

“Come here...” he pulls her into him; a hand on the back of her head as she settles her face in the hollow of his throat. Fingernails digging into his shoulders as she clings to them. “It's okay now. It was just a dream, love. Just a bad dream.”

“It's almost been a year,” she whimpers, her entire body shivering despite both his body heat and the humidity that hangs heavily in the air. “Two more days.”

“I know. It's probably why you had one. You're too busy thinking about it.”

“It's hard not to,” she reasons. “Don't you think about it? You're the one who went through it. How do you not think about it?”

“I try not to. You know I don't remember much after the kid shot me. You know how hazy things are. How I'm not sure if I am actually remembering things or if my brain is making them up and convincing me they're real.”

It is both a blessing and a curse. He can remember seeing her beside him. Feeling her hands; one covering his own that clutched at the wound in his neck, the other on the back of his head. He knows that she was begging him not to give up. Assuring him that help was on the way. That all he had to do was just hang on a little while longer. And that she loved him. That she didn't regret falling in love with him that soon.

After that...nothing. The next memory is of waking up in hospital room and being filled with immediate panic; ripping at the IV in his arm and attempting to tear out the breathing tube shoved down his throat. And she was by his side then as well, fighting to keep his hands from causing even more damage, attempting to calm him down in that soft, soothing voice.

He'd been relieved that that was the first voice he heard. The first face he'd laid eyes on. He had expected her to be gone. The nightmare of what happened and the need to get away from it driving her away from him. That hadn’t known each other that long, and maybe the bond that they’d formed and the intimacy they had shared -both during sex and in those quiet, reflective times afterwards- wasn’t as strong as he’d thought it was.

But she’d been there. Right by his side. Strong and stoic. Far braver than he could ever hope to be.

“I'm starting to think you're the lucky one,” she says. “That it’s better that you don't remember.”

“Did I say it back?”

“What?”

“You told me that you loved me. On the bridge. I remember hearing you say that. Did I say it back?”

“You couldn't say anything back. You were choking on your own blood.”

“But did you feel it?” he has no idea why he needs to know. But it feels important. That maybe being reminded of that moment will help clear up the clutter and the confusion in his brain.

“You looked at me. When I said it. You looked right at me and you tried to smile. And you squeezed my hand as hard as you could. I thought maybe that was a sign. That you were trying to say it back.”

He screws his eyes shut and tries to remember; straining his mind to come up with even the smallest of details. He knows what he felt leading up to the moment he was shot. That he had counted the steps as he made his way towards her. Determined to live up to all the promises he made. Fulfill his half of the plans that they’d come up with as they lay together in that rumbled bed in that dirty Dhaka hotel room. After that, everything comes in bits and pieces. Shattered fragments that are out of order and never fall into place no matter how hard he tries to force them.

“I felt it,” he says. “I know I did. I felt it when I sent you off with Ovi and Saju. When you looked at me. You looked so scared and lost and I remember thinking that I was going to do whatever I had to get to that bridge. To get to you.”

She smiles against him, pressing a kiss to his throat.

“I didn't want to send you away with them. But I had too. I didn't have a choice.”

“I know. I hated you at that moment. I was so angry. That you were making me leave. And I was worried that was the last time I was ever going to see you. I didn't want that to be my last memory of you. That I was angry.”

He remembers kissing her. A hand on the side of her face as his lips lightly brushed hers. And thinking that he could gladly go the rest of his life being able to kiss her every day.

“I wouldn't leave you unless I had to.”

Those had been his exact words. The final thing he had said to her before sending her off.

She sniffles and yawns against him. Her body nestling even tighter against his. Listening to his heart beating in his chest, feeling his smooth skin and hard body against his. The way his hand strokes her hair and the weight of his chin rests on the top of her head. Those strong, powerful arms wrapped tightly around her.

And he holds her like that until she succumbs to sleep once more.

Safe. Secure. Protected.

#tyler rake #tyler rake fan fic #tyler rake fan fiction #chris hemsworth #i found #extraction

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