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angel-of-the-moons · 4 months

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Chocolates vs Aliens Pt. 2

Symbrock x Pregnant!Reader

TW/CW: NSFW, SMUT, PiV sex, unprotected sex, fluff, pregnancy, childbirth, anxiety, mentioned somnophilia (consented), lactation kink(?), oral sex (f! receiving)

MINORS DNI I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR CONTENT YOU CONSUME

Taglist: @yoink-a-doink @jayfall93 @being-worthy @theflamingraven

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Every day passed meant it was another day your baby girl grew, another kick, another day closer to being able to hold her in your arms and see her tiny face.

Of course, Eddie and Venom were excited, too. You guys moved fast, but everything came in stride, as if you were together for years. Despite the strange circumstances surrounding the three of you, you were content. Eddie and Venom treated the baby as if they fathered it, and you couldn't be happier. Even if you and Venom were in a constant battle for dominance when it came to chocolate. (Spoiler: you almost always won.)

You especially loved it when Venom cradled your belly. He did it at every available opportunity he could snag. Eddie meanwhile took care of a few more mundane things, splitting with Venom the duties of helping your changing body as your due date closed in on you.

Eddie would massage your feet and swollen ankles, while Venom's inky body would surround your midsection, taking the weight of the baby up off your hips, easing the strain on your back...

But your favorite day so far has to be today.

Because right now, you were currently watching Eddie and Venom snap at each other as they struggled to assemble the crib you ordered online.

No written directions were included, merely pictures of most of the crib already assembled; and the two already had to take it apart three times to start over.

"No, that part goes to that part and that one goes there!" Eddie snapped as the symbiote held a screwdriver and a piece of the railing in a long inky tendril.

Venom growled deeply, "WE ARE NEVER BUYING ANYTHING FROM IKEA EVER AGAIN!"

"No the fuck we are not." Eddie huffed. "We're better off buying furniture at a goddamn yard sale!"

You giggled from where you rocked on your reclining chair, your belly heavy and rounded out; effectively making you look like you swallowed a melon whole.

Eddie and Venom snap their heads to pout at you.

"What're you laughing at?" Eddie asked.

"Yeah, we'd like to see you try to put something like this together!" Venom snorted.

"Nah, I already have my hands full putting together something waaaay more intricate." You snort back, looking through the cozy baby clothes you'd bought yesterday.

New Years was approaching, and you knew full well you would be due around then, and your poor tiny baby would be absolutely freezing! So you took the preemptive and bought little newborn winter clothes for your girl, including a cute little fluffy teddy onesie with a hood that had cute little ears on it.

"Oh, yeah?" Venom asked, narrowing his eyes skeptically.

"Yep." You pat your tummy, and the skin shifts as a tiny foot kicks from within.

"...Okay yeah fair point." Eddie chuckled, shaking his head.

"Yeahhh, mommy wins again!" You grin, patting your belly once more, earning yet another eager kick as you imagine it to be a high-five.

"What, are you keeping score now?" Eddie sighs, pointing the screwdriver at you.

"Damn right I am." You grin. "Mommy points for the win!"

"And how many points do we have?" Venom inquired, tilting his head.

"Not enough to beat meeeee~"

Both of them snorted and shook their heads, before turning back to the task of assembling the frustrating crib that would soon, very soon, cradle your newborn daughter.

If Eddie or Venom ever put her down, that is.

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Christmas came and went in what felt like the blink of an eye. Your little celebration was small, and you even invited Mrs Chen over to join in on your festivities.

Which mostly consisted of pizza, a sandwich board, and chicken wings, plus a few homemade goodies that Ms Chen brought with her. Not the best meal idea, but it was a party, and damn those wings were good.

You and Venom even gifted Sonny and Cher a nice little seed treat you baked for them as a Christmas present for being "such good birdies".

Baking for chickens, now that was a first. But hearing their happy little clucks as Venom petted them and talked baby to them was absolutely adorable and worth the trouble. As were the large eggs afterwards!

Your mood swings had petered out about two or three months ago (you weren't sure, but Eddie insisted when you didn't break into tears watching a documentary about penguins) and unfortunately, well...

There are other symptoms of a pregnancy that you really thought you could stave off. You tried, you really did, but Venom having such heightened senses and being able to pick up on your scent and hormones? Oh, yeah. You were screwed.

Literally. In several different ways. You'd only had sex once or twice in a previous relationship, and with how disappointing that was, you definitely preferred to handle your urges yourself.

Where your ex-partner previously failed, Venom and Eddie were overachievers.

Taking great care with your belly and baby, they did whatever they could to ensure you were comfortable before making you so strung out your brain could barely form a coherent thought. Between Venom's tongue and Eddie's hands, you were a whimpering, trembling mess when the two would take you to bed.

Venom was especially ravenous in his sexual appetite. After learning more about sex and the pleasure it brought since bonding with Eddie... Where his host was a meal, you were a full-course desert that he would lose himself in.

Some nights, when he would climb through your window, he would immediately seek you out, drawn in by the lingering adrenaline from the hunt and the smell of you.

When you weren't moving about your apartment, Venom could find you in bed, sleeping fitfully. That was when he would crawl up under the blankets and find his way between your legs, not letting up until you woke up a panting mess.

Yeah, definitely the best way to be woken up, in your opinion. There were worse ways. Waaaay worse. Especially because your pregnancy-libido certainly wasn't complaining, the rush of endorphins afterwards would help outweigh the growing anxiety as the days passed.

Every day meant you were closer to your due date. Every day meant you were closer to experiencing possibly the worst pain you will ever feel in your life.

And there was the chance something could go wrong, that your baby could get stuck, or the umbilical cord could wrap around her, or she could be in a breech position...

You feel Eddie's hands gently encircle you, lazily draped over your shoulders as you sat in the shower chair, the warm water pattering over you two. It was New Year's Eve, and you two decided a calm, relaxing shower was a nice way to unwind before you poked your head out of your window to watch the fireworks people would inevitably launch to usher in the new year.

"Hey, sweets." He said to you softly, his thumbs brushing your collarbone softly. "We can feel your pulse jumping like crazy. You okay?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah, I just..." You sigh.

"Liar." Eddie chuckled, bringing his large hands to your shoulders to press his thumbs into your weak spots, making you shiver and drag out a soft noise from you.

"C'mon." He urged gently as he massaged you, sending delightful shivers down your back and to your toes and all the way back up again.

"You can tell us, sweets. You thinking about the delivery again?"

You deflate a little, the bliss of his skilled hands drifting away from your grasp as the weight of your baby's birth came back to your mind.

"...Yeah. I'm just... I'm so, so worried, Eddie." You say, feeling your lip begin to wobble.

"I've read so many horrible things online of how it could go wrong, and..."

Venom's head suddenly slinks around you until his strange body is stretched so he could look you in the eyes.

"But there's also good things." He rumbled. "You might have a quick birth, not having to go through it for hours or even days..."

"And hey, you might even be one of those ladies who sneezes and pop! The baby's out!" Eddie added in, making Venom groan.

You can help but chuckle at how absurd it sounded, and you knew Venom was inwardly cringing at such a naive suggestion.

"I doubt I'll be that lucky." You sigh, a smile finally gracing your soft lips.

"Hey! You never know!"

"Idiot." Venom huffed.

"Shithead." Eddie smirked.

You feel your anxieties settle a bit, at least for now.

Your hands trail over your belly, over the thin purple lines crossing your skin, your fingers gently caressing the rising and falling bumps as your baby shifted and rolled around inside your womb.

"...Willow." Venom suddenly said.

You and Eddie blinked and stared at him, brows raised and eyes large, a long silence filling the shower as the water ran over you.

"What?" You ask him.

"For a name. You're gonna be due any day now." He purred, leaning his face closer to your belly.

"Still haven't settled on one."

"Where did you hear that name, Vee?" Eddie asked, shock evident in his tone.

"In some TV show I flicked through when you two were asleep. I like it." He replied simply, pressing his muzzle to your belly, feeling the tiny feet and hands thrash out from within.

"Okay, as far as names go that's... actually a good one." Eddie murmured.

"...Willow." You repeat softly.

It was a beautiful name. And honestly... You liked it. You had yet to pick a name for yourself, indecision being your worst enemy your entire life made the process that much harder.

Picking a name was one of your fears, too. You wanted your daughter to have a wonderful one; one she could carry with pride, and the pressure you placed on yourself to pick the perfect one was what screwed you up on that.

But this name, the one Venom suggested felt... right.

"Yeah." You smile once again. "Yeah. Her name can be Willow."

Venom grinned a shark-like grin and nuzzled his face into your belly like a happy affectionate cat, purring like one, too.

"Well, I'm glad that's a weight off of you." Eddie chuckled, resuming his earlier massage into your shoulders, earning another blissful sigh from you.

Yeah... Things will work out. After all, as long as you had these two with you, you felt like you could handle anything.

You relaxed and leaned into Eddie's touch, a little whimper escaping you as his thumbs knead into a knot in your shoulders.

Venom grinned up at you, and you knew fell the glint in his eyes meant you were in trouble.

And you knew that Eddie had the same smirk.

"No point in hiding it, sweet thing." Venom growled lowly, his tongue laving out to taste the skin on your hip, tracing the stretch marks etched into your skin.

"We know what gets you going." Eddie said quietly, leaning in to whisper in your ear.

You shivered when Venom's tongue slithered lower, past the swell of your midsection and down to your twitching clit.

"It's n-not my fault..." You whined, your voice cut off by a breathy moan as you felt Venom's tongue squirm past your entrance and into your tight, gummy walls.

"Of course not." Eddie hummed, massaging your shoulders as you arched your spine as little as you could; Venom's inky body slinked around you, enveloping you and keeping you from slipping off the shower chair in the process while he proceeded to eat you out with voracious hunger.

Eddie hissed suddenly, his fingers halting in their ministrations to squeeze you softly.

"Eddie, what--" You panted.

But that's when you felt it. The water was getting cold.

"Maybe we should move this to the bed, hm?" Venom cackled.

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"Eddie, fuck..." You whimpered fingers gripping tight into your bedsheets as Eddie rutted his nose against your clit, his lips and tongue dancing through your soaked folds as his hands pawed at your hips, bringing you down closer every time you squirmed away.

As Eddie devoured you, part of Venom's mass was completely surrounding his cock, sucking and stroking in time with his tongue as it pushed and pulled against your weeping cunt.

It was too much, and not enough at the same time. As much as you wanted more, you also wanted to push him away because the sensations were beginning to become too much for you to handle.

Your eyes were rolled back into your head as you felt that blissful feeling begin roll into a roaring crescendo, threatening to overtake you and make your heart patter out of your lungs.

God, you wished your belly wasn't in the way so you could see what he looked like between your legs. One day, soon.

Or, well... At least once you were fully recovered after the birth. Which would probably be a while.

You were so lost in Eddie's mouth working you over that you didn't notice Venom leering at you, saliva dripping around his fangs as his eyes narrowed to barely-there slits, focused intently on your heaving breasts; both long since swollen and sensitive as your milk came in.

You certainly didn't notice the small beads of hazy white liquid beading up and threatening to roll down the soft mounds of flesh as your orgasm approached.

"Oh, fuck--" You gasped, weakly rolling your hips to meet Eddie's eager mouth.

For a split second, you hear Venom snarl softly, before all of a sudden his mouth was on you, latching onto your pebbled nipple, his tongue rolling and squeezing your breast to get out every drop of that sweet liquid he could.

"Fuck." Eddie groaned, pulling back to breathe heavily.

Venom made sure Eddie could taste your milk as he drank from you readily, the flavor coating his tongue and flooding his taste buds to combine with the sweet taste of your nectar that coated his face and chin.

It was an intoxicating combination.

Eddie's eyes rolled a bit as he dove back in, aggressively sucking and nipping at your clit, gently prodding your entrance with his fingers as Venom proceeded to try and drain your breasts of all their milk.

All at once, the combined feelings had your mind blacking out, every muscle tensing as you came; your teeth snagging your bottom lip between them and you made a loud moan, barely able to string their names out of your mouth as they helped you ride out your orgasm.

Eddie pulls his mouth away from you and rises to his knees while Venom pulls himself free (albeit reluctantly) of your breast, licking the stray rivulets of milk that had begun to run down the sides of your tits.

"So sweet, love." He purred, licking his chops. "But we need more."

Venom's head merged back into Eddie's body, his inky mass slinking down his arms until it was comfortably arching your hips and back off the bed while Eddie rutted his sensitive cock against your sensitive cunt, still fluttering and clenching around nothing as the remnants of your orgasm waned.

But every lazy stroke of his hips sent little bolts of lightning arcing through your nerves, stretching out the little aftershocks just a bit farther as he carefully slid his cock into your hungry cunt.

"Fucking tight." Eddie hissed through clenched teeth, his eyes pinching shut.

"Not gonna last long, sweets." He rasped.

Between Venom working his cock over and edging him while he ate you out, and how your silky wet heat enveloped him so wonderfully tight, he could already feel himself getting lost in your body.

"Eddie, please..." You keened, your fingers going to grip at his wrists, your nails digging into his skin with each plunge of his cock into your needy hole.

He was careful with you, trying not to jostle you (and the baby) too much as he fucked you.

You felt the pressure build up low in your belly once more, squeezing down and sending another tight feeling down your spine as you became hyper-aware of every vein in his cock as he glided in and out of your hole.

"Almost, baby, almost..." Eddie breathed, wriggling one of his wrists free so he could brace it in the pillow by your head to give himself a bit of leverage as he rocked his hips into yours.

He could feel his orgasm climbing fast; sweat dripping down his brow as your delicate hands slid over his shoulders. The way you bit your lip and locked eyes with him only drove him further into no man's land.

"Fuck." He moaned weakly, his pace stuttering and dragging out as he felt the first volley of cum shoot out of his sensitive tip.

He had enough control to pull out, rutting his hips over your belly as the rest of his cum shot over your swollen belly and twitching pussy, his cock once more rutting against you as he came hard.

Your teeth grit and your nails dug in as Eddie buried his face in the crook of your neck, panting hard into your damp skin as you feel a sensation you were almost familiar with burst low, a fresh burst of wetness gushing from you are the pressure on your lower spine builds and tingles.

"Oh, fuck." You swallow. "Eddie."

"Yeah?" He asks, pulling back to look down at you with an almost cocky smile on his face.

"I think my water broke."

He and Venom both immediately began to panic.

"WHAT?!"

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The scrambling to get to the hospital moved by you in a blur. One minute Eddie was hastily dressing you in one of your sundresses, slippers, and a pair of panties, the next you were carried like some sort of fairytale princess down to the car park.

Good luck getting an ambulance out to your place tonight...

Eddie and Venom bickered the whole time to your car, your hospital bag prepped and slung over Eddie's shoulder as he guided you down to your car.

They sat you in the passenger seat and helped you buckle in as the first set of contractions ripple through you. As the pain flashed, you couldn't help but be reminded by your earlier concerns.

You read that some women felt pain for days, or hours before their water broke. Why were you only feeling it now? Was that a bad thing? Was something wrong?

Fuck, you knew it would hurt, but... you weren't prepared for the sudden sharp stabbing. You expected it to start as a throb and build from there, not immediately start out like someone was hacking away at your lower half.

When you arrived at the hospital, Eddie had actually slipped and busted his ass on the freshly mopped floor in his haste to fetch you a wheelchair.

You would have laughed, if you hadn't been gripping the safety handle in the car, screaming as another sharp jolt stabbed through you.

A few nurses even chased him out, harping about how he could have a concussion from falling, but quieted when they saw what had him in such a frantic rush.

Your baby girl was coming, whether you were ready or not.

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It had been close to four hours, and you were almost ready to deliver; nearly fully dilated, as your obstetrician cheerfully announced, a smile so cheerful and calm you almost kicked her in the face.

She was less impressed with Eddie, however, as she pulled him out of the delivery room to talk.

"We'll be right back, luv." She assured you sweetly.

"Uh... Is--is everything okay? You were saying they were okay, and--" He blurted out nervously.

"No, no, she's fine." She assured him, pushing her glasses up her nose once more.

"Then what..."

"I couldn't help but notice how hesitant she was to tell me how she went into labor. But I have to know, did she fall? Injure her belly in any way?" She questions.

"No! No, god no." Eddie said, waving his hands and shaking his head. "Nothing like that!"

She crossed her arms and tapped her finger on her bicep, a thick brow quirking upwards on her freckled brow.

"...Were the two of you having sex?"

Fuck.

Shit.

Fuck fuck fuck.

FUCK.

"Uh... I, er..." Eddie put a hand on his hip and scratched the back of his head, casting a look into the room where you were read-faced and sweaty while the nurses wiped your face with a towel while your hands gripped the handles in the birthing chair you were seated in.

He blew a puff of air out of his cheeks.

God, he wanted to crawl into a hole and die. The embarrassment of the situation was too much for him, having this teeny tiny Irish woman stare him down.

"I'm not judging you." She says flatly, not letting him escape her microscopic gaze. "But I have to tell you that there is a reason we tell pregnant patients to avoid penetrative sex, or excessive sex this late into their third trimester. It can make them go into labor."

She clicked her tongue and sighed. "You're lucky that she was so close to her due date that the baby isn't in any real danger. But it was still reckless. Regardless if she consented or not, this sort of thing can be dangerous, you hear me?"

Eddie wilted, feeling very much like a puppy who got caught wee'ing on the carpet, shame and mortification filling every inch of his body. Even Venom felt this way, cringing internally at the truths the doctor spat at them as she gave her lecture.

Her rant was cut short when you made a sharp yelp, jerking and clutching at your belly and one of the nurses came rushing to the doorway.

"Doctor O'Halloran, she's ready. We can already feel the baby's head. Looks like this baby wants out now!" She said, absolutely calm and no concern in her voice. If anything, she sounded excited!

Eddie meanwhile was frantic as O'Halloran clicked her tongue again, checking her watch with an almost bored glance. "Huh. Look't that. Well! Let's get this baby out of her! Adjust the chair so she's a bit more comfortable."

She grinned at Eddie, "Well? C'mon, Papa! You better be in here to see your baby girl!"

He felt his heart surge and flop in his chest when she said that. It was finally settling in.

Papa.

Their baby. Their baby girl.

Eddie had scrambled to behind the chair, leaning forward to wrap his arms around you.

He was glad he had Venom to strengthen his body, because god, could he swear you had suddenly gained incredible super strength as you began to push, crying and screaming as your lungs were squeezed of air, the pain so blinding you had actually fainted for a few seconds, all while not losing your inhumanly tight grip on his hand.

You had shouted more obscenities than Eddie and Venom had ever heard you swear, in between crying and apologizing for saying them and fainting like a messed up cycle.

Doctor O'Halloran assured Eddie this was normal rather calmly as you came to yet again, just to cry and scream again as your body struggled to push the baby free of your birth canal.

The smell of blood immediately had Venom wanting to surge forth, despite knowing there was nothing he could do for you currently except support you from inside of Eddie as you endured the most painful struggle of your life and he bore witness to something he'd never seen with his own eyes.

The bringing of a life into the world.

It hurt the both of them, to see you hurting so badly as you strained to bring Willow out for the world to see. Thankfully, as Venom had hoped earlier in the night, your birth was going quickly.

Not painlessly, of course, oh no. Definitely not painless.

"The moment we get home, I'm bonding with her. I know I can do it." Venom whined within Eddie as you sobbed in pain. "I want to fix her. I don't want her to hurt anymore after this."

Eddie silently agreed, hoping you would consent to melding with the symbiote to heal the damages your body was going through to birth your baby.

They just wished that you didn't have--

All at once, your body went slack and your eyes shut, but before the boys could panic any further, a tiny, ear-piercing wail filled the room.

"A girl! A nice set of lungs on her!" O'Halloran laughed as she scooped up and handed the newborn off to the nurse. She knew that Eddie (and Venom of course) were too preoccupied between staring in awe at the squirming purple body the nurse held to focus on cutting the cord.

All they could think about was her.

She was here. In front of them. Finally.

Those tiny feet that kicked out at them all this time, the little head they could feel shift around in your belly...

The nurses adjusted the chair enough to allow you to lean back, and Eddie covered your face in kisses, waking you up again with a mad grin.

And, heaven fucking bless you; amazing, gorgeous, powerful you, you smiled back. A tired, watery smile as you cried in victory.

Giving birth and being birthed was the closest thing that someone could come to dying and still come out of it. Many were not so lucky, but they were glad you were among the majority that emerged from this bloody struggle with a smile on your face and mirth in your bloodshot eyes.

The nurses wiped your baby down a bit before pulling your gown down to place her squirming, hiccuping body onto your bare chest.

Your hands weakly went to cradle her warm body, kissing the top of her head where a patch of fuzzy hair was.

"Hey, sweetheart." You sniffled, whispering against the wet fuzz.

You could barely get words out as emotions surged out of you all at once, overwhelming your body and mind as you cradled your precious child.

Almost immediately as your voice washed over her, it was as if the angry baby instantly calmed. It was like your soft, happy sobs were a soothing balm to her squirming body.

Neither could tell who moved it first, but Eddie's hand went to cover yours, Willow looking positively teeny beneath his large hand, watching in awe as her tiny, fat little fingers clawed and groped at your chest.

The sounds of loud booms from outside filled your ears, making her jump and wail once more as you coo'd and murmured to your baby.

"Hey, Eddie?" You sniffled, looking up at him.

"Y... Yeah?" Eddie asked, his throat tight as tears began to build at the corners of his eyes.

You tipped your head and kissed his jaw, weak and tired.

"Happy new year."

You were only faintly aware of the nurses cheering; both the healthy baby you birthed and in celebration of the new year ahead of you.

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They kept you at the hospital for another two days after you gave birth. After passing the placenta and remaining viscera of the birth, your body felt like literal tons of strain had been lifted from you.

And of course you, at the same time, felt like you had been tackled unprotected by a professional linebacker.

So, of course as soon as Venom offered to ease your comfort and repair the damage you agreed. It would certainly save on the recovery time. Sure, it would be hard to explain during your next checkup, but you'd cross that bridge when you got to it.

Ms Chen had gone to the hospital, as she was practically the closest thing either of you had to a mother and she wanted to see the baby. She carried an armload of supplies with her, too. Including some kinda balm that frankly stunk of something akin to menthol, but whatever it did, it certainly eased the pain on your poor nethers.

And of course, she gave a shit-eating grin when you named her honorary grandma.

Even Eddie's ex, Anne, came with her fiancee to congratulate him and coo over the adorable little bundle he so proudly cradled in his strong arms.

He certainly had nurses swooning, but you knew their eyes were only for you. Especially after he cried some more when you wanted his name on her birth certificate.

Right now, you watched as Willow suckled on her cute pink pacifier that Anne had slipped down to the gift shop to buy while they were at the hospital.

She was dressed in a soft two-piece to ensure the remnants of the umbilical cord weren't too aggravated, her cute little face pinched as she grunted in her sleep, exhausted from feeding and content as you carefully swaddled her.

Eddie came up behind you as Venom's head emerged from his body, all three of you looking down as your newborn dreamt whatever dreams babies had. Probably about her next feeding time.

"She's so fucking cute." Eddie sighed dreamily.

"I know! And she's so chunky." You giggle. "I had a real meatball of a baby. No wonder I was so big."

"Nah, you're beautiful." Eddie chuckled, kissing the skin of your shoulder that had been exposed by your oversized T-shirt. One of his, for sure, but he didn't mind.

Venom purred in a near-silent content, before turning to look at Eddie with a shark-like grin, sending a thought telepathically for only him to hear.

The thought made Eddie choke and start to laugh as he buried his face in the crook of your neck.

"What? What's so funny, you ginormous dorks?" You snicker.

"Ah. Eh..." Eddie said, grinning widely. "...Vee says he calls dibs on the next one."

"Next one..?" You say, your brows furrowing.

"Yeah... the next one. He wants to be the one to knock you up next time."

"Oh, my god!" You gasped, spinning around to slap at Eddie's shoulder while he and Venom laughed. "You two are horrible! Have mercy on my poor body!"

Venom leaned in, nuzzling the pulse in your neck.

"We didn't hear a no..."

#venom x eddie #eddie x venom #eddie x venom x reader #eddie brock x venom x reader #eddie brock x you #eddie brock x reader #eddie brock x venom #venom x you #venom x reader #eddie x venom smut #symbrock x reader #symbrock

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chelseasdagger · 1 year

Text

Alone And Forsaken

Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: After a close call with infected, you and Joel return to your safehouse and try to stay warm during a cold night

Warnings: smut (18+!), sex (unprotected), cockwarming, cursing, gun mention (briefly), smut with very little plot, Joel hasn’t cockwarmed in over twenty years

Author’s Note: This is my first Joel fic so I'm a little nervous but I love the idea of him cockwarming/having sex again after so long and he's desperate oops. Much thanks to @chellestrash for supporting me through this fic! Feedback is greatly appreciated! :)

Word Count: 5.2k

Joel mutters in his sleep. Most nights, it was whispers of his late daughter’s name; the sorrowful memory of that night replays in his mind even after twenty years. Other times it was restless grunts and warnings of clickers as he tossed and turned on the small mattress. It doesn’t matter whether you were in a somewhat protected military zone or in the uncertain darkness that lies outside of those sanctioned areas. When the sun sets and the anxiety dies down just enough to finally slip into unconsciousness, you’d hear the distressed mumbling beside you that made your chest grow tight all over again.

The two of you have just returned home—or, whatever you could call the four walls that were miraculously still standing. It was more of an improvised safehouse while you traveled beyond the patrolled Fedra walls to make your drop offs. The house was small but dependable, especially once Joel had gone and fortified the decaying wood that was barricading the doors and windows shut. Perhaps you could consider it safe in comparison to the rubble and debris surrounding it, not to mention the absolute luck that there were no cordyceps in the immediate area.

Smuggling isn’t exactly your favorite job when it comes to ways of earning supplies, but you suppose it’s better than the depressing things that Joel does for a few ration cards. He’s the one who got you into helping him after showing you just how good the payoff was and, if you’re honest with yourself, you enjoy the time alone with him. He isn't easy to read and his rough voice comes across harsh to others but the longer you’re around him, you begin to pick up on his true intentions behind his sometimes cold front.

Your name rings through your ears, pulling you to the present and away from your abandoned train of thought. It sounds nice to hear Joel speak it, despite his deep, rough shout. You quickly stand and make your way over to the wooden bookcase that’s lying diagonally over the back door to the house. Planting your feet on the ground, you push it so that it’s standing upright again and twist the small lock on the doorknob.

You open the door and the sounds of the thunderstorm grow louder, a flash of lightning illuminating Joel’s silhouette. His back is facing you as he checks the surrounding area once more, gun in his hands as he slowly turns before entering the house.

“It’s clear,” he holsters his gun, “no signs of clickers or infected,” he sighs heavily, closing the door gently behind him. He steps past you and into the house, immediately moving furniture in search of cracks in the floorboards. He often forgot exactly where he left his supplies due to the different safe houses you two frequent on the smuggling route. You watch as he knocks the toe of his boot into an area of the wood underneath the dusty rug. The sound is hollow and he immediately kneels to the ground to start removing the slotted wood.

“You’re sure?” you ask uncertainly, your voice a whisper in the otherwise quiet room. It was rare that you questioned him, but your fear got the better of you. The way he freezes with the floorboard piece still in his hand has you worried you overstepped, and you hurry to explain.

“I-I don’t mean to—it’s just that, well, I wanted to be absolutely certain,” your words come out faster once he looks over his shoulder. He stares up at you, glancing over your features while resting his hand on his knee. You pull your lip between your teeth, nervously thinking of his potential reaction to your words.

Your expression gives your anxiety away and he sighs gently, his eyes scanning over your face. His own features soften and you watch his shoulders begin to slouch before he’s standing up and silently walking towards you.

“Tonight was too close and I’m…” he trails off, his eyes focusing on something behind you, his mind going elsewhere. After a moment he looks to your scared face again and continues, “I’m sorry I made the wrong call.”

Joel hangs his head in defeat and you wish you could take away the guilt he feels. The rain patters gently on the roof but you still hear his frustrated exhale over the noise. He brings a hand to the back of his neck, scratching at the grey hair brushing his skin there. After clearing his throat, he continues, his southern accent wound around his words.

“I thought it was clear I… If I hadn’t gotten there—”

“But you did,” you cut him off before his mind has time to spiral. Joel always takes responsibility for every mission no matter the importance. There’s been times in the past where he thinks back on what went wrong and makes a mental note of how to improve next time, but not without holding some resentment for his flawed actions. You know tonight was more serious, what with the clicker’s gnashing teeth nearly grazing your neck, and you wanted to try and spare Joel some of the self loathing.

A shiver suddenly works its way down the back of your neck. The icy touch runs along your spine and spreads throughout your body, causing you to shake slightly. He watches your involuntary movement and looks down at your hands that are balled around the cuff of the wet jacket you’re wearing.

“C’mon, let’s get you out of those clothes,” he speaks up again before turning away. His wet footsteps echo out on the wooden floor as he steps towards his backpack. You wind your arms around yourself as he slings his bag over his shoulder, walking back to you and leading you to one of the unused rooms down the hall.

The both of you typically would stay in the main space of the house, with access to windows and a kitchen within close distance. But in moments where some privacy was needed, you’d have the extra rooms of the house to change or get some time alone. He entered the small bedroom first, quickly scanning it with his flashlight. Once deciding it was clear, he gives you a small nod before dropping his bag, leaving the room, and pulling the door shut behind him.

Crouching down to his bag, you open it and find two thick flannels folded at the bottom beneath the few cans of food and extra boxes of ammo. Discarding your wet jacket and soaked shirt underneath, you pick up a dry one from his bag and hold it in front of you. You think of the last time Joel wore this one and how the blue plaid pattern brought out the tan in his skin.

Slipping your arms through the sleeves, you pull the material closer to your body. It’s a lot softer than most of the shirts around nowadays, most likely the material being worn down by all the years Joel has been wearing it. There’s a small tear under the arm on your right side but other than that it’s in great condition.

You untwist the collar of the shirt as you make the fabric sit smoothly against your neck. Your fingers move down the lapels of the flannel and you pause for a second before raising it to your face. The collar smells so deeply of him and you shut your eyes as you inhale his scent.

His heavy footsteps sound out through the house and you hear them from the other side of the paper thin walls, pulling you from your thoughts. You quickly straighten the edges of the shirt before slipping the black buttons through their holes and making your way back to the living room.

Joel is back in his position on the worn couch. His back is straight as a board, a physical display of his alertness. He’s squinting his eyes as he peers between the slotted wood boarding up the windows, watching the outside area nearby. You’d often find him like this, making mental notes of the surrounding environments or how many exits a building had. It makes you feel safe, but you wish there was a world where he didn’t feel the need to do that instinctively.

You notice he’s wearing only his denim button up now, having ditched the soaked jacket. The heavy bookshelf is back in place as well, blocking the only entrance to the house that isn’t boarded up. Your eyes fall to the ground and notice there’s no makeshift alarm. Checking the other door in the living room, you notice it’s clear of any liter as well.

“No glass?” you ask quietly, stepping deeper into the room. Joel turns at the sound of your voice, watching from his spot on the torn couch cushion.

“Just clickers and infected for the next few miles. If we don't make a fire, we can’t draw people in. So yeah,” he’s cut off by his groan as he places his hands on his knees to stand up, “no glass.”

“Right…” you trail off, trying to ignore the excitement in your chest as he steps towards you. “So no fire tonight? That’s going to be a little rough,” you let out a bitter chuckle.

The weather had been unkind as of late and it was taking a toll on you. Joel saw the shakes your body gave under the unforgiving wind, despite him lending you extra jackets to wear under a thick winter coat you happened across. The past few nights in particular he had been burning low fires as you two were in the woods; he assured you the tree line helped disguise the smoke. But you know the risk of shedding light near open streets, even if you desperately wanted the heat anyway.

“Well, ‘m sorry,” Joel begins, his hands working their way to their usual spot on his hips. “We can’t—“

“We can’t run the risk, I know,” you sigh heavily, finishing his sentence for him. “I just wish there wasn’t a risk—“

The sudden crash of thunder catches you by surprise, making you jump away from him. Distant sounds of clicker screeching fills the air next and you don’t have enough time to fix your confident facade that slips. Joel notices it, and he sees the fear in your eyes despite the smile you flash at him and the dismissive laugh that follows.

“Jesus, you’d think I’d get used to that by now,” you chuckle, folding your arms across your chest. He sees through the act you’re putting on and sighs quietly. Wordlessly, he takes another step towards you, closing the distance and pulling you into him.

His body is warm and his strong arms feel gentle as he embraces you. This was a first between the two of you, even the smallest moments of intimacy being somewhat of a struggle for him. He’s never said it aloud but you’ve picked up on the signs after months and months of knowing him. The one thing you never do, however, is force him to open up to you. Not even after hearing his broken whispers as he recalled the events he’s had to witness.

You don’t realize how much you need his touch until he’s giving it to you, and now you don’t want to go without it. His arms around you feel like they’re holding you together enough that you can allow yourself to relax completely. It’s the first time in, well forever, that you feel like something else is barring the weight for you. And you can’t help yourself from unwinding in his hold.

You let yourself sink into his chest, your head resting below his collarbone as you inhale shakily. His heartbeat sounds out rhythmically into your ear and its predictable, repetitive pattern soothes you instantly. Slowly but surely, you’re able to bring in deeper breaths of air as your hands grab at his large back tightly. Everything else in the room fades as you squeeze your eyes shut—everything except for him.

A few moments pass and Joel begins to loosen his hold on you. His hands leave your back and begin to pull away, but you don’t let go. It must’ve dawn on him that you needed him more than he realized, because he goes back to holding you after clearing his throat gently.

You don’t want to push his boundaries or make him uncomfortable, so you bring in two big breaths of air before untangling yourself from him. He stares down at you, his eyes scanning both of yours quickly, and you feel as though you could melt under his gaze. Your feelings for him had always been there, but after that display of affection? You know you’re wrapped around his finger now.

Joel looks as though he’s about to say something; his lips part as his eyebrows pull together, but you speak before he can.

“So…” you trail off as you swing your arms awkwardly. You don’t have anything else to add; your fear of what he might say overpowered any ideas you had before you opened your mouth. His eyes fall to your hands, which are still moving, and you become painfully aware of how odd you’re acting.

“So!” you wind your arms around your chest, “What’re we thinking? Living room or one of the beds?” you ask with a joking laugh. The confusion on Joel’s face is plainly there in his rough features, but thankfully he drops it. He clears his throat once again before nodding his head towards the hallway you left just a moment ago.

“Figured we’d use the beds, since they’re there. Those sleeping bags have been killing my back,” he rasps out as he places his palm over his lower spine. He shakes his head gently, almost as if he’s reliving the pain of the sore muscles the next morning. When he glances back up at you he lets out a small chuckle, muttering, “‘M gettin’ too old for that.”

The fact that he chooses to laugh off the awkward moment has your heart tightening in your chest and a genuine smile finds its way back to your face again.

It takes only a few minutes for you and Joel to move your bags and other supplies into the new room. He doesn’t bring up the extra seconds of comfort you relished in, or the slightly embarrassing aftermath of the moment—which you’re immensely thankful for.

The mattress is, unsurprisingly, stiff and you swear you can feel the springs each time you move to get comfortable. It’s silent other than the shuffling of your clothing and Joel’s quiet breathing. Your back is facing him but you can faintly feel the warmth radiating from his body. You want more than anything to pull him closer, to spare you both from the drafty walls of this old house, but you aren’t sure you can muster up the courage.

The minutes slip by as the rain patters gently on the glass of the windows. The storm is finally settling down now and you catch the shadows of the rain through the glass; the image is projected on the wall as the droplets roll down. It’s times like these where the world seems so peaceful, you almost forget about the threats of this new world.

“Are you asleep?” your whisper cuts through the silence like a knife. There’s a pause, and for half a second you think he might’ve drifted off.

“‘M too cold to sleep,” his raspy voice sounds out, and you can’t help the chuckle that falls from your mouth.

“Yeah… yeah me too,” you admit to him. The silence that falls after you speak feels thick, and you’re once again regretting your choice of words.

You do though find comfort in his presence. Having him close makes you feel safe, but it does nothing to help the chittering of your teeth. You let out a long sigh as you rub your hands over your arms, attempting to use the friction to warm up.

“Do, uh… Do you want me to help?” he speaks up out of the darkness.

“How?” you ask with sincerity. There’s only one thing you could think of that could fix this situation at all, and you doubt he’d do it.

“I don’t…,” he trails off, trying to rack his brain for an answer. “‘M not sure. We can’t have the fire—,” he begins to explain, but you cut him off.

“No, I know, Joel, it’s okay,” you sigh. There’s a long pause after you speak and you just wish he would get the hint already. As the seconds pass the shiver in your bones grows tiring, and you finally cave in.

“C-could you… hold me?” And again you’re met with silence. Joel doesn’t say anything and you clammer to explain. “Just, y’know, it’d be warmer if you… We’d share heat that way.”

He lets out a deep grunt and you can’t help but worry that he’s hating the idea. You feel paralyzed, too scared to check over your shoulder to see his reaction. The pulsing grows in your chest and you fear you’ve overstepped again.

Joel’s arm lightly curls around your waist, and you nearly flinch from the contact. Your entire side lights up and you inhale shakily, his touch feels burning hot as it spreads through your body. The next thing you feel is his chest pressing into your back, his scent filling in the air around you.

You bite down on your lip, determined to not spoil the moment with your clumsy words. You’ve never been this close with him before, despite your crush that’s developed over the months. He’s so much warmer than you could’ve ever pictured all of those nights under the fire, longing to be in this exact situation.

Joel moves his hand down to hold your lower stomach instead but you feel his arm tense up. He begins to speak but cuts himself off, opting to move his hand back to its original place. It’s slightly reassuring to see him acting stiffly as well. It reminds you that you’re not alone in the newness of it all.

“Is that… Does this feel alright?” he mumbles, uncertainty clear in his voice.

“It’s good. It’s uh, it’s warm,” you chuckle lightly, moving your palm to cover the back of his hand, “thank you.” Your fingers wrap around the bruises on his busted knuckles. He doesn’t say anything else, but he nestles his fingers between your ribs and the mattress.

You try your best to focus on his body and not on the cold, but your brain has other ideas. Each rise and fall of his chest has him pushing against you and he’s so close you can feel his breath on your shoulder. Every second that passes makes your awareness of him worse and worse.

A shiver runs its course through your body again, a sign of the chill still deep in your bones. He doesn’t mention it but wraps his arms tighter anyway. The close grip does nothing but make you crave more of him. An idea pops into your head suddenly, and you don’t give yourself a chance to second guess it and back out. You push your ass back into his crotch and his hand immediately leaves your ribs, trying to stop you from doing it again.

“Don’t,” he grunts behind clenched teeth. His fingers dig into your hip tightly and your breath catches in your throat. He’s never sounded this rough with you but the rasp in chest makes you grow hotter between your thighs.

“C’mon, Joel,” you nearly whine, “it’s so cold.” You roll your hips back again, pushing yourself against his bulge once more. His grip on you tightens and you immediately stop.

“That’s a bad idea,” he whispers gravely. The air around the words ghost over your neck and goosebumps start decorating your skin. The gruff tone of his voice does nothing but add fuel to the fire in your lower stomach and you press your thighs together to try and get some relief.

“We don’t have to—not, not all the way, I mean.” You sigh defeatedly, knowing you’ve probably ruined your chance at sparking more than a friendship between the two of you. Each bout of silence feels worse than the last, but this time you feel like if you speak at all you’ll destroy everything.

A weary sigh comes from behind your shoulder, the breath blowing your hair lightly. You swallow thickly as you feel his hand move and hear his belt buckle sound out a second later.

“Shit,” he mumbles, and the sound of denim shifting grows louder. His jeans are kicked off and tossed onto the floor as he presses his lower half against you again. You can’t believe it’s actually happening, that he’s truly considering this.

“Are you sure about this? We don’t have to do this, any of it, if you don’t want it,” the words leaving his mouth are barely audible. You finally turn your head over your shoulder to look him in the eyes, nodding gently before whispering, “Please.”

He swallows heavily and glances down between the two of you. You follow his gaze and see his cock, still mostly soft, and you reach down to hold him. The groan doesn’t quite leave his chest as you wrap your fingers around him, gently pumping him in your hand twice before lining him up with your entrance.

Joel slowly guides his hips to follow your movements, pushing inside of you. Even when he’s soft you can feel the decent size he is, and as the seconds pass, you feel him grow bigger inside of you. He doesn’t speak during it, but you hear the way he’s breathing through gritted teeth.

“Sorry, I can’t help—,” he cuts himself off as his fingernails dig deeper into your side. You’re not sure how much bigger he’ll get, but you’re beginning to feel the stretch of his thickness. Feeling him slowly fill you from the inside is a sensation you’re not used to, but you let out a pleased hum from how much warmer you are.

His cock continues to get harder and his fingers let go of you just to grab you tight again. It’s almost as if he feels guilty for his body’s natural reaction, but he can’t fight it either. You feel him give a faint twitch and you clench around him instinctively. His forehead presses against your shoulder as he sighs loudly, his now swollen tip pressing into your lower stomach.

“I don’t think either of us will fall asleep like this,” you speak up in the silence. He’s hard and heavy inside of you and you can feel each vein along his cock. He groans again before pushing himself up, changing positions so he’s on top of you. He doesn’t pull out, however, and now that he’s moved he’s somehow slipped even deeper inside of you.

He’s staring down at where you two are connected as he pants lightly, still trying to get used to the new feeling. You reach out for his cheek, cupping his face in your palm as your thumb drags along his bottom lip. His desperate eyes search for yours in the dark and you notice the shaky breath he lets out. His fingers curl around your wrist gently as he squeezes his eyes shut. He looks as if he’s in pain, but the twitching you feel inside of you tells you otherwise.

“It’s okay, Joel. You can move,” you instruct him, pulling his lip down. Those words snap something inside of him and he plunges forward, kissing you deeply. Your heart races in your chest as he begins to move forward, pressing himself deeper inside of you. His tongue glides along yours and you moan into his mouth before he breaks the kiss.

He glances back down to where he’s buried inside of you and you watch how he takes it all in. You can hear the sounds of your slick each time he pushes in, the noise so loud in the otherwise quiet room. His hips rock forward torturously slow but pull back before he can bottom out; you can’t help the frown on your face as he does it repeatedly.

“Joel, what’s wrong? Why aren’t you…” you’re not sure how to finish the sentence, but thankfully he understands. His groans fall from the back of his throat as he sits back on his calves, stilling inside of you.

“I haven’t—it’s been so long,” they’re the only words he can think of to explain. It clicks for you then that the reason he’s being so hesitant must be because of how it feels for him. You can’t help the fond smile you flash at him before reaching for his neck to pull him back to you. His lips are soft as he kisses you back and you let your hand fall from his neck to cup his jaw again. You brush your thumb along his cheek, feeling the scratchy beard tickling your palm.

He rocks his hips inside of you faster now but still, he doesn’t go as deep as he can. You try telling him it’s okay, coaxing him with little praises, but he still holds himself back. You can feel yourself craving more and an idea pops into your head.

You wrap your legs around his sides, crossing your ankles and dig the heel of your foot into his lower back. You pull him down onto you as close as you can and he lets out a shuddering moan. Rubbing your hands over his broad shoulders, you give him time to adjust to the feeling of his entire length inside of you.

Joel sniffles after a moment and you feel his hips buck into you. The head of his cock nudges that part deep in your stomach where the pleasure nearly hurts because of how full of him you are. You clench around him and he lets out a strangled cry, letting his face fall into your neck.

His lips suck on the sensitive skin below your jaw, grazing his teeth along you before biting gently. He continues to rut inside of you, never pulling back, not wanting to leave your warmth. He licks over your skin as he soothes the mark he just left on you before unbuttoning your shirt, his hand cupping your breast. The wet stripe on your neck grows cold as the air hits it and you let out a moan of his name.

“Oh, Christ,” he curses quietly, squeezing your chest under his palm. The reflection of the rain on glass illuminates his face now as he stares at you. You watch as the droplets roll down his cheeks; they glide over the lines and scars decorating his face that tell a thousand tales. He bites down on his bottom lip and you catch the way his throat tightens, the veins tensing, like he’s trying to stay quiet.

“It’s okay, Joel. I wanna hear you,” you whisper as if it’s meant for just him to hear. He looks into your eyes as his own are filled with uncertainty. Nodding your head, you watch as his composure slowly breaks down and you finally hear the guttural groan that comes from his chest.

His moans fall freely now, as if your words were permission for him to express himself. Every sound that escapes his lips turns you on even more now that you hear just how good he’s feeling. His hand drops from your chest as his fingers glide down your stomach, lighting a fire on your skin as they move. He reaches for the underside of your thigh and he pushes your knee up to your chest. With the new angle his cock pushes impossibly deeper and you gasp, your fingers tugging on the silver strands at the back of his head.

“You feel…” he groans, dragging his hips back until just his head is inside of you. “You feel so fucking good,” he chokes out before thrusting again. His fingers move to your clit, rubbing your slick over where you’re most sensitive and his touch has you clenching around him.

“Oh, fuck, Joel!” you cry out as you buck your hips, squirming under his touch. Hearing his name falling out of a broken moan, his hips stutter forward and the tempo he sets begins to falter. You feel the heat quickly growing deep in your stomach and you know neither of you will last much longer.

“C-C’mon, honey, I need you,” he grunts out louder, his southern accent coming out thicker as he rubs his thumb over your clit faster. His opposite hand squeezes your hip tightly and you feel as though he might bruise the skin from how tight he’s holding you. Your voice shakes through your whimpers as he moves faster, your body bouncing underneath his hard thrusts.

Joel thrusts inside one last time before stilling, his cock twitching as he comes. The warmth filling you while he lets out a growl of your name is the last thing you need to push you over the edge. You clench around him repeatedly, drawing out his own orgasm as you two fall apart in each other’s embrace.

He doesn’t move after that, only hides his face into your neck again as he nuzzles his nose along your collarbone. His lips cover the markings he left just minutes ago, tending to them with gentle kisses. Neither of you say anything as you let your bodies relax into one another and it’s the most relief you’ve felt in months.

Your hands find their way to his broad back, rubbing over his shoulders absentmindedly while you listen to the rain lightly patter on the roof. His weight presses into you still as he lies on top of you, the feeling grounding you as you notice the kisses have stopped for a few minutes.

Looking down at your shoulder, you see his face is completely peaceful. The regular furrow of his eyebrows is smoothed out and the nearly permanent frown has left his face. All those worried lines have disappeared now and there’s not a single mutter disturbing his sleep.

You’ve never seen him this calm and you feel an overwhelming sense of pride that you were able to give him this—the first night where he doesn’t force himself to stay awake despite his heavy eyes, or wake up in a sweat from awful nightmares.

You decide right then and there that you want to give him this one perfect night. Slowly slipping out from underneath Joel, careful not to wake him, you pick your clothes up off of the floor and dress yourself. You grab your bag and weapons before kneeling beside the mattress on the floor. Running your fingers through his hair, you press a kiss to his temple before making your way out of the room.

With one last look over your shoulder at his sleeping face, you pull the door shut silently. You take watch that night, sitting in the living room until the sun rises between the gaps in the boarded up windows, giving him one night of peace.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fic #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #every time i write a fic it gets longer than the last help #chelsea writes

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whirlybirbs · 3 years

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( this chapter’s gif by @ransomflanagan from this beautiful set ! )

✪ — VACANT MIRRORS ; B.B. | 5/?

summary: your plan goes to asbolute shit.

pairing: bucky barnes / f!reader

tags: set before & during tfatws, friends to lovers, therapy positive, trauma healing techniques, ptsd mentions, the normalization of anxiety disorders, and a good ol’ slow burn

word count: 9k, please pray for my fingers

a/n: there’s action, there’s gunshot wounds, there’s canon appropriate violence! this one has a lot of plot, a lot of action, and i truly want to sleep for seven days after writing this. you should listen to the glass cannon’s club playlist while you read, though, for vibez.

( PREVIOUSLY | AO3 | MASTERLIST | NEXT )

You do have a plan.

Maybe it’s a little vague, a little messy, and a little up-in-the-air, but it’s a plan.

Get in, find Kiwi, avoid a handful of unsavory characters, and access the Alexandria Library.

Getting the hell out The Glass Cannon once you and Bucky were in was going to be a whole different plan entirely — one that was more improv than anything else. Hopefully, running a quick facial recognition program wouldn’t take long. With any luck, it would get a hit on any more recent aliases Innessa Sidrova was using after parsing the motherload of information Kiwi held onto with her life.

Kiwi wasn’t always known as Kiwi. She worked at SHIELD, like you, and back then she was known as Suji Awal. She stuck around longer — and she’d stayed on board during the active collapse to do heaven-sent work. It was an absolute Hail Mary, but while HYDRA had tried to purge all of SHIELD’s cloud data to protect their active agents and decades of progress, Suji had beat the hare in the race. Two steps ahead, she’d managed to pull nearly 97% of all confidential data including mission reports, agent profiles, and even electronic correspondence. While the metaphorical fire burned the documents behind her, she’d managed to salvage one of the only surviving, comprehensive looks at SHIELD before the curtain was pulled back to reveal HYDRA’s infection.

It had been used to try multiple HYDRA agents in the wake of it all in the federal courts. It was significant evidence, but after nearly all was reaped from the crop, Suji had taken the aptly named Alexandria Library and gone underground. Now, Kiwi was just another hacker in the thick of it and the Alexandria files were all but whispers.

It’s all about knowing the right people in the end.

Kiwi was a regular at The Glass Cannon. There was a nine out of ten chance you’d find her there. And if you didn’t find Kiwi, you’d probably find Climber and… Well, going to him wasn’t the most ideal situation, but out of the menagerie of acquaintances you’d gathered up throughout the years, you could trust Climber. He’d send you Kiwi’s way if you finally called in that favor he owed you. Either way, you’d find her and you’d get the files.

You just needed to avoid Alexei Gardzov.

Easy. Ish.

In truth, you barely get anything done Thursday — you��re too preoccupied in your head, running over the so-called plan even now as you fold laundry in the basement of your apartment complex.

You’d dug around in your closet, trying to find some semblance of an outfit. It was difficult. It wasn’t like the barely-there dresses and platform shoes were your thing anymore. Back then, your diet was mostly energy drinks and alcohol — in a way, it’s a relief to find that a good number of your staple outfits no longer fit. It made you feel like you really had put all this behind you.

You have.

Sure, it was the Rabbit you were going to have to be for tonight, but you’re not the Rabbit you were eight years ago. Good thing, too. You’re not too sure you and Bucky would have gotten along otherwise. Right now, your relationship with him was the biggest thing keeping you afloat — for the first time in a long time, you feel like you have some sort of purpose, even if it was a vague one at best.

You knew Innessa Sidrova was a threat — and you knew Bucky had to remedy that threat. You knew he felt responsible for creating her, for planting her in a position of power where she could manipulate and control. In truth, there was still a lot of vagueness surrounding his past. He’d made it clear he hasn’t been himself for a long time, but you couldn’t bring yourself to wade through the muck of his trauma to pluck out your answers. It just felt wrong.

If you were to say you hadn’t been tempted to go out on your own and dig, that’d be a lie.

Even now, as you pull out the ink-black top from the dryer and fold it neatly on top of the other pieces of laundry needed for tonight, you can feel it sparking like a lighter in the back of your head.

He was keeping something from you.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

You nearly jump six feet in the air.

It’s Miss Bonnie — and she’s laughing when her feet touch the cold concrete of the unfinished floor. Her basket of laundry is balanced neatly on her hip, and she walks with a smirk on her face. Her hair is piled neatly on top of her head, and as she bends to plop the basket down, she offers a wink.

“I could hear you thinking from upstairs,” she ruminates, paisley and dyed skirts kissing the ground, “Like a little steam engine.”

You laugh quietly into your task. You duck your head and heft a black bra and jeans from the dryer. “I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

She looks up, eyes moving carefully from the laundry pile to your face. Her eyes glimmer with quiet curiosity. “And a big night planned, huh?”

You snort. “What was the giveaway?”

“It’s always the lacey bras,” she chirps and slides a smirk your way as she waggles a finger at your pile, “And the strappy little bodysuit was a good hint, too.”

You exhale with a laugh, bracing a hand against the dryer. She’s not wrong — you’d really forgone comfort with this outfit lineup. It was temporary, though, and well worth the efforts if it meant helping Bucky tick off a name from his list of amends. You knew how much those meant to him.

“So,” she continues, voice muddled as she continues to load the washer, “I take it this friend of yours is really helping you out of your shell?”

“I guess so. Yeah. It’s — It’s sort of a mutual shell-cracking, I guess.”

“Mm,” a hum, “You sound troubled, though.”

Your mouth opens as your fingers trace the line of the bodysuit. You pause, and you rock back on your heels. Miss Bonnie notices.

She waits patiently, bent at the knees.

“You ever just…” you wave your hand, “Feel like — I don’t know. He’s my friend. My best friend, honestly, and that’s… Really saying a lot. But, there’s stuff under the surface and I know it’s not my business but…”

Out comes a strangled groan.

“What? Like a crazy ex-girlfriend?”

“No, no — I don’t think so,” you mutter, “Wouldn’t surprise me, though.”

“Handsome?” she asks, smiling.

You close your eyes and ignore the smile on your face as you reply. “Yea, handsome.”

“Well, have you tried asking?” she shrugs as she stands, “Not about the crazy ex, but about the stuff you’re worried about? It never hurts.”

“Problem is, I don’t really think it’s too much of my business.”

Miss Bonnie hums at that and presses the start on her washer. She’s quiet for a bit, swaying slightly as she weighs the conversation and you watch — enamored with the older woman’s calm wisdom. She gestures openly with ringed hands.

“I think it’s normal for us to want to know everything about those we care about,” she says, “We want to know how we can protect them, how we can comfort them. But… it comes in due time. All of it does. You’ll find a time when he does open up about the ex, or whatever it is on his mind. You’re friends, after all.”

You’re nodding, chest tight with thanks.

Miss Bonnie’s face is soft.

“You got a picture?” she chirps like a bird looking for a worm, “I wanna see who this little friend is. And if he really is as handsome as you’re suggesting...”

You scoff and lean to dig out your phone.

“Cut it out,” you mumble as she moves closer, “No playing matchmaker.”

“Sure, sure,” she waves, leaning to watch as you scroll through your camera roll.

The only photo you have of Bucky is there from Tuesday night — after he’d housed nearly an entire container of noodles and promptly passed out during the third Lord of the Rings movie. You’d woken up around one in the morning to find that Poke had unceremoniously curled up on top of the supersoldier’s chest. Bucky’s hand was still in the calico’s fur as he dozed, the colors of the TV painting his face all sorts of peaceful. You’d taken the photo, shoving it in his face after gently nudging him awake.

He’s laughed.

You gesture to show Miss Bonnie.

Like ice, she freezes.

You notice a microexpression dart across her face, but it’s gone in an instant. You can’t pin it, but the way she bends to pull the phone closer and zoom in on her face comes off as interest. You blink, label it as shock, and move on.

Her voice sounds different.

“Handsome,” she mumbles plainly, preoccupied with the sight, “I get it now. What’s his name?”

“Bucky,” you say as she hands the phone back, “He’s… He’s a good person.”

Miss Bonnie just nods.

You tuck your phone away and plop your laundry into your basket. Ignoring the sudden quiet that had crept between you both, you haul up the stack and offer her a gentle smile. She’s fiddling with the washer’s timer.

“Thank you, Miss Bonnie.”

“Of course,” she rushes out, smiling gently, “And be safe tonight.”

“I will.”

With your promise, you ascend the stairs.

In that basement, Bonnie McLayne is no more, and instead, Innessa Sidrova remembers that night in Moscow, back in 1975.

She remembers the Winter Soldier.

◦ ◦ ◦ ◦

Bucky calls you three times with no answer.

Normally, he’d just give up — but it was Thursday, and you weren’t answering the buzzer to your apartment either. He tries his best to ignore the strike of panic that sparks in his chest. It could stoke a wildfire, really, but he pushes it down and remembers to breathe. He doesn’t let himself think about what he’d do if something happened to you.

After all, you’re probably fine. Sleeping, maybe. The both of you had a long night ahead.

(Longer than either of you realize, really.)

It’s nearly seven o’clock, and after trying your cell one more time from his perch on your apartment’s stoop, Bucky decides to say fuck it.

A well-adjusted person might frown upon what he was about to do, but Bucky wasn’t exactly well-adjusted, now was he?

He rounds the back alley with long strides and easily finds that, with a little maneuvering, he can hoist himself upwards on top of the nearest dumpster. With a well-timed hop, he can also snag the bottom of the fire escape’s ladder and haul it downwards. The rest is easy, and he’s scaling the fire escape to the third floor with ease before he even knows it.

There’s even a smug little smirk on his face the whole time he does.

Finding your window is a little harder, but Bucky eventually spots Poke’s round little body smushed against the glass — it’s a dead giveaway, and after some prowling, he finds the window to your living room and unceremoniously throws it open.

It’s unlocked, for whatever reason, and he makes a mental note to have a conversation with you about safety and security in the city. After all, you never knew when an ex-assassin supersoldier was going to break in and pet your cat.

Upon opening the window, he pieces together pretty quickly why you’re not answering. Could be the music coming from your bedroom, or even the singing that’s coupled alongside it. From the bathroom across the hall from your room, steam has settled above on the ceiling. The whole apartment smells like fruit and soap and perfume and Bucky’s not really sure how to parse through all the sensory experiences that greet him with he shimmies in through the window, legs first.

All in all, they make him smile.

Bucky shuts the window behind him as he’s quickly greeted by Poke — the calico offers a gratuitous little chirp when Bucky bends to scoop up the cat. Easily, he melts. Poke is purring loudly in his ear as Bucky takes a moment to survey your apartment a little bit closer. Mr. Poke Bowl rubs his face against Bucky’s stubble as the man weaves through the kitchen.

It’s very you.

He isn’t really sure what that means at the end of the day, but all he knows is that he feels at home here. He feels safe. He feels comfortable. He feels like he can be himself. Not James, not Sergeant Barnes, not The Winter Soldier. Not even Steve’s Bucky, but just… his Bucky. Himself. Sarcastic and exhausted and a little cynical.

Bucky lets Poke down on the counter and moves to the fridge.

There’s still beer from the other night in there, tucked in the back, so he makes easy work on popping open a bottle and busying himself with petting a very adamant Poke.

As he sips the Leinenkugel, it’s no small coincidence that his phone buzzes again — for what feels like the hundredth time today — with a message from Janelle.

She was nice — pretty, too. Once upon a time, she would have been his type.

That was before he met you, though.

There’s a little pinprick of mortification at that quiet confession that’s been slipping into his heart more and more in the last few days. You are, after all, his best friend. He’s your best friend. Guilt swims with the feelings that have begun to pluck his heartstrings and he has to admit he’s not too comfortable with the song they play.

His biggest fear is fucking this up.

Fucking you up.

Honestly, his track record isn’t great. The whole defrosted-international-threat bit made it a little difficult to date. Janelle seemed to think the date had gone well enough, though, hence the handful of texts he’d been getting every few hours asking if he’s free.

Like usual, he ignores them.

Exercising his own free will is hard sometimes. Especially when it comes to saying no.

Taking another swig of the beer, Bucky shoves his phone back into his pocket and tucks his fingers back into Poke’s fur. The calico’s tail swings patiently as he sits and watches — and it’s a little weird how human his eyes are for a second there. He mmrrps and lunges for Bucky’s hand when he comes close, bonking his head eagerly against the cool vibranium.

It’s a different sensation.

That’s another big adjustment — learning how things really feel with this new arm. It’s not just handling recoil or gripping knives or throwing punches. It’s the soft tickle of fur, the gentle pressure of a warm rag to clean the joints. Meticulous upkeep wasn’t something HYDRA did often. He doesn’t miss the twinge of pain and molasses-like stickiness that came with a dirty arm. Blood was the worst. Always sat deep in the cracks.

He flexes his fingers. Poke meows again.

He moves to plop down on the couch. Poke follows.

You’re singing, still, to some song that Bucky’s never heard, when you push open your bedroom door and move towards the living room.

You jump six feet in the air and scream when you see him just sitting there, clutching a beer and petting Poke like he fucking lives here rent-free.

Bucky’s reaction is muted, mostly because he’s a little too preoccupied with your outfit and your jewelry and the pink eye shadow that creeps up your brow-bone. There’s glitter on your eyelids and lip gloss on your mouth and he can smell some sort of candy-sweet perfume coming off you. The plunging neckline of the jet-black top is enough to leave him shifting his gaze back up to your startled expression with a tight jaw.

His face is blank.

Then he offers that stupid fucking smile he does. Y’know, the tight-lipped one where he somehow maintains a dead-eyed look the whole time. If you weren’t trying to calm your racing heartbeat, you might have laughed. You hate the white-hot flare it sparks in your chest.

“How the fuck did you get in here?” you hiss, waving your hands.

“We need to have a serious conversation about locking our windows,” he says as he kicks his feet up on the coffee table and wags a finger at you, “Also, what are you wearing?”

“You — You fucking broke in through my window?”

“Yea, well, you were too busy pretending to be Britney Spears to hear me try and buzz up, and my phone calls.”

Sheepishly, you cross your arms. “Nice reference—”

A shrug from Bucky. “Thank you.”

“—Also, what are you wearing?”

He looks down at his usual t-shirt, leather jacket combo. He squints back up at you.

“I’m sorry,” he chirps, “You’re talking to me? Did the department store run out of fabric, Rabbit?”

You self-consciously adjust the plunging neckline of the bodysuit as you frown deeply. “I think I’m gonna skip on the fashion advice from the man who lived in a time where ankles were seen as scandalous.”

“I was born in 1917,” he mumbles as he stands, actively avoiding another pass over your outfit because as much as he hates to admit it, it’s not a bad look on you, “Not 1817.”

“Point being, we’re going to a club. And you look like you’re going to the local Home Depot,” you move to snag a set of dangly earrings that are sitting on the coffee table, “We’ve gotta look like we’re there to party, nothing more.”

Bucky sighs. He finishes the beer, places the bottle down and sheds his jacket. “So, what?”

You pry your eyes away from the flash of skin — his arm, flesh and blood, speaks to how strong he is. And, undoubtedly how easy it was for him to fucking scale three stories of the fire escape to bust in.

“So,” you mumble as you thread the earring in, “I have some of Jaimie’s old shirts. There’s probably something you can use… If they fit.”

Bucky exhales softly. “You kept them?”

“Didn’t have the heart to throw them out,” you reply as you gesture for him to follow you into your bedroom.

The back of your top is arguably more crisis-inducing than the front — it’s an open back, and Bucky settles on admiring the decor rather than the curve of your spine. He has to. For his own fucking self-composure.

Your bedroom is nice — and like the rest of your space, it makes him feel comfortable. It’s all warm colors and posters and plants in the corners. Across from your queen-sized bed, there’s a large desk with a triple monitor setup. That’s where the music is coming from. The little knick-knacks on your shelves and desk make him chuckle.

Then, he stops, halfway to the closet, and stares.

You blink over your shoulder as you bend, digging to the back of your closet to pull out the clear bin you’d piled most of Jaimie’s stuff into after the funeral. After you’d cleaned out his apartment on your own.

He’s looking at the poster — the one from Cap’s USO tour. It’s framed nicely, set up on the wall beside your desk. It’s got a gold frame, and Bucky can’t help but wander closer to look at the signature.

It’s Steve’s alright.

“How much did you pay for this?”

You scoff. Your necklaces tinker together. “Don’t even go there.”

“The jerk signed thousands of these,” he mumbles, crossing his arms as he leans closer, “And still, the fame didn’t go to his head.”

You smile softly, leaning back.

“Jealous?” you chirp, raising your brows as you pretend to swoon, “Oh, Sergeant Barnes, I’d just love to meet your dear friend—”

Bucky’s laughing as you swat at his knee, leaning back on the carpet like a damsel in distress.

“Shut up,” he snorts, “It’s a sore subject for me.”

“Oh my god.”

“I’m serious — do you know how many dates I had to set up for the chump? And then, boom. I’m invisible.”

“Yeah, well,” you mutter with a smile, unclicking the lid, “Some people just like blondes, Buck. I’m sure there were plenty of eyes on you. Stop being so dramatic.”

“Yea, the best friend, sure,” he mumbles at the poster, “Hell, he was taller than me. You know you don’t need to lie to me—”

“Listen, if I was some Lauren Bacall-looking nurse back then,” you wave your hands, “I’d have gone for you. Alright? Stop lamenting and get over here.”

He goes quiet and ignores the warmth in his cheeks. He squats by your side. “Shut up.”

“We seriously need to work on taking compliments,” you groan, throwing your head back, “I’m being serious, y’know, for once. And I’m not just saying it as your friend. You’re handsome and everyone knows it except you, apparently. My neighbor agrees that’s for sure.”

He squints.

You wave it off and gesture to your outfit. “She saw me doing laundry.”

“That explains nothing,” Bucky deadpans, “Literally nothing.”

“I showed her a picture,” you cry indignantly, moving to shuffle through some of the old t-shirts sitting on top of the bin, “Relax.”

He moves to plop down, crossing his legs beneath him. He decides to let the topic die — again, for his own self-composure more than anything. The compliment, though vehemently denied by the worst part of him, is tucked neatly in the homes of his heart. The idea of meeting you, before now, is a little intoxicating. What would it have been like?

Would you have even spared him a dance?

Bucky rubs his cheek. Poke meows and buts the door open with his head.

You’re wrist-deep in the bin when you speak. “He’s obsessed with you, y’know.”

Poke has already taken up a post in Bucky’s lap. Bucky smiles, petting Poke gently with his vibranium hand. The cat seems to like the cool metal. Bucky mumbles softly down to the calico, scritching his cheeks. “I like him, too.”

You pause long enough to try and remember the sight.

Bucky’s eyes find yours, and you’re quick to turn back to the bin.

“Here we go,” you exhale as you pull out the shirt you’d been looking for.

It’s a long-sleeve button-down, one that you can distinctly remember Jaimie wearing to his engagement party’s after-party — a real typical night of Jaimie being Jaimie. It’s black with a barely-there red floral pattern. It’s flashy enough that Bucky won’t look horribly out of place.

The only problem is Jaimie was a little smaller than Bucky.

“Try this on,” you mumble as you dig around trying to find something else in case it doesn’t do the trick.

Bucky catches the silk shirt and gives it a once over. He raises an eyebrow, and deciding against debating this, he simply nudges Poke off his lap and stands.

He moves to your bed, laying the shirt out. On your closet door is a full-length mirror. You want to snap it in half when you accidentally catch a glimpse of Bucky hauling off his black, cotton t-shirt and anxiously fumbling with the buttons on Jaimie’s old shirt. You have to breathe — and remind yourself that that’s Bucky.

Your Bucky. Your best friend Bucky.

When he calls your name, it sounds far away. You’re busy angrily sorting through old clothes.

“I look ridiculous.”

When you turn around, the first thing you notice is that it’s a little tight. Not in a bad way, but the buttons are gapping along his chest, and it’s tight around his arms.

Your eyes widen a little and you swallow. You tilt your head.

Bucky’s frowning.

“Let me see,” you offer gently, standing and moving close, “It’s not that bad.”

“You don’t sound too sure right now,” he mumbles as you enter his personal space.

You’re nimble with undoing the top three buttons — it gives him enough room to move his shoulders, though, and the dip of the shirt along his sternum brings dog tags into view. You reach, momentarily entranced, and read them to yourself.

You smell like vanilla and sugar.

Bucky shifts in his boots.

“Y’know,” you say, moving to the sleeves, “I think this works.”

You roll the sleeves, stopping at his forearm.

When you step aside, Bucky can see himself in the full-length mirror. He looks less than enthused.

It’s not an entirely bad look — he’ll admit that much — but he doesn’t look like himself. No, there’s too much chest and skin and… Christ, this shirt is tight. He does, though, look like some of those trendy folks he sees at Izzy’s bar every now and again. Hipsters.

“I look like a douchebag.”

“That’s the point,” you chirp as you close the box and shove it back into your closet, “Now the outfit matches the personality.”

He swats at your head on the way by. You laugh.

You’ve got boots in your hand, and you land on the bed with a bounce. Bucky is busy fixing his hair in the mirror while you zip up the thigh-high boots. When he turns around, you’re about three inches taller. He blinks, yet again entranced by the outfit.

Then, you’re muscling on the jacket.

It’s neon pink — and shaggy and cropped. It falls just above your waist and swallows you whole. But, Bucky’s attention is mostly on the back.

There’s a large, white embroidered Playboy bunny there, with RABBIT written across the shoulders in a chunky, blackletter typeface.

His brows are high on his face when you turn around.

You freeze.

“...What?” you ask, “Something on my face?”

“Playboy bunny, huh?”

You could smack him. “Weren’t you busy being a frozen dinner when Playboy came out?”

“I’ll have you know,” he says tightly as he follows you out of your bedroom and to the living room, “The Russians enjoyed their fair share of editions.”

“The Russians? Sure, what’s that saying? There’s no sex in the USSR?” you chide, “You can just say Bucky Barnesenjoyed his fair share—”

The tips of his ears are red. You notice. It makes you split into a grin that worsens the pink shade that’s crawling up his neck.

He coughs. “Have you ever considered never opening your mouth again, Rabbit?”

You nudge his arm. “Nah. Bothering you is more fun.”

He shrugs on his jacket, sighs, and decides that keeping quiet is just easier.

However, that’s not entirely your plan — and you speak quickly as you pull your purse over your shoulder. You’re rummaging quietly, stacking your wallet and phone inside. You glance up at him.

“You ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” he mumbles, bending to pat Poke one last time as you move to the door of your bedroom. He watches you flick all the lights off, and before you leave, you double check the calico’s food and water. He’s got enough for a few days. Bucky leans against the door frame, “Care to run me through the plan?”

Nodding, you move to open your front door.

“It’ll be easy,” you explain as you make room for him, “If we play our cards right—”

Bucky’s stopped, though, and is digging in his back pocket as his cell phone rings. You watch him exhale tightly, eyes on the screen the entire time he squeezes by you and starts down the hall. You make careful note of the delicate scowl on his face, only before you catch Miss Bonnie out of the corner of her eye.

Her door is half-cracked across the hall, and she’s watching.

She offers you a smile.

Bucky keeps walking.

You wave, lock your door, and jog to catch up to Bucky.

“Hey,” you call, “Earth to Mr. Claw Machine?”

His head snaps up. “Sorry.”

“Who was that?” you ask carefully, nudging his arm with yours, “Falcon?”

“I wish,” he mutters as he muscles the cellphone back into his pocket, “I wouldn’t feel so bad sending him to voicemail.”

“Yeesh,” you wince, “Lemme guess, was it the owner of the coral lipstick that was all over your face on Tuesday night?”

Again, that temptation to feel jealousy flares up in your heart. But, he’s here, isn’t he? With you. Ignoring her calls. And probably texts judging by the guilty look that’s on his face. You feel a little bad — but at the same time, Bucky’s a grown man. Maybe a grown man who needs to create some more transparent lines of communication with the poor woman, but still.

“Bingo. I mean — it’s not that she wasn’t great an’ all but…”

You raise both hands. “I’m not judging.”

He sighs raggedly as he bounces down the apartment’s stairs. “I don’t think I’m ready for that.”

“What?” you ask with a laugh, “Dating? Yea, it’s pretty fucking terrifying, Buck.”

“You sound like you’re speaking from experience.”

You hold the door open for him and slide him a pitying look.

“Because I am.”

The walk to The Glass Cannon is spent walking Bucky through the plan — and for the most part, he makes a point of nodding along and listening. His only real anxiety pops up at the mention of Alexei, which is relatable to say the least.

It’s dark, the streets are relatively quiet, and the spring chill has pricked your skin. Your heels click against the pavement, and you stalk along. Shoving your hands in your pockets of the pink, shag jacket, you huff.

You’re starting to feel the anxiety.

Fifteen minutes later, you’re both approaching the blue glow of the storefront.

Computers & Stuff was a family-owned and operated computer shop from the 90s that was taken over by a lesser-known hand of the Russian crime family in New York, the Gardzovs. Alexei’s father is the formal owner of the shop, and his son runs the lucrative activities of the underground club that lay beneath the graphics cards and motherboards.

Bucky, as you both near the entrance, speaks quickly. “Anything else I need to know?”

“Just follow my lead, okay?” you whisper.

The bell above the door dings when you pull open the glass door.

The lighting is sterile and if you’re real quiet, you can hear the dull hum of the fluorescents. The store is empty, save for one man behind the register.

You almost duck out the entrance at the sight of him.

Igor has been a bouncer at The Glass Cannon for as long as you’ve been a patron — and he’s also one of Alexei’s dogs. This part of the plan was something you’d considered only briefly, and for a second, you’re thankful you worried over the million and ten ways this would play out for days.

“Well, if it isn’t the little bunny.”

It’s said with malice. Igor’s tattooed hands land on the counter as he leans.

You, however, hold your head high. Bucky watches as something changes in your posture.

“Good to see you, Igor.”

“Is it?” he growls, stalking around the counter and quickly encroaching on your personal space, “Because I’m pretty sure you’re not welcome here, bunny.”

Bucky gets a good look at the man now — clearly an enforcer. He’s got prison tattoos, a shaved head. The long beard is a weak spot. Doesn’t seem to be armed. Blue eyes flick to you and the way you don’t even flinch when the man leans to breathe right in your face.

You just smile.

“I thought you’d say that,” you mumble, moving to swing your bag to the front and dig your wallet out, “But, I’m not here to cause any trouble.”

Suddenly, there’s a hundred-dollar bill slipping from your well-manicured nails into the vest pocket of the bouncer. There’s a tense pause, then, while the two of you size one another up.

“Fucking your way through college paid off, huh?” he hisses.

You stay quiet.

Bucky, though, moves between you both with a quick shove. Immediately, Igor’s attention goes to Bucky as he sizes him up — he laughs. His nose is nearly touching Bucky’s.

“What’s wrong, pretty boy?”

“You should watch your mouth,” Bucky says evenly, “Or I’ll cut your fucking tongue out.”

You’re careful to hide your expression; the feeling the words stir isn’t one that you’re happy about. This sudden protectiveness, though, makes you feel some sort of invincible.

Igor settles back on his heels.

He steps back.

He gestures to the back room with his head.

You keep walking when he calls out: “Careful, bunny, the dogs are going to be looking for you.”

You grit your teeth tightly and push through the fabric curtain.

He barks, taunting you.

Bucky is by your side in an instant, gaze still rooted over his shoulder at the hulking bouncer. He waits until you’ve settled down until you’ve said his name. His eyes fall to you, then to the stairwell before them.

Above it, in curled neon tubing, reads The Glass Cannon.

The windows are blacked out, but from his spot at the top of the stairs, Bucky can feel the rattle of a deep bass vibrate his ribs.

“Come on. We’re on a time crunch now.”

“Alexei?”

You nod as you lead the way down the stairs. “Word travels fast. We need to be quicker. Stick to the crowds. Remember, we just need to find Kiwi — then we bail.”

Bucky nods tensely.

Then, you open the doors.

Immediately, his eyes adjust to the darkness — neon and strobes and the pulse of purple and pink LEDs make his vision swim. It’s warmer down here, and the stairs leading down into the sub-basement is lined with people sipping drinks and chattering over the loud music. It smells like piss and beer and tobacco.

Again, Bucky watches as the person he knows melts away.

The Rabbit in front of him is different.

You reach, as if on reflex, for his hand.

When you turn around and flash him a smile, he has to swallow down a sudden rise of sheepishness.

The sea of people part around you, and Bucky realizes quickly that people recognize you. He can see their painted lips moving, muttering things into curious ears about the pink-clad woman in front of him; there are smiles there and frowns, and shock. You’re slow in your descent, making a show of the arrival — all while Bucky begins to piece together that The Glass Cannon is larger than he originally suspected.

As they near the bottom of the landing, he can see out across the floor.

There’s a square-shaped catwalk around the dance floor, laden with dancers on their designated poles. Tables line the outside of the cavernous room, and the bars along each wall are crowded — even still, these glimpses of his surroundings come in temporary flashes of light. The music coming from the center of the dancefloor is loud. The entirety of the scene is raucous.

He can’t imagine you finding solace here.

He tightens his grip on your hand. You squeeze back.

When both of you reach the bottom of the stairwell, the sea of people swallow you in a current of dancing and drinking and laughing, and you crawl into Bucky’s personal space to shout in his ear.

You’re still holding his hand tightly, pressed to his chest, as you lean upwards to brush your cheek with his.

“Follow me, okay?”

He nods.

You begin the methodical crawl through the dancefloor, working your way to the bar — there, you pause long enough to be served a drink that’s as pink as the glitter on your eyelids. The flecks dance in the lights, and Bucky graciously accepts a shot from the bartender who smiles sweetly like honey at you.

You bat your lashes, thank her, and stand gracefully from the barstool.

You take a pointed swig and scan the floor.

Kiwi would be in one of the private booths, you suspect — she was enough of a high roller here. But, with the crowded club bursting at the seams, it was nearly impossible to get to the other side. You sway a bit on your feet, still tightly gripping Bucky’s hand in your own. You refuse to let go.

For your sake and his.

Bucky is a silent shadow, eyes roaming the club — he watches a dancer dip down low and snag a green bill from a patron. Someone beside him laughs loud, another bumping into his backside as you continue to weave to the outer rim of the room. The music is so loud his heartbeat could be mistaken for an 808, and he feels the thrum in his bones.

If he wasn’t so overwhelmed, if he was drunk, maybe it could be fun.

Finally, out of the haze of bodies, Bucky can breathe.

You’re leaning over again, speaking quickly.

“I don’t see her.”

“I can’t see shit in here,” he calls back, eyes moving along the ridge of the room. He scans the booths set into the walls, set up on platforms, and roped off with velveteen, “Where would she be?”

“Hard to tell,” you mumble, “But I think I might need to go to Plan B.”

Bucky follows your solid stare.

In the booth directly across the floor from you, there’s a man in black — black everything, save from his hair. That’s the brightest blue Bucky has ever seen. He’s swallowed by a harem of men and women who are laughing and drinking and dancing, and he’s entertaining. Ringed fingers wave in the air, face split into a laugh so wide he swears it’s a mile long. He’s got glasses on and they’re tinted blue.

Bucky watches carefully as you move to his booth.

It’s like a prey surveying a trap — you’re careful.

Finally, when you stand before it, you let go of his hand.

“Hi there, Climber.”

The whole booth falls silent. The man stiffens, back turned to you totally. Bucky watches as his hands fall and slowly, the man you’d called Climber turns around.

His expression is stone cold.

His voice, however, is as warm as a hot poker.

“Oh my goodness, is that Rabbit?”

He ascends from the booth, platform boots leaving him to tower over you — he’s no small man, either. Bucky watches as he bends to kiss both of your cheeks and hug you tightly. He, however, doesn’t pull away entirely.

“What the fuck are you doing here,” he hisses, “You want to be roadkill?”

“I need to find Kiwi,” you whisper quickly, expression almost begging, “Please.”

He pauses, dimpled chin wavering a bit. Bucky watches him sniff, push his glasses back, and readjust his posture. Climber licks his lips and his eyes dart to Bucky. He’s thinking, Bucky realizes, and after a quick moment of deliberation, he seems to cave.

“Only because I owe you.”

“I know,” you say, raising your hands, “I know.”

In a dash, his demeanor changes once more. He’s flying over to his harem, waving his hands and blowing kisses and promising he’ll be back in a flash. They whine, they moan, but Climber appeases them with another round of jello shots from strobing syringes that a waitress is carrying by.

“Come on then,” he says, “And stop looking like such a prude.”

He begins to weave.

You follow hand returning to its spot in Bucky’s like a lifeline.

You’re sipping your drink, moving through the crowd easily. There’s a slight sway in your step now, and at one point you and Climber even get noticed by a pod of people who recognize your faces. It’s met with laughing and squealing and in the fray, the both of you slip back into the crowd. Bucky is taking it all in, desperately ignoring the tingle of a panic flaring in the back of his head.

Too many people.

Soon, though, Climber is moving towards a side entrance.

It’s a back room.

Suddenly, the dim lights and neon dissolve, and instead, Bucky is flashed in the face with the abrasive sting of fluorescent lights. It no longer reeks of spilled beer, and his boots don’t stick to the ground. No, there’s quiet chatter back here — Climber continues to lead the two of you through a maze of supply crates full of booze and soda.

Then, a right turn. And a left turn.

Someone is taking inventory.

“Kiwi, I know you’re going to hate me for this—”

The woman who turns around is beautiful. She’s in the midst of eyeing an open crate that looks just like the others but fitted with a hollowed center, marking off what looks like an inventory of burner cell phones. Her brown skin is decorated with glitter, her eyes streaked with the same green shade of her tightly shaved head. The green is bright and it reminds Bucky of summer.

Suddenly, her expression sours.

“What the fuck.”

“I know—”

“No,” she snaps, raising her hand and waving to the assistant beside her to take her tablet and make themselves scarce, “You need to get out of here.”

“I need your help,” you say finally, tone heavy.

It’s enough to make Climber sigh. Kiwi watches you, scratches her neck, and swallows.

She meets Climber’s eyes.

Then she breaks.

“Where the fuck have you been, Rabbit?” she asks, worries seeping into her eyes as she pulls you into a rough hug, “We thought you were dead.”

“No,” you shake your head, “But you know I couldn’t be around here anymore.”

“Yea,” Climber snorts, “Not good for your health, huh, love?”

“Alexei still wants your head,” Kiwi chimes in, crossing her arms, “Does he know you’re here?”

“Igor was on the door, so I’m sure he’s heard by now.”

Both of them curse.

Guilt flashes across your face as you screw your eyes shut and nod. “I know. I know, I just… I seriously need your help, Kiwi. It was worth the risk. It’s — HYDRA. I need to tap into the Alexandria Library.”

Immediately, the woman stiffens.

Her eyes flash to Bucky in the corner. He stares back.

“He waits outside.”

“You can trust him—”

“No,” she snaps, “I can’t. And I don’t. And I won’t.”

You give Bucky a pleading look. Between the two of you, a negotiation happens between your eyes. It’s a compromise, and finally, Bucky relents.

“Fine,” Bucky barks, tilting his head and giving you a tight-lipped smile, “Fine. I’ll wait out here.”

“He’s cute,” mumbles Climber as Bucky rounds the corner, long legs carrying him out of the supply room, “Boyfriend?”

“Shut up, Climber,” you mumble, waving your hand, “Just listen—”

“Who is he?” Kiwi asks, eyes still watching the doorway, “And why did you bring him along?”

You sigh, rubbing your brow. “He’s the one who’s trying to find this HYDRA agent. He knew her before.”

“So he’s HYDRA.”

“No,” you snap cooly, “He’s not.”

“So, just handsome, then?” Climber asks, hands waving, “Right. Great. Really making a case for yourself, Rabbit.”

“He’s trying to find a woman named Innessa Sidrova. She was one of the original agents who helped form the American HYDRA cell,” you explain quickly, “I’ve got the GRC breathing down my neck, and… And he’s a good person. He’s my friend. I’m trying to help him, but I can’t do it without you. Both of you.”

Kiwi hums. She sighs. “That explains why you went MIA.”

“Aside from putting Alexei behind bars?” you scoff, “Yea, the GRC played a part in it.”

The three of you are quiet for a moment.

“Fine.”

You look up at Kiwi. Her hands are on her waist.

There’s an immense wash of relief that floods over you at that moment — and from the looks of it, Kiwi can tell. You move to grab her hand, and she grabs back. Both of you smile, and the hug that follows is warm. You’ve missed her. A lot.

“Thank you, Suji.”

Then, footsteps.

That relief is traded in for an anxious backfire of fear in an instant.

It’s slow. Dress shoes on polished cement.

Then:

“Oh, bunny, bunny, bunny. Tsk, tsk.”

Climber and Kiwi’s faces upturn to the doorway and they tell you everything you need to know.

So, you decide at that moment that you won’t be the prey tonight.

You turn around and come face-to-face with a man playing devil.

Alexei Gardzov is a handsome man — a beard and piercing grey eyes. His hair is tightly cropped, and intricate tattoos decorate every inch of his skin. Some of them are new, you realize, and there’s temporary pride that bubbles up at them. They’re from prison.

You almost smile.

Behind him, three goons loom.

“I’ve been wondering when you’d come hopping back,” he croons as he enters the room with the swagger of a man who trapped his dinner, “Well worth the wait, I think.”

His cologne hangs like smog in the air. He strolls up to you, and in a flash, he’s got your hair in a vice grip.

He yanks it back, you grit your teeth.

The barrel of a gun digs into your cheek.

“Climber, Kiwi, and Rabbit,” he sing-songs, “All in one room again like it’s NYU’s 2014 hack-a-thon. Isn’t that cute?”

Kiwi speaks. “Alexei—”

“Shut up,” he snaps, gun moving to flash towards Kiwi, “And stay out of my business, Sujina.”

The gun’s muzzle is cold. He’s rough, and you try to ignore the twinge of pain that comes with his unceremonious yank of your hair. Once more, he tsks. His breath is hot on your face. He smells like cigarettes and whiskey.

“I spent seven years behind bars,” he bites, “All because a’ you.”

“Me? I wasn’t the one trafficking girls—”

“SHUT UP!”

The pistol cracks across your cheek and the cement floor hurtles towards you. The gasp that falls from your lips is from shock; your fingers dig into the cold ground as you try to blink away the blurriness. Your ears ring. Blood drips from your cheek between your fingers.

Again, there’s a hand in your hair.

Now, the fight begins.

Climber and Kiwi are stuck, frozen in fear.

You don’t blame them, because Igor and the others have guns already drawn. One of them, one that’s young and you don’t recognize immediately, has a baseball bat in his hands.

Alexei drags you by your hair as you grimace, refusing to scream. Your heels scrape against the ground as you try to get purchase, but he’s quick to throw you back against the far wall.

“Don’t worry, Bunny,” he smiles, “I won’t kill you. Not right now.”

Then, a kick.

Right to the ribs.

You can’t breathe — you gasp earnestly at the white, hot shot of pain.

“Get up.”

You’re not listening, you’re too busy trying to catch your breath.

“I said,” comes a growl as he reaches, hand in your hair again as he drags you up the wall. Your legs buckle, and you try to hold your chin high as you stumble upwards, “Get up.”

Then, there’s a hand around your throat.

Tight. Too tight. Can’t breathe. Can’t breathe. Can’t breathe. Can’t get his hand off your neck, can’t breathe, can’t breathe, can’t fucking think, can’t stand, can’t see, can’t breathe —

“Boss!”

A new voice.

The pressure is relieved for a second.

A new face has run into the room — he looks frazzled, hair askew and gun out. He’s eyeing the scene before him in a moment’s pause.

“Can’t you see I’m a little bit busy?” Alexei snags as you gasp, clawing at his hand. He swings his head to the figure in the doorway with an annoyed bark, “What is it?”

“The cops, boss,” he stammers, “They’re here.”

“What?”

“They’re here for her, boss.”

A slow turn to where his finger is pointing. His gaze lands on you. Alexei laughs.

“Well,” he says as the goon disappears, “Isn’t that just peachy, bunny?”

The choking starts again.

Then, a metal hand.

Vibranium.

You watch it swing, you watch it grab Alexei’s throat.

Suddenly, you can breathe.

Suddenly, Bucky Barnes enters the fight.

You make friends with the ground again as you duck, just as Alexei is rammed into the wall above your head by his throat. As you cough while Kiwi calls your name — you can hear a fight. But everything’s moving slow, and it’s not until the first gunshot that you’re kicked into action. It’s loud. Your skin pricks alive.

Someone screams.

You stumble to your feet, eyes finding Bucky’s form moving quickly between the three goons — the gunshot had come from the pistol that had somehow found its way into Bucky's flesh and blood hand. One of the men is on the floor, suit pants stained with a bullet wound through the thigh. He’s wailing. Bucky doesn’t notice. Or he doesn’t care. Maybe both.

His face is cold.

Another gunshot is fired off, this time richoting between you and Kiwi and Climber and embedding itself into the cement wall overhead. The three of you scream, ducking reflexively.

That’s when Bucky snaps.

“Now would be a good time to go!”

Kiwi’s hands are on your arm as you quickly break through the doorway through the storage room. Climber is following, checking over his shoulder at the carnage that Bucky begins to reap in the room.

He’s hysterical, trying to jog in his white platform boots. “What the fuck, Rabbit!”

Your voice is hoarse. You’re clutching your ribs. “Not now, Climber!”

“I’m parked in the back,” Kiwi says, ducking through plastic flaps as she helps you through the back of the club, “Come on, we’ll go through the trucking entrance.”

You hear Bucky call your name — he’s jogging to catch up, gun drawn in his hand. Seems like he made good work of the others, sporting nothing more than a split lip. You turn, pausing for a moment to take inventory of his well-being.

And that’s all it takes.

Alexei Gardzov, limping, steps in front of you and Kiwi and Climber at an intersection in the hallway.

There’s a gun in his hand.

The first thing you feel is the impact.

Like a truck slamming into you at full speed. For the fourth time tonight, you have the air robbed from your lungs. It’s instant confusion.

Then comes the pain. Hot. Hotter than the sun. Hot like white flames. It tears through your shoulder and all you can do is gasp; you’re sent into a stutter step — and while the world around you continues to move, you’re busy reconciling with the fact you’ve just been shot.

A bullet flies by your head.

Alexei Gardzov drops.

You’re grasping at your chest, staggering, when Bucky breaks into a sprint — but you’re okay. You’re okay, it’s just your shoulder, it’s just your arm, you’re okay, you can feel your fingers and you can breathe and the pain is nearly unbearable but you’re okay.

Then, a baseball bat.

It clocks Bucky directly in the skull. He’s clotheslined.

It’s Igor.

The gun from Bucky’s hands clatters across the ground to your feet, and you’re too busy trying to get to Bucky to realize — but, you’ve got tunnel vision and adrenaline and at that moment, you think a good sidekick doesn’t need anything else in this life.

Igor goes to swing at you, but you duck. Your stiletto crushes through the top of his shoe. He screams and in a flurry of pain and panic, you manage to snag the bat quick enough to turn and clock him under the chin with a roll of the wrist.

His teeth clack together and he falls backward, unconscious.

“God, I really wish you could have seen that, Buck.”

You spit. Blood paints the ground.

The bat clatters to the cement as you fight through the pain. Kiwi and Climber are by your side in an instant.

“No, no!” she screams, “We do not have time for this—”

“I am not leaving him,” you snap, nearly screaming at the woman, “Come on and help me with him. Now.”

After a sigh of resignation, Kiwi shoves the gun she’d snagged from the ground into the back of her jeans. You’ve got your hands around Bucky’s ankles as Kiwi and Climber take his torso — and the four of you make a break for the back entrance. You can hear the cops outside now, and there’s the chatter of Russian following you into the back parking lot.

“Hurry up!”

“He’s not exactly light as a feather, you know!”

“Shut up, Climber!”

You’ve got Bucky halfway into the back seat of Kiwi’s white Cadillac when another bullet whizzes by your head.

“Fuck.”

Kiwi hops into the driver’s seat as Climber scatters to hop the hood and throws himself into the passenger's seat. You lean, clinging to the door of the backseat as Kiwi peels out of the parking lot. It swings wide open and you curse loudly. You can see Alexei’s men watching from the back entrance, shouting in Russian — so you muster all your strength to pull back and throw the door closed as Kiwi’s car bounces over a speed bump and rams through the parking meter’s gate.

In the rear window, the front of the club is surrounded.

Red and blue lights illuminate the street — but Kiwi is quick.

No one follows.

And when she finally makes it to the Manhattan Bridge, you exhale.

Bucky’s head is in your lap. He still hasn’t come to — there’s blood coming from his nose and you’re worrying. You lace your fingers into his thick, brown hair and chew your lip.

Kiwi’s voice pulls you from him.

“When were you going to mention the vibranium arm, huh?”

You laugh. It’s more of a breath of air than anything. Your head rests back against the seat. Your shoulder is still on fire. You’re hot, but cold. You’re bleeding still. Your ribs aren’t right. You know that.

“I can’t believe he shot you,” Climber mumbles, “He fucking shot you.”

“And your boy toy shot him,” Kiwi says, sparing you a look in the rearview, “So you better pray he’s dead.”

You ignore the commentary.

“Where are we going?”

“Somewhere safe,” she says, accelerating into Manhattan, “Where I can get you those files and you can keep your head down.”

Sounds like a plan.

Better than the one you had, anyways.

#vacant mirrors #bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #winter soldier x reader #winter soldier imagine #tfatws imagine #bucky x you #BOY OH BOY THE FORMATTING I WANNA SCREAM

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lokiskitten · 3 years

Text

Tom Hiddleston | Mister Hiddleston

Teacher!Tom Hiddleston x fem!reader

plot : your professor, mister Hiddleston, asks you to stay after class in order to talk to you about one of your recent works. However, it easily takes an unexpected turn.

Warnings : teacher x student relationship, kissing.

The bell finally rang, allowing the entire class to take off for the cafeteria as the sounds of hungry stomachs echoed silently throughout the place. It was noon, and you had just spent a painful hour sitting in English literature class- having to listen to your handsome teacher brag about Romeo and Juliette, which in your opinion was quite a boring play. However, Mr. Hiddleston seemed to be absolutely hypnotized by the love he carried for Shakespeare’s work, which held you back from speaking your thoughts.

Right as you were about to get up from your chair, the older man called after you from where he sat at his desk, requesting for you to stay a little bit longer without even giving you a valuable explanation as to why. Of course, you felt absolutely scattered about not being able to join your friends in order to fill up your empty belly which was seriously beginning to behave out of your control. However, as a student, you simply couldn’t go against any of the adults’ demands.

Though, Mr. Hiddleston was never the typical type of teacher. He was interesting, chatty when it came to sharing with his students, and above all good looking- which was rare for a professor. Yet, all of those fantasies regarding him had to stay secret due to the obvious age gap between the two of you, as well as the profession he practiced. As a teacher, he wasn’t allowed to have a personal link with any of his students, which you were both aware of. However, this unexpected extra class was soon going to take a tragic turn.

It didn’t take long for the classroom to fully empty itself, you and your teacher being the only remaining beings in the room which offered the two of you some privacy to speak about whatever subject your professor wished to refer to. Taking his glasses off his nose as you stepped closer to his desk, Tom then laid them down in front of his muscular forearms before rubbing his palms against one another. He seemed to be peculiarly frustrated, as if something was bothering his experienced soul. Yet you remained quiet, showing respect for this man as his lips parted calmly.

“I wanted to talk to you about your last essay. It’s brillant, really, but.. quite dark, I’m afraid.” The older man revealed, taking ahold of the piece of paper on which was written your perfectly creepy work. You often tended to get your inspiration out of the worst- which was something Tom simply couldn’t be aware of and which easily led him to worry. The teacher looked up at you as he handed you the paper, ocean blue eyes seeking for an explanation which didn’t want to show up. In the end, you felt forced to speak up in order to defend your case.

“It’s just a stupid piece of paper. It’s not like I’m telling you about my life or anything.” You responded on an upset tone, feeling defensive face to your professor’s intrusive questions. However, this wasn’t enough to reassure Tom’s worries. Standing up from his chair, he then allowed his bum to collide with the end of the desk as his arms crossed against his strong chest. He was now towering over you, still waiting for his mind to elaborate a proper diagnostic of its own regarding your mental state. “Y/n...” the older man started, earning a clueless stare coming from your shorter silhouette.

Now, this innocent gaze had cut your professor right through his sentence. He seemed absolutely destabilized face to this sight, lips parting without any words ever escaping his mouth. His eyes easily diverted to your lips, admiring the way they were composed and how they perfectly fitted your other facial features. Even if he would never willingly admit it, Tom had developed a crush on you throughout the classes you spent with him, listening to him, even if it all remained pretty much hidden away in his subconscious.

The grown man worried for your mental health, for your well being. He assumed that it was his role as a tutor to make sure that all of his students were doing well, which he had progressively began to doubt you were. Seeing how you weren’t moving, the professor decided to take the risk to move the back of his hand up to your cheek, ocean blue eyes still staring into yours as he caressed your skin. It was a risky move to make, which easily justified his light shakiness. Tom knew that he would only get one chance, and that if you ever turned out not to share the same feelings as he did, he could say goodbye to his job as a teacher.

Meanwhile, you couldn’t help but unexpectedly loose your capacity to move as you felt your teacher’s veiny hand brush against your cheekbone. However, you didn’t freeze out of fear, but out of pure enhancement and excitement. You were glad that he had proceeded to make the first move, as yourself wouldn’t ever had the required guts to attempt anything with a man who was twice your age, and most importantly your own teacher.

His hand now cupped your entire cheek, causing you to drop the irrelevant paper to the ground as Tom’s face began to dangerously near yours. He leant in, head slightly tilting to the side before his lips finally decided to collide against yours. It felt like an explosion of fireworks in your lower stomach, feeling as his second hand decided to take ahold of your face as he stood up from the desk. This kiss was soft yet genuine, as if Tom had decided to make sure the territory wasn’t hostile before he could fully explore it.

When he pulled away, his thumbs simply began to brush against your cheekbones as your eyes locked, the two of you sharing unspoken words through your respective orbs only. The two of you wanted one another, desperately, and you were now irrevocably in love with him. This kiss had been the tilt which made you fall on the other edge, the tilt which allowed you to be set free from all the held backs you had forced down onto yourself regarding your professor. On another hand, your lack of hostility had managed to ease Tom’s anxious heart.

Leaning in again, he this once pressed a more intense kiss to your lips, body moving closer to yours until the two gently collided against one another. It felt heavenly, his touch and scent easily intoxicating and taking over your organism. Meanwhile, lust was progressively taking over your professor’s mind and body, his breaths becoming rougher as he pressed sloppy kisses against your mouth. Your lips parted, allowing his tongue to slide inside of your wet cave as the two of you continued to share a passionate kiss. His hands were soon to move down from your cheeks to your waist, feeling your curves with those large hands of his.

Unexpectedly, Tom ended up pulling away in order to focus onto the flesh of your neck, sending chills down your spine as his warm breath heated up your once chilly skin. He was getting more and more eager as seconds passed, anxiety still managing to hold your own desires back as your teacher seemed to be in charge of the situation for now. Progressively sneaking down, he began to lay kisses against your clothed chest and stomach, visibly looking forward to lift your shirt once he would’ve arrived all the way down to your crotch, aka his final destination.

You allowed shaky breaths to escape your lips, head tilting back before your face decided to divert down towards the sight of your literature teacher’s gorgeous curly hair. Hesitantly, your hand moved from his shoulder to his mane, caressing the smooth strands and curls which Tom interpreted as the green flag to lift your upper piece of clothing. However, upon feeling him now press kisses against your lower abdomen, you couldn’t help but grow fearful regarding your environment and surroundings.

“Wait-..” you suddenly stopped him in his track, his face looking up at you as his ocean blue eyes were filled with confusion yet understanding. He was ready to listen to whatever complain or worry you felt like laying on the table. Gasping softly, you bit onto the skin of your inner cheek before finally finding the strength to speak up. “Not here.” You begged, not being comfortable with having your first sexual intercourse in a classroom in which anyone could unexpectedly walk in. It wasn’t Tom’s fault, but simply the surroundings’.

Standing back up on his feet, your professor nodded in agreement before attempting to press another kiss to your lips. However, this once you decided to back away, denying his lustful proposal which left the teacher in shock. But above all, he seemed confused. “You’re driving me crazy.” He affirmed lowly, referring to how infatuated he was with your being; and the fact that you now stepped away from him felt just like a dagger digging into his heart. You found yourself biting down onto the skin of your inner cheek again, suddenly feeling nervous face to the man and his many propositions.

“Please. I need to see you again. Tonight.” After speaking those desperate words, the literature teacher reached down for your worksheet before taking ahold of a pencil, writing his address down on the back of the paper before handing it to you. His lips were parted, silent pants coming out of his mouth as anxiety and nervousness sent his emotions over the roof. In fact, he was simply scared that you would deny his proposition. Yet you took ahold of the worksheet and looked down at the words he had written onto the back of the copy, admiring how nice his handwriting was.

“Promise me you’ll come.” He begged, visibly looking forward to receive an oral confirmation in order to ease his worries. No words exited your body but a simple nod accompanied by a fainted smile, leading your teacher to return the same discreet gesture your face currently adorned. And just like that, you walked out of his classroom with your heart beating faster than it ever had before at the thought of seeing him again later tonight.

I hope you guys enjoyed this😏 might do a part two soon enough. I’m open to suggestions and crunchy details y’all would be looking forward to read about💥💳 Requested tags : @fa-me @delightfulheartdream

#loki #loki laufeyson #loki laufeyson fanfic #loki laufeyson fluff #loki laufeyson imagine #loki laufeyson smut #loki laufeyson x reader #loki laufeyson x you #marvel #marvel imagine #Tom Hiddleston #tom hiddleston oneshot #tom hiddleston x you #tom hiddleston imagine #tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston smut #tom hiddleston fanfic #tom hiddleston fluff

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doveypink · 3 years

Text

the one i left behind [technoblade imagine]

summary: you recount the moments leading up to your death. genre: angst words: 5.3k warnings: death, (past) abusive relationships, swearing, general violence a/n: i've been working on this one for a long time. i hope you all enjoy reading this as much as i did writing it!!

[ part two: come and find me ]

Freezing. I was absolutely freezing.

The brisk wind was sharp, leaving pinpricks of its icy touch upon my skin. I could have sworn there was snow, but when my eyes finally cracked open to peer around me, there was only the burning blaze of the sun and lush fields surrounding me. I turned my head to the side lazily, feeling the grass tickle my cheek. My body felt stiff and I stretched my arms out as though clasping the sky between my fingers, and my muscles loosened as I lifted myself from the ground. How long had I been laying there? Time seemed to escape me as I tried to recollect myself. I was just tired, that was all; if I went home now, I’m sure I would remember again. I would make myself a big meal, as well, something hot to melt away my chill, even though I didn’t seem to feel any ounce of hunger within me.

I walked in the direction of a place I couldn’t quite remember, attempting to turn the preceding events over in my mind. The only thing I could seem to recall was the smell of something burning, a bright flash of light, a big bang — fireworks, an image of creation and destruction all at once. It was almost as though I had never existed before this moment, lying in a bed of flowers, untouched by the calloused hands of the living.

I walked through the field, reaching out to pick a single flower from the blades of grass—a blood-red carnation—when I noticed that the shade of my skin had lost its warmth. Where it once had the flushed undertone of my blood, it was now ashen with the impression of death. I flinched, suddenly shivering as my cold bones once again made themselves known. A thought occurred to me, a memory that had slipped my mind in my haze: I only had one life left.

And I lost it.

Without thinking, my feet began to glide over the earth, kicking up dirt and pebbles as I ran. If I had lost my last life, something awful must have happened. What was it? I tried to pull the memories from the vault in my mind, but it seemed to be locked. All that was left were the shadows under the door, the footsteps in the distance, the keyhole that could only provide a glimpse into a scene.

I smelled it, then, the same scent that I recalled upon waking up, though fainter: something hot and burnt. Up ahead, there was a wisp of smoke floating above the trees, and I hurried towards them. The ground became blackened with scorch marks and, among the ruins of a building I could no longer recognize, I caught sight of blood. My heart sank, and with a start, I realized that there was a crater full of rubble and fires that had long been burning. I stepped through the debris, stumbling over broken doors, shards of glass, golden goblets and picture frames; dozens of signs of life all buried in ash and smoke, melted into a haunting image of destruction. Nothing was recognizable, but I knew what this place was: L’Manburg. Or, more accurately, what was left of it.

I searched the ruins of the country, cringing at the blood streaked debris and discarded weapons and armor that lay haphazardly among the wreckage. I circled the edge of the massive crater, unable to step much further into the space due to its depth. I looked down at the scorched land and moved out, surveying the surrounding area.

Upon noticing the remnants of a building—someone’s house, maybe? It was too far gone to make out—I felt compelled to search what was left of the structure. I wasn’t sure what drew me to suddenly climb through burnt wood and broken cobblestone; some part of me felt as though I would find an answer to all my questions, a sign, anything to point me in the right direction. I felt desperate to find something to satisfy the tug in my cold heart. My freezing hands sifted through the mess, shoving away rubble and pushing through the debris until my hands were covered in dirt and bruised from the digging. My hands suddenly found something smooth and dense, and my searching became frantic as I pushed through the ruins to find what I had been unknowingly searching for: my bow. I tugged it out from under stone and dirt, running my fingers down the edge of the smooth silver. It remained unmarked despite the destruction surrounding it, the curve of its limbs untarnished and shining brilliantly in the evening light. I searched some more and discovered the hard shell of my arrow quiver and a number of silver-tipped arrows still inside. I stood and slung the quiver over my shoulder with my bow in hand, feeling almost complete with the items on my person.

The wind picked up and blew through my hair, insisting that I look further. I stepped into the wreckage of the building, an unsettled feeling rising in the pit of my stomach. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a flash of red against pale grey stone; I turned, staring at the scene before me with wide, horrified eyes.

A short distance from where my bow was found, there was a violent splatter of crimson against the rubble. It looked like a balloon full of paint had popped, streaking the cold stones with a sickeningly bright shade of red. Among the drying mess, there was a flurry of scorch marks strewn across the area, a minor crater digging into the earth where the scene lay. I realized what this all was, my hands trembling as I clutched my bow.

I had died here.

I screwed my eyes shut, plagued with a sudden onslaught of memories that I no longer wished for. Falling to my knees, I held my head in my hands and shook violently, my head pounding with a torrential rain of scenes flashing in my mind. All I could do was be swept away in the flood.

* * * * *

“Are you still mad at me?”

I blinked at Techno with an arrow in hand, sharpening its tip and inspecting the edge. I was mad at him, but I didn’t feel like giving him an answer. If he had to ask, he already knew; we were both smart enough to understand each other like that. He sighed when I wordlessly turned my gaze back to my arrow, stepping towards me and plucking it from my grasp. I jumped up, prepared to steal it back. “Hey—!”

“You know why I had to do this. Don’t get mad at me,” Techno said, his voice low and serious.

I crossed my arms and frowned. “Right. You have to team with Dream just to blow up a country. You definitely couldn’t have done it on your own or, I don’t know, with me to help, yeah? Because the great Technoblade is always right—”

“We have common interests—”

“And I hate being interrupted.”

Techno went silent after I snapped at him, adjusting his cape while I gritted my teeth. “I thought you hated him,” I said slowly, “and I hated him too. You know what he did, you know how it hurt me, and you still…” I trailed off, feeling suddenly exhausted—exhausted from fighting, exhausted from chasing a peace I could never have.

Techno placed a gentle hand on my shoulder—a gesture he rarely used, and reserved for me—and met my eyes. “Just this once,” he said. “I still owe him a debt, but this will be the end. It’s within our reach.”

“I could die,” I said plainly. This made Techno pause, his entire body freezing over like a lake in winter, so I pushed further. “I could die. I could lose my last life, and I gladly will for what we’re doing, because I believe in this. I know we haven’t always been right, but I know that this is. I hate that you let Dream in, and I’m going to be angry. I deserve to be angry.”

“You’re not going to die,” he said with certainty. “Not when I’m there.”

I couldn’t tell if Techno was trying to reassure me or himself with his words, but either way, the weight of the possibilities made my stomach turn with anxiety. “You can’t be so sure. I’m not exactly as talented as you are at everything,” I countered.

“Don’t say that,” Techno insisted, his tone full of frustrated reassurement. “I won’t ever let anything bad happen to you. Never again. And hey,” he started, poking my cheek, “you’re more than capable of handling yourself, anyway. You couldn’t die even if you wanted to.”

“I think you have too much confidence in me, Techno.”

“Cut that sentence 3 words short and I’ll consider agreeing with you.”

I sighed, finally letting myself crack a small smile. “I’m still mad at you, but I trust you. Only out of pity though—I know you couldn’t last a day without me around.”

Techno grinned, his sharp-toothed grin melting the ice as he returned my arrow. “Good thing it’ll never come to that.”

I shook my head, twirling the arrow in my hand while I inspected it silently. Techno turned away to prepare his own weapons, leaving me alone with the aftermath of our conversation.

My anger had been redirected with my friend’s words of reassurance, now colliding with my resentment for Dream. Even though I did have faith in Techno, I still feared the possibility of Dream playing a trick on us. I sharpened my arrow and considered my choices: I follow Techno’s lead and go along with Dream’s help, or I take matters into my own hands. I finished up with my arrows, placing them neatly into my quiver as I prayed that the latter wouldn’t have to occur.

I already knew well enough that war was brutal.

With a deep, tired sigh, I leaned back and recalled a time not so long ago—just a few years at most—when I wasn’t resentful of Dream. We were friends, once, and I’ll admit that I admired him; I bitterly wondered what would have happened if I had ever found the courage to tell him just how much I adored him, but the thought made some long forgotten part of me ache, prickling my heart with thorns. It was shameful of me to wonder what could have been, even more so to speak it; there was a reason why only Techno knew, and there was a reason why his decision made my blood bubble over in frustration and betrayal.

I considered the moment I caught Dream shifting, edging away from his former self as his own hubris overtook him, rotting his soul as something else took form. He had always treated me as an equal, and he charmed me with his kind words and gentle gaze. I couldn’t begin to understand how suddenly he was so cruel to me, taking me by surprise when his usual soft tone became sharp and grating, tearing me apart from the inside out. I had only ever been supportive of him, even when he did things I couldn’t agree with; even when his friends turned their backs on him; even when I found myself seeking his approval at every turn despite his cruelty. Nothing I did could ever seem to be enough.

The first time I was separated from Dream was after Techno captured me, initially planning to use me as leverage against his rival to put an end to the government. After finding me, though, he must have seen what I couldn’t: the hollowness that Dream had left behind. The anarchist took pity on me, if you could even call it that; mostly, Techno shook me awake from the nightmare I had been living and made me realize the extent of Dream’s manipulation. I felt dirty for a long while after my realization, plagued with the sense that I would never feel safe or whole again. A part of me still felt that way, even, but at least I had the sense now to not seek out the shadows when they beckoned me over.

Technoblade was a surprisingly good friend through it all. It was him who helped me become myself again, but he would always argue that it was my own doing. He frustrated me sometimes with his monotonous tone and his thirst for anarchy, but at the end of the day, I could never stay mad at him; Techno had a good heart, and his honesty and dedication to his morals was enough to convince me. Even through my fog of anger at his teaming with Dream, even when I questioned whether this was a good idea, a sensible part of me knew that this was nothing like what Dream had done to me. Techno didn’t hide his nature as Dream did, and I could trust him in that.

A knock on the cabin door brought me out of my thoughts. I heard Techno’s footsteps as he stepped back into the room, a knife in hand. “Do you know who it is?” he questioned, scrutinizing the door when I shook my head in response. I stood from my chair and followed behind Techno, who peeked out the window and let out a tired sigh before swinging the door open.

“Hello, Dream. What are you doing at my house?” my friend deadpanned.

Dream lowered his grinning mask, his own lips drawn back into a polite smile. “Oh, just checking in before tomorrow. I wanted to see if you needed anything.”

“You could have sent a message first,” Techno replied, tapping the messenger device on his wrist. “I don’t really appreciate unwanted guests.”

“I figured it wouldn’t be much of a problem since we’re on the same side now. And I tend to find surprise visits are a lot more… Insightful,” Dream mused. His eyes peeked over Techno’s shoulder to meet mine and I stiffened, standing straighter. Dream, perceptive as usual, smiled wider, his eyes crinkling slightly at the corners before he spoke to me in a soft voice. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

A cold hand gripped my heart, the blood pulsing in my ear drums. I hated him; I hated that he hardly had to speak for me to begin to crumble. I attempted to reply in a steady voice despite the slight tremor that shook me. “Yeah, it has.”

Before Dream could say anything else, Techno stepped up as though to shield me. “You know, we have everything we need here. You should probably make sure your things are sorted, though,” he announced.

Dream’s smile faltered for half a second before returning. “Hm, I think you’re right. Just remember to give me the signal,” he said, beginning to turn away from the door. Dream hesitated, giving me one last look before he addressed me, his words kind, though laced with a cold, haunting tone. “I’ve missed you. Good luck tomorrow.”

It wasn’t until Techno had shut the door and confirmed that Dream had left that I allowed myself to breathe. I hadn’t even realized that I was holding my breath in the first place; I felt lightheaded and weary as Techno sat me down and asked if I was alright. I nodded, watching the worried man cross the room to fetch me a glass of water. With a shudder, I took in the sight of the floorboards and listened to my friend rummaging around the kitchen. My stomach churned and my mind flashed with sudden clarity about what I would have to do.

I was going to kill Dream.

The following day felt like a blur. Every motion leading up to the total destruction of L’Manburg was like a sharp jab of a paintbrush, a swipe across a canvas already drenched in paint. There was a picture here, some greater meaning when you stepped away from it all, but in the midst of things, it didn’t quite matter. All Techno cared about was erasing the country for good and keeping us alive; all I wanted was to get the day over with.

I had spent the entire night trying to decide whether it was truly a good idea for me to go after Dream or leave him be. A part of me felt that it was a terrible idea, a decision that would only serve to lead me to certain death; still, another part of me wanted closure. I didn’t think of myself as anything special compared to Techno, Phil, or even Dream himself when it came to combat skills, but the truth was that I was more than capable of holding my own in battle. I had been through my fair share of wars, and the experience in addition to training with Techno led me to become a skilled warrior of my own. As I considered it, I found myself realizing with a newfound confidence that I had the strength to take down Dream all on my own if I wanted to. My only question was how I would go about this.

The answer came surprisingly soon.

Techno and I had been doing well against L’Manburg’s defense—there was only a scare when Sapnap came close to taking one of Techno’s lives during a fight, but I had stepped in with a nicely timed arrow to his head, which made our enemy disappear into a cloud of smoke as his life was lost. Techno and I chugged some invisibility potion, courtesy of Phil, and hid around a building to watch everyone fight off the withers while we healed ourselves.

“What’s taking him so long? We’ve been at it for—” Techno glanced at his watch, “—thirty minutes! And here I thought Dream was all about punctuality,” my friend griped, taking a bite out of an apple.

“I’m not surprised. Of course he would choose today to take his sweet time,” I assessed, thumping my head against the brick building. “He’s probably going over his plans to sacrifice us next as we speak.”

“We are not getting sacrificed.”

“You never know,” I hummed. “It’s not a bad thing to be cautious, is it?”

Techno snorted. “Well, I suppose not. We’ve survived this long, though, so I have a good feeling about this.”

I nodded, peering in the direction of my friend. We couldn’t see each other due to the potion, but if I focused hard enough, I could catch a shift in the light that alerted me of his position. I felt a sudden urgency within me—some calling to spill my fears, inky and black, before I choked. “I need you to do me a favor,” I blurted.

I watched the light shift and turn. “What? What’s going on?” Techno wondered.

“If something happens to me, if I lose my last life,” I began in a serious tone, “don’t look back.”

“I… don’t understand. What are you saying? You won’t—”

“Techno, if I die, you carry straight through with the plan. Don’t come for my things, don’t try to help me, just go. Please. Can you promise me that?”

The light shimmered slowly, hesitantly. “Of course you choose now to drop that on me,” Techno muttered bitterly, but I could hear the underlying hurt. “I can never say no to you, though, can I?”

“It is your best trait,” I joked, though there was a heaviness in my voice.

The shift in the light leaned back as Techno sighed. “Alright, fine. It won’t come to that, but I’ll do it. I promise.”

“Thank you. For everything,” I confessed, stressing the importance of all that he’s done for me in my reply.

Before Techno could reply, a resounding boom went off nearby. Dirt and debris flew past us as plumes of gray smoke shrouded our sight. Between the clouds of smoke, I could see a flash of bright green and a bone-white mask.

“He’s here,” Techno mumbled next to me. “Let’s get moving.”

The pair of us sprinted across the land, dodging at the sight of explosives and attacking enemies under the guise of our invisibility. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Dream dropping TNT from the tops of buildings and hurling them at every patch of land in his vicinity. By the time he was finished, I knew there would be nothing left.

The invisibility began to wear off shortly after that, and I watched as Techno’s vibrant red cape began to fade back into view. I followed my friend from a short distance until I realized that Dream was completely distracted in his efforts to destroy the nation. As Techno veered down one path, I caught him by the arm. “I’m heading the other way,” I said.

Techno immediately began to protest. “No, you’re not. Don’t be stupid.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“You were the one worried about losing your last life, and now you’re trying to split? We have to stick together.”

“I’ll be quick. You won’t even know I’m gone,” I reasoned, already turning to leave. “I promise I’ll be back.”

Techno frowned, but eventually his shoulders became less tense as he reluctantly decided to let me go. I gave him a nod of thanks before hurrying off to a building that hadn’t yet been destroyed. Fortunately for me, the citizens seemed to have cleared out, so no one was there to intervene as I leapt over crumbling buildings and the charred remains of the nation. My heart raced in my chest and I clutched my bow tightly in my hand. It would all be over soon enough, I thought, and I would be the one to end it all.

I reached a building that hadn’t been completely damaged from the TNT and scaled the wall. My fingers were wedged into the grooves of the brick until I reached the ledge at the very top, tugging myself up and throwing my legs over the side. I huffed and looked up to watch Dream, practically gliding on air as he hurled explosives at the ground without remorse. I squinted and realized through the haze of smoke and ash that he had nearly hit bedrock, yet he continued to demolish the same area of land. It was like he wanted to blow a hole straight through the ground, so deep that he’d be able to see the other side.

I shook away the nervous shudder that ran down my spine and instead raised my bow to aim while Dream was distracted. I glared at the back of his head and lined my sight to him, the familiarity of the motion sending a sort of ease through my tense muscles.

It was an easy shot. I could do it.

I drew a deep breath and held it while I drew my arrow back, pulling the string taut. With a slow sigh, I released.

My arrow soared above the destruction, seeming to transcend the rules of time and space. The light made the metallic edge glimmer as though a star was shooting across the expanse of land, bright and beautiful and destructive all at once.

Dream was still turned away as the arrow launched towards him, and for a moment I felt sure that I had succeeded in my efforts. Right before the arrow was able to lodge itself in his head, though, Dream ducked, and the arrow flew past his head. He rose again to stand straight and turned slowly to face me, the blank eyed smile on his mask mocking me. My blood turned to ice in my veins and I frantically drew another arrow to fire, this time pointed at his heart.

Before I could release the arrow, Dream held up a stick of dynamite and pelted it right next to the building I stood on. It was close enough that I took damage and fell back as the earth shook around me. My head smacked against the roof and I groaned at the dizzy shock that sparked against my skull. I lay there, my head pounding, focused on the rumble that rattled my bones as I tried to regain my bearings.

By the time I had struggled onto my knees, Dream was hovering over me. I glared up at him for one silent moment before snatching my bow and striking his mask, which cracked and shattered to the ground. He stumbled back and I took my chance to load an arrow, but my head was still pounding, my coordination thrown off by the blow I had taken. Dream took advantage of my weakness and kicked the bow out of my hands, where it skidded across the roof and over the edge. I had made a feeble attempt to catch it before it tipped over, but I was too late.

Dream caught a fistful of my hair, yanking me backwards, and I growled, an animalistic sound that scratched my throat as I dragged my feet and struggled in his grasp. I kicked up dirt and clawed at the pale hands that trapped me, yelping when my captor shoved me to my knees. I must have looked ridiculous, like a child throwing a tantrum, as I thrashed and screamed to try and get away. “This is what happens to anyone who doesn’t follow my orders. You really thought you were smart enough to turn on me?” Dream laughed darkly, tightening his grip even as I scratched streaks of red into his skin. “You’re pathetic. I almost feel bad for you.”

“Fuck you,” I spat, attempting to jerk away, but Dream’s grip was unbreakable.

“I hope you’re not this rude to Technoblade. Where is he, by the way?” I struggled while Dream called out for my friend, who I watched sprint towards us between exploding buildings and smoke.

“Dream, what is this?” Techno heaved, meeting us on the building.

The man in question nodded his head towards me, a warrior bloodied and brought to my knees. “I think it’s about time I used that favor,” he said coldly.

My heart sank to the pit of my stomach, and I felt my body begin to numb with fear. If I wasn’t sure of it before, I was now; this was the end for me.

It was almost laughable, the irony of this situation; the promises to keep each other safe that I had made with my best friend—the only friend I had left—were tearing apart at the seams.

“Maybe you should rethink this before you do something you’ll regret, Dream,” Techno threatened.

“Oh, I won’t be regretting anything. But you might.” Dream gestured with his free hand towards the bundle of fireworks in Techno’s hand. “Kill them.”

The situation was eerily similar to another from so long ago in this very nation—when Techno was ordered by Schlatt to kill Tubbo. I could see the realization in his eyes, the acknowledgment of the parallels, the regret and anger and so much fear. I had never seen him so scared, but he remained stubborn. “I won’t do that,” he replied.

Dream’s grip tightened as he jerked my head forward for emphasis. “Listen, Technoblade, you’re going to kill your little friend here because you owe it to me. If you choose not to, I’ll just take them for myself so I can do it instead. You probably wouldn’t want that, though—I won’t be so kind. Oh, and don’t even think about trying to kill me instead. One of you was already stupid enough to try.”

“This isn’t what I meant when I said I’d do you a favor.”

“Isn’t it, though? Look around, Techno. The only reason this is happening right now is because Tommy betrayed you. He could have chosen you, he could have stayed on your side, but he didn’t. This is the consequence, right? And this—,” I yelped as Dream snatched me and held me up as evidence, “—is what happens when I’m betrayed. You all agreed to help me, and now my trust is broken. So pick up a fucking weapon and do me a favor.”

My friend stood frozen as he tried to calculate some way out of this, but I knew I had ruined any chances of a better life for us. It was my actions that were about to get me killed, by the only person who ever truly loved me, nonetheless.

“Do it,” I told Techno. “Please, just get it over with.”

Technoblade looked down at me, his eyes full of hurt as his brows furrowed. “No. You’re crazy, why would I do that? I made you a promise—”

“So did I. But there’s nothing else to do. I fucked it up, so I’m asking you to do this. Not for him, for me,” I pleaded, painfully aware of the grip Dream had on my hair. “I’d rather it be you. No one but you.”

I watched as Techno’s face contorted into a woeful expression. The guilt was bubbling over in the pit of my stomach, an all-consuming feeling that made me sick with sorrow for what I was asking him to do. We were one and the same, him and I, a pair of lonely people made better with the other around. I would miss him and, even if he never chose to admit it, I knew he would miss me too. I could only hope that my absence wouldn’t destroy him.

Slowly, Techno raised the firework launcher as he pointed it at my head. “You know, I always had a soft spot for you.”

My smile was regretful and watery; I prayed that he could hear my apologies without having to speak them out loud. I prayed even more that he could hear my unspoken words of gratitude, the unfinished symphony that was our friendship. “You’re the only person who ever knew me.”

Behind me, Dream groaned in annoyance. “Shut up with the monologues and get it over with,” he griped. With a harsh shove, the tip of the fireworks were pressed against my forehead. I bit my tongue, the metallic taste of blood in my mouth as I tried not to seem too meager in my final moments. Dream dropped me to my knees as he escaped the line of fire, now peering over Techno’s shoulder in waiting. I watched my friend’s hands shake, the light tremble of his finger as it hovered over the trigger. I wanted to give him some sort of reassurance, but how could I? How do you ease the heart of someone forced to kill their friend?

With a shaky, mournful sigh, Techno looked down on me, his knuckles white as he gripped the weapon. “I’m sorry,” he said.

I squeezed my eyes shut with tears running hot over my cheeks, trying to recall a better picture in my mind. I thought of when I first met Techno, brainwashed and broken, a person slowly made whole again. I thought of the softness in his eyes even as he yelled at me over some mistake I had made. I thought of the nights he spent hunched over his desk writing about anything until I threw a blanket at him and dragged him into his bed. I thought of the mornings we would wake up early on a day of traveling just to catch the sunrise. I could have seen it a thousand times, and still, nothing would have ever compared to him; no amount of wealth or glory could even come close to making me feel as elated as he did. Techno was, without a doubt in my mind, my soulmate. The universe decided that for us; the sun and the moon and every star in the sky chose to bind us together, and what reason did I have to refuse it?

My heart ached, jumping as the click of the trigger sounded. There was a bright flash, a pop, an explosion of color and sound—

Then nothing at all.

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thesacredtwink · 2 years

Note

Honestly I'd love to put the people demonising Will Smith in his exact situation and see what they'd do

Put them in a situation where someone is taking the piss out of their beloved due to an immune disorder live on TV in front of the world, on stage mere feet from them, and see if they wouldn't get filled with rage and slap the fucker.

Personally I'm proud to say I would absolutely do what Will Smith did.

Perhaps it a bit naïeve of me, but I hope no one has to be in that position and that we can live in a world where people can be kind to eachother. But I do agree that the people who are throwing shade on Smith for how he reacted are talking Big Shit about a really horrible situation, the kind where you can judge all you like but you cannot know what it's like unless you have experienced it yourself.

And I do feel sympathy for people who got triggered by the sudden violence. Getting triggered sucks especially when you are sitting down to watch something/be in an environment you believed was going to be trigger free. I understand the anger and how shook people are after something like that. But he was being human and responding in a human way. He loves his wife, and I'm not saying that people who wouldn't stand up and slap someone for making that kind of joke don't love their spouses. But that's the kind of man Smith is, and that's how he reacted once he realized the joke he thought was a little funny had hurt his wife.

And I've seen some people saying that Jada shouldn't have taken it so hard, because it was "just a joke". And to that I say they can suck my strap on. One if the side effects post covid was hair loss. And not "oh I've got a few more loose hairs than normal", but the kind where I could reach up to my head at any given moment and take out handfuls for months. Its a horrible thing. And I can only imagine how much more of a toll it takes for people with alopecia who experience something very similar in a much more visible way. It eats at you slowly and quietly and it's hard to keep your head up when all you want to do is hide it.

I don't condone violence, but fight/freez/flight response is a human reaction to more than just anxiety, and when you have made a career out of */daring people to get upset and do something about it/* like Rock has, at some point you gotta shrug philosophically and point out that */they have been asking for it*/.

Rock picked his joke poorly and faced the consiquences, and that's a risk comedians take when they pick specific jokes about people.

#scarred but still smiling #violence mention #not loz #hyrule post service #oscar talk

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mitsukui · 3 years

Text

blessed be the mystery of love. | f.w.

Pairing: Fred Weasley x reader.

Summary: Fred Weasley seems to be a new boy: he has fallen in love, and a couple of unexpected things have come along with it. Apparently, his recently discovered romantic interest has never heard of him, and he is now someone who...writes...love letters?! Well, that is surely weird...

Word Count: 2k.

Warnings: none!

Disclaimer: none of the pictures used in the edit below belong to me; I simply put them together.

A/N: this is probably my favorite so far! I’ve been working on it for such a long time, so I hope you all enjoy it! I’m honestly such a sucker for soft Fred...Please, leave me some feedback if you feel like it! My askbox is open for your opinions, thoughts and requests. Thank you so much for your time and attention ❤

Masterlist!

Dark brown eyes studied your silhouette surreptitiously, which was utterly uncommon for their owner. One who once was daring now hid behind heart-felt walls that looked like you. A flirtatious behavior had been replaced by occasional stuttering and disinterest in other romantic affairs.

People around him could effortlessly notice the situation was taking its toll on him. However, they seemed too dumbfounded by it to say something – words were long gone from their lips, and from his own as well.

Fred Weasley had fallen desperately in love, but you were unaware of his existence.

Somehow, it sounded ironic: how could you not know about him?! Every single soul in Hogwarts knew who he and his twin were, and he enjoyed such a thing. Unlike his slightly younger identical brother, Fred was one to enjoy popularity and attention. He sought fame and recognition, and he would never complain if a few hookups came along with that.

And, yet, there you were – iridescent and untouchable. You were forcefully popping novel thoughts into his mind. Would you ever lay eyes on him? And if you ever did, what would you think and feel?

It was high time you noticed him, and he could only count on himself to make it happen.

Fred desired to make a different approach, one you had not yet seen. His eyes had captured a few other admirers here and there trying to get your heart, but none of them had achieved success. He ought to be the one to do that.

And love letters would most certainly help him get there.

Writing letters was an arduous task, and it consumed all of his energy. His quill scribbled fiercely against fragments of parchment, heavy sighs filled the silence around him, and every inch of his skin burned in longing and embarrassment. George could be easily found doing something like that; but not Fred. He could be found causing mischief or attaching his lips to someone else’s.

Nevertheless, there he was, combining words and allowing the dark paint to splash against the paper in order to pour his heart out.

His first letter was short – hesitant, almost; after all, it was impossible for him to know how you would react to the approach he had chosen. He had put so much effort into it, despite the small number of words and expressed feelings. It was crystal clear you deserved bigger things; even so, that scenario was entirely atypical to him.

He was just as disoriented as you were when a barn owl dropped an almost unimportant-considered envelope right in front of you, interrupting your breakfast in the Great Hall one morning.

He had been eyeing the owl entrances for a little while when he finally was able to spot the one he had previously picked for you. His lips trembled nervously, and his fingers traveled straight up. Lately, he had been developing a habit of biting his fingernails whenever he was anxious, and anxiety was the only emotion possible for that morning.

What if you ended up not liking the note? Maybe you would think he could be a creep or something similar to that. It was unknown whether you had a significant other or not. Were his words good enough? Would you ever look at him like he so lovingly looked at you?

One of your hands curiously reached out for the envelope while the other one briefly fed the owl. You furrowed your eyebrows together as your eyes ran through the lines: it was a tad difficult to read whatever was written on the parchment, given the handwriting was not one of the best. However, you managed to decode the message, and a smile soon spread across your lips. Despite the distance Fred watched you from, the boy could swear that even a small giggle spilled out from your lips.

The small note read something along the lines of:

“To the one who is now devouring my heart.

I mean no harm. My feelings are of pure admiration.

You are gold.

I hold you in my thoughts.

- W.”

The words he had previously written rang in his brain, and he felt ridiculous. He had never had a good relationship with words, writing, or anything related to that. Why on Earth had he chosen to write you a love letter? You were probably laughing at the stupidity that the note was drenched in.

You allowed both your curiosity to dwell in your core and your eyes to analyze the people who crowded the Great Hall that morning. You studied all the possibilities, and you did not notice Fred Weasley. He felt invisible and, for the first time, he enjoyed it.

After that, a second love letter was written. And then a third one, and even a fourth one, too! He grew bold once again, and his secret passion became stronger.

One day, dizzy due to his recently rediscovered boldness, he allowed his quill to dance against the parchment as he wrote you a fifth letter. This one was different from all the previous ones; he still offered you his heart and tried making you realize how much he secretly admired you. But there was something more to it – he sent you something else other than the letter alone.

The arrival of the usual owl in another freezing morning in Hogwarts quickly muffled the chatting and cutlery noises that hovered over every person in the Great Hall. It barely took you one second to smile at the sight, which caused Fred to smile himself – he absolutely adored your smile.

Those anonymous letters had become part of your daily routine, and they were something you eagerly waited for. Being both a Hogwarts student and a teenager at the same time was no easy duty. Your spirit tended to get overwhelmed from time to time, and you found yourself turning to the anonymous letters for an escape from the reality that surrounded you.

However, as soon as you brushed your fingertips against the envelope, you felt an additional weight to it, something that had never been there before. Attempting to waste no time, you reached for the letter, and a smile did not fail to paint your face; it was so easy for him to make you smile, even though you still did not know who he was.

“I must know whatever fills your heart once your eyes reach the very last word in each of my letters.

Would you mind wearing this little thing if you are not bothered by me and my confessions?

It is small and simple, but it is given to you with love.

As always, I hold you in my thoughts.

- W.”

And then, you finally saw it: a tiny decorative pin, which you figured it out as to be put on your robes. It was shaped as a white envelope sealed with a red heart. You disagreed with the words written on the letter, once you did not see it as something simple. It was beautiful. It was your new favorite thing. It was attached to your robes in the flash of an eye. And how it could not be?!

You profoundly enjoyed his secretive actions. For you, it was extremely sweet that someone admired you so much that they chose to sit down and write you comforting and loving words. A pure energy radiated from every single thing he had sent you, and you wished for an identity reveal. You wished to discover whoever your secret admirer was only to confess you also admired them, mostly because of the sweetness existing in their personality.

It was high time you solved this mystery, and you could only count on yourself to make it happen.

When his sixth letter arrived, you had one of your own as well. You did not bother reading his words right away; after all, you had more important things to do. The barn owl was distracted by one of your hands, offering it small pieces of buttered toast, while the other tied the words you had previously written up its leg.

“Can you do this for me?” You whispered gently to the animal standing close to you. As funny as it sounded, you had grown fond of that owl in a way, too. “Take this back to the one who’s been sending you to me, alright? I promise you I won’t peek! I’m asking them to meet me tonight, in Classroom Eleven. Do you think they will come?” An airy chuckle left your lips and you swore your heart was melting at how much attention the owl seemed to be paying to your words. Before it took off, the animal playfully nibbled your fingers and your smile grew wider.

Like promised, you did not allow yourself to look wherever the owl was going to. All of your curiosity was being saved for later that night. There was no way for you to know if he would ever show up, and that hurt your insides a bit. What if it had all been a cruel joke?

The same wonders that once had haunted his brain now haunted yours.

But the night did not cease to fall, and the moon did not cease to shine. It was terribly cold, but your feet still automatically took you to Classroom Eleven, one of the classrooms that were hardly ever used for classes or any other purposes. It was a risky place, given the fact that it was of so easy access. However, you thought the possibility of getting caught was rather exciting. So you entered the classroom, as quietly as you could manage, and you waited.

Fred, on the other hand, could feel his stomach being punched repeatedly by a thousand of invisible hands. He was painfully apprehensive, and one of the signs that revealed that was his constant pacing in a deserted hallway.

He obviously would never stand you up, but the thought of running away popped up in his brain a few times. This was an extremely ridiculous behavior for someone like him. And even though he knew he had to get it done, he was still so intimidated by it all.

“Just rip it off like a band-aid.” The boy whispered to himself, his steps finding a slower pace and his hands being shoved into his pockets. Deep breaths were taken and he was finally able to gather all the courage he needed to walk towards and enter the classroom.

Your body was resting against an empty desk, which it seemed like it had not been used in years. Staring out the window, you secretly wished you had worn something better for that moment; perhaps, your pajamas and a long knitted cardigan over them had not been the best choice.

When you were about to start your seventh mental curse about your idiot choices, hesitant knocks on the door made a mess out of your line of thoughts. They came as a warning that things were about to either go very well or terribly bad.

And, then, a long silence followed. Both of you panicked, each one on a different side of the wooden door. You wondered if you should answer something to the knocks, he wondered if he should have said something. Your body was straightened up, and you suddenly realized your hands were getting slightly sweaty.

He opened the heavy door so slowly that, as you watched it, you could see your life flashing right in front of your eyes.

Finally, you spotted something in the dark. Peeking through the door, your eyes captured the sight of locks of an orange marmalade shaded hair entering the classroom. Right then and there, you felt like everything had just gained a new and brighter light.

You were breathless. The boy timidly standing there, still a bit far away from you, was the most stunning human you had ever seen.

His dark eyes observed you, both curiosity and fear being expressed wordlessly. He attempted to aim a small smile at you, which you gladly accepted and offered him another smile back.

After a few moments of intense stares and exchanged grins, your voice finally cut the comfortable silence that had been set between the two of you.

“The wonders are finally ceased.”

Tag list! ❤️ @efyra @writingsomewrongs @pineapplesandpinas @ronweaselysslut @fiction-is-the-new-reality @amourtentiaa @emmaev

#fred weasly x reader #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley fluff #fred weasley #harry potter #harry potter imagine

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littlemisspascal · 3 years

Text

Death and an Angel part 9

Helmetless + Death!Din x Cupid F!Reader

Summary: You make a promise to Din before you leave to meet with your superiors, but will you be able to keep it?

Rating: T

Word Count: 2,976

Warnings: fluff, the angst is back people, protective and possessive Din, your superiors are assholes, overuse of italics, swearing, plot plot plot

Author Note: All the love to every single supporter out there! Don’t hate me too much for this segment please.

Links to Part 1 and Part 8 and Part 10

Cross-posted on AO3.

Photo Inspiration:

“I’m going with you, angel.”

In exactly one hour, you’re due to report back to headquarters. You’ve been loathing this meeting from the get-go, but now, after being matched with Din, the mere thought of leaving him is as painful as a physical blow. You wish you had more time to revel in his heated kisses, the touch of his hands against your skin, the low growls he elicits when you run your nails through his curls.

Deep down, you know as immortal beings you will have an eternity to experience all of these thrills together. But right now the bond you two share as soulmates doesn’t care about the future, only the present. In your mind, it resembles a sapling soaking up every ounce of affection it can from you and Din, craving more and more intimacy in order to become stronger. Just thinking about being separated from him, even for only a short while, makes your chest hurt something fierce, as if a bundle of thorns has become wrapped around your heart.

Din is not immune to the effects of the soulmate bond either. Since his return to Arvala-7 he has not let you out of his sight for longer than thirty seconds. Anyone else, you would have been annoyed by the incessant staring, but with Din you only feel desired and, as sappy as it sounds, cherished in a way you’ve never felt before.

Which makes it all the harder to meet his gaze right now, frowning as you shake your head at him.

“Din, you can’t,” you say quietly, praying your voice doesn’t break because you know it will trigger his overprotectiveness and then you’ll helplessly melt into a puddle of warm emotions. “Only Cupids are allowed at headquarters. No outsiders allowed, not even Death.”

His jaw clenches, displeased by your rebuttal, but his fingers are gentle as they trail across your cheeks. That’s another thing you’ve noticed since he’s reunited with you: his gloves have yet to make a reappearance. It’s like now that you and the universe have assured him of your requited feelings, his iron walls of self-control have crumbled to dust, revealing a lonely, touch-starved soul who has long been told he could never physically connect with someone without the risk of killing them and is now desperate to make up for the lost time.

With this in mind, each time he initiates contact, you always make sure to return the gesture with as much affection as you can muster, whether that be by deepening his kisses or by intertwining your fingers tightly with his when he reaches for your hand. Or, such as in this instance where the two of you are lying together and cuddling on Kuiil’s bed, you take advantage of him having removed his full suit of armor to curl closer against his chest, nuzzling your head beneath his chin.

The Ugnaught had taken Din’s return in stride when he and IG-11 had paused their farmwork outside to check up on you about twenty minutes ago. Upon seeing them, Din had started to untangle himself from you so he could stand to greet them. His lack of urgency to conceal his face surprised you initially, but then you recalled Kuiil already knew Din resembled a human male, meaning at some point during their friendship Din had become comfortable enough to not wear his helmet around him. Petty jealousy swirls inside of you, upset you’re not the only one who knows Death’s true face, but you squash the ridiculous emotion not even a second later. If anyone is worthy enough of seeing Din’s true self, it’s Kuiil.

Before Din could get to his feet, Kuiil had merely shaken his head, saying he didn’t want to interrupt your time together when he knew you had to leave soon. Which is what prompted Din to insist upon himself accompanying you to headquarters.

“I don’t want you anywhere near those bastards,” he mutters darkly, lines of frustration forming ridges along his forehead. He still hasn't forgiven Hess for causing you to have a panic attack.

You wrap your fingers around his wrist, not with the intention of stopping his soothing ministrations, but instead grounding yourself in the moment using the skin-on-skin contact. Perhaps, you acknowledge privately to yourself, he’s not the only touch-starved soul in the room. I don’t want to be near them either, you want to tell him. Let’s fly away together on the Crest, somewhere far, far away...

Instead, you force yourself to say with the same carefully even tone, “The meeting should just be an hour or two, then they’ll make me take a reassessment test about Cupid regulations which I’ll pass easily.” You lift your head to peck the bridge of his prominent nose before holding up your pinky finger. “And by later this evening, I’ll be right back here in your arms. Pinky promise.”

Din stares at you for several heartbeats, stubbornness lingering in his gaze before at last he exhales a quiet sigh of surrender. He wraps his pinky around yours, squeezing tightly.

“I thought leaving you behind here was the hardest thing I’d ever have to do, but this—letting you go face them alone and knowing I can’t intervene—it’s a pain I’d only wish upon my worst enemies.”

You want to say something lighthearted, a teasing remark to ease the heavy tension in the room and make that stunning smile of his light up the space instead. Maybe, if you’re funny enough, you can make his precious and lone dimple appear in his cheek so you can press your lips to it. But your words get trapped in your throat, forming a lump that won’t go down no matter how hard you swallow.

You are equally as surprised as you are grateful when Din continues to speak.

“You’re my soulmate, angel, so when I swear these next words to you, I want you to have no doubt I mean them with absolute sincerity,” he says, a possessive and darkly seductive note creeping into his voice that has you instinctively biting your lip to keep yourself from moaning embarrassingly. “If anyone dares to keep you from me even a second longer than what is strictly necessary, I will stain the ground with their blood and reap their soul from their body so slowly they’ll weep for damnation.”

~~~

Headquarters is kriffing freezing.

That’s the first thing you notice when you step inside, goosebumps immediately rising along your arms and a shiver racks your spine as you navigate the maze of hallways towards the center of the building where the conference room is located. Every footstep reverberates off the black marble floors, but the sound isn’t loud enough to prevent you from overhearing the whispering voices of other Cupids watching you pass by, gossiping about your impending interrogation. You’d be angry at them, except that would make you a hypocrite since you’ve also spread a rumor or two about your coworkers in the past. You can feel an increase of anxiety rush through your bloodstream, making you stuff your hands into your pockets lest anyone sees them trembling and laughs.

Your three superiors are already seated and waiting in the conference room when you arrive. You make eye contact with each one, bowing your head as both a greeting and sign of respect. Lang, a dark-haired man who is known for shooting first and asking questions later, offers you a jaunty salute before lacing his hands behind his head as he balances his chair on its rear legs, the image of relaxation. Morgan Elsbeth, the only female of the trio, elects to ignore you in favor of boredly drumming her fingers on the glass tabletop, looking as if she’d rather be anywhere else in the galaxy than here. Hess returns the nod with a leering grin, further convincing you he was half-womp rat in his mortal life.

You reach for the chair closest to you, planning to pull it out to sit, when Hess’ low, gravelly voice has you freezing mid-motion. “Cupid 1-1-7, you are to remain standing for the duration of this meeting.”

“Yes, sir,” you say, clasping your hands behind your back.

Hess turns in his seat towards the holoprojector that is set up on the table. He presses several buttons and a holographic figure flickers into view, dressed in dark armor with a long black cape. You recognize the seraph immediately, never able to forget the first face you saw when you woke up as a Cupid. Moff Gideon is the supreme leader of all Cupids, imposing and sharp-witted with violent powers you’ve often heard described as barbarically ruthless. Everything about him terrifies you and you’ve done all you can to avoid being in his presence.

Only now there is no escaping him. You can’t even teleport to save yourself. When headquarters was initially built, Gideon infused his powers into its structure with the intent of protecting the building from being discovered or, worse, attacked. (Though who would want to battle a bunch of Cupids, you have no idea). However, to the detriment of all Cupids currently inside headquarters, Gideon’s enchantment also blocks any of you from using your abilities. According to him, it’s to prevent any power-sensitive beings from detecting your aura signatures and you’ve never wanted to risk being murdered to try and find a flaw with that logic.

To put it bluntly, you’re a regular human in every sense except you get to keep your immortal youthfulness. Which is literally the least helpful perk you could ask for right now.

“Cupid 1-1-7,” Gideon says, dark eyes peering at you with such focused intensity you feel sweat begin to form along your hairline. “You were granted forty-eight hours to determine your client’s soulmate. Tell us, were you successful in finding his match?”

“I—” you cut yourself off, noticing his use of a gender specific term.

He chuckles at your dumbfounded expression, a quiet huff of air that you quickly deem the scariest sound you’ve ever heard. “You may have been able to conceal Death’s identity as your client from my associates, but few incidents occur in the galaxy without my knowing about them.”

Your three superiors each display unique reactions to the reveal. Morgan’s drumming stops, attention now hooked by the present conversation and she gives you a once-over, clearly reconsidering her overall impression of you. Lang nearly falls backwards onto the floor, barely managing to correct the chair at the last second to balance himself. Hess props his chin on top of his interlocked fingers, observing you in a similar fashion as Morgan, but there is an eerie glint in his gaze you don’t like the look of.

You swallow thickly, feeling sick to your stomach. “What do you want from me, sir?”

“The full and honest truth.” There is a brief pause, increasing the tension in the room. “Were you successful in finding Death’s soulmate?”

You don’t understand why he’s asking you the same question twice when he’s admitted he’s practically omniscient. And the way he’d paused just now, makes you start to worry he’s baiting you into a trap, but you have no viable means of escaping to avoid giving him an answer.

Your voice comes out meeker sounding than you’ve ever heard it. “Yes, sir, I was successful.”

When it becomes apparent after a long beat of silence you are not going to admit any further information, Gideon levels you with a stern look. “I strongly urge you to reveal their identity to us, Cupid 1-1-7, so we may make note of them in our archives as is customary for all matched pairs.”

Well now that makes you definitely feel cornered. Your thoughts are a jumbled mess inside your head; half of you is convinced he already knows you are Din’s soulmate and is toying with you, while the other half believes he actually has no idea at all and is trying to scare you into revealing the truth.

Kriff. What do you do?

You stare over their heads at the far wall, uncomfortably aware of how the silence stretches on as they wait for a name. Your name. Maker, why do you keep ending up in these horrible scenarios? Who did you piss off in your mortal life?

“If your tongue has failed you,” Gideon says, tone deceptively light and airy. “Might I suggest that an alternative way of answering would be to show us your hands.”

He knows.

Kriff. Kriff. Kriff.

You continue your staring contest with the wall, refusing to let them see any indication your blood has turned to ice or that your lungs are on the verge of collapsing. Think, you rack your brain frantically. For Maker’s sake, think of something .

“You’re already in hot water, Cupid 1-1-7,” Lang says. His southern accent softens the words, but you still manage to detect the warning laced within them. “Don’t make it worse for yourself by being stubborn.”

As much as you loathe to admit it, Lang has a point. By continuing to resist, you’re only hurting yourself by increasing the time spent separated from Din. You don’t want to break your promise to him. Or, that little voice in the back of your mind chips in, cause Din to destroy Kuiil’s farm out of a panic-induced rage when you don’t show up tonight like you promised you would.

Inhaling a deep breath to steady your nerves, you hold out your marked hand, palm facing up to clearly display the soulmate marking. The little black heart almost seems to glow at being the center of attention.

“That is impossible,” Morgan murmurs, looking from your hand to her colleagues and back again. “No one can have two soulmates.”

“And yet here we have living proof contradicting that belief,” Gideon answers, gesturing towards you grandly with both arms. There is something in his voice—awe, you identify a second later—that has your body instinctively stiffening.

“That belief is the natural order of the universe.” Morgan’s voice is snappish, but outwardly she is her calm and collected self, not a single strand of hair out of place. “She is a deviation of the norm. A glitch.”

“If other Cupids find out about her,” Hess begins, pointing a finger at you like the others have no idea who he’s talking about. Like you’re not able to hear every word. “They’ll start thinking maybe there’s a second soulmate out there somewhere for them too, someone to replace the one who rejected them in their mortal life. They’ll start questioning the natural order, the foundation of our galactic society, and all those questions will only lead to one thing: unrestrained chaos.”

“In order to prevent that unfavorable outcome, I would like to encourage a moment of observation.” Gideon looks to someone out of range of the holoprojector, nodding his head once in confirmation. “Take one last long look for Cupid 1-1-7 is a unique anomaly you may never have the chance of seeing again.”

You blink, heart going still as the implication registers. “What?”

Before anyone can answer or scold you, a purple-skinned twi'lek Cupid you don’t recognize casually enters the conference room, like she isn’t guilty of intruding on a private meeting. Almost as if...someone had summoned her. Your gaze darts briefly to Gideon, suspicions confirmed when you see his smirking face, before looking back at the twi’lek drawing closer.

“It’s time for your reassessment test. I’m here to take you there,” she tells you, baring her fanged teeth in what you think is supposed to be a smile, but it lacks any warmth or friendliness. You can only stare back at her, every cell in your body screaming this isn’t right. You shouldn’t need an escort to the testing room.

“I can go by myself,” you protest, holding your ground.

She lunges forward with lightning-quick reflexes, seizing your elbow and leaning disturbingly close into your personal space. “Pity,” she says, feigning a pout. “I thought we could become friends.”

Something sharp pricks your arm. You first notice the mischievous gleam in her dark eyes, and then when you look down, you discover a needle being pulled out of you arm. The room starts to spin, fuzzy black spots appearing in the corners of your vision, and you sag against the wall, balance failing you.

Closing your eyes, you try to focus on your soulmate bond, calling out to Din as the numbing sensation spreads to your feet and you collapse onto the floor without an ounce of grace.

Then, distant and distorted, as if it is coming from somewhere underwater hundreds of miles away, you hear a responding cry, “Angel!”

Din. Oh, thank the Maker, you think hysterically. The delicate line between reality and imagination shifts and blurs, as if it also is succumbing to the drug’s influence. You feel his hands clutch at your face, then move to your shoulders, shaking you in an effort to force your eyes open. You want to see his beautiful face, even if it is merely an illusion, but your eyelids feel as if they suddenly weigh a hundred pounds each.

“Tell me where you are,” he demands, tightly gripping your arms to the point of pain. “I’ll come save you, just tell me where I can find you.”

The answer is on the tip of your tongue, only your mind starts to drift again, pulling you away from him towards unconsciousness. Your bond's strength wavers, unable to keep the connection stable across the lengthy distance separating you and him, and it begins to curl in on itself.

Din must notice this, too, screaming so loudly it verges on roaring, “Stay with me, angel! Please, just stay with—”

The last thing you think of before everything goes black is how much you hate breaking your pinky promise to him.

Tag List: @leilei-draws, @theocatkov, @vintagesaph, @stardust-and-starlight, @adrieunor, @remmyswritings, @gallowsjoker, @rhiannon-russo, @randomness501, @sylphene, @softly-sad, @maytheglitter, @melobee, @rogertaylorsfalsettogivesmehives, @eleinemk, @captain-jebi, @aerynwrites, @promiscuoussatan, @stilllivindue2spite, @coaaster, @lin-djarin, @becauseican2, @kay2304, @odelia-d32, @nicotinebirds

#din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #din x you #din x reader #death and an angel #my fic #Din Djarin #the mandalorian #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fanfiction #my writing #soulmate au #mandalorian x reader

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kazuyumi1412 · 3 years

Text

Me two days ago: “I’m really glad that I finally finished that idea that I had! Now, about those other ideas…”

Me today: “…”

Me today: *URGE TO MAKE FOLLOW-UP INTENSIFIES*

Seriously, though, ever since I made the end of my little “Not All Heroes Wear Capes” fanfic post (In @gilby-the-geek-girl ‘s words, “a fanfic of a fanfic”.), I’ve been wanting to make the rest of that little storyline! I was wondering what would’ve happened after Virgil went into hiding, along with how everything gets resolved.

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

Hero in Hiding

[Vanishing Act]

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

“It’s cold as hell in here…”

Virgil muttered to himself as he made his way throughout the house, hearing the echoing voices of his housemates wandering around. Even though it’d been a few hours since he’d initially shrank, they were still looking for him relentlessly. Well, he couldn’t say that they weren’t dedicated, but the reason that they’d spend so much time trying to find the person that nearly brought the house down eluded him.

As for Virgil himself? Well, aside from being cold, he kept thinking about how it must have felt for the others to live with him, especially when his voice started to act up. The voice that caused that whole mess…

What was going on with his voice anyway? It didn’t sound like the large, booming voice that came with his flare-ups normally. It sounded exactly the opposite. Small. Quiet.

Weak.

No, there wasn’t any time to think about that. All he had to worry about at that point was keeping himself in the walls and making sure that nobody heard him. Well, that and make sure that he wouldn’t freeze to death. Damn, it was cold being that small.

“HAVE EITHER OF YOU SEEN VIRGIL?” he could hear Logan asking the other two.

“NOT EVEN A HAIR ON HIS PURPLE HEAD,” Patton replied.

“ACTUALLY, IT’S FUCHSIA,” Roman corrected him. “STILL, WHAT IN THE WORLD HAPPENED? ONE SECOND, HE WAS ONLY A LITTLE TALLER THAN PATTON, AND THE NEXT, HE DISAPPEARED!”

Virgil covered his ears when Roman got louder. If he was the one that changed sizes instead of him, he was pretty sure that they’d all be deaf by that point. Then again, he had the (not exactly supernatural) superpower that was being able to tame the beast that was Virgil’s anxiety, so that had to count somewhat.

“IT’S CERTAINLY STRANGE,” Logan remarked. “WE’VE NEVER SEEN THIS SIDE OF HIS POWERS BEFORE. AND FROM HIS REACTION, NEITHER HAS HE.”

“AGH!” Roman groaned out of frustration. “IT’S BEEN THREE HOURS, AND WE STILL HAVEN’T FOUND HIM! HE COULD’VE SLIPPED OUT OF THE HOUSE FOR ALL THAT WE KNOW!”

“FALSEHOOD. WHILE THAT’S ENTIRELY POSSIBLE, YOU’RE NOT FACTORING IN WHAT’S OUTSIDE THE HOUSE.” — Virgil imagined that Logan was listing off the next items off using his fingers to count — “IT’S RAINING OUTSIDE RIGHT NOW, SO HE COULD BE WASHED AWAY. OTHER ANIMALS COULD CONSIDER HIM AS THEIR NEXT MEAL AS WELL. AND IT’D BE FREEZING FOR SOMEONE AT THE SIZE THAT HE’S AT, WHATEVER THAT HAPPENS TO BE RIGHT NOW. ESSENTIALLY, THAT’S THE ABSOLUTE LAST PLACE THAT HE’D WANT TO BE.”

“SO HE CAN’T BE ANYWHERE EXCEPT IN THE HOUSE?”

“UNLESS YOU WANT TO INCLUDE THE EQUALLY BAD IDEA OF GOING INTO THE PIPES.”

“WELL, I’M SURE THAT HE’S AROUND HERE SOMEWHERE,” Patton reassured them. “I CAN FEEL IT.”

“SPEAKING OF FEELING,” Roman noted, “IS IT JUST ME, OR WAS THERE SOMETHING DIFFERENT ABOUT THE INCREDIBLE SHRINKING EMO? ASIDE FROM THE SHRINKING PART.”

‘Thinking that the person that almost brought the house down is incredible?’ Virgil thought. ‘He must’ve hit his head harder than I thought.’

“HE DEFINITELY SEEMED SLIGHTLY MORE VOLATILE THIS TIME AROUND, THOUGH I’D IMAGINE THAT IT WAS MAINLY DUE TO HIS HIGH STRESS LEVELS,” Logan stated.

“I GET THAT MUCH,” Roman remarked. “I MEAN WHY HE STOPPED WHEN HE SAW ME BLEEDING.”

“I THINK…WELL…” Patton said with a tinge of uncertainty, “I MIGHT BE WRONG, SINCE EVERYTHING WAS ALL JUMBLED, BUT–”

“JUST TELL US WHAT IT IS!” Virgil could tell by Roman’s tone that he was getting desperate.

“I THINK VIRGIL FELT GUILTY. FOR ALL OF IT.”

Right as he heard those words, Virgil almost instantly remembered what happened to cause the incident.

__________

Virgil tried to calm down as best as he could, staring straight at his hands as he rested on the couch. He would’ve gone back to his room at that point normally, but recently, he’d felt more anxious than normal being there. As for why, he couldn’t put a definite finger on it. Was it about school? His dwindling antidepressants? Something else he couldn’t think of? He had no idea.

“You alright there, Not Sleeping Beauty?” he heard Roman ask him. Apparently, even without looking directly at him and even with all of the eyeshadow he had on, Roman could still see the dark circles under Virgil’s eyes. “You look like you haven’t slept in days.”

“I’m fine, Princey,” Virgil muttered a reply.

“Fine?” Roman knew about his dislike of that word, so hearing Virgil use it definitely threw up some red flags.

“Yes, fine.” — his tone sounded almost like a growl — “Now, can you leave me alone? I’m trying to think.”

“You know that going without your beauty sleep isn’t good.”

“I said that I’m fine, Roman.”

“Hey, I’m just worried about you, Snow Fright. That’s all. Your grades are going to dip if you don’t get your sleep.”

Something in Virgil snapped when he heard that. He stood up, not noticing the change in his height or voice as he glared at Roman. “I said that I’m FINE!”

The massive reverb shockwave shook the house, knocking everyone off their feet and shaking things loose, even cracking the ceiling.

Oh boy…

__________

Virgil fled towards a different part of the house once he remembered that, not wanting to be reminded of the giant mistake that he’d made a few hours prior.

When he was satisfied with how far he went, Virgil sat down to rest, being rather winded. Who knew walking across the house at that size could be so exhausting? Either way, he wondered how the other three would act the next morning. Would they still be looking for him? What about cleaning up the damage that he’d caused? He remembered back to when Roman lifted him up that one time and he tried to get back at him, only for Logan to yell at both of them to go outside. Guess it was because he didn’t want Virgil accidentally wrecking the room that they were in. What would he think of him now that he actually wrecked one of the rooms? Virgil’s thoughts were cut short as he heard a door open and shut through the wall behind him.

“HOW IN THE WORLD ARE WE GOING TO CLEAN THIS UP?” he heard Logan mutter to himself. He guessed that he’d wandered to where Logan’s room was. “THE CEILING IS DEFINITELY GOING TO NEED TO BE REPAIRED. WHAT WAS VIRGIL THINKING?”

“Glad to see the human calculator likes me,” Virgil said to himself, his words oozing sarcasm.

He thought that Logan would continue going on about the damage, but was surprised to hear the next words coming out of his mouth. “IT WAS JUST AN ACCIDENT. HE KNOWS IT JUST AS WELL AS WE DO. SO WHY WOULD HE HIDE FROM US LIKE THIS? IT’S JUST SO…ILLOGICAL…” He heard the chair to Logan’s desk being pulled out. “WHY ARE YOU HIDING, VIRGIL?”

Did he know? No, he couldn’t know. His senses were keen, but not enough to hear Virgil’s extremely quiet voice. Or were they? Virgil didn’t want to risk it, dashing off to another part of the house just in case Logan could hear his voice.

As he continued wandering through the walls, he heard what seemed to be Patton talking to himself. Virgil really didn’t want to risk almost getting noticed again, but then again, Patton’s hearing wasn’t as sensitive as Logan’s. Either way, Virgil’s curiosity got the better of him, and he quietly approached the side of the wall and listened in on Patton’s one-man conversation.

“EVERYTHING’S GOING TO BE ALRIGHT,” Patton muttered to himself. “WE’LL FIND HIM EVENTUALLY. WE HAVE TO.” — he sniffled a bit, and Virgil could only imagine that he was fighting back a few tears — “HEY, I SAID THAT EVERYTHING’S GOING TO BE ALRIGHT. CRYING’S NOT GOING TO DO ANYBODY ANY GOOD RIGHT NOW.”

Virgil’s heart broke a bit inside when he heard that. For all the time that he knew Patton, he knew that he didn’t like showing that he was crying at anything other than a scene in a movie. Holding back his less-than-awesome feelings when it came to other people. To hear him fighting back tears was…

Well, he really didn’t have any words to describe it.

If Patton was that worried about him, then he could only imagine how Roman felt about Virgil’s disappearance. He was always a drama queen regardless, even though he technically identified as male.

“Can’t these guys go one night worrying about themselves for a change?” Virgil said to himself, making his way through the house’s walls. “They got hurt because of me…”

He heard his stomach growl, with the sound echoing a bit in the hollow walls. Swearing to himself a bit, he decided to change course and head towards the kitchen, going to get himself something to snack on.

Slipping out of the wall for a bit, Virgil looked around, trying to find something out in the open that he could take. After all, he couldn’t open the fridge, and the cabinets were too high for him to reach. Being that small had a lot of disadvantages, didn’t it?

“LET’S GO IN THE GARDEN…”

Virgil quickly hid, hearing Roman’s voice coming in his direction.

“YOU’LL FIND SOMETHING WAITING…”

His voice. Something seemed off with it.

“RIGHT THERE WHERE YOU LEFT IT, LYING UPSIDE DOWN…”

It wasn’t his usual soft voice. Not the reassuring one that Virgil knew.

“WHEN YOU FINALLY FIND IT, YOU’LL SEE HOW IT’S FADED…”

What was it? What was different about his voice this time around?

“THE UNDERSIDE IS LIGHTER WHEN YOU TURN IT AROUND…”

Virgil peeked out from his hiding spot, seeing Roman sitting on the couch. He couldn’t make out his face from that distance, but even just by his slouched posture, he could tell that Roman was not his usual happy self.

“EVERYTHING STAYS RIGHT WHERE YOU LEFT IT…”

What was he hearing in Roman’s voice?

“EVERYTHING STAY, BUT IT STILL CHANGES…”

Exhaustion?

“EVER SO SLIGHTLY…”

Frustration?

“DAILY AND NIGHTLY…”

A hint of a solemn tone?

“IN LITTLE WAYS…”

Roman completely stopped, letting out a sigh. Virgil quietly got closer to him, making sure to stay hidden by using cover. He saw Roman resting his head in his hands, though he couldn’t tell what face he was making.

“BUT NOTHING REMAINS…”

Woah. Okay, Roman changing the lyrics? Virgil knew that something was wrong at that point. Maybe he was feeling all the things that he thought he was feeling. Then again, he couldn’t know for certain. He wasn’t an empath like Patton, nor was he a telepath like Remus. Whatever “-path” he was, it wasn’t either of those two. Either way, he hid underneath one of the chairs, recognizing that it was the exact same one that he’d been hiding under when he initially shrank, and looked up at Roman.

“THAT IDIOT BETTER KNOW WHAT HE’S DOING, HIDING FROM US LIKE THIS,” Roman said to himself. “MAKING US WORRY ABOUT HIM. HE’S PRACTICALLY GIVING US HIS LEVELS OF ANXIETY!”

“Liar...” Virgil muttered. “You’d all be better off if I wasn’t around.”

“I HIGHLY DOUBT THAT,” he heard Logan’s voice remark.

Virgil froze up, wanting to turn around before he felt himself being lifted up. He quickly shut his eyes as tightly as he could as he braced himself. It felt like Virgil’s heart was beating a mile a minute.

“PUT HIM DOWN!” Patton exclaimed. “YOU’RE SCARING HIM!”

Virgil felt himself being gently set down on some surface, though he couldn’t tell what it was with his eyes closed. As he slowly peeked to see where he was, he saw Roman, Patton, and Logan all staring back at him, all having various degrees of concern on their faces.

And just when he thought that things couldn’t get worse...

“ARE YOU OKAY?!” Patton quickly asked, looking at Virgil’s tiny form. “YOU’RE NOT HURT, ARE YOU?”

He quickly covered his ears upon hearing Patton’s loud voice. “You’re about to burst my eardrums if you’re not careful,” Virgil replied.

Patton let out a sigh of relief alongside Roman, though Logan seemed rather unphased. At least, on the outside.

“REGARDLESS,” Logan said, keeping his voice down, “I’D LIKE TO KNOW WHAT YOU MEANT BY ‘YOU’D ALL BE BETTER OFF IF I WASN’T AROUND.’.”

“You heard that, huh?” Virgil remarked, already knowing the answer.

“YOUR VOICE ISN’T THAT QUIET.”

Virgil let out a sigh, knowing that he couldn’t keep quiet about it, otherwise the other three would get at him nonstop. “Well, you saw what happened earlier. I’m practically a ticking time bomb. I was just thinking…” — he took a deep breath to calm his nerves — “I was thinking that…maybe you’d all be better off without me. I just wanted to see what it was like for a day.”

“AND I ASSUME THAT YOUR INITIAL HYPOTHESIS WAS WRONG?”

“Not all of it. I finally know how you feel when my voice acts up.”

“ANYWAY, CAN YOU TURN BACK TO NORMAL?” Roman quickly asked. “WE CAN’T HAVE YOU STUCK AT YOUR ‘PINT-SIZED’ SETTING, C-3MO.”

He crossed his arms a bit. “You know he can’t change his size like I can, right?”

“I KNOW! I’M JUST RUNNING OUT OF IDEAS! MY BRAIN’S FRIED BECAUSE OF HOW MUCH WE’VE BEEN WORRYING ABOUT YOU!”

Virgil reflexively covered his ears again as he heard Roman yell. To be honest, he wasn’t at all used to having to cover his ears every time one of the other three tried to speak. Either way, he was a bit curious himself, and he tried to get back to his normal size. Unfortunately, he wasn’t really able to get much of his height back, so Virgil was pretty much stuck as the shortest person in the house for the rest of the night.

“I’M SURE THAT YOU’LL BE BACK TO YOUR ORIGINAL SELF IN THE MORNING, VIRGIL,” Logan stated. “NOW, IF YOU DON’T MIND, IT’S LATE, AND WE ALL SHOULD BE GETTING TO SLEEP.”

“SEE YOU IN THE MORNING, KIDDO,” Patton said as he carefully patted Virgil’s back.

The other two left, leaving Roman and Virgil alone in the room. It was a bit awkward to have such a height difference between them at first, but then again, it was essentially the reverse of what usually happened.

“SO, I GUESS I’M TAKING YOU BACK TO YOUR ROOM, UM…VIRGIL,” Roman said as he held out his hand, having run out of new nicknames for Virgil.

“Hold on,” He told Roman. “I…” — Roman motioned for him to go on, hearing him out — “You mind if I sleep with you tonight? My room’s not the best for helping my anxiety go down.”

He smirked a bit. “IS THAT JUST AN EXCUSE TO GET IN BED WITH ME?” — Virgil got a bit flustered, and Roman chuckled — “I’M JUST KIDDING. C’MON.”

He carefully picked Virgil up in his arms and carried him over to his room. It wasn’t exactly his usual fireman carry, but still, Virgil wasn’t exactly his usual self at the time, so a bride carry had to do. After setting him down, Roman went to “quickly” change into his pajamas, leaving Virgil sitting on his bed. He glanced off to the side, seeing a familiar green gingham dress and off-white apron on the plush next to him.

“And here, I never thought that we’d see eye-to-eye,” Virgil muttered, a slight laugh escaping from his lips, probably from the absurdity of the situation. They were practically the same size at that point.

Eventually, Roman returned, having changed into some sweatpants and an old t-shirt, and carefully clambered into bed. Taking both Virgil and Mrs. Fluffy Bottom in his arms, he laid down on his back. With the utmost amount of care, he flipped the hood on Virgil’s jacket up, covering his head.

“GOOD NIGHT, YOU TINY THUNDERSTORM,” Roman said before drifting off to sleep.

Virgil could feel Roman’s heart beating as he laid on top of his chest, looking over to the plush rabbit accompanying him. He smiled as he shut his eyes, feeling the warmth comforting him.

Even if his powers seemed like a curse sometimes, he had to admit that there were some blessings in disguise hidden within them.

#nahwc #size shifter #tiny!virgil

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edgeofmyniall · 3 years

Text

The Arrival: Part One

Poppy Horan knew two things: one, life sucks in the manner of doing taxes and avoiding death at all costs, and two, she would rather stick a dull, rusty spoon in her eye than to get out of the car.��

Poppy sits in her car as the white crystals fade down on the steaming metal. Even though the heat was on high, she still feels the biting wind through her car. In reality, Poppy knew her heating system works perfectly fine , but it is the anxiety that makes her bones shiver under the many layers of clothes that she’s bundled in. The steering wheel seems to almost freeze under her gloved hand as she grips it tighter. With her elbow propped on the middle console, her other gloved hand taps her temple rhythmically as she awaits for the dreaded moment to appear. She couldn’t help to feel that her skin was ice.

She looks out the window when a pair of headlights pulls onto the snow covered street and without realization, her heart skips. The car slows as it passes her own and that sudden fleeting moment of hope or despair, Poppy didn’t know, went as quickly as it came.

It isn’t often that Poppy is able to sit and enjoy the weather, but as she reflects on her life and tries to convince herself to go inside where her friends are waiting for the rest of the party to join, she can’t help but to hate the position she’s in now.

Because if she got an invite, so did he.

That’s what happens when you marry inside the friend group. You get invited to places and events together even if the two parties are, in fact, divorced.

To give her friend’s the benefit of the doubt, Poppy knows that none of them have the slightest clue about the divorce. There were merely just rumors and claims floating around news articles and social media. None of them know about the constant fighting and the arguing that ensued all hours of the night when Niall would come home late smelling of perfume that Poppy would never dare wear. The crying turned into silent treatments that remained until they both signed their names on the piece of paper that quoted irreconcilable differences as the reason why the two should no longer be together.

Would Niall bring her? The woman he left Poppy for? He couldn’t be that naive to bring the absolute chaos to Justin’s wake, but it would be like Niall to pop the surprise on every one at a time that they least expected it. Poppy had thought about calling the closest hotel to book a room, but what if Niall had done the same thing? Would he bring the bottle of wine that made Poppy first question the health of their relationship?

Her finger taps on the window trigger, debating if she should at least step out for a quick smoke. She hated the thought of the musky smell lingering where his cologne still hung to the leather almost as if she was ruining the memory of Niall. The Niall that once loved her. Poppy sighs before shutting down the engine and steps out into the winter morning. The quiet suburban street watches Poppy as her car chirps at her. She leans her back on her passenger door and lights up a cigarette, breathing in the nicotine. Her body falls into an ease, letting the tense aches of her muscles to relax and her hand finds the two silver rings that hang around her neck. She keeps them on a low chain, a secret that only she knows about, not daring to let the world know of her failure and shame that she couldn’t make a love like the romance novels work. They had been picture perfect in almost every way before she gave up the fight. As her fingers play with the cool metal, her mind wanders into a place that is dangerous:

The past.

Five Years Ago

“And do you, Niall James Horan, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?” The priest looks over to Niall who stands proud in his tuxedo as he looks his bride in the eyes before he answers the easiest question with a smile.

“Yes.”

“And do you, Penelope Jane Myers take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?” The priest turns to Penelope who is glowing from happiness as she looks at the man of her dreams. The world stops turning as she takes in this moment: the way the one curl of Niall’s hair won’t stay in place no matter the amount of gel he uses, the way his blue eyes are shining at her, the small croak of his voice when he read his vows of the crumpled, folded paper- a sure sign that he had rewritten everything he was trying to say. They had spent months planning the wedding: getting the invitations right, the seating charts, the ordering of decorations. Niall insisted that Poppy make the whole idea of the wedding a big deal, but over and over again she told Niall, “I could care less about what it looks like as long as I’m with you. Forever. That’s all that matters.”

In hindsight, she should have known better. She looked at Niall for the last time as a single man before saying, “I do.”

“Then I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride.” Niall cupped Poppy’s cheeks and pulled her in swiftly for a kiss that would seal the promise they both made before the crowd and God.

When they finally reached the small room upstairs after walking out of the chapel, they breathed a sigh of relief. They were both nervous to start their lives as a married couple even though for them nothing changed except for the legal matters. Niall never asked Poppy to sign a prenup. She had helped Niall start his business up so he felt that she should get at least half of everything that he had because without her support and encouragement, they would not be where they are today.

“I’ll call Sam in the morning to get everything set up at the office. You just need to come by whenever to sign the papers,” Niall whispered as his hands rested on the crook of Poppy’s hips. Her heart fluttered as Niall caressed the falling brown tendril out of her face.

“I don’t need any of that. Just you is all I want,” Poppy breathes, her breath hitching as Niall kisses her fully, his tongue tasting of mint.

“I love you times infinity, my darling. Forever.”

Forever came sooner than intended. On the breath of an everlasting promise, the word forever suffocated and shattered all over the hands that tried to keep a marriage from falling apart.

“Jesus, Penelope, you’re still going at it with those things?” A sudden familiar voice pulls Penelope out of the dream she was reliving. Her hand clutches the rings as she throws out the half lit cigarette, her heart racing. “You’ll end up killing yourself with those.”

Niall stood in the snow just a few feet from her in a gray trench coat with snowflakes that had caught in his hair from the short distance he walked from across the street. The week old scruff and dark circles under his eyes were a given sign of no sleep. Stocks had fallen and the business hadn’t been doing so well in the past couple of months. There had been frantic emails that Poppy was still receiving about emergency meetings from the decline of sales. The board of directors, including Poppy, were called to meet in person to discuss options. Niall had always poured his heart and soul into his work so much so that two had become one, and now as he stands in front of his ex-wife, she witnesses the perfect example of an ill fated work marriage. His body seems to want to lunge forward, to wrap his arms around his once best friend, but he stops himself and looks at the woman with the permanent sad face. “How are you?”

“Been better,” Poppy, still clutching the rings in her hand, turns to her ex-husband. His hands were stuffed into the silk pockets as the cloud of breath left his body. He looked irritated at best, like coming to one of his best friend’s wake was an inconvenience to him, but that was no longer Poppy’s worry. “You look like shit.”

It was a lie, a false statement that she said aloud to convince herself to stop looking at him in the way she once did. He looks just as good as the day she met him.

Seven Years Ago

Poppy trudged against the rain, hoping to make it to her professor’s office on time. She had been running late due to the fact that she overslept after pulling an all nighter to finish the essay that was due only a few minutes from now. Pen and paper, the professor had said, he would not accept anything less than pen and paper. She had only five minutes to cross the muddy lawn and enter the building only to run up three flights of stairs to hand in the paper in person to either her professor or the aide. Her heart racing, she ran as fast as she could across the slippery grass that would only stain her sneakers that she had gotten from her mom on her past birthday. She hated running across the grime, but it was the fastest route to get to the gray stone building that lurked over her, awaiting for her to fail. Stepping inside the building, Poppy nearly slipped on the mat that was wrinkled on the newly polished floor. Her shoes squeaked as she began the trek upstairs taking one last look at the elevator in hopes that someone had fixed it after all the days it had been broken. The faded paper sign was still hanging on the metal doors as Poppy’s heart lurched forward. Three minutes left and the biggest grade she needed was about to be late.

A group of freshmen descended down the stairs in a form that could only be the walk of shame. They didn’t move over to let Poppy pass so she let them push past her. Her back arching into the railing as she watched the clock tick forward. It was as if time stood still in the final seconds of her deadline. Finally free, she ran as fast as she could, pushing past students and professors, unbeknownst to her she nearly pushed over her own, and left wet puddles on the floor when she reached the darkened office of her professor. Closing her eyes, she sighed as she slid down the wall facing the office. Bringing her knees to her chest, she dropped her head in the sanctuary of her ownself and began to cry softly. She hadn’t made it on time and surely now, she would fail the class she needed the most to graduate.

A small whistle came from around the corner. Poppy peered over her arms with blurry eyes to see the aide coming back to the office. He hadn’t noticed one of his students on the ground when he turned the key. As he turned the lights on in his small office, he quickly grabbed his jacket that he had come back for. It was when he was leaving that he saw the tear stained face of one Penelope Myers.

“Penelope, what are you doing here?” Niall squatted down in front of Poppy and offered a hand to help her up. His touch was gentle as Poppy stood and wiped her tears. “I’m too late, aren’t I? Now I’ll never graduate on time and I’ll have to repeat the class again and hope to God I’ll never oversleep again which is a big, fat lie to you, me and God himself.” Niall cupped Poppy’s arm and gently squeezed.

“Late?”

“The paper. The one that’s worth half my grade? I’m late.”

“Do you have it?” Niall asked as he looked Poppy in her reddened eyes. “Why does it matter? It’s late. Professor Lawernce won’t approve of it. First rule of his stupid syllabus.”

“Do you have it?” Niall asked again. His blue eyes seemed to flicker as a smile crept onto his face. Now was not the time to laugh at Poppy’s failure.

“Yes, but it’s probably wet from the stupid fucking rain.”

“Let me see it,” Niall smiled. Poppy’s brow furrowed in confusion, but bent down to retrieve the paper anyways. Only the corners seemed to have gotten wet and as she gave her essay to the man who comforted her, her heart raced. Tapping his watch with his finger, Niall says, “By the looks of my watch, it says you’re right on time.” He winked and turned to place Poppy’s essay in the mix of the other essays that had been turned in on time.

“Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.” Poppy didn’t realize what she was doing until she had done it. She wrapped her arms around Niall and buried her face inside the crook of his neck, taking in the deep musk of his cologne. “You are a lifesaver Niall. I owe you big time.” Poppy pulled away suddenly and straightened her clothes as Niall’s gentle grasp lingered. She hadn’t wanted to let go.

“You can treat me to some drinks later on. My friends and I are going down to a local pub and you buy me a round and we’ll call it even.” Niall extended his hand so Poppy could shake on their business agreement.

“The name’s Poppy, by the way,” she said after shaking her newfound friend. A thought of what his lips taste like lingered in her brain. “Only my grandma calls me Penelope. It’s too old for me.”

Niall turns to lock his office door and smiles, “Old or not, I like it.”

“You might want to put those on,” Niall nods to Poppy’s closed hand. “Still gives the facade.” Poppy swallows the last bit of pride that she has left and nods. Her hands shake, not from the cold, but from the fact that it’s been almost a year since she last saw Niall. It was when he had the movers box all of his stuff and take it away in the moving truck that she saw him. He had gotten a tan from his vacation down in Cabo and he had thought Poppy wouldn’t be home.

“Thought you were gone to Amelia’s so I was going to leave this instead.” Niall handed her the note and walked to his car without another word. It was when he was pulling out of their driveway that she read the scratchy handwriting on the crumbled piece of white paper:

Poppy entered the house alone and was left with all of their belongings staring at her broken heart. She could hear them laughing at her failure and every vase, picture, and wall decoration dug deep into her soul watching her as she slid down the bare white wall of their living room as she cried with rage filling her body. She never wanted these things, but Niall gave them to her anyways. He always wanted her to have the nice things in life, but Niall had been so consumed with the warped accusations and thoughts that Poppy only loved Niall for the things he gave her that he overlooked the value of their friendship and relationship. Poppy grabbed the blue and yellow vase that Niall gave her for their first year anniversary after their wedding and threw it as hard as she could against the wall that held their wedding picture. The one where he cradled Poppy’s face so delicately that one would assume she was made of glass while he looked at her with life and love, all consuming and enduring, like she was the only person in the world.

It was never the same.

“Can you help me? I can’t seem to get it.”

Niall sighs and walks over to his ex-wife, snow crunching under each step. He could hear his heart roaring against its cage. He had locked his heart away when it came to Penelope, tortured it for still feeling the way he does for her- for her shallow love.

“Weather’s supposed to get bad. Heard on the news it might be a storm later on,” Poppy’s voice cracked under the slender touch of Niall’s. He’s trying to steady his breathing, to keep himself under control, but the smooth skin on the nape of Poppy’s neck brings back too many memories he thought he washed down with alcohol.

“Since when do you watch the news, Penelope?” he quirks, a small smile growing on his face. She’s trying to make an impression that she’s grown from the divorce- that she is independent, but Niall sees through the facade. She’s always been independent in her own way, and that was one of the many things that Niall loves about Poppy. Loved. He reminded himself. He loved her. He now loves Shelby.

“It was on the radio, meathead. I hope you know that people can change, Niall. They do it all the time.” The way his name hangs on her lips burns her- the taste of yesterday drowning in today. He unclasps the necklace when the front door of the blue townhome opens, letting the roaring laughter and music flood into the quiet snowy street.

“There’s the two love birds. Thought we might have missed you. Come inside before you both freeze,” the olive skinned woman that they both knew as Amelia shouted. Her shawl was wrapped around her body to hold off the harsh cold wind for the few moments her head had poked through the door. Niall’s smile vanishes as quickly as it came before Poppy turns to look at the dismal face of her ex-husband.

“Put them on quick. And put on a happy face; we’re the love birds, after all,” Niall growls as he picks up his luggage. Poppy pops the trunk open and Niall quickly takes a hold of her bag. They walk up the front stairs in silence, suitcases rolling, and before pushing the red front door that was left ajar, Niall places his hand on the crook of Poppy’s back and she swears that Niall’s eyes flickered with natural joy when she looked at him. Swallowing hard, Poppy feels as if this weekend is an endless cycle of boxing matches with the odds stacked against her, and with no one in her corner, she is about to step into the hardest round of her life.

taglist: @niallerlover, @yourpolaroid07

#niall horan #niall horan au #niall horan fanfiction #niall horan fanfic #niall horan imagine #niall horan 1d #1dff

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free-pool-trash · 3 years

Text

folklore - isaac lahey {7/?}

Hey guys! Sorry for the long wait I’ve been ridiculously busy the past few weeks 😓BUT!!! As compensation I made this part super long and fluffy with sooooooo much Isaac/reader content (enjoy it while you can because shits gonna be messy from here on out 🤭🙈)

Having said that, I don’t have my laptop right now as I moved houses and my stuff got put into storage so I’m working with the mobile version 😓 sorry in advance if formatting is weird I tried to make it better 😓 also there’s no continue reading button so sorry if this comes up on your dash 😭

Let me know what you think tho I’d really appreciate it 💕

Word count: 5.5k 🙈

Warnings: Fluff 😳, mentions of blood, Derek being a PAIN IN THE ASS, Isaac being the cutest 😌✨, ✨kissing✨, swearing

Masterlist

Tag list (open as always): @makeusfreefromthisfandom om, @cece-lives-here here, @chocolate-raspberries , @belsandthings , @dancing-tacos-23 , @truly-dionysus , @britty443 , @tanyaherondale , @furiouspockettoad , @yunsh-17 17, @random-thoughts-003 , @gloomybrieyxb , @futuristicslimemongerbanana , @linkpk88 , @big-galaxy-chaos , @im-a-stranger-thing , @riaisnotcool (I think u had a username change but idk let me know and I can fix it), @its-evita-here , @pad-foots , @sweetpeabellamyblakedracomalfoy , @bookswillfindyouaway , @what-the-hap-is-fuckening , @awkwardnesshabitat , @pieces-by-me me, @wreny24 , @kerosene-angel (if this is the wrong username I’m sorry it wasn’t working the way I had written it down so I’m assuming I just took it down wrong 😳 it it’s not you let me know and I’ll remove you), @marveloucnco o, @babypink224221 let me know if you’d like to be added <3 (strike through means tumblr wouldn’t let me tag you)

The days you’d spent in Mystic Falls bled into weeks and soon enough you were being beckoned back to Beacon Hills with a head full of things you hadn’t had a clue about two weeks prior.

There, of course, was the matter of Peter- who was now dead, well technically, he was murdered.

Derek’s first course of action as Beacon Hills’ new alpha was to break the news to you. He’d killed him but due to Scott and Stiles’ constant text updates, you knew it would’ve had to be done sooner or later. But still, you had a feeling that this wouldn’t be the last of him. That small intuitive feeling in the back of your mind told you that you’d see him again soon. You just hoped your next meeting wouldn’t be happening because you ended up buried next to him.

Over the course of your stay with Alaric, who had left you in the care of the Salvatore brothers- Stefan and Damon, you’d honed several new vampiric powers. As it turned out, some of the powers you possessed were completely unfamiliar to the vampires of over a hundred years.

You had super speed, it wasn’t just enhanced as you’d previously thought. As well as that, you’d discovered that you could run circles around both Stefan and Damon Salvatore, who were obviously a lot older and therefore should’ve been a lot faster.

And for that matter, they should’ve been stronger than you, they should’ve been able to snap you like a twig. They should’ve been able to. But they weren’t. Because not only were you faster, you were stronger too.

While having super speed and super strength was nice, mind compulsion, your most recent discovery, now that was incredible. All you had to do was look into someone’s eyes and they would become completely entranced to do whatever you told them.

Despite being over a hundred years old, neither Stefan nor Damon had ever seen a vampire quite like you.

They’d never seen a vampire who was also an empath, that, apparently, was usually more of a witch thing. Neither of them had ever come across a vampire bite which had a euphoric effect either. But having said all of that… they’d never heard of someone being turned from a wolf bite. Or a vampire who still had a beating heart, for that matter.

Your only real downfalls were that, for one, your blood’s healing capacity didn’t operate at the same speed for you as it did when being used to heal others. You’d put this down to the possibility that maybe your system had just grown too used to it. To be perfectly honest, though, you had no idea.

Secondly, your empathic tendencies were beginning to bring you down, but it wasn’t just that… it was the way in which you’d been instructed, by Damon Salvatore himself, on how to make them stop.

The plane ride home to California dragged on longer than you would’ve liked, the flight was delayed and you were absolutely starving by the time Derek picked you up from the airport. Your parents were still away, they’d travelled to Romania in search of answers to your predicament and they wouldn’t be home until at least next week, so that left Derek on chauffeur and babysitting duty.

“How are you?” He’d only spoken up thirty minutes into the car ride, you let out a sigh from the passenger seat and gave him a tired smile, you could feel the nerves radiating from him. He was afraid you’d be mad at him for killing Peter, and maybe you should’ve been, but again, you had a feeling he’d be back, and besides, spending time with Damon had helped you realise that everything wasn’t so black and white. It finally registered with you that people like Derek and Damon, the dark mysterious bad boys with secret hearts of gold- they sometimes did bad things but with good intentions.

Once you discovered this, you decided amongst yourself that you’d ease up on your not-really-big-brother in the future. Even if it meant you got hurt a little in the process. If hurting you was what he needed to do to learn his lesson then you’d be willing to make that sacrifice.

So you gave him a soft smile and answered, “Hungry.”

Derek let out a chuckle at that, nodding his head towards the backseat, drawing your attention to the three full blood bags laying on the leather seats.

A delighted gasp left your mouth as you snatched the plastic bags into your hands, wasting no time you stuck the attached tube into your mouth and began gulping the first bag down- it was definitely Stiles’ blood you were drinking, you’d gotten so used to the taste of it you were sure you could recognise it anywhere.

Letting out a happy groan you threw your head back against the headrest, “Stiles Stilinski you are a doll.”

Derek chuckled again, glancing at you fondly before his steely eyes returned to the road ahead.

It was only another 30 minutes before you were back in your driveway. “So are you staying here until my parents get back?” You questioned from the porch as Derek got your bags from the trunk of his car, the wolf shook his head with a smile, “Nah, I’ve got some stuff to do at home.”

“Derek, that home isn’t even structurally sound.” You chastised softly. Surely he’d be happier spending time with the family he still had breathing rather than living in the remnants of what used to be his.

Walking up to the porch, Derek placed your case down gently by your feet and moved himself to stand in front of you. A genuine smile painted his lips as he gazed at you, “New rule.” He stated, placing both of his hands on either of your forearms before going on, eyes staring affectionately into your own, “From now on, I will be doing all the worrying about you, alright? Not the other way around.”

With a defeated sigh, you nodded your head. “I’ll try my best.” That had been a lie. Unable to blind you with his unusually sweet sentiment, through the physical contact you could tell he was scheming.

“Good. Now, go get some rest I’ll come check up on you in the morning.” He kissed your forehead and then made his way back to his car, speeding out of your driveway and out of sight before you’d even unlocked the door.

The house was cold and empty when you’d re-entered. A shiver ran up your spine the second your feet stepped past the threshold. Something was very wrong, and unfortunately, you couldn’t tell what exactly it was that was so wrong. The feeling was unnerving, it was dark and it was agonisingly heavy. Like anxiety on steroids, lots of steroids.

Swallowing thickly, you gripped -more like clawed- at your chest. Nails scraping your skin as you attempted to catch a single breath, though it seemed that oxygen was determined to outrun you as you glanced around helplessly.

Almost twenty minutes has passed as you heaved and gasped frantically, overwhelming dread flooded your chest while simultaneously tears flooded your eyes, and still you didn’t have even the slightest idea of what it all meant.

And then it hit you. That panic- it didn’t belong to you.

Within a second you’d risen to your feet, breathing still staggered while you rushed out the front door, your vampire speed being put to good use as within seconds you were where your panic had led you. Night had fallen by now and it was completely dark, not to mention absolutely freezing, the hoodie you had on doing nothing to protect you from the biting cold in the air. The trail of feelings you’d been chasing had led you to Beacon Hills cemetery and before your eyes, there it was, the something that was very wrong.

Derek and Isaac. More specifically, Derek’s teeth buried in Isaac’s arm. You hadn’t even registered what you were doing when you ripped Derek from Isaac and violently threw him across the cemetery, the impact in which the Hale hit the tree all the way at the edge of the graveyard was a testimony to your strength. You hadn’t even used half it.

Without hesitation, you inspected Isaac’s body frantically, eyes lingering on the bloody bite across his right arm. Slowly and mournfully, your eyes met his, which were wide with shock. His heart was beating out of his chest to the point where you couldn’t ignore it.

“What did he do to you?” The question slipped out as a whisper, your anger melted away only to be replaced by dread as Isaac began to speak, “He offered me the bite and I- I said yes.”

“Isaac…” Your gaze drifted to the bite and you weren’t surprised to see it already healed. “I’m sorry.” You heard him mutter from above you, his anxiety pooling in your chest and mixing with his guilt.

Shaking your head softly you pulled him into you, your arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders while his own arms held you tightly against him as you kissed his temple to release him of the intense anxiety plaguing him. “Don’t be sorry. I understand.”

He relaxed against you upon hearing your words, the two weeks you’d been gone made him realise something, he was utterly useless without you, or so he thought. He felt weak. He felt as though if he didn’t have you as emotional support he was defective. Derek had honed in on that and manipulated it to his advantage, convinced Isaac that the bite was what he needed in order to be strong by himself. To keep you safe instead of you protecting him all of the time.

“Was that really necessary?” Derek’s voice broke the moment and you found anger was surging through you once again. You separated from Isaac to face Derek.

At this point, you didn’t care what his intentions had been, you weren’t going to let him away with this.

“I’m going to give you three seconds to explain why you did this.” As Derek moved to speak you ruthlessly cut him off. “Too slow.” And with that the back of your hand met his cheek, again sending him flying, only not as far this time.

His fangs were barred now, as were yours. Both of your eyes glowing, his red ones threatening as he attempted to demonstrate his power. And yet again, you had a revelation.

You couldn’t stop the laugh that fell from your lips, a synacal and sarcastic lilt to it as you towered over Derek’s form on the floor.

“Oh I get it!” You exclaimed, lip held between your teeth in mock disbelief you pressed your palm to your forehead as you spoke, “You thought you’d go around and stalk some kids so you could add to your big bad pack. Right?” He growled at you and attempted to pick himself up, only for you to give a swift, hard kick to his chest, returning his back to the dirt.

“I guess you told him it’d make him stronger? That it’d make all of his problems go away? And what about the Argent’s, huh? Did you tell him that you were manipulating him?” It was then, again in panic, Isaac spoke up to your surprise, in Derek’s defence.

“(Y/n), I promise it isn’t like that! He told me everything, it was my choice I said yes!” You spared him a glance before crouching down to Derek.

“Well did you tell him how you usually treat your pack?” The words were dripping in venom and the guilt that radiated from the man didn’t deter you from moving forward with you verbal attack, your head turning to Isaac, your eyes sparkling with sadness as you locked eyes with him, speaking hoarsely you wondered out loud, “Did he tell you that he’s a liar? That he doesn’t know how to run a pack? That if he doesn’t understand you he’ll leave you in the dust?”

The look on his face spoke volumes as he recalled the state Derek had put you in the weeks previous.

With a final sneer in Derek’s direction you delivered your parting words, “You better treat him better than you continue to treat me or so help me Derek Hale I will tear you to shreds.”

As you angrily stormed away, Isaac stood in confusion for a second before he began to chase after you, leaving Derek on the dirt floor to help himself.

“(Y/n)! (Y/n) please wait!” He shouted as he was just starting to catch up to you. When you felt that you were at a good enough distance away from Derek you finally slowed your pace.

When Isaac finally made it to your side, he was panting slightly, swallowing the lump in his throat he nervously grabbed your hand.

“I’m sorry.” He repeated, his eyes resembling those of a puppy and you could already feel your composure slipping away from you as you looked at him.

It’d been almost three weeks since you’d seen him, three weeks since you’d made out in the school basement and this definitely wasn’t how you were expecting the reunion to go.

“Isaac it isn’t your fault. I’m not mad at you, ok? I get it. I’m just worried, this town isn’t exactly kind on the supernatural.” You reassured him gently, squeezing his hand and giving him a sad smile.

“Don’t worry about me.” Isaac told you and you had to laugh, “Sorry, babe but I will not be taking my eyes off you until this town becomes normal.”

Isaac’s face was then taken over by, what could only be described as, a Cheshire Cat smile, “Did you just call me babe?” His voice was teasing and you felt your face heating up despite your freezing temperature.

Sucking on the inside of your cheek you tried your best to conceal your growing smile, you shrugged innocently, “Yeah. What about it?” The playful lilt in your voice had his smile widening even more as he began to lean down to you, his face getting closer to yours by the second.

His breath fanned across your lips when he spoke next, “I liked it.” With that, his lips pressed to yours cautiously, as if he was still unsure of whether or not it was okay to do so.

His uncertainty melted away when he felt your lips begin to reciprocate his actions and your hands moved to cup his cheeks.

The both of you could agree that this kiss was different than the last one you’d shared a few weeks ago. “Why is it that we only ever kiss when one of us is coming out as a supernatural creature?” Isaac laughed against your lips as you pulled away with a sigh.

“It would be us wouldn’t it.”

After a few minutes of nagging at Isaac you managed to put all the pieces of Derek’s plan together. Isaac himself didn’t actually know all that much, just that he was the first to be turned, but that alone told you everything that you needed to know.

Derek was now an alpha with no pack, so logically, a pack was what he was building and that would have been perfectly understandable- if he hadn’t started with your best friend.

“There’s a full moon coming up, did he tell you what would happen?” You questioned gently, ready to throttle Derek when the boy in front of you shook his head.

Heaving a deep breath you squeezed his hand reassuringly, the initial excitement of being turned had worn off and Isaac was beginning to radiate anxiety once again.

“Don’t worry okay? I’m gonna call Scott, he’ll be able to help you.” Isaac’s eyebrows came together in confusion, “Scott McCall?”

You nodded your head, “He’ll know how to help.” You tried to convince Isaac without spilling Scott’s secret. Not that it was going to stay a secret for too long, but it wasn’t your secret to tell.

Isaac shook his head rapidly, his hands moving to hold your forearms, his panic at your suggestion hitting you like a freight train as he stared into your eyes, a wild look in his own.

“No no no no. You can’t tell anyone. (Y/n) promise me you won’t tell anyone okay? If my dad finds out I’m a werewolf he’ll-“ The words came out almost as fast as you could run and his panic only intensified when his father entered his mind.

Quickly catching on to his looming panic attack as his eyes began to glow yellow you cut him off, “Isaac.”

He didn’t hear you as he kept rambling, claws growing past his nails and digging into your arm, “No he’ll kill me. Oh my god he’s gonna kill me. (Y/n) he’s go-“

Yes, it would’ve been easy to rip your arms from his grasp that was causing you quite a lot of pain as his nails sunk into your skin as his hands held onto you desperately. However, you had a feeling that his hold on your now bloody forearms was the only thing keeping him from spiralling completely out of control.

“Isaac! Look at me!” Your voice was strict but served to make his amber eyes finally settle on yours.

Gently, you finally slipped your arms out of Isaac’s clawed grip, although you were sure it would’ve been less painful to just leave them, his claws dragged down your arms while you lifted them slowly and cautiously until you replaced them with your hands, using your new grasp of the boy to provide him with some peace of mind.

You focused your energy on shifting a sense of relaxation from your own palms to Isaac’s sweaty ones as you spoke, voice soft again, “I’m not going to tell anyone. It’s just you and me, alright? Focus on me, yeah?” Isaac nodded his head, still slightly frantic but calmer than before as he did as you told and simply focused on you, “Take a deep breath.” You instructed, breathing steadily along with him until his eyes returned to their natural blue colour and his claws retracted.

A moment of silence passed with Isaac slumped against you, hands held tightly in his while he steadied his breathing. You placed your lips to his cheek and then again to the bruise forming beneath his right eye, you hadn’t noticed it earlier. You’d almost forgotten it’d been nearly three weeks since you’d been together, he’d probably been though it with his demon of a sperm doner over the time you were away.

“I’ve missed you.” It was Isaac that broke the silence when your lips disconnected from his injured face.

“I missed you too.” You replied simply, there was so much you’d planned on saying to him while you were in Mystic Falls but at the moment, you felt there were more pressing matters to discuss and again, it was Isaac who spoke.

He pulled away slightly to look at you properly, hands still clasping yours, he gave them a squeeze before he started speaking, “This pack that Derek’s building… I’m guessing you’re not in it?”

“I was never asked. But I’ve kind of already got a pack, which you are more than welcome to join.” You responded hopefully, wishing he’d agree but you knew he wouldn’t. As such a fresh beta he’d stay loyal to his alpha, but, you had to ask.

Isaac nodded his head sadly, “Scott McCall?” You let out a small laugh, at how quickly he’d caught on, “Yeah. He’s not exactly an alpha but he’s helped me out a lot, more than Derek has.”

“Derek told me that wolves are stronger as a pack, he didn’t say anything about vampires though.” Isaac went on, a confused lilt in his voice.

“I found out in Mystic Falls that vampires rarely belong to packs and by vampire nature I don’t need one, but Ric figures that it’s in my nature to want one since it’s all I’ve ever known.” You relayed the information to Isaac.

“Then why not, you know, join mine?” His lip was pulled between his teeth and he was looking at you with a hopeful expression.

“Isaac I just told you…” You said pleadingly, you didn’t want to upset him any further but you also couldn’t throw away the pack bond you’d built with Scott and Stiles when you’d first turned. If it was a matter of Isaac’s pack being made up of just Isaac there would’ve been no problems, it was the fact that it wasn’t Isaac’s pack but Derek’s.

Scratching what you’d decided about Derek earlier, you came to a new agreement with yourself: all of hell would freeze over before you even thought of easing up on Derek Hale.

Isaac threw his head back with a groan, “Come on, (N/n)! We are not going to let our love play out like Romeo and Juliet!” The way he spoke was humorous but it was obvious that he wasn’t really joking.

With a sigh you moved your shaking hands, that were now covered in scabbed over cuts as opposed to their previous status of raw and bleeding, to Isaac’s face. Your thumbs moved gently along his cheek bones as you took him in with an encouraging smile on your face as you told him confidently, “I refuse to let us become a modern day Romeo and Juliet, that’s not happening.”

You pulled him closer to you, slipping your arms around his shoulders and doing your best to ignore the butterflies rioting in your stomach when his arms wrapped tentatively around your waist.

You brought your lips to meet his briefly before fixing him with another determined look, “But listen to me, we might be loyal to different packs but I’m on your side, no matter what.”

Isaac nodded his head in understanding, “If it comes down to it, I’m always gonna choose you.” He responded honestly, arms tightening around you to hold you against his chest, his height causing his chin to be tilted downwards so that he could meet your eyes.

“I meant what I said to Derek, by the way.” You informed, Isaac’s eyebrows rose in confusion again, “If he mistreats you I’ll tear him apart.”

“Should I give Scott the same warning?” Isaac asked humorously and you had to shake your head in order to hold back a laugh.

It wasn’t until you’d separated from your embrace with Isaac that you took into account the fact that your body was now shaking with the cold.

“Come on, I’ve gotta call my dad and probably the sheriff and you’re freezing.” Isaac stated, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and leading you back to the cemetery where you noticed his overturned excavator and the dug up grave plot.

You listened with curiosity while Isaac spoke to his father on the phone, trying to explain exactly what had transpired in the last couple of hours since his shift started.

“How the hell does an excavator just flip over, Isaac?” You could hear his fathers anger through the line and Isaac fumbled for a response, “Someone, or something- I don’t know it could’ve been an animal, but it got pushed from the side and tipped over. I fell into the plot I was digging and that was it, I didn’t see the rest.” He explained weakly.

“You still stuck in hole, you idiot?” You watched as Isaac clenched his jaw and motioned to yourself when he was finally looking at you, “No. No, um, (Y/n) just got back from Virgina, she came looking for me and helped me out.”

“She still there?” His father questioned, seemingly cooling off at the mention of your name. You hated how much that man seemed to like you when he should’ve held that affection for his actual son.

“Yeah, she’s with me now.” Isaac confirmed and you offered up a fake cheerful, “Hi, Mr Lahey!”

“Invite her over while I call the sheriff and see about getting this mess cleaned up.” With that, he hung up the phone and Isaac sighed, “You’re starting to look like Mr. Freeze, let’s get you warmed up.” His arm stayed comfortably wrapped around your shoulder and as you reached up to hold his hand that was hanging over your shoulder you stopped dead in your tracks, “Isaac, I can’t go and greet your father looking like this.”

You motioned to your torn and bloodstained hoodie, immediately regretting it when his eyes widened in shock, “Did I… oh god (Y/n) did I do that?”

Not missing a beat you grabbed his hands and made sure you soothed his panic before you got a rerun of earlier.

“It’s not your fault. You’re new to this, okay? Mistakes happen and that’s fine it’s all part of the process. And look!-” You pulled off the hoodie to reveal your now completely healed arms and hands, nothing but dried blood to show that the claw marks were even there in the first place. “‘M all healed up! No harm done.” You reassured him, bringing his lips to yours to further convince him that you were okay and distract him from the guilt you could feel building within him.

Your arms, although no longer cut, were covered in goosebumps as Isaac ran his hands affectionately down the length of them. “It won’t happen again.” He promised and you gave him a shaky smile, teeth beginning to chatter, “Let’s go home?” Isaac nodded his head, nothing short of ripping his own hoodie off before pulling your arms through the sleeves and moving himself in front of you to zip it up.

You watched completely content as he fumbled with the zipper. His curls were falling in front of his eyes and his eyes were squinted in concentration. The quiet, but triumphant, “got it” he let out when he finally finessed the zipper had you grinning like a fool.

When he moved his focus from the zip and back to your face, he smiled bashfully, “What’re you looking at me like that for?”

The sleeves of his hoodie, that was miles too big for you, hung far past your wrists and brushed against the nape of his neck, your fingers finding a place tangled in his hair while you stared at him, grin ever present.

Your other hand was otherwise occupied being placed firmly against Isaac’s chest, enjoying the feeling of his rapidly beating heart, and you didn’t know it entirely. But in that moment it was beating for you and you alone.

Isaac’s hand made itself comfortable holding your waist, the other holding your own against his chest, keeping it in place.

Neither of you needed to say it. You could both feel it. But still, you found yourself uttering the words, “I love you.”

Not half a second had passed before Isaac echoed your declaration, “I love you.”

“I feel like if I kiss you right now I won’t be able to stop but I’m still freezing my ass off so… your place?”

Isaac nodded his head in agreement, “My place.”

Upon arrival at the Lahey residence, Mr. Lahey had greeted you with a wide smile and ushered you into the kitchen where he instructed Isaac to make you some tea, to which Isaac had to restrain a grumble as he’d been planning on doing it anyway.

Mr. Lahey was happily chatting away to you when Isaac set down two cups of tea, one in front of his father and one in front of you, his eyes lingering on you with a certain kind of glint before he turned back to the counter to grab his own cup and returning to sit beside you at the table.

Isaac was, in all honesty, losing it. He didn’t even know why. You were just sitting there, wrapped up in his hoodie, nose ever so slightly pink from the cold, talking politely to his father. It was nothing out of the ordinary but he was finding it hard to think about anything other than how his hoodie would look splayed on the floor of his bedroom.

He wasn’t very good at hiding it either, you could feel it as clear as day. Teenage boy hormones mixing with teenage werewolf hormones were causing havoc and it’d be a lie to say it wasn’t having an affect on you.

Trying to return your attention to whatever Mr.Lahey was babbling about you clearing your throat and took a sip of your tea, keeping your expression neutral as Isaac’s hand slipped to your knee under the table. His attempt to pull you into his mess of hormones was obviously successful as you found yourself ready to yell out in frustration when his hand stayed put on your knee for a solid twenty minutes before his father finally rose from the table.

“I’m going to check out the situation at the cemetery, you’re welcome to stay tonight, it’s pretty dangerous out there these days.” Mr. Lahey offered and you smiled innocently at him as he stood in the doorway, “I think I’ll take you up on that. Thank you.” The older man gave you a nod but said no more before walking out the front door.

“What the hell are you doing?” You finally burst when the front door clicked shut, whipping around to face Isaac.

“What?” He asked as if his hand didn’t start sliding further up your leg the second his father left the room.

You groaned, “Don’t ‘what?’ me when you’re about four centimetres from having your hand between my thighs!”

“Sorry.” He immediately retracted his hand, eyes wide as he realised how close his hand was to reaching the top of your thigh, “I, um, I didn’t mean to- I mean, I did mean to but i won’t do it again if you don’t want me to-“

“Isaac.” You cut him off, lip pulled between your teeth, “I want you to.” You declared and he let out a heavy sigh full of relief, “Thank God.” He muttered before he was pulling you up off the chair and right against his chest.

His lips immediately found yours and his hands were gripping your waist like there was no tomorrow.

At this point, the butterflies in your stomach were going absolutely bat shit feral when his lips began to trail past your lips, to your chin, then to the curve of your jaw. It was when his hand slipped deftly up your side to settle against your jaw that you realised just how much you’d been wanting this.

Isaac’s lips fell further to your neck and you couldn’t stop the hum of approval that escaped your mouth at the sensation of his soft lips sucking and licking at your pulse. “It this okay?” He asked in a mutter, the dainty and nervous nature of his voice contrasting greatly with the confidence and ferocity of his actions.

Your hands tugged gently at his hair to get him to meet you clouded eyes, when he looked at you you were sure that his eyes had flashed yellow, his breathing was getting heavy and you had an inkling that his lips on your neck was the most exciting thing that was going to happen between you tonight.

“It’s more than okay.” You told him with a dopey smile, letting out a laugh when he dived back into the crook of your neck, kissing your skin through a smile.

Despite your words your hands moved to his chest to push him away slightly, “But…” you started as Isaac threw his head back with a groan, “I think we should stop, and maybe revisit this after the full moon passes.”

After taking in a steadying breath Isaac nodded in agreement, “Yeah, you’re probably right.” His hand slipped into yours and he intertwined his fingers with yours, he spent a moment just looking at your linked hands with a fond smile and the look of achievement on his face. It was easy to tell, with the help of your empathic powers, that Isaac was proud of himself.

You yourself couldn’t quite pinpoint why he was feeling so prideful in the moment, but he knew. To be truthful he wasn’t just proud of himself, he was downright ecstatic. He’d been nothing more than your best friend since you were both eleven, and now, six years later he finally crossed the threshold from being your best friend to being your- well actually now that he thought about it, he wasn’t sure what he is to you now.

A few hours passed before Isaac worked up the courage to ask the question that had formed in his mind after his make out session with you earlier.

The pair of you had since gotten comfortable in his bed, which was nothing particularly new. You laid on your side with your back to the bedroom door, Isaac was behind you, his chin tucked in between your shoulder and your neck with his arms around your torso holding you close to him.

“Can I ask you something?” His voice broke through the silence and you responded with a tired hum, adjusting his arm so you could snuggle closer and tried your best to stop yourself from falling asleep while he murmured softly in your ear.

“What are we?” He kept his eyes trained on the dark room ahead of him, his hand grabbing yours as you readjusted his arm and he absentmindedly began playing with your fingers, the action being successful in calming his nerves.

“What do you want us to be?” You asked sleepily in response, a small smile forming on your face as you heard his heartbeat speeding up.

Isaac let out a nervous breath against your neck and you held back a shudder at the feeling, “I was kind of thinking that all the kissing would make us a couple.” Letting out another sleepy hum, if it was even physically possible, you snuggled deeper into his hold. You sluggishly turned your head to place a light kiss against his cheek, “Then we’re a couple.”

#isaac lahey x reader #isaac lahey #teen wolf x reader #folklore i.l #derek hale x reader

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carewyncromwell · 3 years

Photo

*exhales heavily* Cinderella AU time again...and yes, I am in just as much pain as you are.

Carewyn’s dress, which she first wore at the Winter Festival several sections back, is once again based on this design. The scene Orion is pictured in above was inspired by a scene from one of my absolute favorite Disney shorts, The Prince and the Pauper. (Yes, turns out a Mickey Mouse cartoon can end up bringing out some real emotions!) The line��“have courage and be kind” is also a reference to Disney’s 2015 live action remake of Cinderella.

Trigger warning for grief, depression, thoughts of suicide, and minor character death.

Previous part is here -- whole tag is here -- so let’s begin.

x~x~x~x

Carewyn rode without stopping all the way back to the Cromwell estate. Her mind was so dark and her spirit panged with such emptiness and pain that she could hardly have explained why. Perhaps she’d thought to confront Charles. Perhaps she’d thought to demand that he explain why Talbott was wrong -- where he’d really sent Jacob, if not off to War. Perhaps she’d thought to demand the truth. But for her to do that, she’d have to accept that what Talbott said was really true. And if she did that...

Overhead the clouds gathered and grew darker still in the night, rumbling with thunder. By the time Carewyn had reached the capital again, it had started to pelt sleet and rain.

When Carewyn had arrived at the Cromwell estate, she leapt off her horse in such haste that her foot got caught in the saddle. Loosing her balance and grip, Carewyn fell right off and right into the mud several feet away from the manor’s front stoop. Her horse, startled by the sound of his rider’s cry, gave a whinny, backing up with its hooves padding the muddy earth.

Carewyn shakily eased herself up out of the mud. One of her slightly-too-big shoes had come off when she fell. She tried to gather enough awareness of her surroundings to retrieve it...but in that moment, she found herself unable to move. The cold of the freezing rain was enough to make anyone feel numb, but combined with the paralyzing despair that clung to her blood like ice, she was just too weak to stand.

Jacob...Jacob...

Carewyn tried to get up, but her legs quaked under her and she slumped forward.

I have to get up, she tried to tell herself. I have to be strong. I can’t fall apart...when...

“Jacob needs me. I have to be strong for Jacob.” That was always the thing that kept her from breaking. That was always the thing that helped her stand back up, every time she fell. That was always the thing that convinced her that she could still endure somehow.

I need to make up for my mistake. I need to bring Jacob home. It’s okay if I can never be free -- it’s okay if I can never be happy again. If I’m a slave to Grandfather the rest of my life, that’s fine, as long as Jacob is...

Carewyn’s hands vaguely clutched at the sleeves of her dress, almost trying to simulate the way Jacob had hugged her nine years ago.

The memory of her older brother’s arms squeezing her tight always used to bring Carewyn some warmth in the past, even through the pain of how much she missed him. But now...now even that memory could not shake the shuddering cold off of her shoulders.

A loud crash of lightning overhead spooked Carewyn’s horse. With a scared whinny, it galloped away toward the stable, leaving her alone. Carewyn, however, barely noticed. She was too lost in her own head.

“My Wyn -- my sweet Wyn -- ”

Jacob’s choked, relieved voice echoed in her ear...only to be replaced with Chester’s recollection of Jacob’s final words.

“‘Wyn. I’ve failed you, Wyn.’”

Carewyn’s heart felt like it was being ripped open. A part of her was gone -- torn out with force.

No, Jacob. I failed you. It was me. It’s all because of me.

She was the foolish one, to have ever trusted Charles in anything. She was the ignorant one, to never have questioned his explanation or why she’d never seen a single shred of a letter from Jacob, all those years. She was the stupid one, to not have immediately run after Jacob, rather than stay under Charles’s thumb all that time. She was the pathetic one who’d sold her and Jacob’s souls away...all for nothing.

Jacob did everything he could to try to get away. He must have known he was going to die, but he did everything he could to try to get back to her...while she...she immediately got to work being her family’s servant. She cowardly slunk into the kitchen and obeyed Charles’s will, in the exact moments when Jacob was trying everything he could to reach her. And then, when the spell was broken...he died alone. He died alone, and in chains, bruised and crying...knowing that he’d never see his sister again.

Carewyn had stayed in line hoping to keep Jacob from suffering...but her inaction -- her stupidity -- had made him suffer all the way up until his last breath.

Tears streamed down Carewyn’s face. She felt like claws were tearing at her heart, ripping her apart from the inside. She couldn’t catch her breath. She gritted her teeth, trying to keep herself from sobbing openly, and huddled in on herself. Her soaking hair was coming out of its bun and falling all around her face, but she didn’t even feel it. All she felt was cold and pain and grief and heavy, unnatural gravity.

You deserve this.

The thought was a whisper in her mind, but it was a knife in her brain and her heart at the same time.

Jacob died alone. Jacob suffered and died...all because you didn’t...

She shut her eyes, her shoulders quaking.

You deserve to be alone. You deserve to die alone.

The voice that had always belonged to that “beast” inside of herself had never been stronger than it was in that moment. Its voice rumbled like the thunder that echoed overhead, and yet it was silent poison in her ear, trickling through to her brain and into her icy blood.

She screamed. It was all she could do. She screamed in anguish, clutching her own shoulders as her tears muddled with the raindrops sliding down her cheeks.

Die alone. Die alone.

Time blurred for Carewyn as she sat in the rain alone. Looking back, she could hardly have said whether it was ten minutes or an entire hour later before anyone approached her.

“Carewyn!”

Carewyn barely heard the cry of her name. It was as if it’d come from a mile away, in a voice that was vaguely familiar in how misty it was, but echoing with anxiety.

Someone collapsed to their knees in front of her, grabbing hold of her arms and hoisting her upper half back up. Carewyn stiffened like a cat -- when her eyes shot open, they could just barely make out a man with wet hair messily falling into his black eyes.

“Carewyn,” breathed Orion.

Carewyn tried to speak, but she couldn’t inhale without choking back a sob. She clenched her teeth harder.

Orion had been waiting outside the gates of the Royaumanian camp for her, she recalled. He must’ve seen her ride off and immediately followed after her.

Orion’s face was so pale -- so anxious. It made Carewyn almost ill to see it. Tearing her eyes away, she brought a hand up to his chest and pushed him back away from her.

“Go away,” she whispered.

The words were an arrow in Orion’s heart.

“Carewyn...”

He reestablished his grip on her shoulders. but Carewyn once again pushed at his chest.

“Leave me!” she rasped.

Orion, however, only squeezed her more tightly, his eyes flooding with pain and caring.

“Don’t look at me like that!” she lashed out despite herself, as more tears slid off her lashes. “I told you to leave me! Leave me be...”

Orion amazingly didn’t respond to Carewyn’s temper. Instead he merely steadied his hold on her shoulders, even though his hands were trembling.

“Carewyn,” he whispered, “your brother...”

“DON’T TALK ABOUT JACOB!”

Carewyn brought both of her hands up and finally shoved Orion off of her. She tried to get up, to put more distance between them, but her legs collapsed out from under her and she fell back into the mud.

“Carewyn...” said Orion, reaching out to try to help her again, but Carewyn wrenched herself out of his reach.

“I told you to leave! I don’t want your help -- I don’t want your kindness, or your caring, or your sadness -- ”

"You don’t want them,” said Orion, his voice a bit faster than normal due to the anxiety throbbing through his head and heart, “but I feel them, all the same. Please...won’t you accept them? Accept how sorry I am, that I couldn’t reunite you with him -- that I couldn’t -- ”

“No.”

Carewyn shut her eyes tight, clutching her own shoulders in a vain attempt to make them stop shaking.

The denial made Orion flinch. “...Why?”

“Because I don’t deserve them!” she shot back, her voice choked with pain. “I don’t deserve your concern -- I don’t deserve your worry -- I didn’t deserve it before, and I don’t deserve it now, so stop trying to give jewels to swine! I will not appreciate them!”

Orion’s black eyes welled up with anguish.

“My lady -- ” he whispered.

“NO.”

The title made Carewyn’s eyes flood with fresh tears, her eyebrows knitting tightly over her eyes.

“I’m not your lady -- nor am I anyone’s! I’m not a lady -- I never was! I’m barely even a Cromwell! My mother ran away from home and eloped with a merchant against our family’s wishes -- Grandfather disowned her long before I was born! I’m just as much an outsider to my family as she was -- as Jacob was! I have no dowry, no money, no status -- the only reason I was even at the palace was because Grandfather sent me to work there! I’m a maidservant, a peasant, an orphan...I’m nothing!”

Orion’s eyes were very wide upon Carewyn’s face. He seemed a bit intimidated by her ferocity, but he didn’t recoil. Instead he tried again to reach out.

“You’re not nothing, Carewyn Cromwell -- you’ve never been nothing...”

He didn’t touch her this time, instead clutching his own hands in his lap, but inched as close to her as she’d let him.

“Carewyn, I was a peasant myself, until my half-brother, the first Prince, was killed,” he whispered. Once again, the anxiety that made his heart race and his head pound was making him talk in a faster, tenser, rambling voice. “It doesn’t matter to me what you are -- I know who you are, and you’re the furthest thing from nothing to -- ”

“Who I am!”

Carewyn couldn’t contain her volatile emotions. She clutched at her own face, the nails digging into her skin.

“Who I am is a SLAVE, Orion! A slave to the Devil I stupidly trusted, thinking he would help my brother...the Devil I stupidly followed the bidding of, trying to get him a crown through my cousins, in the misguided thought that it would spare Jacob from further suffering! And instead...instead all I did was stay in line, march lock-step, for no reason at all! My brother died alone, because of me! I gave up our freedom for nothing!”

Her nails left red marks on her face with the effort of trying to force back her tears.

“Everything, all of it -- all of this pain is my own fault! All because I couldn’t save Mum or Jacob -- because I was actually stupid enough to believe Grandfather would help me, pathetic enough to become as much of a liar and a fraud as he is -- ”

Orion impulsively unclasped his hands and grabbed hold of hers gripping her face.

“Carewyn, please,” he choked. His eyes were rippling like turbulent black waves and his voice was strained with anxiety. “This is your inner beast talking, not you. You don’t deserve this pain and grief. You deserve more, so much more -- you deserve to be happy -- you deserve to be free. If I could break your chains, I would -- if I could bring your brother back, I would -- if I could give you the Southern Sea itself for you to sail on, I would -- ”

Orion’s hands were shaking as he tried and failed to peel her hands from her face. He couldn’t bear to see this woman who had always been so strong, who had become an anchor when he’d needed it, so off-balance. He knew he needed to find his center, and try to focus...but how could he, when his center of balance was the cause of his lack of balance? It made it so that all Orion could do was mirror Carewyn, becoming more upset and losing more hope as she did.

His heartrate was spiking. He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know what to do or say, to fend off the beast assaulting the woman he loved.

“Please...” Orion whispered, “please don’t hurt yourself like this -- please -- let me help you...”

All of a sudden, a lantern was lit inside the manor. A window opened, and the sound of voices came out of it.

“Who’s there?!” bellowed the voice of Blaise Cromwell.

Carewyn and Orion both stiffened. Orion’s hands tightened on Carewyn’s on her face, but she tore out of his grip again.

“Go,” she said very coldly.

Orion faltered, his face desperate. “Carewyn -- ”

“Now. Before you’re caught trespassing.”

Despite the coldness of her voice, it was not cruel. It was very quiet and strained, despite its lack of light -- an opaque shadow of her usual voice.

Orion’s hands were trembling as he impulsively grabbed her hand, bringing it up to his lips.

“Come with -- ”

But she withdrew her hand.

“I said go now!”

Orion closed his eyes, trying to hold in the wounded, miserable flinch that passed over his face.

It was the first time she’d refused to accept his help at all. When they’d first met, he’d said that if she did refuse his help when it was offered willingly, it would only serve to make her all the more wonderful of a contradiction...but now that she had...it only served to make his heart break.

She’s in so much pain, he thought. She’s in so much pain, and yet still, even now, she cannot place her well-being over someone else’s. Even now, she sacrifices, and endures, and suffers...even now, she’s so...

Orion was breathing heavily, shakily. His thoughts were racing as fast as his heart, making his brain throb just as badly.

He was in no state to help her fight her beast in that moment, while fighting his own...especially when she had already surrendered to it.

And so, Orion did as Carewyn asked. He turned away and ran back to his horse. He climbed back onto its back, flicked the reins, and charged back off into the rain, just as the door of the Cromwell estate opened.

Orion returned to the Florentine capital. He was so off-balance that he didn’t have the heart to try to go look for Andre, KC, Erika, and the Weasleys, to tell them where Carewyn had gone. He didn’t have the heart to face them, knowing that Carewyn’s brother had been killed in a conflict with his own father’s men. (For, as one might recall, Orion never learned the circumstances behind the spell cast to stall Jacob’s death.)

Orion arrived at the palace soaking wet nearly three hours later, just before midnight. It was fortunate he did, for as soon as he rode in through the gates, a pretty woman with braided blond hair rushed out to him. It was Penny Haywood -- the chief medic from the war front.

“Orion! Thank God you’re back!”

Orion was too emotionally overwhelmed to give her a proper greeting. Instead he tried to detach himself, climbing off his horse and immediately moving toward the stable to tie her up. Penny, however, seized the horse’s reins out of his hand and stepped in front of him.

“You must go to your father at once,” she said urgently. “He’s up in his chambers -- ”

“I shall speak with him in the morning,” said Orion lowly. He let Penny take his horse -- he couldn’t focus on fighting with her about it. He just had to get somewhere quiet, away from the thunder and pounding thoughts in his head...

“No,” said Penny, her voice very strained. “You must see him now, Orion -- ”

She held onto his horse’s reins as she pursued him and grabbed his shoulder.

“Orion...the King is dying.”

It seemed that General Parkin hadn’t just been blustering back at the battlefield, when he was trying to coax Orion to return with him to camp. The battle King Cosimo V had prematurely waged against the Royaumanian army had stolen many lives and injured many...the most prominent of which was the King himself. He had been shot several times in the heart, an injury too traumatic to the human body for any of Penny’s potions to heal -- and so all that could be done was stall his death through a spell that temporarily gave him the heart of a pig the army had co-opted from a local farm. Severus Snape, the court magician, had stood by the King in his chambers maintaining the spell, in the hopes that Orion would return in time to say his proper goodbyes.

Orion found Skye and McNully waiting outside the King’s bedchambers. Skye offered Orion a towel to dry off, but Orion silently shook his head and, with a trembling hand, pushed open the door.

Snape was sitting at the King’s bedside, his concentration fixed on his spell, but was talented enough of a magician that his focus wasn’t broken when Orion entered the room.

“Your Highness,” said Snape lowly. “At last.”

Orion clasped his hands in front of him. “Master Snape.”

The court magician’s expression was very stony, but he nonetheless rose to his feet and moved to Orion, his eyes boring into his face solemnly.

“I shall leave you alone, to speak with him,” he murmured. “Be quick. His time is short.”

Orion closed his eyes, his head falling in something of a half-hearted nod. Snape swept past him, his outer robes billowing behind him like a bat’s wings, and he closed the large door behind him with a soft, but resounding boom.

Orion’s hands were very clammy. He squeezed them tightly, breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth in a vain attempt to calm his racing heart.

“Cosimo...?”

His father’s voice came out very hushed. Orion’s eyes shot open, startled and dismayed.

“Be quick,” the memory of Snape’s voice urged him again.

Taking a deep breath, Orion swept over to his father’s bedside, sitting down in the chair that Snape had been sitting in before.

The King of Florence lay limply in bed, his green eyes half-mast upon Orion’s face. When his son approached, something in them softened.

“Cosimo,” he murmured. “You’re safe...”

Orion nodded. “Yes.”

The King closed his eyes, his expression breaking into a relieved smile. Orion swallowed back the lump in his throat.

“Father,” he said quietly, “I didn’t know you were injured -- if I had, I would’ve come to the camp straightaway...”

“I’m grateful for that,” said the King. “Under the circumstances...I’m afraid I did wonder.”

Orion’s black eyes grew a little smaller. “You believed I wouldn’t care, if you died?”

The King’s face grew very somber as he slowly opened his eyes again. “Not believed. Simply wondered. And...perhaps understood the logic of it.”

Orion’s eyebrows knit together over his eyes with confusion and upset. “Well, I’m afraid I fail to.”

The King sighed.

"...You have never had an easy life, Cosimo,” he said lowly. “I knew it long before you became Prince, and yet I did nothing to mitigate it. I was never a father to you, when you were young. I never gave you anything but a paltry allowance, to make sure you were clothed and fed. All because I chose my duty to our people and country over my love for your mother.”

Orion squeezed his own hands tightly.

“I do not resent you for that,” he murmured. “You couldn’t abandon your responsibility...nor your first son. If you’d done what Mother had intended, and cast aside your wife and my half-brother so that I would be sole prince and heir, I’m certain you would’ve had just as many regrets. My half-brother would’ve been the one in my place...and after having actually known you as a father, that would’ve been far more crippling to his sense of balance -- to his identity and his life.”

His black eyes softened sadly.

“I’m not foolish enough to think that Mother was right, to expect you to choose her ambitions over your duty. She should never have put you in the position to make such a choice...least of all by giving me your name, so that everyone would know I was meant to be a replacement for your first son...who I know you loved more than anyone else. I’ll always love and miss my mother...but she never learned that one can’t love another person by forcing them to choose between two sides of their heart.”

The memory of Carewyn crumpled over in grief in response to her brother’s death rippled over his mind again.

I couldn’t tell her not to grieve for him. I couldn’t disrespect her, by refusing to leave, when she told me to...by forcing her onto my horse and stealing her away...

His heart clenched.

Even so...I wish I did. I wish I wasn’t such a coward that I didn’t just refuse to leave her side, no matter what she or her family said...no matter what happened...

But Royaume and Florence were still at war, despite everything. If he’d stayed and been arrested or gotten into a physical altercation with Carewyn’s family, what would that have helped? Who would it have helped?

The King’s green eyes trailed over Orion’s face, slightly awed. Then they melted, rippling like emeralds under candlelight, and he reached out a hand through the bed curtains toward Orion.

“...You truly have become so wise, Cosimo,” he whispered, his eyes sliding closed. “So wise...”

After a brief hesitation, Orion shakily detached his hands and took his father’s in both of them.

“You...will be a great king, my son.”

Orion’s eyes fell down to his father’s hand.

“I’m not ready,” he confessed.

“No prince is.”

King Cosimo squeezed his son’s hands, the tension flooding out of his shoulders.

“Tell me about her,” he murmured.

“About Mother?” asked Orion.

The King shook his head. “No. The lady you wrote of, in your letter. The Royaumanian.”

Orion’s heart felt like it had been dunked in water. It sparked some adrenaline and made his heart race, yes...but it was still so cold...

“She’s...”

Orion closed his eyes. He inhaled and exhaled several times to try to steady his heartrate.

“...a robin in a cage, Father.”

The King didn’t respond. Orion pressed on.

“She has a frame so small and fragile that anyone could underestimate her...but her soul has wings strong enough to take flight, if she so chose. Her feathers sheen with light and color, yet they pale in the face of the brilliance of her eyes. She flits about with courage and agility. She has a heart too large for her red breast to contain...and so she sings. Oh, how she sings! Her song could soothe the most savage beasts...and they have, in the hearts of men. It can bring people together -- inspire hope for a future that had seemed impossible. And...”

He swallowed.

“...she’s selfless. The bravest, kindest, most selfless person I’ve ever met in my life. Nothing frightens her. Nothing intimidates her. No pain is one she won’t endure...so long as the people she loves thrive. As long as she can bring others happiness...she’ll take every bit of pain onto her own shoulders, take the brunt of the whole world’s ire...just so that no one else has to. She’ll help a complete stranger simply because they need help...and yet never demand a single thing for herself. All because, even with how wonderful and good of a person she is...she still somehow sees herself as unworthy.”

His voice had become very hushed.

“Her standards...are higher than I could ever fathom.”

“I can imagine.”

The King’s hand squeezed Orion’s hands lightly.

“She truly has inspired you, Cosimo. I realize now that you never wished to be a King of War, as I have been...but she was the one who encouraged you to fight for that wish, regardless of the risk. When I first read your letter...I was so blinded by my own fears...of losing you, as I had your brother...that I could only read your words as evidence that an infatuation had caused you to recklessly put yourself in danger...just as I might have, as a young man. But now...now I only regret that I won’t get to meet Lady Cromwell myself.”

He opened his eyes, and to Orion’s surprise, they’d started to flood with tears.

“I understand the pain of loving someone who you’re not free to be with,” said the King. “I lament that you must know it too...but from the sound of things...your lady knows love better than either I or your mother did.”

He actually gave a choked laugh.

“Please consider courting her -- I’d love knowing my son had a queen like that, by his side.”

Orion wanted to smile in return, but he just couldn’t.

Somewhere far away, a clock began to toll the hour. The sound made Orion’s heart clench with anxiety.

“No...”

He looked at his father. As the second toll gonged, the King clutched his chest. The third and fourth tolls prompted the wounds in his chest to start reopening.

“My time is up, Cosimo,” the King said solemnly.

“No,” said Orion again, “no...not yet...”

“It’s all right.”

The sixth gong made the blood blossom up out of the wounds in his chest. Despite the pain he was clearly in, King Cosimo faced Orion with a very brave, firm expression.

“You must promise,” he told him, and his voice came out as a rasp, “promise me you’ll rule Florence from your heart...justly...and wisely.”

Orion felt like his racing heart was stuck in his throat.

“...I promise,” he said at last.

“Follow...your lady’s example. Have courage...and be kind.”

“I will. I promise.”

The tenth toll of the clock made blood spill out the side of the King’s mouth, but he forced a smile all the same, even as tears streamed from his eyes.

“...I’ve...never been more proud...to be your father.”

He kept his eyes on Orion’s face all the way up until the last stroke of midnight. His eyes remained there even after all of the light had left them and he had taken his final breath.

Orion’s hands were shaking as he held his father’s limp hand. He bowed his head, closing his eyes, and sat there in silence. He breathed in through his nose, out through his mouth, for a very long moment.

Florence...its people, its land, was solely his responsibility now.

His shoulders suddenly felt so heavy -- as if he were suddenly Atlas, with the weight of the world resting upon him. It was suffocating, but it was also devastating...for no man could hope to run free, carrying such a heavy burden. He wouldn’t be able to leave Florence as he pleased any longer. He wouldn’t be able to escape from his duties for a day, or make believe he was anything other than what he was.

Carewyn couldn’t fly because she was in a cage. And now...Orion couldn’t fly because he bore a weight too heavy for him to carry.

It was only when the door of the chambers opened several minutes later and Skye, McNully, Penny, and Snape all reentered that Orion raised his head. He looked over his shoulder at them, his face very restrained and calm, even though his black eyes were shining with unshed tears.

Skye immediately ran over to Orion and threw her arms around his shoulders, burying her face in his shoulder and squeezing tight. McNully wheeled right up beside Orion too, his own eyes full of tears. For once, he didn’t seem to know what to say.

The door inched a bit more open, and Orion caught sight of Lord Malfoy coming to stand in the door frame. Although he was dressed in black and tried to appear solemn, however, his cold gray eyes were glinting with an odd kind of satisfaction.

Lord Malfoy had certainly not planned for things to unfold as they did...but the wealthy businessman wasn’t unhappy at the thought of the King who’d been too noble for his own good being replaced with an ignorant bastard peasant.

Orion released King Cosimo’s hand at last to hug Skye in return. Then, detaching himself from her, he rose from the chair and moved over to the bed so he could bring up a hand and gently close his father’s eyes.

“The King is dead,” Snape said solemnly, his eyes locked solidly on Orion as the Crown Prince faced him. “Long live the King.”

#hphm #hogwarts mystery #cinderella au #orion amari #carewyn cromwell #my art #my writing #penny haywood #skye parkin #murphy mcnully #severus snape #*exhales heavily*#out of the frying pan and into the fire #but hey...can't expect to get a happy ending without a little trouble along the way

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slytherinbarnes · 3 years

Text

Sub Rosa [94]

x. a little sacrifice

Pairing: Bellamy Blake x reader

Word Count: 5.9k

Warnings: language, mentions of anxiety, blood, injuries, death, violence, genocide.

Summary: clarke’s arrival in bardo throws everything off, and one of your own seeks revenge against the people of bardo.

a/n: I feel like the next few updates are gonna be rough, so please remember to trust me bc I’ve got your backs, okay? the taglist for this series is open! I hope you enjoy, please let me know what you think!!!

previous chapter // season masterlist // series masterlist

Clarke seems to remember that she’s in a room full of people, all eyes on her, because you watch her mask slip back into place as she shifts the gun closer to Cadogan’s temple. “Let them go.”

“They're not my prisoners, Clarke.”

Clarke looks at you, her eyes begging you to say you’re joking, but with no guarantee you can get off of this planet and no guarantee that you can save Hope, you offer her nothing. You keep the same blank expression on your face as she nods, “Great, then here's the deal. I'll use the Key to help you, but only after you let my people return to Sanctum.”

Her eyes stay locked on you as she adds, “All of them.”

Cadogan looks over all of you and shrugs. “You're free to go with her.”

Your brain runs through the offer, looking for holes, but finding none. If all of you are allowed to leave, that means you can take Hope, and all of your people will be safe. There’s no way in hell you’re going to leave Clarke behind on Bardo to deal with the disciples on her own, but at the very least you can make sure the others are safe and finally off of this inescapable planet. But as you prepare to open your mouth and agree to the offer, someone speaks up for all of you. “We're not going anywhere. We have a war to fight.”

You almost spin around and give Echo a look, and your left hand curls at your side, wanting to hit her for keeping all of you stuck here. And you suppose that now you have the answer you were waiting for this whole time; Echo is no longer on your side. She really has bought in and fallen under the spell of Bardo.

You hear her walk off, and you turn to glance at Octavia and Diyoza, both of them seeming as panicked as you are beneath their blank demeanor. And because neither of them are arguing to the contrary, you speak up on their behalf, turning your gaze back to Cadogan. “We're staying too, sir.”

Diyoza and Octavia turn and leave, and you shift your gaze to your twin, hesitating, hoping she can read the hidden expression beneath your blank mask, confirming that you’re still you. And though you still just want to run to her and hug her, you force your body to turn and head towards the door. On your way out, you pass by Gabriel, his eyes locked on you as you move, but you keep your eyes averted, not wanting Anders to see your excitement at seeing your friend. You spent three months thinking he was dead and pretending you didn't care, and it's a relief to see that he’s still alive, but you can't erase all the work you did in this moment. Not yet. Not when Echo has forced your hand.

You pull on your helmet and step back into position, thankful that the emotion on your face is now hidden, allowing a few tears to spill from your eyes and down your cheeks. The other disciples fall in around you, taking up their position as Clarke steps away from Cadogan and stares at you in absolute shock, not understanding how you could just walk away from her. But her shock quickly morphs into anger and she turns to face Bill, lifting the gun and pointing it right at him. “What did you do to them?”

Anders is the one to answer, “We didn't do anything. They're simply committed to the cause, ready to serve mankind in the Last War.”

Cadogan adds, “A moment that will soon be upon us now that you're here, with the help of the Key.”

Clarke lowers her gun and steps towards the revered Shepherd, her voice low and serious. “So here's the new deal: we talk to our friends alone. I don't even want to see your men in the halls. You want my help? Earn it.”

Cadogan stares at Clarke, his gaze heavy with happiness, like he just found a hidden treasure. His gaze never leaves her as he calls out across the room. “First Disciple Anders, have all nonessential personnel return to Livsec.”

“Sir, I'm not sure if that's-” Cadogan and Clarke both turn to cut Anders a look, and he immediately backs down. “Yes, my Shepherd.”

“Good. Your Shepherd stays here, the rest of you out.” When no one moves, she turns to glare at Anders and the group of disciples just outside the door, lifting her voice to snap, “Now!”

Everyone remains frozen in place, awaiting orders, until Cadogan looks at Anders with a smile. “Go, I'll be fine.”

Anders backs away, worry written all over his face as he turns to face all of you, and you’re shocked to see it, sure this is the first time he’s lost his cool around all of you. He steps into the hall, motioning for all of you to follow, and you turn in unison to walk back towards your rooms, the door to the Stone Room, to Clarke, to your escape, closing as you pass. Anders leads all of you through the halls, stopping at the end of the hall to address you before you leave. “I want all of you to stay in your rooms. We can’t do anything that will put the Shepherd at risk. Everyone is dismissed, except for Echo and Miss Griffin.”

You freeze in place, sure that you already know why you’ve been singled out, but curious as to why Echo is. Everyone else files around you and heads towards their respective rooms, leaving you and Echo alone with Anders. Once it’s just the three of you, he motions towards your helmets. “You can remove your helmets.”

You reach up and remove your helmet, moving it to rest in your right arm as you look up at Anders expectantly. He turns his focus to Echo first. “Since you chose Hope’s punishment, I want you to make sure she is on Penance before the others can get to her.”

You freeze again, taking in his words. He wants Echo to send Hope to Skyring now, before any of you can save her. Even if she’s only there for a few hours, it’ll be years for her on Skyring because of the time dilation. You can't let them send her away. “Miss Griffin.”

You are pulled out of your thoughts, your gaze lifting to meet his eyes, which are watching you closely. “Due to your twin’s arrival and lack of cooperation, you will be staying with me at all times, where I can keep an eye on you.”

You understand the implication of his words, what he really means but isn't saying: by his side, where he can use you as leverage. But you know you can't say anything, not in front of Echo, who has bought in, or in front of the groups of people that are still filing past, running to their rooms to abide by Anders command. He dismisses Echo, sending her off to banish Hope, and you watch her leave with wide eyes, fearful of what will happen if she’s successful. Because no one knows that Hope is being sent away at this moment, not her mother or Octavia, not even Hope herself. And you stand there conflicted, wanting to run after Echo and stop her, unsure what to do as Anders hovers nearby, motioning for you to follow him.

Ultimately, you cave, deciding to follow Anders until you can get away and stop Echo, hoping that you can get there in time. Taking the First Disciple out in the middle of a crowded hallway is almost a guaranteed death sentence at this point, so the only thing you can do is hope that he takes you somewhere with less people, somewhere you can ditch him and get back to Echo. Anders leads you down the hall, turning to look back at you every few seconds, seemingly fearful that you're going to run off. But you don't, not yet, and you allow him to lead you away, towards some unknown destination. “Where are we going?”

“Somewhere you enjoy.”

You pull a face as you stare at his back, wondering if you should be more worried than you are in this moment. For some reason, you are eerily calm, despite the challenges in front of you. You're stuck with Anders, Echo is going to get rid of Hope, and your twin is on this planet somewhere, probably looking for you. Despite it all, your anxiety is low, which you’re thankful for, as your head is clear and a plan is forming. It doesn't take you long to realize that Anders is leading you to the oxygen farm, towards the empty halls on the other side of Bardo, making your escape plan much easier.

As he presses the button for the farm and steps inside, he turns to look at you with a small smile. “I thought we could practice controlling your emotions while we wait.”

If it were anyone else, you might find the gesture sweet, pleased that he remembers your fondness for the woods and trees. But because it’s Anders, you’re worried something about it is much more sinister, because he’s too calculating to want to take an innocent trip to the tree farm. He doesn't care about you. He seems fascinated by you, sure, but most of that has to do with your connection to Clarke, not because he genuinely cares about you. Because the disciples don’t care about the individuals, so whatever interest he has taken in you is starting to feel more dangerous than it did a few weeks ago.

You follow Anders deeper into the farm, walking behind him, sizing him up. If you can take him out now, you can go find Echo and stop her. The halls should be empty by now, making it easier to slip away unnoticed. And just as you’re preparing to lunge at Anders and attack him, he surprises you by attacking first. He spins around, something held tight in his hand, moving towards your shoulder. You duck just in time, catching him off guard, before you knock whatever is in his hand out of his grip. It hits the ground by your feet, but you don't have time to look at it, because Anders is now swinging a punch towards you, which you don't notice fast enough. His fist lands on your cheekbone, pain exploding across your left cheek, knocking you off balance a little.

Anders seizes the opportunity and reaches down for the object, which you now see is a syringe, and your panic sets in immediately after that. You lunge at him, a growl ripping from your throat, aware that you don’t want whatever is in that syringe to be put into your body. You collide with Anders, knocking him back and onto the ground, rolling over him as you land. You recover first, scrambling towards him and grabbing him by the front of his robes and punching him with your other hand, giving him a bruise to match the one he gave you. You hit him again, getting angrier as you realize that he brought you here just to take you out.

But Anders recovers and blocks your next punch, sending one of his own into your stomach, making you double over in pain. He stands and kicks you backwards, one solid blow to the chest, sending you flying onto the ground before he drops on top of you and reaches for your throat. You reach for his face, clawing and scratching, trying to stop him, but his hands close around your neck, beginning to squeeze. Anders looks crazed, his bright blue eyes standing out against the blood on his face, brought to the surface by your nails, and his expression is wild with anger as he squeezes the air from your body.

Panic sets in when the black spots dance around the edge of your vision, and you fumble around, searching for anything to use as a weapon, but finding nothing. You start to feel the fight leave your body until your hand closes around a tube at your side, reminding you that your disciple helmet is still connected to your suit. You tug on the tube and bring the fallen helmet closer, knocked out of your hand in the scuffle, and your fingers close around the helmet with a flash of relief. You swing it towards Anders, using all of your strength to hit him in the side of the head, knocking him off of you in the process.

He falls away from you and you roll to the side, gasping for air, drawing in long breaths as you suck oxygen back into your body at an alarming rate. You can hear Anders shift beside you, still conscious, and you roll over to your hands and knees and try to frantically crawl away, trying to give yourself enough space to recover and fight him off again. But Anders growls in anger and reaches out for you, his hand clasping around your ankle, trying to pull you back towards him. You feel your eyes go wide in alarm, the moment reminding you so much of the fight for your life in Shallow Valley, and just like then, you don't want to die. There is too much at stake, and you have to get out of here and save Hope and Clarke and the others, before it's too late.

As you slide back towards Anders, tugged by the ankle, a glint of something shiny catches your eye. You look over, your gaze falling on the fallen syringe, and you reach out for it, grabbing it while you still can. You pull it close to your body, gripping it tight and hovering your finger over the plunger, waiting for the right moment. Anders gives it to you when he flips you over, preparing to choke you again, but you never give him the chance. This time, you act first, and you plunge the syringe into his shoulder, pushing the liquid inside of him with your thumb, watching his eyes go wide with the realization of what you’ve done. His face contorts into one of fury, and he mutters, “You bitch.”

It’s the first time you’ve ever heard him curse, and it’s alarming, if not a little funny, to hear the word come from his mouth. But it’s all he manages to say before his eyes flutter closed and he falls forward, right on top of you. You push him to the side, sliding out from beneath him, before pressing a finger to his neck as soon as you're free. Whatever you injected him with didn’t kill him, his heart still beating strong, so you can only guess that it just knocked him out for a little while.

You stand and stare down at him, his clothes streaked with mud and grass, his perfect white robes no longer perfect. You consider leaving him right where he is, but start to worry that doing so might raise an alarm before you’re ready, so you ultimately decide to drag him off to the side, hiding him beneath a row of bushes. You quickly strip out of your disciple suit as well, leaving it discarded beside him, not wanting to run in the slightly stiff material, now comfortably dressed down in some Bardo leisurely clothes. And the last thing you do before you run off is bend down and tug your sock down, removing the necklace from around your ankle. You slide the ring off and move it to your finger before reattaching the necklace around your neck, letting the moon hang in full view.

You leave Anders and your suit behind as you run through the farm and back into the hallway. You move as fast as you can, headed straight for the cell block, checking every room once you arrive. You finally stumble upon something in the last room in the hall, a guard laying on a bed, stripped of her uniform, a stab wound on the back of her neck. But there is no sign of Hope or Echo, and you feel your panic start to rise again as you rack your brain on where they could be. Ultimately, you decide to check the Stone Room next, because if Echo is taking Hope away, you’re sure that’s the first place they’d go, and you can only pray you’ll find them there. On your way, as you’re running down the hall, you see a disciple walking towards you, dressed all in white, a machine gun in his hand. It takes a second for you to recognize him as Gabriel, and you smile and call out to him, “Gabriel!”

He looks up in surprise, clearly so lost in his own thoughts that he didn't even hear you coming, and he drops the gun before running towards you, the two of you colliding in a hug for the first time since you were dragged from your shared room. You're both laughing when you pull apart, and he’s looking at you with relief when he mutters, “I thought you were dead.”

“I thought you were dead. They refused to tell us where you were or how you were doing.”

He smiles, shaking his head in disbelief a little before a look of confusion passes over his face. “Wait, what are you doing here? Clarke was on her way to come see you.”

“Anders made me stay with him as insurance, and then he tried to drug me. I fought him off and used the syringe on him instead.”

“You fought off a level 12 when you’re only a level 2?” He reaches up to brush a finger over the symbols along your cheekbone and you roll your eyes. “Yeah, well, what are you?”

“A level 3.”

You scoff, “Diyoza, Octavia, Echo and I-”

And you cut yourself off as soon as you say Echo’s name, reminding yourself of your time sensitive mission. You look at Gabriel in alarm, and he shakes his head, growing concerned. “What?”

“Oh god, Echo and Hope. Hope failed and they sentenced her to five years on Penance. Echo bought in, she’s taking her to the Stone Room right now to send her away.”

You start to run off, trying to push past Gabriel, but he reaches out and grabs you, holding you still as he says, “No wait, cielito, I just came from the Stone Room, and I never saw either of them.”

You look at him in confusion, “Then where the hell are they?”

“I don’t know. I’m supposed to be keeping an eye on Cadogan, but I can come with you instead and help you find them.”

You shake your head, “No. We need eyes on Cadogan so we can keep the upper hand. You go, I’ll find Echo and Hope.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.” You smile up at him, and he smiles back.

“I’ll see you soon. Go find the others so we can get off this planet and go home.”

The two of you break apart, running in opposite directions now. You switch your destination from the Stone Room to the living quarters, hoping you can find them over there instead, looking for Clarke and the others. As you run down the hall towards Echo’s room, you can hear the sound of muffled yelling steadily growing louder. Confused, you slow down, following the sound as you reach a door in the middle of the hall. You hit the button, stepping inside tentatively, surprised to have your gaze fall on Levitt. He’s tied to a chair, his face bloodied and bruised, blood all over his white clothes, a gag tied around his mouth. You run over to him and yank the gag out, looking at him in confusion, “Levitt, what the hell happened?”

“Echo. She's getting revenge for Bellamy. She killed two people in front of me and I broke, I told her how to get the Gem 9.”

You give him a look of absolute panic. “Gem 9? As in the bio weapon that could wipe out this whole damn planet?”

“Yes.”

“Where is she?”

“Raven said Echo’s probably planning to use the central humidification system.”

You look at him in surprise. “Raven was here? Was Clarke here too?”

“Yes, with Octavia, Hope, Diyoza, and Miller.”

You start to back away, panicking at the thought of Echo preparing to kill all of you in a need for revenge. “I have to go.”

“Wait, don't leave me here!”

“There’s no time, Levitt!”

“Please!”

The pain and fear in his voice affects you, so you look around, trying to find a way to help him but still save the others. Your eyes fall to a knife sitting on his desk, and you grab it and toss it near his feet, meeting his eyes as it lands. “If you can get yourself out of this, consider yourself a Grounder.”

And before he can say anything else, you turn and run off, heading towards the machine level. You run as fast as you possibly can, your legs carrying you through Bardo at an alarming rate. As you draw closer to the machine level, you swear you hear voices, the hairs on the back of your neck lifting in a warning. You slow down a little, making your footsteps light enough to listen, but still moving fast enough so you don't lose any time. And as you listen, you recognize Clarke’s voice urging someone to move faster. You break into a run again, your feet pounding along the tiles as you move down the hall and round the corner, coming face to face with a large group of people.

Every available weapon lifts towards you, ready to shoot you and take you down, until they catch sight of your face and freeze, looking at you in shock. Clarke pushes through the group and takes off running towards you, and you run down the hall towards her, the two of you colliding halfway in a hug that nearly knocks you over. You grip your twin with desperation, tears springing to your eyes as you hug her for the first time in over five years. An audible sob slips from your mouth, emotion squeezing your heart in your chest as you think of all the things you want to tell her, all the things you need to say, but your brain struggles to settle on one thing. Clarke beats you to it, her voice soft as she squeezes you and whispers, “I’m so sorry about Bellamy, la lune.”

And the comfort that you needed from her from the last five years, the comfort from someone who loves you and truly understands you, it’s enough to send you over the edge. Tears start rushing down your face as you grip your twin tighter, choking back, “I couldn't save him. I failed him.”

“No you didn't.” She pulls away to look at you, her expression serious. As she reaches up to wipe the tears from your face, her eyes land on the bruise forming along your cheek, something that clearly wasn't on your face the last time you saw her. She ignores it to whisper, “This is not your fault.”

You nod, willing yourself to believe her, reminding yourself to put the blame on the people that deserve it: the disciples. You look at Clarke, your mind shifting to your niece. “How’s Madi? Is she okay?”

“Yeah, she’s-” She doesn’t get to finish, because a series of beeps rings out in the small space, followed by Hope’s panicked voice. “We’re out of time!”

Clarke looks over in alarm, and unspoken, all of you break into a run again, tearing down the hall towards the humidification system, situated at the very end of the machine level. When you reach the door to the room, you can see Echo inside, standing over a pipe, a dropper in her hand, and as Raven struggles to get the door open, you yell out, “Echo, stop!”

She freezes and turns around in alarm, the door to the room finally sliding open, allowing all of you to spill inside. Echo glares at all of you before directing her anger at Hope. “You were supposed to get them out!”

Octavia steps forward, defending Hope. “It's not her fault, we wouldn't leave without you, Echo. You don't have to do this. I get it, everything they took from you they took from me too, but there are good people here.”

“Who? Levitt?” She gives Octavia an incredulous look. “The man who stole your memories and gave them to the enemy? Who stole la lune’s memories and gave them to the enemy? All of this happened because of him. Way to honor your brother's memory.”

Clarke steps in next, taking a few steps ahead of you to stand beside Octavia. “Echo, this is not who you are. I know you think this is the right thing to do, but trust me, it's not. Grief is something we can learn to live with, but once you make a choice like this, it stays with you.”

You know she’s thinking of Mount Weather, of the genocide that has stayed with you, her, and Bellamy since you pulled that lever. It had such a profound impact on all of you, and despite doing it to save those you love, you’re not sure any of you would do it again, if given the option. Which is why preventing this genocide right now is important. But Echo fails to see the comparison between the two, practically rolling her eyes at Clarke. “This is nothing like the choices you make, Clarke. You take lives to save the people you love. This is vengeance, pure and simple.”

You step forward now, joining Octavia and Clarke near the front, Echo’s gaze shifting towards you. You shake your head, disapproving, and her face falls a little. “Echo, this is not what Bellamy would have wanted.”

“If they killed you or Octavia or Clarke, he would be standing right where I am! Three months ago, when you found out he was dead, I saw how that crushed you, I felt how it crushed me. And in that moment, I made a promise to myself that Bardo would pay for what they did to all of us. I’m doing this because it’s what we should have done from the beginning, and I know that none of you have the strength to do this. I'm doing this for you.”

“I love Bellamy with all that I am, but this is not how we should honor his memory. This is not how I want to honor his memory. I don't want you to do this Echo, not for me, or Bellamy, or any of us. There are good people here, innocent people, and they shouldn't die for something they had no control over.”

“Good people?” She scoffs and shakes her head at you. “How’d you get the bruise, la lune? Because you were fine when we separated in the hall.”

You look at Clarke, silently asking for help, aware that your answer is only going to fuel Echo’s anger, but Clarke isn't the one to speak up next, Raven is. She moves closer, her voice soft as she pleads, “Echo, you're my sister, and my sister wouldn't do this.”

Echo starts to cry, shaking her head as she fights off her tears, the decision already weighing heavily on her. “You're wrong.”

Raven stands firm, not backing down. “I'm not leaving, Echo. If you drop that, I am staying right here. You will have to kill me too.”

You step towards Raven, drawing Echo’s gaze. “And me.”

Echo looks between you both, her emotions warring inside of her, threatening to take over, and you all stand watching with bated breath, panicked on what emotion will win. There’s a sense of relief when a sob bursts free from her, and Raven steps forward and wraps Echo in her arms, whispering in her ear to comfort her. “It's okay. It's okay. We're here now.”

Diyoza walks over and slowly slips the Gem 9 from Echo’s grip, holding it carefully as you all watch Raven and Echo hug each other, thankful that Echo’s love for all of you is enough to stop her revenge. Clarke reaches out for your hand, holding it tight in her grip as you both watch, tears springing to your eyes again as Raven whispers, “We're gonna go home.”

“Good choice.” All of you turn towards the door in surprise, greeted by Anders, a glare on his face, his clothes still stained. He’s wiped most of the blood from his face, but the scratches remain visible on his skin, the bruise along his cheek already darkening, and there’s a knot forming on the side of his head where you hit him with the helmet.

Clarke steps forward, her hand still holding your own, her voice angry and commanding. “We had a deal. I told Cadogan if I saw any of you, I wouldn't help him.”

“That was before one of you tried to kill me.” He turns to glare at you, and you glare back, both of you knowing damn well that’s not what happened. He turns to Echo, adding, “And before we knew that one of you killed three more of us, torturing another just to get him to give you a weapon with which to commit genocide.”

“The man makes a good point.” Diyoza steps forward, holding out her hand, offering him the unused Gem 9. “Let's call it even.”

“Even?” He takes the Gem 9 from her as he looks you all over. “I just told you three disciples are dead. You people disgust me. Look at yourselves: raised in the wild.”

He looks at you, and you feel yourself start to grow angry as he confirms what you already knew: that he thinks he's better than all of you. More civilized. “You're nothing but primal beasts, utterly in thrall to your feelings, prioritizing the want of self over the need of all others. You don't deserve the Shepherd's mercy.”

Miller lifts his gun and counters, “Brave words coming from a man standing alone in front of a pack of armed beasts.”

You shake your head, your eyes never leaving Anders. “He's not alone.”

Despite his anger with you, his admiration shines through as he smiles at you. “Smart girl.”

On cue, the disciples behind him leave ghost mode, four of them now visible and aiming weapons at all of you. Clarke, Raven, and Miller all react and lift their weapons, aiming them at the disciples who are aiming at all of you. Diyoza raises her voice to be heard over everyone’s panic. “Probably not a good idea to fire lasers in a room with a WMD.”

Everyone calms a fraction of an inch before Diyoza steps closer to Anders, giving him a small smile. “Let's get back to the Shepherd's mercy.”

“Echo will be sent to Penance for 20 years, but she'll be back before you know it. Unless by then, the code hasn't been entered to begin the Last War. In which case, she dies there.”

Hope snaps, “I have a better idea. You die here.”

Before any of you can react, Hope steps forward, a knife sliding out of her sleeve to slash Anders’ neck. In surprise, he immediately drops the Gem 9, which all of you lunge for, not wanting to crystallize to death. But Hope grabs it first, turning to run back towards the pipes, all of you turning to watch her in shock. None of you can grab her as she runs past, but Diyoza is right behind her, and as Hope squeezes one drop of Gem 9 into the water supply, you watch in shock as Diyoza reaches out to catch the drop before it can fall into the water. She immediately closes the door to the water supply, and you all run towards Diyoza in surprise, her hand already beginning to crystallize. Hope stares at her mother in shock before she screams, “No, Mom! No!”

“Get her out of here!”

You and Octavia heed Diyoza’s request and rush towards Hope, both of you grabbing one of her arms before you pull her back towards the door. Hope fights against you both, kicking and screaming, and Octavia yells to be heard over her, “Hope, it's too late!”

“No! No, Mom! No!”

Everyone else in the room is frozen in shock, and as Diyoza’s arm turns to crystal in a matter of seconds, she looks over everyone and yells out, “What are you all waiting for? Move! Go!”

The disciples leave the room first, Miller, Raven, Echo, and Clarke behind them as you and Octavia struggle to drag Hope out of the room. She fights hard against you both, you and Octavia using all of your strength to pull her past Anders’ dead body, the crystal now rapidly covering Diyoza’s body and beginning to climb up the walls around you. Hope screams as she watches her mother be engulfed, “I can't lose her, not again!”

“Hope, we have no choice!”

You turn to look at the door, nearly there now, the crystal rapidly closing in on all of you, and Diyoza watches on, the crystal climbing up her neck and spreading across her face. “Don't waste this, little one! Be better than me.”

Hope sobs as the crystal completely engulfs her mother’s face, no part of Diyoza visible any longer, and you and Octavia drag Hope through the door, yelling, “Get the door!”

Someone hits the button, the door sliding closed in front of you, cutting off Hope’s access to her mother. She pulls herself free from yours and Octavia’s grip and jumps against the door, sob after sob tearing from her throat. “Mom! Mom!”

And there's nothing that any of you can do except watch on as the crystals spread from Diyoza and take over Anders, spidering out into the air and along the walls, all of you safely on the other side, thanks to Diyoza’s sacrifice.

You watch on, crying as you and Octavia struggle to comfort Hope, another person taken from you on Bardo.

Part of you wishes you hadn’t stopped Echo, and that you crystallized the whole planet before escaping back to Sanctum.

But the rest of you knows that another genocide isn’t the answer. As much as you hate Bardo and the disciples and the Shepherd, there are innocent people here, and killing them, repeating the sins of your past, won’t fix any of the hurt that’s been done to you.

It won’t bring back Bellamy.

It won’t bring back Diyoza.

It won’t bring back the part of you that died with your fiance. The dreams and memories that left when he did, all the hopes you had for your shared future together. No, a genocide won’t bring any of that back.

Unfortunately, knowing that doesn't make the loss any easier. Which is why you cry alongside the others, mourning the loss of the Navy SEAL turned terrorist turned freedom fighter turned Eligius prisoner turned mother. A woman that came into your life as an enemy, but left your life as a friend.

next chapter

#the 100 #the 100 rewrite #bellamy blake #bellamy blake x reader #bellamy blake fanfiction

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