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scarecrowmilkfog · 3 years

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♡My Prison Pen Pal♡

Helmut Zemo x reader

Word count: 1,802

Warnings: swearing, mentions of prison and crimes and slight angst to do with his family

A/N: its finally here! I havent writen a fic in a long time so hopefully you guys like this! I tried to avoid using idioms and things like that but message me if you need anything explained or reworded as I know most people aren't native English speakers

@sorcerersofnyc

♡♡♡

His first letter came during the series finale of your favourite show. A rather inconvenient moment, you thought, so it stayed on the welcome mat until you passed through the hall on your way to bed. Picking it up, you figured you'd skim the first few lines then finish it and write a reply before work. Instead, you found yourself writing and rewriting a reply through the night. Somehow this man had managed to enthrall you with only a letter. Maybe it was the way he wrote as if he was some elegant poet whose sonnets would one day be hailed as classics. How he managed to be open and expressive, exuding a welcoming aura, and yet still seeming mysterious. Or perhaps it was simply fated by the stars that Helmut Zemo would capture your heart.

You waited anxiously for his second letter to arrive. After sending the first, you hadn't cared whether you got a response, the whole thing seemed like a bad idea to you. But your mother was insistent that you needed to meet new people and this way you wouldn't need to worry about awkward face to face conversations. Sending the first letter felt like any other chore you do in the day, done with much effort and resignment but forgotten within minutes. But the second? It felt like the most important thing you'd done in a long time. You'd even bought a first class stamp (not that it makes a difference).

You wanted to know more about this intriguing man. No, supervillain. Charged with international terrorism. Jesus christ what the fuck was wrong with you? Were you really falling in love with a supervillain after one letter? But he didn't seem evil to you. He wrote eloquently, somehow his simple and brief description of his day (he'd started reading a new psychology book, you'd have to send him some recommendations) sounded fascinating in his words.

Over time, you started to notice small things about Helmut. The way he crossed his t's, how he signed his name, but mainly that there was a romanticism to his writing. From the way he described his home, his wife, his son to his recipes for Sokovian dishes with small notes and doodles (your favourite was his shepherd's pie recipe where he helpfully noted his mother's assertion that you should always add more than you think you need). It was becoming clear to you that he wasn't the stoic and vengeful baron you expected but rather a soft, lonely and endearingly weird man who you couldn't imagine plotting to destroy the Avengers. Whilst it was his mystery that first captivated you, it was his sweet and sometimes awkward personality that convinced you to keep writing.

It took a while for Helmut to tell you about his family. You had heard on the news back when he first arrested about his motive, so you were interested to hear his perspective on his crimes. But that wasn't what you got. Instead, he told you about when he and his father used to play football when he was young and how they would play a match every time he visited, with Helmut playing against his father and son, who always wanted to play with grandfather. He told you of the songs his wife used to sing, how her voice was always loud and shaky and after years of singing somewhere over the rainbow she would still forget the lyrics and invent her own. He told you how his son was the best pianist he had ever heard. How he could play the greatest rendition of amazing grace and that he had just learnt the theme from swan lake. That he had been excited to practice it on his grandfathers grand piano the day Ultron attacked.

There was something so human about this man. His love for his family, his loss and grief, his plan to avenge his family, it was all so tragic and yet here he was sending you drawings of the flowers from his garden growing up. You wanted to hug him and yet sometimes you felt he wouldn't need it, wouldn't want it. You were wrong.

Helmut Zemo missed his family. He told you so in one of his most recent letters. He missed holding his son, brushing his wife's hair, going for long drives, waking up at 2am to comfort his son, early morning trips to the shops, cleaning up after dinner, helping with homework. Everything he listed seemed so trivial, so meaningless in the grand scheme of life and yet the memories meant so much to him.

You realised then you had never pitied him before. Not that he wasn't deserving of it, just that he didn't seem to need it. But overtime you realised that what Helmut had really needed wasn't revenge or to make a world free from superhumans, it was someone to talk to. Someone to trust. Someone who would understand his pain and not judge it. Perhaps, you thought to yourself, you could be that person.

Fuck.

You couldn't think of how to cope with this. No one you knew had ever mentioned falling in love with a criminal through letters. And as hard as you tried you hadn't been able to find a single romcom with this plot line. You couldn't tell him. You imagined with his seemingly fragile state of mind receiving from basically a stranger professing their love would at best cause him to ghost you. Especially after he confided in you, shared his thoughts and memories.

So instead you continued as normal. You sent him pressed flowers and pictures of your favourite places. Eventually, he asked what looked like, and you spent an hour trying to decide whether you should send a picture of yourself or to just vaguely describe your features. After deciding to send a picture of yourself on holiday a few months before the blip, you found yourself wondering what he'd do with it. Would he throw it away as soon as he got the letter or would he keep it, tuck it away in some book to look at whilst thinking of you?

You also found yourself wondering what he looked like in the real world. You had found pictures of him online, but they didn't feel real. He was never rarely happy. The pictures pre Ultron were clearly taken by paparazzi, so you weren't surprised he rarely looked anything other than annoyed. There were a few though, ones with his wife and son, where he clearly hadn't noticed, and some from when he was much younger and seemed to enjoy the attention. Then were those taken after his arrest.

And so you continued to wonder he looked like. How he looked in the morning, with flowers in his hair or in summer with the sun lighting his face. You wondered what his hair looked like wet, if he ever scrunched his nose in disgust. You wondered what his smile was like.

Over time, you told him more about yourself. The stress of returning home after the blip to no job, no house and your friends 5 years older. Your ex was married with kids and your sister had moved abroad. It was as if you blinked and your whole life had changed. You mentioned how it was your mum who had suggested getting a pen pal, so you could talk to someone new, who was living a different life to you, although she had meant someone in a different country not jail. Since coming back you'd been isolated and stressed with starting a new job, recovering lost information and personal belongings and moving house, so you had thought it might be good to speak to someone who didn't know you, who couldn't judge you. You told Helmut how it had been good, how writing to him had helped you, how he had helped you more than he could ever know.

No, that sounded creepy. How you appreciated his letters.

Too formal. How you hadn't expected to become his friend, but you were glad to be able to say you were.

Helmut was comforting. You knew in your head that your meeting on Friday was nothing to worry about but seeing him say it felt so reassuring. Each one of his letters made you feel relaxed, feel safe. You wanted to make him feel the same. So, as a way to repay his kindness you had told him that no matter what happened, he could always trust you. And it was true. You couldn't imagine a world where you wouldn't do anything for Helmut and although you knew he would never need it, you still wanted him to know you would always care about him, even if no one else did.

Writing to him had become as easy as talking to someone you'd known all your life. You had fallen into an easy routine, you knew when to expect his letters and you knew when you'd send a reply. The routine felt so natural that you even knew what the envelope would look like, always the same off-white with a square edged flap. The address was always the same too. Except on his last letter. Which was strange.

At first, you thought Helmut had been moved to a different prison but after frantically typing the address into Google Maps you realised it was not a prison. Fuck you had no idea what it was, but it wasn't a prison. It also wasn't in Germany.

You sat still, staring at the unopened letter for a few minutes.

You looked up at the door. You thought you heard someone knock. The post had already come and you weren't expecting people. Hell, there wasn't anyone other than your parents who would visit anyway and they would have called first. Now you were sat still, staring at the front door.

"I know you're in there, the lights are on."

It was as if you were a marionette, being moved by some strange force that was slowly pulling you out of your seat and towards the door. You didn't even register that you moved until you felt the door handle on your fingertips. The cold metal caused you to stop, as if broken out of a trance. There was a sudden realisation that if you opened the door your life would never be the same. It was sickening, a mixture of dread and excitement; it reminded you of the moment before a roller coaster drops. You repeated that thought in your head. "Your life would never be the same". Your life hadn't been the same in almost a year. What would be the harm in one more big change. So you did it. You opened the door.

His smile was beautiful.

#zemo x reader #helmut x reader #helmut zemo x reader #baron zemo x reader #zemo #baron zemo #helmut zemo #tfatws

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marvellovegalore · 3 years

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Death in the Afternoon

Chris Evans

Parte trois - Breaking You

Synopsis: You're having what seems to be withdrawal symptoms and you're dying to see the love of your life - and be with him once and for all.

Word Count: 4,416

Warning: Explicit Language, Extremely Sensitive Issues, Gore, Sexual Content

Author's Note: Refer to previous parts before reading this one. Thanks for making writing so enjoyable - I really love + appreciate reading your comments + opinions! I really hope you guys enjoy this and let me know what you think!

Finale

His letter sits crumpled in your desk drawer, your glance stains its words, the page yellowed by its exposure to the sun.

Every single day that has passed since you last saw him, you have cried.

You forced yourself back to work just to finish the film that you were filming for the past five months; now that it is done you have all the time in the world to stay lying down on your cold bathroom floor - until tomorrow. The contents of your stomach lying at the bottom of the toilet bowl. The world is spinning, and your breathing is ragged and deep.

The email you sent him is still open on your laptop screen, the screen now dim from being inactive for twenty minutes. You can barely see the words you typed out to him through the tears in your eyes.

You hesitantly lift yourself from the tiled floor, your shaky legs threaten to collapse beneath you and leave you in a heap on the ground. The walk back to your bed is tremulous and slow. Your heavy eyes are stuck to the bed, willing your brain to lead you there. You lose track of the time it takes you get to your bed.

The notification sound comes from your laptop, you slowly sit up towards your laptop. You summon the strength to open your eyes wider, he’s replied.

‘I’ll be there soon.’

Your body feels lighter, his acknowledgement and acceptance makes your body float softly.

You don’t know how you’ll go on without him, the sensation makes you sick. You’ve never wanted to depend on another person for your happiness. You’ve been okay being alone as long as you can remember.

The day he left you made you spiral. You sought help from a hotel guest that managed to hear your small pleas for help from the other side of the door. You begged her not to call an ambulance, you asked for her to help to get you into a taxi and you were on your way to a private doctor. You needed utmost privacy. Your doctor saw some small health concerns that affected your heart, he requested you majorly decrease your cigarette and alcohol intake and that you visit him once a month so he could come to a certain conclusion.

On your second visit you received your earth-shattering news.

Pregnant, four weeks along.

It had been four weeks exactly since you had seen him. The devastation that afflicted you made you sick all over again. You didn’t know what to do, you didn’t go back to your doctor. You chose to let life go on as normal for three weeks, but the agony was breaking your heart further the more you did that. You considered several things before emailing him. You could go on to give birth and never tell him that it is his and it could grow without a father; or you could abort it. The last option makes you feel unsettled, though you don’t know why. It’s what your brain immediately went to when you learnt about it.

What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him, right?

He just read that you really need him, and you miss him in your email. He didn’t have to read it, let alone let you know he’ll be here.

The tightness in your chest is back. Your fingers flit against your tender breasts and you touch the part where your heart is, it beats lightly.

He doesn’t come that night. You spend the whole night watching the dark, rainy streets of New York, alone. You fall asleep to the sounds of sirens and cars, alone.

You wake up on the floor of your room, in front of the floor to ceiling windows.

Your body feels like it’s made out of limestone and that your tears have caused the material on your face to deteriorate. It takes you half an hour to get the strength to stand up from the floor. You try to stretch but every joint feels like it’s screaming. You manage to walk into your bathroom without swaying, the sight of your vomit and its stench greets you as you walk through the glass door. You hold your breath as you pee, and then brush your teeth. You think about the fact that he stood you up once you’ve found the courage to shower. The water feels like its scalding your skin as you let it water you.

You lay on your bed naked, waiting for an hour for a notification from him. He’s forgotten you.

Your brain loops around the image of him laughing at you with the brunette as they sit on the bed you bought for him; their eyes crinkling in mockery, disbelief lacing their laughter. A tear slips from your eye, you barely manage to wipe it away. You can smell the scent of your decaying heart through your skin, its stench burning a hole in your chest, rotting your ribs in the process.

You need to get up, you have stuff to do. Though you feel numbed, you will yourself to get up.

You forgo eating, simply choosing to indulge in an espresso and two cigarettes for breakfast. You allow the tiniest desire you have to simply let it be repulsed by your body and expel itself from inside - come to the forefront of your mind.

You spend the day working like a dog, you push yourself to limits that make your assistant raise her eyebrows high and ask you to calm down. You ignore any concerned glances as you push yourself ten times more than usual at the gym, drawing praise from your companions. You take a moment to yourself in the gym toilet and check your stomach, you glare at the slightest bump on the bottom of your torso. As you fight the temptation to punch your stomach, your phone brightens with a new notification - from him.

‘Meet you at the restaurant round the corner from your place. Booked a table for 9pm.’

You gulp, an uneasy feeling setting into the depths of your stomach. You’d rather be sent an anonymous letter to meet at a hotel restaurant, it had a touch of romance to it. Exchanging emails is what you’ve had to resort to, you are both blocked from contacting each other in any other manner; sometimes you think to yourself that you’re like forbidden lovers - by choice.

You finish working around eight o’clock, you ready yourself by half eight and you hang around the restaurant. Suddenly having picked up the habit of biting at your nail, you watch the patrons of the restaurants and recognise some television big wigs and political journalists. You breathe in deeply, your eyes flitting around the somewhat busy street, you can feel your bladder ready to give way. You rush into the restaurant at nine on the dot and are escorted by the restaurant manager to a toilet. You ease yourself and wash your hands, your morose face plastered with magazine worthy makeup stares back you. Your pupils are shrunken and your eyes that are practically unresponsive to the light stare at you, the sight of yourself makes them well with tears of disappointment.

You leave the toilets; you saunter back to the door and spot him being led to the table by a waiter. Your feet lead you back outside to the street.

You feel like vomiting, your breaths become shallow and limited. Pressing a hand to your chest you feel your heart hammering mercilessly against your ribs. It feels like death. You shakily reach into your bag and pull out a cigarette pack, you stare at it and your mind wanders to the feeling in the pit of your abdomen. You decide you’re not strong enough to fight the temptation, you pull a cigarette to your lips and go to light it. Your phone vibrates in your hand.

‘Where are you?’

It’s been five minutes, you exhale. You put the unlit cigarette with a lipstick mark back in your bag and take two deep breaths. You slowly walk into the restaurant, you raise your head, desperately trying to find the assurance you’re so well known for. You’re an actress, you’re an expert at façades.

You’re led to his table, your strut attracting the attention of most everyone in the room.

His hair is grown out, his stubble creating a flattering shadow on his lower face. You sit wordlessly, the waiter asks for your drink order and you ask for a ‘Death in the Afternoon’. The waiter smiles, you hear him sigh. You turn to him, avoiding his eyes.

You’re pregnant - with his baby. You’re both having a baby.

The sobering thought almost makes your voice shake. “Thanks for meeting with me. Even though you vowed to never see me again.” Your tone is almost mocking, a tinge of pride filling you. The bitter memory of writing that letter stings him - more so because he’s succumbed to seeing you after having written it.

He tries to sense any revealing signs that you miss him, had he not received your email he would have been hurt to believe that you were thriving without him. You’re still so put together, too beautiful for you to be needing him. Your makeup is done flawlessly, you’re dressed perfectly elegantly. He can’t understand why you would send him an email at ten in the night asking for him if you seem to be good. It made him joyful to receive it, and he hates that. Why do you have this hold over him? Why can’t he just leave you and forget you.

“I couldn’t ignore the possibility that you weren’t okay.” He takes a sip of his cold beer; the taste of wheat makes him relax somewhat.

“You said you’d be there soon, what happened last night?” The embarrassment immediately clambers up your system and makes you avert your eyes to one table over. You hate seeking answers from others that make you feel dependent and make you more human - you despise it.

How can he begin to explain that he stood in the lobby of your building for forty-five minutes trying to fight his anxiety? How can he begin to explain that his fingers trembled so badly that he couldn’t get his phone out of his pocket to let you know that you couldn’t be there for you? How can he begin to explain to you that he loves you so much that the thought of going up to your apartment and failing to comfort you filled him with unending fright? What could he possibly say that wouldn’t allow you to ridicule him? He’s failed you twice now.

He can’t really put himself in the mindset he was in when he left you that letter, letting you know how much you let him down. He didn’t leave the hotel until after you did, he instantly regretted leaving you when he saw you doubled over in pain being helped into a taxi.

He’s got so many questions, why is it you need him? What happened to you in Portofino? “Got side-tracked with something.” He gives you a non-committal shrug and takes another swig of his drink, his leg shaking noticeably under the table.

Your heart falls to the bottom of your stomach, your entire torso feels like it made of limestone and your throat tightens. You feel like you’re choking, your drink couldn’t be here any sooner. “You in a rush to be somewhere?” You look at him questioningly, noticing his leg movements, you try to hide the sadness that’s padding your body like sponge.

He shrugs, “Kinda,” the disillusionment is almost impossible to disguise on your face, he feels some satisfaction from it. “But it can wait.” He watches the waiter approach with two glasses, he places your drink in front of you motions the beer towards him. Accepting it gratefully he continues once the waiter has left. “I thought we weren’t to speak to each other anymore, what made you contact me?” He narrows his eyes, the blue of his eyes twinkling with a glimmer of curiosity.

Your body shivers and you glance away from him, you attempt to will your waiter back towards you. “We can talk about that later, no?” You motion towards him and he rushes over, you ask for two dry martinis. You both wait in silence.

The words that could release all the tension from your body spindle over your tongue incessantly, they almost materialise but you choose to rope him into small talk and pull updates about his life from him. He lets slip that he’s considering the possibility of being serious with the brunette; you remember her sweet features that harshly contrast your own. You make a biting remark that he’s always liked a plain Jane over your third glass; it’s met with a biting remark regarding your character.

You refuse his request to eat dinner with him after his comment; but you do ask him to accompany you to your building.

“I’ll walk you to your elevator.” He mumbles as you exit the restaurant. You nod in agreement; he lights a cigarette and offers you a drag. You smother your temptation, “It’s okay, actually.” You shiver as light pelts of rain shower you. The city is vibrant and lively, but the small bubble you find yourself encased in with him is dark and tempestuous; an unspoken tragedy clouding your day.

The contemplation of being in your apartment alone another night stabs you deep in the back.

You reach the lift of your lobby and you turn to each other. “Please come up with me,” your lip trembles with the weight of the unspoken truth. His eyes flash with concern and surprise. You make your way up to your apartment wordlessly, his hand brushing against you every time you move next to him.

Finding yourself with him in your bedroom, you lay on your bed, taking your shoes off with him watching silently at the end of your bed. He’s highlighted by the setting sun, orange hues paint him golden and blush. He invites himself onto your bed, sensing the melancholy in the air. There’s an odour of cigarettes that permeates the air near your bedside table.

Your back is to him, you feel his arms slink themselves around your waist. His chest presses against your back and you melt slightly into his touch. You missed him so much and the smell of him hauls you to the doors of paradise. How could you have possibly messed this up so much? Two tears slip from your eyes and you sniffle, his arms tighten around you and he comes impossibly closer. His face inches on top of yours, “Tell me what’s wrong?” His whisper is as tender as the wind and the soft touch of his voice makes you moan quietly.

You stare of into the horizon, your eyes being overwhelmed by the rays of sun. “I—” you hesitate. Your breath leaving your body, you pay attention to the movements of his hands, they stroke your stomach making you tremble. You stop in your tracks, alarm setting into your bones.

You turn to him; you can see the questioning look in his eyes. He doesn’t know.

You crash your lips into his, he barely has time to register your passion before he’s responding with his own heated response. His hands mould around your body with a newfound purpose. You want deep down to breathe him in and keep him with you forever. You roll on top of him, and your hands memorise every fibre of his face, his skin is smooth underneath your palms. He slips your dress off of your body, his fingers dance with your skin as he caresses your back.

He wants to stay like this forever. You tear his clothes off of him with an eager gentleness, his hands enclose your hips as you begin to ride him, your hips dance over him, your fingers slip in between his lips and he sucks on them. He pulls you closer to him, hugging you as you ride him. He thrusts into you from beneath and you almost crumble in his arms. “I love you so much—” you hear the words slip from in between his ajar lips, you lift your head and kiss him. Your martini saturated tongues waltz with each other in a feverish heat that leaves you both lightheaded.

You two play with each other’s bodies slowly, untangling each layer of each other’s guard. He slips on top of you with the grace of a gymnast. He nestles himself inside and you your noses rub together as he drives into you slowly, and deeply, with his hand clutching at your throat. You feel your insides liquifying with pleasure, your hands clasp onto his arms for help to grip onto reality. He’s here. Just here - with you.

“I love you, so, so much, Christopher.” You cry out as he increases his speed, the intensity of his movements making his hips meld with your clitoris. His spare hand moves from your breast to your face, he grips onto your throat with more firmness and you let out a sigh of content. Your eyes don’t leave his and he refuses to slow down, you feel yourself go into sensory overload. You feel waves of pleasure shower your body, stars ripple in between your fingers and toes and your eyes roll back into your skull. Your body is floating above your bed.

Chris pants as he maintains his speed, chasing his own maddening orgasm. “You’re so beautiful when you cum.” He breathes out as he lets go of himself inside you. His thumb traces over your bottom lip, he lowers himself down and plants a kiss on your lips. He breathes in your air and gives you a tight hug.

“I have to tell you something.” You whisper into the room. He’s laying next you, his arm draped over your waist. His lack of response for ten seconds is explained by the soft snores leaving him. You purse your lips, “I’m pregnant.” You utter into the atmosphere and turn away from him, you pray that maybe he can hear you; you pray in vain.

A newfound determination settles into your aching chest. You’ll let him know, for real - you’ll work something out; you’ll have your baby and be parents. You’ll be better than your own parents, you’re sure of it. Your hands settle over your stomach, you give your baby a silent apology for mistreating your body - your baby’s temple.

You’re lulled to sleep by the silence.

You wake with a start; the world is dark outside. You can’t feel his arm anymore, dread fills you to the brim as you sit up, your back towards the side he was sleeping on. You feel your heart hurting, you feel weak. You swallow your tears as you look out at the skyscrapers outside your room. Taking a deep breath, you turn slowly to the other side.

He’s still there.

You let out a deep sigh of relief, tears welling into your eyes and dropping out without caution. You let out a soft sob, you throw your arms around him and hold him tightly. He stirs as your tears fall onto his pectoral.

“Hey, everything okay?” He grumbles, worry saturating his voice. “Yes,” you breathe out slowly. He pulls you up to him and his eyes caress yours. You refuse to let him know what’s bothering you, there’s a silent understanding that you need him more than anything right now. You cover yourselves in a blanket, your half naked bodies are melded together as you walk across your apartment towards your terrace.

Chris lights the fire pit, you let your eyes roam his body freely. He sits down next you and you cover yourselves with the large blanket, his hand rests on your thigh.

“Why did you just leave me in Portofino?” Your whisper is carried by the wind and the noise of the three am traffic.

Chris sighs, his eyes lowering down to the fire pit in front of you. “I couldn’t bare the fact that after what you did to me, I still reached out to you, I invited you back into my life.” Your eyes well up with tears again, you want to be swallowed into the ground and dragged to the pits of hell. He looks back at you, his eyes searching for what’s in your own. “I know you’re sorry. But I just couldn’t understand why you did what you did; until I came across this quote that reminded me that hurt people, hurt people. I figured some digging into your past couldn’t hurt at that point. I’m sorry about what you had to go through.” His fingers leave whispered touches on your thigh.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” You interject tearfully, he pulls you in, your head resting on his chest. The sound of his fast-beating heart grounds you into this moment.

“I know, I know.” He coos softly. His fingers stroke your cheek, simultaneously wiping away your tears. “I just wish you trusted me enough to let me into your little world. I wanted to know all of you, even the tiniest parts you didn’t even know, I guess you sensed it and you left me. So, I’m sorry for that, too.” You sniffle and let your head fall onto his lap. You look up at him with tears flowing out of your eyes slowly.

“You’re my everything. You’re— you’re my moon and my stars, I—, I—, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to live without you.” He chokes over his own unshed tears.

“I love you.” Your words make a tear slip out of his eye.

“I love you too.” He thumb traces your lips softly, his touch gentle as if he were afraid you would turn into mist if he were not tender enough.

You slip into a dreamless sleep, the noise of the world encasing you into carnival of relaxation.

You open your eyes to the ceiling of your bedroom, illuminated by the afternoon sun. A cramp numbs the bottom half of your body. You clench your teeth and sit up, the sharp agony whirling around your system. Something’s not right. You clasp weakly at your stomach; you fail to ignore the pool you feel forming underneath your legs. You lower your fingers slowly, dread thickening in your heart, red darkens your fingertips. You choke back on a sob as another cramp solidifies itself in your stomach, you crumple over, tears streaming out of your eyes. “Chris…” you choke out. Fear paralyses you in your bed.

Chris is nowhere in sight. You gather the little strength you have left in your arms and will yourself towards your bathroom. You drag your bleeding body towards your toilet, blood smears trailing behind you. Small whimpers leave your body as you finally reach the toilet, you pull some tissue towards you and pat the blood away. More leaves you, a heavy flow that makes your insides feel like they’re being pulverised. You’ve gone and done it; you have killed your baby.

You sob loudly, blood smearing over your half-covered body, “My baby—". Your body is racked with the undulating guilt that attacks your system. Tears pour uncontrollably from your eyes; you fight to take in breaths. Your heart feels like it’s breaking - literally. The stiffness in your chest spreads across your ribs and constricts your airflow.

You desperately clutch at your chest, wanting your fingers to tear into your skin and fix your heart. It feels like you’re on fire.

You’re dying.

Darkness blankets your vision; spots of clarity allow you to merely reach the door of your bathroom.

Chris sits at your desk, his phone pressed to your ear. Your doctor’s words feeling like stones in his stomach - he’s diagnosed you with severe depression and fears that a mildly stressful event may be enough to cause an onset of more severe physical problems. You entrusted Chris as your next of kin, in case your doctor believed something awful had happened to you. He listens intently to the information that is relayed to him - you have an inflamed artery. It could lead to your death. The doctor’s words make his stomach sink.

The call ends with Chris promising to accompany you to your appointments and he notes down the number of the referred psychiatrist.

A small wail comes from far away in the apartment, Chris sighs and stands up. He strides quickly to your room, the sight that greets him almost makes him retch. Your blood soils the room. Your body is still, your breaths are shallow and fast. Your hand is clutched over chest, your face distorted with pain riddled in the pores of your skin.

“Baby,” he calls out immediately and crouches down towards you. He feels for your pulse and panic lines his stomach; he grabs for your phone quickly and calls for help. He barely registers what he does in the next two minutes but all he can do is clutch onto you with all his might.

“Tell me what’s wrong, huh?” he whimpers, he pulls you onto his arm. He cradles you, his face pressed against yours. “Come on, you’re supposed to be my favourite girl, you can’t play with me like this…” he chokes out a frantic chuckle.

You’re barely responsive. “B—Baby, stay with me. Stay with me, okay,” he taps your face as his tears roll onto your skin, “don’t leave me.” He begs as his hands tremble. “What am I going to do without my moon and my stars, huh? How can my world go on without you?” His sobs shaking you lightly, your eyes flicker. “Don’t leave me.” He implores, sobs ripping his throat apart.

He can hear the door opening, the flurry of movements that happens around you two separates your bodies away from each other. He grips onto your limp hand desperately, tears blinding him as the paramedics rush you away from him.

He can’t feel his body as he falls to ground, watching your limp hand hanging from the side of the gurney.

The lift doors shut behind the paramedics.

He never sees you again.

Nevertheless, he still loves you, he'll always love you.

Fin.

@chvntelle-99,@harrysthiccthighss,@tessa-bl

#chris evans imagine #chris evans #chris evans smut #chris evans x reader #chris evans x y/n #chris evans series #chris evans angst #chris evans x you #steve rodgers x reader #steve rodgers imagine #steve rodgers #andy barber #andy barber imagine #andy barber fluff #chris evans fluff #marvel fanfiction #marvel #marvel imagine

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aubreyprc · 3 years

Text

happier

for @ssa-sparks , who asked for happier+hotchniss💕💘 feel free to send requests, ask/message💖💗💞💘💓

part four of my sour series

ao3

“Say you love her, baby,

Just not like you loved me

And think of me fondly,

When your hands are on her

I hope you're happy,

But don't be happier”

It hits her sometimes, how close she was to having everything before her life unravelled, leaving nothing but chaos in its wake. Leaving her too broken to even attempt at rekindling something with him, too messed up to think he could ever truly feel the same for her as he did before. Before Ian, before Boston. Before he learnt of Lauren, and how she’d shared her body and a bed with a known terrorist for two years as part of a job.

She’d been cruel when she ended it, forcing words out of her mouth that she didn’t mean in order to keep him safe. She remembers the look on his face when she’d called them casual, can remember the words he spat right back at her as she left.

She remembers how forgiving he was when he sat at her hospital bed. Grabbing her hand gently while he whispered gentle words, placing a soft kiss on her lips as he promised her that he would do whatever it took to get her back the team. Back to him.

She can also remember just how different everything was when she returned, how absolutely nothing was the same between her and anyone on the team, but especially him.

She remembers the moment it ended, the moment he told her he wanted her, but they needed time. She should recover from everything that she’s been through and they’ll talk when it’s time. They’ll know when it’s time.

Yet that time never comes, the two of them moving further and further apart as months go by and soon they’re not even talking. She accepts with a heavy heart that it’s truly over when it’s obvious he’s started to see someone new.

It hits her again with force, like a harsh slap to the face (which, she thinks she would have preferred. It probably would have hurt less) how close she was to having everything when she hears the name Beth fall from his lips, talking in his office with Dave with a glass of whiskey. (something the three of them used to do, but she won’t dwell on it. She can’t. It hurts too much) Her plan was to just hand him her report and leave. Ignore the way his eyes would linger on her for a moment too long to be friendly, words he refuses to say on the tip of his tongue as he watches her walk away without a word. Absolutely nothing let to say between the two of them. They had something, something remarkable, something that a person only gets once and it was taken from underneath them because of her, and as she stands outside of his almost but not quite shut door, she freezes, the soft tone the other woman’s name being said in rendering her frozen, the wind completely knocked out of her.

It could have seen seconds, it could have been hours before she clears her throat, tapping three times softly on the door before opening it.

“The report,” she smiles, walking to his desk, setting it down gently with a fake smile while her broken heart hammers in her chest. “Night.” She smiles to the two men, nodding her head in farewell and she turns to leave.

“Can we talk, tomorrow?” He asks her and she closes her eyes, holding down the door handle as she takes a deep breath before turning, her fake smile back on her face.

“Sure,” she agrees, “is that all?”

He nods, sending her back a smile that doesn’t seem like his and she wonders then, if he can see right through hers. Nodding again, she leaves his office, taking deep breaths, holding back her tears as she grabs her coat and bag before swiftly existing the building.

She’s in the comfort of her own car when she lets them fall, can feel them rolling down her cheek as she speeds out of the parking garage, as though she can out run the heartache.

To Emily’s surprise he comes to her the next night, knocking on her apartment door at too much of a late hour for it to be anything professional and as she lets him in, watches as he looks around her new apartment she inhales a deep breath and prepares herself for whatever words he was about to speak. Maybe he’ll finally say the ones that have been on the tip of his tongue for the last three months, she thinks.

“I take it you heard?” He questions, looking at her for the first time since he walked in.

“About Beth? Yeah…” She tells him, sending him a sad smile.

“I was going to tell you first, before-” He stops, shaking his head. “You should have found out from me first hand and for that I’m sorry.” He tells her.

“It’s fine,” she smiles, “I’m glad you’re moving on. You’ve seemed happier these last few weeks.”

“Emily-” He starts to say, only to be stopped by her a moment later.

“Really, Aaron.” She smiles, “It’s okay, we ended and you moved on, it’s normal.”

“Yeah,” He says, “I just wanted to apologise, for not telling you first hand.” He smiles.

“No hard feelings,” she jokes, a small laugh escaping her throat. “Did you want to talk about anything else?”

He stays silent for a few moments, mulling over the words in his head as he ponders about saying them, ponders about opening up old wounds.

“No,” He says, deciding to draw a line on what could have been, choosing instead to try and work on gaining her back as his friend. His close friend. Maybe his best. “No that’s it.” He tells her with a smile.

She nods, leading the way to her front door, almost closing it as he steps out only to stop when he turns back to face her.

“You know you’ll always have me, right?” He questions shyly, as if he’s unsure, “No matter what…”

She stares at him, clearing her throat before speaking.

“I know.” She tells him softly, smiling as her eyes meet his properly since he walked out three months ago. “I know.”

“Good.” He nods, “Good night.”

“Goodnight.” She smiles, watching him walk off before closing her door, his words ringing in her ears like a siren.

Knowing about Beth and meeting, Beth, turn out to be two completely different feelings.

You can ignore the existence of someone you’ve never met, trick yourself into thinking that they’re no one, that’s it’s nothing.

You can’t ignore them however, once you’ve met them. Seen first hand the happiness written over their faces.

That’s something Emily learns while hungover, stood at the finish like of a triathlon, staring at Aaron’s smile as he hugs the other woman, the way his eyes almost shimmer as he looks at her…Beth. The happiness that radiates of him causes her stomach to turn and she has to look away while she does her best to ignore their laughs, turning to watch him, Beth and Jack walk away, her heart cracking in her chest as she watches him smile into their kiss, forcing herself to look away and follow JJ and Penelope to Reid’s car, throwing on a smile while spilling a lie about her head when they ask why she looks like she’s just seen a ghost.

The conversation with Regina sends her right back to where she started, hitting home more than she would have liked and she knows its obvious when Hotch lets her go back to the hotel, telling her she was done for the day and to take sometime to herself.

She’s no idea how much time had past, how long she’d been staring at the ceiling replaying how well her life was going before Ian had found her, how happy she was, maybe the happiest she’d ever been. She thinks about how he’d run a hand down her spine as they spoke in hushed whispers in his bed, confessions and laughs shared between the two in the late hours of the night, as though they were the only two people in the word. She thinks about how he’d cup her jaw gently before kissing her if she babbled on too much, leaving them both smiling into their kiss, pure happiness written on both their faces as they each tore further into the others heart, the feeling of forever lingering in the air as they wrapped themselves in each other.

She turns her head to the door at the gentle three taps and sits up, running a hand through her hair as she walks over, already knowing who it is before she even opens the door.

“Hey,” He says softly, passing her as she moves aside to allow him in. “Are you okay?”

“I will be,” She tells him, “Just a tough case.”

“I know how hard it must have been, to listen to Regina.”

“It’s fine,” She tells him, “She was right. Mine is dead.”

“Doesn’t make it any easier.” He tells her from experience and she looks down, wiping her tears just as quick as they fall but not quick enough, already feeling him talking steps towards her before stopping mere inches away, cupping her face gently as he had done so many times before, and wiping her tears.

“It’s going to be okay.” He tells her gently, her eyes meeting his and in that moment it’s easy to let themselves believe for a second it’s him and her again, that there’s no Beth, no Ian and no Boston, just them, a mere year ago, happy and on their way to love.

His lips are almost on hers when she places to flat hands into his chest, pushing him away slowly as she drops her head.

“We can’t,” she whispers, “You’re with Beth.”

He steps back, “sorry, I should…I should go.” He mumbles, looking around the room as he clears his throat.

The words I want you die on his tongue as he forces himself to walk out of the room, flashes of their nights together playing on a loop in his brain as he screws his eyes shut.

They don’t talk about what almost happened.

She continues to watch his happiness increase as months go by, and carries on pretending that she’s fine, that she isn’t dying inside with every passing moment she spends watching him smile at another woman, watching him be happy with someone else.

He finds her for the second time at JJ’s wedding, a few hours after their previous conversation. He comes up to the side of her, smiling as she laughs at one of his lame jokes and as she turns to face him, he stills, a look on her face one he hasn’t seen before.

“Do you love her?” She asks softly, and he nods.

“I do.” He tells her and she rolls her lips, nodding her head as she forces herself not to cry. “But not like I loved you.” He continues and her eyes snap up to his, examining his features for a tell he’s lying and failing, her heart beating rapidly against her rib cage. She stares a few more moments, before gently placing a hand on the side of his face, catching his lips with her own in a delicate kiss, looping her hands to rest on the back of his neck when his arms softly wrap around her waist and pull her into him.

Their foreheads rests together as they separate and she smiles sadly.

“I miss you already.” He whispers, pulling her into a hug.

“Be happy.” She whispers back, before pulling from his arms and smiling at him, the words but please don’t be happier with her than you were with me renaming unsaid, taken instead by, “You should go, I’m sure Jack will be looking for you.”

He nods, turning to face the garden, before looking back at her.

“Go,” She laughs sadly, “I’ll be right out.”

He squeezes her hand before walking off and once he’s out of view, she takes a deep breath and turns, catching a glimpse of him, Jack and Beth as they laugh together in a corner, and even though it kills her, she has to be happy for him, she loves him, and with a heavy exhale she knows that’s all she wants, for him to be happy, even if it is without her.

She flies to London and he lets her go. He lets her go without ever telling her that it’s her he was ever truly happy with. Starting to find far too many similarities within Emily and Beth. He sees Emily’s face sometimes when he kisses Beth, imagines it’s her spine he’s tracing his fingers across and thinks of her when he envisions forever.

He ends it with Beth six months later, a tumble of apologies falling from his mouth as she walks out with a sad smile and a nod.

“You should call her.” Beth says as she stands in the doorway, “Emily.” She tells him as he frowns, his eyes widen and then she’s gone.

He calls her two weeks later and three weeks after that, is standing in front of her door, drenched head to toe as he waits for her to answer.

The smile she gives him when she opens the door makes the terrible weather and the awful traffic worth it and when her lips crash into his, he realises he’s never needed anyone but her to be happy.

fin

#hotchniss sour series #hotchniss fic #hotchniss #emily prentiss #aaron hotchner #aaron x emily #criminal minds fic #hope you like it bestie <333 #my fics

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citydreamgrls · 3 years

Text

the empty diary - part one

fred weasley x fem!reader

summary: it had appeared out of the blue, a diary that contained an odd power, one which would backfire and reveal her true feelings to the one she wished to hide it from most.

an: this is the first part in a new mini-series, i hope you all enjoy !!

words: 4,051

warnings: smut in later parts

The book had appeared on top of her cases when the girl had arrived in her dorm the previous day, its crimson red cover sticking out amongst the dark wood trunks. It had been a small surprise, the pages between all empty to her eyes as she scanned through it quickly. But something had drawn her to the mysterious object as she felt the leather slip between her fingers as if it was somewhat familiar.

Since it was empty, and there was no one who was asking after a lost diary, the girl decided to use it as just that. Spending most evenings of the first few weeks back at Hogwarts hiding herself away to spill out those nagging thoughts; thoughts that she’d never before had the idea to write down.

Most days she could time it so that Hermione was busy helping Ron with transfiguration work and not sitting around watching her write furiously, doing her best to not interrupt. As much as she trusted Hermione, she knew how curious her best friend could be at times and wanted to keep this one thing private for as long as she could manage.

It wasn’t long, however, as she’d imagined.

“y/n-” Hermione had burst into the room, catching the girl off guard, who had learnt to zone out all noises while she wrote. Which meant she hadn’t noticed the rushed footsteps pounding up the stone steps to their room before it was too late. “What’s that?”

The girl did her best to act casual, her little desk which she was sitting at normally gathering dust, and slid the book beneath some forgotten homework from last year.

“Oh… nothing.” She panicked, and blurted out, knowing full well that no excuse would satisfy Hermione’s interest more than the truth.

“Show me,” A hand reached past her, pushing papers away to reveal the red leather standing out amongst the white sheets.

“It’s really- Hermione!”

No amount of body blocking could have stopped the girl’s friend when she was determined, regardless of how much she tried; Hermione was a surprisingly strong girl.

“Stop it!” Y/n cried out, laughing when she felt the girl hovering over her reach down to tickle her. Grinning at the way she crumbled beneath the feeling, whining out about foul play.

Hermione’s hands had already grasped the book, frowning at its blank cover and holding it heavy in her hands. The other girl, now released from the temporary torture of tickling, stood beside her friend and tried one last time to reclaim her new diary.

It, in a clumsy turn of events, fell to the floor. The pages audibly flicking through themselves, as they watched it cascade to the ground as it was slower than time.

Y/n silently prayed, begged and wished that it would land with the covers closed over her intimate thoughts, fearful of how the girl beside her would react to something so personal. But as two pages laid out before them both, and the girl held her breath, it seemed as if fate heard her call as the pair stared down to see a blank response.

She let out a little breath, forgetting that she needed to reclaim the book before Hermione got a chance. The girl in question, however, seemed confused by the book before her.

“What?” Y/n scoffed, following her eyes to see what had made her speechless in the last ten seconds or so. Joining the silence as their jaws dropped agape at the sight before them both.

“Am I going mad?” Hermione asked, seeing the ink appear slowly on the once empty page, words coming into view in the form of sentences y/n had curated herself only moments before her friend had burst into the room. She just shook her head at the empty question, too amazed by what they were witnessing to bother talking.

Shaking hands reached for it, worried it may combust between her fingers as the girl held it tenderly. Hermione’s name was printed in bold amongst the rest of the words, something she herself hadn’t done.

“Did you write about me?”

“Only good things,” She smiled, trying to avoid her prying eyes, but it was no use.

“I think it’s been charmed… but by who.”

There was a silence between the two girls as their mind’s whirred for a moment, the faint echo of passing owls sounding amongst their breaths. Y/n was close to a scream when Hermione lunged towards her, taking the book from her and throwing it onto the bed with a panicked look, a thought having plagued her mind suddenly.

“We shouldn’t trust it, not after what happened to Ginny in second year.”

“Oh come on Mione, you-know-who isn’t going to try the same trick twice.”

“Well, where did you find it then?” She demanded to know, her hands resting all too comfortably on her hips like an angry mother.

“It was just… onmycases.” The girl mumbled, now understanding where the hesitance was coming from.

“Where y/n?” Her voice was stern.

“On my case, it was just laying there for me.”

“Well then we definitely can't trust it!”

“I’ve had it for weeks already, and still nothing bad has happened, I think I'm safe.” A laugh sounded from her mouth, more to reassure herself as she picked it up again, the leather still feeling natural between her skin.

Her friend didn’t seemed convinced and took it from her yet again, making y/n groan out in annoyance as Hermione paced the room, trying to study it for herself.

“Give it back Mione!”

“I just want to try something-” “It’s private!” “I’m not interested in your crushes y/n,” She scoffed, but noticed the entry she had dedicated to how good Oliver Wood had looked at the first quidditch practice.

“Oh come on it’s not a crush- what are you doing?”

Hermione held her wand out, muttering as many spells as she could think of to try and reveal the whole book to her, having noticed the stray empty pages between entries.

“I wrote on those, what’s it doing?” The girl asked, peering over her friend's shoulder as she refused to stop walking round their dorm.

“I think it’s charmed to the reader, here, you hold it.” “Well, it’s not like it’s mine or anything.” She huffed, finally taking it back and flicking between pages. Where Hermione had seen blanks, she watched the words reappear. “See, now it’s coming back.” “Not for me, that one’s still blank.” Her friend furrowed her brow, thinking intently as the girl placed the book back down on her pokey desk.

“I think it’s been charmed so that whoever reads it only sees entries in which they’re mentioned. You can see all of them because you wrote them, but I could only see the ones which you had written me into.” Her brain spilled out this theory so confidently that all y/n could do was nod in agreement, seeing no flaws to what she was stating.

“That seems, risky, right?” She offered up, unsure of what else to say.

“Very, but somewhat safer than muggle diaries at least.” Hermione giggled, laying back with a sigh. “I only came up for a textbook, but it seems like Ron’s troubles are nowhere near as interesting as this is.”

“I’m glad I can at least entertain,” The girl rolled her eyes, “Hey, maybe we should test this out a bit more.”

“That way we can know whether what I think is right, great idea!” Hermione seemed excited at the prospect of an experiment, regardless of how mundane or easy it was.

“We can use Ron and Harry!”

The two girls peered around a bookcase, spotting the redhead and four eyes struggling to think of an original thought between them as they waited for Hermione to return. She rolled her eyes, knowing they’d get nothing done without her.

“Give it here,” Y/n took the red book from her friend, spotting how possessive they’d both become of it.

“I was keeping it safe for you, this could be bad in the wrong hands y/n,” She hissed, not wanting to draw the boys’ attention until they were ready. “Now, write Ron’s name in here and Harry’s on another page. That way we can see which one they can see when holding the book.” The top student explained simply, the girl beside her just nodding as she scribbled quickly, their sneaky stances now garnering a bit of attention around them.

“Done. Let’s try it out.” She smiled, holding the book amongst others she’d brought down with her, hiding their plan behind the lie of another outstanding essay to complete.

“Finally!” Ron huffed, seeing the girls arrive after enough time waiting.

“Well, if you actually listened to Mcgonnagall during class then you wouldn’t need to wait for me to come and hold your hand.” Hermione snapped, taking her seat beside the boy as y/n joined Harry.

He seemed unfazed by the bright red leather slipped between her plain school books as she placed them down, he was too preoccupied by a girl making eyes at him from across the library.

“I just don’t get why I need to know all this, I don’t even want to take Transfiguration next year so it doesn’t matter, it’s a waste of time.” Ron was groaning as Hermione watched her pull out the diary subtly, sighing and flicking open the pages. She hushed the boy beside her as y/n began further writing next to his name, he watched her with a scowl before she held up the page to him.

Ron, Mcgonnagall’s in here you git! Be quiet.

“Is she, oh bloody hell.” He put his head down after reading the words she’d written out for him, Hermione nodding to her when she hadn’t been able to see it herself. It was a lie of course, the Professor’s very rarely spent time in the library, and Ron probably knew it deep down, but it was enough to prove that their theory was right. The girl’s friend stared at Harry, who was still distracted from the rest of them, signalling that she should still try it with him.

Harry, is she your new girlfriend? ;)

She wrote, sliding the message over to him, and nudging his side with a giggle. It made the dark haired boy blush but still he scoffed and denied that he’d been making eyes at anyone. Ron had seen the quiet exchange and frowned, seeing a blank page from his point of view.

“Was there anything on there?” He whispered to Hermione, who dismissed his question with a sigh and quickly changed the subject to keep their little secret.

The two girls sat awake on their beds that evening, having proven the true powers of y/n’s diary and agreed that something this simple was unlikely to be dark magic. They had tested as many spells on it to show if it was capable of more, but it seemed that hiding irrelevant entries was all it could do.

“You should keep a locking spell on it, and probably keep it safe, if someone managed to get it open that would be awful.”

“Who do you think would be the worst person.” Y/n inquired, her brain worn out from all the possibilities she’d run through.

“Oliver Wood.” Hermione teased.

“Shut up! I don’t like him.”

“There’s someone though, right? I saw some words about a boy.”

“Not really.”

“It seemed like you were interested in them.” She let out a small laugh in the dimly lit room at her friend’s blatant lie, knowing that when she liked someone she would deny it for the rest of her life until she too believed it not to be true. “It’s not a bad thing to like someone.”

Hermione did her best to reassure her friend, but the girl seemed caught in her thoughts as they welcomed the silence between them, her wand spinning between her fingers mindlessly. She decided to drop it, seeing how uncomfortable it had made her, but surprisingly it was y/n who spoke up.

“I don’t think they would feel the same way, that’s all.” Her voice was quiet, and reserved. A world apart from how she usually acted around her best friend.

“Who is it?” Hermione asked, seeing the hesitance on the girl’s face as she thought about how to answer.

“You really cannot tell a soul, I mean this.”

“I promise y/n, no one will know.” She placed her hands into the girl’s, squeezing tight to try and relax her as best as she could.

“Okay, well, it’s nothing big it’s just an interest that’s it. And really, I’m not too sure about it myself.”

“Okay, go on.”

A few days passed, with Hermione and y/n successfully keeping the diary a secret between them. Not that Ron and Harry would have ever been that bothered by it, or its powers, at all.

It was yet another night spent studying in the library when things went wrong. The girl had been there for a good few hours now, her diligent friend always one to motivate her whenever she needed it. The diary had been forgotten amongst her other books, its locking spell casted safely over it.

Still, that spell wasn’t completely safe and they had done all they could to strengthen it, but someone would most likely be able to crack it open after some research into counter spells.

They had chosen a small table by the windows, the beginnings of a storm crashing against the glass as hushed voices floated around the large room. It was private, and not many people seemed to pass by, so when Hermione went to find yet another book to help with her latest essay, the girl decided it would be a chance to write in the red bound book for a little while.

She held her wand and whispered the words to open it up to her, its pages flittering to the next empty piece of paper within. The quill in her hand danced around as she wrote all about her day, about the storm, about the people in her classes and about the boy she was learning to like with every second spent in his presence.

Beyond the castle walls the wind blustered against the stone, the howls tunneling through the hallways and creating a small breeze at her feet. She shivered, ignoring the cold as best she could and focused instead on the words she wrote.

“God that rain sounds awful!” A voice boomed nearby, dragging her away from her thoughts hurriedly.

“Do you think quidditch will be cancelled?” Another droned on, obviously annoyed at this prospect. She recognised the twins immediately as their footsteps reached her side.

“I hope not- oh y/n you’re still here?” George asked as they both stopped. She shut the book quickly, looking up from where she sat to smile politely. Both boys towered above her as they stood with hands in their pockets.

“We saw you earlier with Hermione, but you looked busy so we didn’t dare interrupt.” Fred laughed lightly, peering over at her work beside her. “You got much to do?”

“Uh not too much, Hermione is here somewhere but she’s-” “Off being a goody two shoes?” Fred teased.

“Hey, that’s mean.”

“Sorry, I should have included both of you in that statement.”

The girl had wondered how long it would take for the twins to start annoying her again, their greatest pleasure in life was seeing someone bothered by them and that never excluded herself.

“At least I don’t fly around like a maniac every other night,” She huffed.

“Hey, quidditch is very respected.” George snapped back.

“Yeah, for teenage boys that is.” She scoffed, ignoring their grimaces and pulling out her potions book.

“Yeah well-” Fred was cut off by the sound of glass smashing somewhere else in the library, the storm from outside flying in with no regard for the panicked students. Screams sounded out as more and more windows caved into the growing pressure, and the girl stood up to see if she could spot Hermione amongst them.

“We need to go!” George cried out to his brother, who grabbed the girl’s arm. She took it back, needing to find Hermione first before getting out.

“Y/n!” Her friend called out over the howls of wind, appearing from behind a stack of books and taking her friend’s hand. “Come on!” She dragged her away from the table.

“Wait, what about-” SHe started, remembering the red diary laying unprotected on the table. She hadn’t had time to cast the spell over it, and now as they ran through the small crowd of students she had no chance to turn back.

“Y/n come on!” Fred yanked on her arm again, giving her no option but to follow as he overpowered her protests easily.

They weren’t allowed back in until the next afternoon, once the room had been cleared of smashed glass, and the windows were repaired. It was quiet now, the storm having been and gone, and the sun shone in calmly as if nothing had happened.

“Over here, this was where we were yes?” Hermione asked, spotting her pile of textbooks stacked neatly on their table. A few pages had been ripped at the edges, and she could see obvious signs of water damage. But mostly, it was salvageable.

“I can’t find it!” Y/n said, rushing to shove everything out of the way. The diary was nowhere to be found.

“It’ll be here, just keep looking.”

The girl threw herself to the ground, crawling beneath the table where she’d had it last and looking in all the dark corners. But no matter where she looked, the red leather was missing.

“I’ll go ask Madame Pince, she may have picked it up if it looked important.” Hermione told her friend as she slumped into the chair, her head falling between her hands in despair.

It was open, unlocked for anyone to look inside. Whoever had it may not be able to read anything, but if it got passed around to someone mentioned then it was over. The girl collected the things that had been left in the midst of the storm and remembered how adamant the twins had been to get her out, especially Fred.

They could have easily taken it while she was distracted looking for Hermione, not to mention that they would revel in knowing her every secret. But that was the last thing she wanted to believe, as it would mean she would need to drown herself in the black lake out of embarrassment.

Since she learnt of the diary’s power, she had been careful not to mention him by name, knowing that it would immediately reveal itself to him if found. But, what about the ones before when his name was repeated over and over, when she wasn’t sure why she felt the need to write about him, or her feelings towards him. It just felt right.

Now, it was all wrong. What if there was more, what if the power stretched to intention too. If it knew that the person reading it was being written about, without blatantly stating their name, would that mean it would still reveal itself. She hated that her and Hermione hadn’t thought of this idea until now, when it was too late.

“It has to be the twins!” Y/n stated, when her friend returned from the librarian’s office empty handed, her eyes wide and determined.

“You really think so?” “Who else would want to have that kind of upper hand over someone?” “It would be their best prank this term, even if it’s a bit cruel.”

“We need to get it back! Remember what I said the other night, all of that could be unveiled if they are the ones who have it.” She urged, getting to her feet in an instant, forgetting all the things they needed to carry back to their dorms and storming out of the library.

Fred would have recognised the red cover from a mile away, it had been clutched between the girl’s hands for weeks now, obviously full of secrets since she felt the need to cast a locking spell on it. She thought she had been subtle about it, but he had seen her do it every time she closed it in the great hall or the common room.

But it wasn’t in her hands, it was poking out of a pile of books a random second year boy was carrying. He frowned, leaving George’s side to follow the Ravenclaw boy round the corner and down an empty hall.

“Hey!” He called out, making the younger boy jump in surprise. “Is that yours?” He pointed to the book in his arms, making his eyes widen in fear at the tall redhead. Everyone knew who they were, but they were always known for being easygoing. Now his stern tone instilled fear in the boy’s face as he got closer. He shook his head, the red book falling as he scrambled away in a panic, not wanting to stick around to find out what Fred would do if he found out it was stolen during the storm.

“Little bugger.” Fred mumbled, picking it up and seeing the page that it had fallen open onto. He could hear footsteps running after him and quickly shoved the book into his robes, turning just in time to see his brother turn the corner with a look of confusion on his face.

“What was that all about?” He asked.

“Oh, nothing. I just thought I saw something…” Fred trailed off, quickly losing George’s interest.

“God, anyone would think you’re going mental.”

Maybe he was. Racing after someone over a diary that wasn’t even his, but he had seen the unmistakable scrawling’s of y/n’s writing. Then his name, as clear as day.

Fred waited until everyone in his dorm fell asleep before taking out the diary, casting a quiet lumos spell and slipping beneath the covers to secretly read what was inside. He started with the first entry, his name appearing first before the other words faded into view.

Dear Diary,

Maybe I’m going mad, or someone has cursed me to think this way, but something feels different about Fred Weasley. For the first time in years I can definitively tell that it is him when he’s stood beside his brother, instead of having to guess like I used to. It’s like I can finally pick him out in a room, when before he just blended into everyone else, yet when I see him he’s just getting on with his life and doing nothing special.

He’s taller than he used to be, and he smiles more, and his voice is deeper than I realised. But maybe these are all things that I’m just noticing now, because I want to know more. Everything about him makes me want to know more, and I can’t explain why, it’s pure curiosity.

Now when he talks to me, the same way he has done for years, I feel excited and nervous and all these other emotions I wouldn’t have expected to relate to Fred. It’s as if I see him as a new person, like we’ve just met… properly.

Maybe I am going mad, or maybe this is all a prank to him to make me feel this way, but until I fix it I will just have to live with it. I’m hoping writing it down may help hide how I feel from him, for a little while.

Fred’s eyes read fast, each word dragging him in deeper and deeper into her mind, as if he could see every thought as it was produced. He read it over and over, slowly and carefully, to make sure what he had seen was true.

He could never show anyone this, that would crush her, but he enjoyed this little secret. The boy liked knowing that she saw him differently to all the other boys in her life, but what made him the happiest was that he was the only one to know what she was thinking.

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gayenerd · 3 years

Text

Interview with Billie for the Kerrang Yearbook. Sounds like this took place around 2000-2001?

Hello Billie Joe. A bit pissed at the Kerrang Awards weren't you? "I was drinking with Papa Roach the night before. Everybody went to see The Cult in Brixton. All the American bands like Papa Roach and Queens Of The Stone Age were there. I felt terrible when I got out of bed to go to the Kerrang Awards." Who ended up worse off - you or Coby Dick? "Sometimes Coby can't even hold it together when he's sober! He's super-hyper all the time. You have to say, 'Coby, turn it off for 2 minutes - I'm in my bunk!' Then he'll turn it off and you can get into a decent conversation." You experienced some difficulty in getting off the stage after accepting your Kerrang Award. "Award's shows freak me out - I'm so scared shitless of those things so I end up doing stupid things. I never theought I'd ever win an award for playing music. Watching all our videos being shown up on the screen, I just looked at Mike and Tre and said. 'Does this mean we're old now?' I can be such a self-conscious freak. I just don't know how to be cool." What's the healthiest thing you've done this year? "I like to keep myself fit. I run, I skateboard, and i'll hit the weights every other day. You reach a certain age when you've gotta start looking out for yourself. I'm staring down the barrel of 30, you know? My dad really let himself fall to @#%$ and I don't want to end up like that. Theres a preconcieved idea about musicians and punk musicians in particular that we have to self-destruct, and I can't buy into that. I like to breathe. Like like it when my heart beats - Its a really cool thing." Have you cut down on your drinking recently? "When i'm on tour I drink all day long with the guys. There's nothing else to do. But i've been at homea while. There are many, many moods to Billie Joe. There's drunk me and theres not-drunk me." What have you learned about being a father during the past year? "You learn new things every day as your kids' characters and personalities are building. Joey is 6 now, he's not a baby at all, he's a little boy. And Jacob, who's 3, is a maniac. The one rule I have is that I never expose them to television." What have you learned about Tre and Mike this past year? "Wow (long pause). I learned that Mike is a Bob Dylan fan, which was kind of suprising. I'm not the biggest fan but I definately appreciate Bob Dylan. And Tre is becoming really fluent in Spanish. His wife is Nicaraguan." What color has your hair been this year? "I shaved my head when I got off the road. Its been black. I haven't really been changing it. When the boy groups started dyeing their hair, I had to stop." Any fashion tips you'd care to pass on to Kerrang readers? "I've been wearing the same pants since High School! Never been into the Versace thing." Best punk rock song you've heard this year? "Last Nite by The Strokes. They're not really a punk band, but those guys have a really cool outlook and a good sensibility about how they present themselves. All the rap rock metal bands have lost that rock'n'roll element, and i'm just a sucker for good rock'n'roll music." What song has been stuck in your head this year, even though you hate it? "Smooth Criminal by Alien Ant Farm. It was bad when Michael Jackson sang it, but it's even worse second time around! Y'know, I think Michael Jackson should join Slipknot. His face looks so bizarre now, its like he's wearing a mask." Are Slipknot still the scariest dudes in rock? "In about a year from now, if they're still as popular as they are now, they'll be as American as apple pie. That's sort of what happened to Marilyn Manson. When he came out he was really scary looking, like 'Jesus Christ! This guy is a maniac!' But now its, 'Oh, theres Marilyn, mowing the lawn, no big deal.' I like Manson, but it's funny how the most normal people end up being the most threatening, and the people who are scariest at first end up kinda normal. That's the dissapointing thing about shock value. Neil Young is more threatening than Slipknot just because he's smarter and has more of an opinion." How much fun did you have on tour in 2001? "It's really exciting at first because you're in different places every day, but after a while i'd rather be home. I get into really long conversations with my wife, I talk to my kids a lot, I'll write little notes and draw pictures for them and fax them to the house. Our sets are getting longer, sometimes we'll play up to three hours, and its because there is no rock'n'roll lifestyle for me other than that. I'm a devoted husband and a devoted father, and so all that decadent bullshit is not my thing. You start to wonder, 'Is this the life for me?' But then I get home and I dont know what the @#%$ to do with myself because i'm not playing music. People have looked at us and gone, 'Obviously these guys have no place to go after the gig because they're still on stage!'" Where were you on September 11? "I was on West Coast time, so it was really early in the morning for me. I saw the towers fall, and it felt like the world was gonna end. What amazes me is that Tony Blair is almost heading the coalition by himself! Does he realise what he's getting his country into? This is @#%$ serious! There's been a lot of shocking words used: the 'crusade against terrorism'. The las thing you say to someone from the Middle East is the word 'crusade'." After September 11, do you share America's renewed sense of patriotism? "No way. I can't really see myself as a patriot. I don't see what happened in New York as an act of war, it's an act of terrorism. Every country has had to deal with terrorism in some form, and this is the first time America has ever seen it and they dont know what to do, so everyone is clinging to these war slogans. All the flags is people's cars and homes - it just seems kind of gross to me." Has American learnt from the tragedy? "I hope some good stuff comes out of this. People have become so self-absorbed and dedicated to their careers. I'm not a person to wave a flag for family values or anything like that, but there comes a time when your relationships and your family is the most important thing, not whether you're making $100,000 every year. Thats what I hope comes out of it - that people realise the important things in life." Six Of The Best Best Friend: " Valium. Lots of plane flights, man. Valium only lasts four hours, so if you're on an 11 hour flight take two and a half." Best advice: "Put your head between your knees if you think you are gonna pass out." Best Ass: "Tre Cool. Not only because he has one, but because he is one." Personal Best: The pinnacle moment for me this year, musically, was playing Reading. It was a great show. There's so many bands nowadays who can't play live, but to actually do it and have people singing along and getting something sentimental out of it at the same time, thats rare, and we achieved that at Reading." Best Night Out: "The furst night I went out after september 11. I really went for it. American has these feelings of its days being numbered. It's like a country that has just got cancer, but the cancer's in remission. A lot of people are doing all the things they've always talked about doing. I hadn't partied really hard in a while, so that's what I did. I went to a couple of bars with Mike and Tre and our producer. We got loud and had a good time." Best Buy: " My cellphone. The ring tone is just a goofy tune. And it vibrates well in my pocket."

#article #articles #interview #billie joe armstrong #green day

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shellbilee · 4 years

Text

Happy Birthday Baby

Pairing: Henry x Reader/you

Words: 4K

Warnings: fluff and smut!

A/N: SO this was the little one shot I put together for Henry’s birthday this year. It SHOULD have been posted three days ago but i’ve had a hellish few days with my puppy and emergency vet visits and so tumblr was unfortunately pushed out of my brain and not even visited. He’s back on the mend now, slowly! Please enjoy x

It was well past midnight by the time Henry finally made it home, the taxi flashing its headlights at him as he sprinted up the driveway in an effort to escape the pouring rain. He made it through the front door and closed it behind him with his foot, trying in vain to shake off the water from his near drenched clothes. He let out a sigh and ran his fingers through his wet hair, kicking off his shoes and shrugging off his damp jacket. Finally. Home.

It was just his luck that the torrential rain had begun the moment his plane had touched down, the fat, wet rain drops practically saturating him in the thirty seconds it had taken him to exit the plane and run across the tarmac. It was still pouring outside, the sound of the rain heavy and loud against the roof, a stark contrast to the dead silence of the house around him.

He made his way down the hallway and into the main living area only to be met by Kal, the furry hound excited though clearly still fuzzy with sleep as he greeted his master. “Hey bear” Henry whispered, bending down to ruffle his dog’s enormous chest. God he’d missed his loyal hound. He’d been away for two weeks and although he’d been away for longer in the past, it still didn’t make being apart from him any easier.

He stood up when Kal was satisfied with his welcome, smiling down at the bear before casting his eyes over to the kitchen. Two empty wine glasses and a full bottle of his favourite red sat on the marble bench, next to them a pizza box from his favourite Italian restaurant, Giuseppe’s. He smiled, feeling his heart simultaneously swell and sink in his chest. You.

He knew that you’d put together a special night, all of his favourite things just for him, waiting for him at home to celebrate his 37th birthday. He’d wanted to come home so badly, counting the minutes until he’d get to walk through the door and scoop you into his arms, but it was like the more he thought about it, the more delays he was met with. Eventually he’d had to message you and say that he’d be home much later than anticipated, disappointment souring his tongue when you’d responded and reassured him that it was okay even though he knew it wasn’t.

Still, he’d half smiled when he’d read your next message - telling him to get home safe and that you loved him, just like you always did. You didn’t mind that he was missing the night that you’d planned just for him, instead only caring that he made it home in one piece. Henry loved that about you, how you were always so understanding, so forgiving, so accepting of the lifestyle that you’d been thrown into because of him.

He’d known that his work meant never being able to have ‘normal’ relationships and for years he’d felt the effects of that. Never finding anyone who truly understood it, never finding anyone who could really handle the sacrifices that came with dating him. He’d started to believe that he’d never find that one person - the one for him, his soul mate, the one that deep down everyone truly believed they’d one day find, eventually resigning himself to the idea that he’d be alone forever. That was, until, the day he’d met you.

You’d come into his life by chance and changed everything as he knew it, and it wasn’t long before he was certain that he’d found his one. You. Never once had you complained when he’d missed dinners or date nights, when he’d said he’d be home at 7 but hadn’t walked through the door until midnight, when you’d had to attend birthdays and family events by yourself because of last minute interruptions. Not once. You’d only ever smiled, reminded him that you’d loved him and made him promise to get home safely. Henry smiled. You.

He turned and moved to make his way upstairs, pausing momentarily when his gaze fell on the kitchen table. He felt the smile on his face grow before he could even think about it, moving towards the table and spying the homemade white iced cake that he knew without seeing the inside was his favourite red velvet. His eyes skimmed over the unlit candles and box of matches sitting beside it, coming to rest on a small piece of pink note paper tucked beneath the cake plate. He smiled as he reached for it, realising you’d left him a message, a tiny note left just for him scribbled in your perfectly neat handwriting.

Hey baby!

If you’re reading this it means I really tried to wait up for you but clearly didn’t make it.

Since it’s probably past midnight, I’ll be the first to say, Happy Birthday my handsome man!

I love you with my whole heart and everything in between.

PS. Get your ass upstairs and kiss me!

Henry couldn’t help but grin at your adorable words, dropping the note back on the table and making his way upstairs. He kept his footsteps light as he ascended the stairs, feet shuffling along the carpet as he crept towards the bedroom, not wanting to wake you. The scent of passionfruit and lime filled his nose and he knew instantly that you’d left your favourite candle burning - something he’d told you repeatedly not to do for fear of causing a house fire. Still, the sight he found when he opened the door made his heart flutter in his chest, a warmth flooding his body as his eyes fell on you in bed.

You were snuggled up in the duvet, your whole head covered like you always did, your body looking small and lost among the expansive king size bed. He smiled and leaned against the doorway, watching you for a long moment, letting out a gentle exhale as he took in everything he’d missed while he’d been away. He could hear the soft melody of a Thomas Rhett song playing over your Google speaker - your ‘soft’ playlist that he’d learnt you’d always played whenever you went to sleep, the soft sound of your relaxed breathing only just audible over the music.

He smiled and slipped his bag off his shoulder, setting about getting undressed as quietly as he could without disturbing you. He paused momentarily when he heard you shift on the bed, unable to help his almost silent laugh when he saw you kick your leg out from under the blanket and wrap it over the top. It was something you did often that never failed to make Henry laugh - the rest of your body would be entirely covered by blankets but for whatever reason you almost always had one leg out. He shook his head and smiled, dropping the last of his damp clothes on the bedroom chair before sliding into bed beside you.

Henry watched as you stirred, sliding his arm underneath your pillow and pulling you closer to him, taking a moment to relish in the warmth radiating from your body. He smiled as he looked down at you, admiring your sleeping form, taking in your full, slightly parted lips, the faint sprinkle of freckles across your face, your long eyelashes fanned across your cheeks. For the millionth time since he’d first met you he couldn’t help but think how beautiful you were, bending to press a gentle, tender kiss to your parted lips.

He watched as a soft frown furrowed your brow, your arms releasing the pillow - his pillow, that they’d been wrapped around and reaching out to his side of the bed. “Henry?” you murmured without opening your eyes, Henry smiling down at you and reaching out to caress your cheek with his thumb. “Hi darling girl” he whispered, his hand moving up into your hair and brushing a loose lock away from your face, “I missed you”. He watched as you smiled without opening your eyes, letting out a soft breath and reaching out to drape your arm across his naked chest. You scooted closer to him and nuzzled into his side, Henry bending to bury his nose in your hair and breathing in the scent he’d been unable to stop thinking about for the past two weeks.

“Happy birthday baby” you whispered against his skin, Henry’s lips parting into an involuntary smile at the sound of your soft, sleepy voice. “Thank you sweetheart. I’m sorry I’m so late” he whispered in reply, his free hand moving to your back and drawing imaginary shapes over your silky soft skin, “I saw everything downstairs. I’m so sorry I didn’t make it”. You let out a soft sigh and smiled against him. “It doesn’t matter” you replied, your sleepy voice barely louder than a whisper, “You’re here now”.

Henry smiled and bent to kiss the top of your head again, watching as you began to doze back off into a peaceful sleep against his side. He let out a gentle sigh and wrapped his arm tighter around your body, the other still running gently along your skin. He could tell you were naked save for a pair of panties, your skin feeling like warm silk against his as you cuddled against his side. He inhaled deeply and looked down at your face, the burning candle on the bedside table casting a warm, flickering glow across your skin. He smiled. God how he’d missed you.

Your gorgeous face, your delicious sweet scent, the feel of your silky smooth skin against his. It was all he could think about whenever he had to leave for work, always wanting nothing more than to have his arms wrapped around you, his hands against your naked skin, fingers running up and down your glorious curves. The video chats you’d shared every other night didn’t exactly help either, not with you looking nothing short of a seductive goddess as you lay in bed and spoke to him through the camera. It was on those days that he found he just couldn’t help himself, often bringing himself to his own release either with your help through the screen or with the racy pictures you’d sent him over the months.

Now though, as you lay almost completely naked against him, his hand running up and down your bare back, he couldn’t ignore the stirring of his insides as he thought about what he’d wanted to do so badly while he’d been away. Henry wanted you. He wanted you naked and pressed beneath him, he wanted you breathy and moaning and dropping your head back as he brought you to orgasm. He wanted to watch you find your release, to see and hear the sight he’d all but craved over the past two weeks. He wanted your skin on his skin, your hands gripping his back as you desperately held yourself to him, his name falling from your lips as he brought you to that blissful, heavenly high.

He could feel his arousal growing as he imagined it, taking you right there and then, a heavy breath leaving his lungs as his fingers danced against your silky back. For a moment he was torn - caught between his mounting urge to have you and his guilt at properly waking you, his growing desire suddenly twitching and eliminating the hesitation for him. He let go of his thoughts and shifted on the bed beside you, turning to face you as his fingers skimmed down along your side and came to rest on your hip.

He kept his eyes on your face as he slipped his fingers beneath the thin waistband of your underwear, watching as you stirred and let out a soft, sleepy moan. The sound was like a direct hotline to his groin, his muscles clenching as he trailed his fingers along your skin, his pulse getting heavier as his growing erection quickly became uncomfortable beneath the blankets. He eyed your full, parted lips and listened as your breathing deepened, his fingers skimming further along over the crease of your thigh.

He sucked in a breath at the softness of your thigh, loving how smooth you always were, how you somehow always managed to feel like satin beneath his finger tips. He loved your touch, your scent, your taste, he loved the way you invaded all of his senses until there was nothing left but you. You stirred beneath his touch and suddenly Henry knew it wouldn’t be long before he could no longer help himself, his control rapidly slipping through his fingers as he finally reached his destination with his fingertips.

He bent to kiss your neck as his fingers teased along your silky folds, a breathy, seductive moan suddenly falling from your lips and echoing in his ear. “Oh--Henry” you all but whispered, his lips trailing down your neck as he continued his intimate ministrations. He smiled against your skin when you let out a gentle whimper, his mouth moving past your collarbone as he ever so gently edged you onto your back.

“Henry--” you breathed again, your body slowly lifting further from sleep as you began to gently writhe beneath his touch.“Shhhh sweetheart” Henry whispered, his mouth trailing kisses along your chest as his free hand skimmed up your side to join his lips, “Just lay back”. A heavy breath fell from your lips the moment his mouth closed around your nipple, Henry smiling against your heavenly skin when you ever so slightly arched into him. He loved when you were like this, soft and seductive, sleepy and wanton, almost purring for him as he kissed and suckled your breasts and caressed your intimate folds.

“God I missed you darling girl” Henry whispered when he was satisfied with his work on your breasts, kissing down your abdomen and trailing his fingers down your silky skin until he was crouched between your legs. It was then that he saw you lift your head and open your eyes for the first time since he’d come home, your eyes wide and sleepy and fluttering with an unspoken desire as they looked down at him between your legs. “Lay back for me sweetheart” Henry whispered, keeping his eyes on yours as he dropped a gentle kiss between your hips. When you obliged he tucked his fingers under the waistband of your underwear and slipped them down your legs, sitting back on his heels and taking a moment to take in the sight in front of him.

Henry couldn’t quite describe how utterly beautiful he thought you were in that moment, his eyes running over every single inch of your soft, glorious curves. The light from the nearby candle cast a warm glow over your skin, the flickering light making shadows dance across your body. It was a sight he knew he could never get enough of, you, his beautiful, all alluring goddess, naked and open, completely exposed in front of him. It was a sight he swore he could look at forever, his hand involuntarily dropping to his now almost painful arousal as he looked down at you in front of him.

No longer able to help himself and stirred on by your impatient, breathy moans, Henry bent and pressed his mouth to your silken folds, finally savouring the taste that he’d only been able to dream about for the last two weeks. He slid his hands up your sides as he settled between your open legs, his eyes watching as you finally came back to full consciousness on the bed. Your hands fisted in the sheets and your eyes squeezed shut as you dropped your head back into the mattress, the first of many moans falling from your throat as he began his intimate torture with his tongue.

Henry kept his eyes on you as he tasted you, sucking at your honeyed arousal as he buried his tongue in your folds. He loved it, tasting you, loved how he could make you a writhing, begging mess completely at his mercy with only a few flicks of his tongue. He knew how much you loved it - almost as much as he loved doing it, knowing that it would forever be your weakness when it came to being intimate with him. He’d dreamed about doing it while he’d been away, his mind having conjured images of you holding on to his hair and crying out his name while he’d suckled between your thighs. Just like the sight of you naked Henry knew he’d never get enough of tasting you, the moans he was teasing from you sounding like a blissful melody in his ears.

He reached up and added his fingers to his carnal assault, using his free hand to steady your hips when you started to writhe beneath him. He knew this would be your undoing, knowing that you weren’t far from your release, one of your hands reaching down to find his curls as your breathing started to shallow. “That’s it darling girl” Henry breathed, his voice seductive yet commanding as he watched you drop your head back into the mattress, “Come on sweetheart, that’s it. Let me hear you”.

Like a timer that had finally reached zero, you arched your back and cried out his name, your breathy voice echoing around the room as he continued to work you through your high. It was only when your body finally stilled that Henry lifted his mouth, bending to press a gentle kiss to your now syrupy folds before sitting back to admire you once again. He was in awe, just as he always was, you, his wanton goddess, exhausted yet far from finished as you looked back at him with hooded eyes.

Neither of you needed to speak after that, an unspoken knowledge that you both shared about what would happen next. Henry exhaled loudly, reaching down to stroke himself as he positioned himself between your open legs, you, biting your lip and bending your legs to settle on either side of his torso. He pushed his hips forward and slowly, tortuously sank himself into you, strangled moans teased from both of you as you relished in the feeling you’d both longed for since he’d been away.

Henry inhaled deeply, feeling the pleasure flood through him as he stilled within you, knowing at that moment that he’d never be able to get enough of you. He loved being inside you, loved the way it felt as you stretched around him, loved the way his muscles clenched with every single movement. A blissful ecstasy, a decadence that he wanted to indulge in again and again and again, a carnal hedonism that he’d never be able to properly describe. God how he’d missed it, missed you and being inside you, holding you tight against him as he buried himself within you.

He looked down at you as you lifted your head to meet his eye, your arms reaching out for him and pulling him down to you. His arms wrapped around you as yours gripped at his back, your lips meeting in a sensual kiss as Henry started to thrust into you. Loud, wet slaps of his hips meeting your pelvis echoed throughout the room, the erotic sound of skin on skin like an arousing background noise. It wasn’t long before he found a steady rhythm, his kisses languid and passionate as he pushed himself in and out. His hips rocked against yours and he held you tight against his body, showing you just how much he missed you as he slowly fucked you into the sheets. He took his time, he was in no rush, nothing else existing in the world except you and him.

It was all lazy lips and tongues, tender caresses and touches, Henry holding you tight as you mewled almost helplessly against him. He loved fucking you like this, slow and passionate, every single one of his senses completely enveloped by you. Your sweet scent in his nose, your silky smooth skin beneath his finger tips, the sound of his name in your breathy voice, the sight of your parted lips as you dropped your head back in utter pleasure. You were everywhere, surrounding him completely, Henry letting out a groan when he felt you start to tighten around him minutes later.

He knew this meant you were close, hurtling toward the edge, racing to the finish line, your nails digging into his back as your grip on his muscles tightened. He wanted to see you, hear you reach your high, feel you explode around him and hold to him for dear life like you always did. He reached back and lifted your legs to wrap around his waist, bending to capture your lips he and swallow your moans at the feeling of the new deeper angle he’d found. He quickened his pace knowing that he too, wasn’t far from his own release, kissing you passionately and tightening his grip on your skin.

"That's it sweetheart" Henry breathed, his voice low and heavy as he thrust into you, "Come again for me. Let go darling, let go". Just like clockwork, he felt you find your release moments later, your muscles spasming in his arms as you buried your head in his neck and cried out his name into his skin. The feel of you tightening around him was enough to bring his own finish, every single one of his muscles suddenly contracting as he felt warmth explode in his center and flood throughout his body. Your name tumbled from his lips and his arms held you flush against his body, his entire body trembling as he emptied himself inside you.

Neither of you moved for a long moment, sweaty, sated and still as you held each other silently within the sheets. The rain was still heavy outside, the sound of it pelting against the house loud in Henry’s ears as he panted, trying to regain his lost breath as he held you to him. He bent and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, his fingers running down your silky skin as he ever so slowly unwrapped his limbs from yours. He looked down at you and smiled. “I love you”.

He watched as you lifted your head to look at him, your eyes wide and sleepy and filled with nothing but love as you looked back at him. “I love you too Henry”. He smiled gently and reached down to caress your cheek with his thumb, your bodies still connected as he lay settled between your open legs. He watched as you closed your eyes and smiled, letting out a tiny laugh with a barely audible sound.

He frowned and tilted his head curiously. “What is it? What are you laughing at?”. You shook your head gently, opening your eyes and smiling up at him from your spot beneath him. “I had this planned so differently, this was not how your birthday was supposed to start. I had a surprise that I wanted to wear for you and everything”. Henry chuckled, “Sweetheart, my birthday began perfectly, I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way except me being here sooner”. He paused and lifted his arm to look at his watch, turning back to look down at you with a mischievous grin. “Besides, lucky for me, it’s only officially been my birthday for four hours” he explained slowly, his grin growing even wider, “So I believe we still have plenty of time for that surprise, and, since it’s my birthday, I can’t wait to spend the rest of the day in bed, peeling that surprise off of you”.

----

TAGLIST:

@alyxkbrl @andyrazzledazzle @an-adventureland @tumblnewby @michelehansel @hamianderson @maia-hocane @straightforwardly @designerwriterchic @xlookalivesunshinex @earth-to-lottie @notyouraveragemochii @crazy4thewinbros @amandacavill @god-of-dramatic-death-scenes @wolfyandy @twlohasmp @wondersofdreaming @iguessweallcrazyithinktho @jtargaryen18 @meowpurrbooks @constip8merm8 @peakygroupie @mary-ann84 @carlya65 @the-soot-sprite

#Henry Cavill x Reader #henry cavill x you #henry cavill #henry cavill one shot #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill edit #henry cavill smut #henry cavill fluff

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begrudginglytumbling · 3 years

Text

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six

Part Five!

Now with gifs!...since I’ve learnt the most basic of basic gifmaking and it was actually quicker than trying to pause at just the right moment, which has been enough of an issue previously to make me swear through gritted teeth.

Time for Love O2O - that’s both the film and the series since the little overachiever just had to get cast in both.

Ready?

Bai Yu plays a character called Cao Guang in both the film and drama. In the film he seems to be a smushed together version of what in the drama are two separate people.

Now then do you see this slightly bewildered expression while looking at a computer screen? Because this was basically me watching Love O2O, both film and drama.

Why the bewilderment?

Well, I’ve come to expect a certain level of odd sitting and leaning from Bai Yu. I almost expect all his characters to be some form of Bi Disaster now. But Cao Guang? So far I’ve never seen Bai Yu sit so straight. It’s slightly unnerving, in a similar way to if someone went into your house and moved things just slightly to the left. There’s not enough of a difference to cause major problems, but there’s enough for your mind to feel uncomfortable and twitchy because something is just off.

I mean, don’t get me wrong, he still does his Bai Yu thing, but it’s almost muted, I suppose is the best word to use for it.

We’ll start with the film version, which also has the alternate title of One Smile is Very Alluring apparently.

Before this moment, he’s actually sitting properly at the desk. Both feet were on the floor and everything which was just weird. But then he stood and transitioned into a lean, that made it a little less weird.

This is, technically, also further evidence that if something is at Bai Yu butt height, he will lean/sit on it. I think I’m going to have to start capitalising it since Bai Yu Butt Height now seems to be a Thing.

(I could not get this paused at just the right moment, so here, have a gif)

And look here! He’s sitting kinda properly and only vaguely uncomfortable looking, but that has more to do with the situation than the sitting.

Seriously, so weird.

If we stick with just the general premise of ‘does he sit or doesn’t he’ then being on a horse counts...even though watching the game scenes hurt me in a major secondhand embarrassment way. Just...the outfits, people, and the hair...I just...I can’t.

At one point he gets his arse handed to him multiple times, which leads to quite a bit of time on the floor.

Even the set refuses to let Bai Yu get up and support his own body weight apparently. The weirdness of him standing under his own power is obviously just too much.

Too odd.

Too strange.

He must be returned to his natural state of being.

The car magnet he’s got implanted in his backside did manage to do its job though...even if it was in the background and barely lasted a couple of seconds at most.

Now then, the drama. Admittedly I only got to episode 11 then I started skipping because I got a bit bored with the main pairing and general story. But the bits I skipped to? Yeah...I may have gone a little over fixated on the whole way of sitting thing since I found myself analysing the degree of leg bend when his feet weren’t in shot to gauge whether or not both feet were planted on the ground or if one was on top of the other and...yeah, let’s just say it was a good thing when I got to the end of this drama. For what remains of my sanity if nothing else.

Look, most of the time, if he’s not standing and walking, he’s like this.

Sitting properly, feet on the floor. And yeah, it counts as not supporting his own weight. But what happened to the floor is lava? How hard was it for him not to cross his legs, or put one foot on top of the other, or rest his feet on something else?

He does cross this legs sometimes, and you can even see it fully a couple of times.

Like here, this is what I’ve come to expect. This is a normal seated look for this man.

He sits.

He flicks one leg over the other.

He’s happy.

Simple.

But most of the time, he doesn’t have his legs crossed in this drama. Which led me to leaning forward and squinting at the screen when moments like this came along.

Because those legs are crossed. I’m sure of it.

Cao Guang, as a character, is not the kind of person to sit like this often. Bai Yu, as a person, can’t seem to stop himself fully though.

And look at this.

When it comes to this desk, this is the weirdest he sits. Which isn’t weird at all! It’s still kinda sitting properly!

And then this. This is one of those moments where I spent way too long staring at his legs trying to determined if he had one foot on top of the other.

From the angle, and the shadows, and the different heights of his knees, I have decided that yes, he does had one foot on top of the other. He is playing the floor is lava when the camera can’t see his feet.

(...don’t judge me for diving off the deepend on this one. I’m already judging myself hard enough)

Cao Guang might not be much of a weird sitter, but he is still a slight leaner if the opportunity presents itself.

Especially in Bai Yu Butt Height circumstances.

But in general, he’s less of a full body lean, and more of a light, quick lean. And it always seems to be on things he himself has placed there.

Like a moped,

or a camera.

He does sit on the floor in a sweaty mess after having his arse handed to him in a 1 on 1 basketball game.

Seriously, if you want a sweat physically dripping off of him Bai Yu, then this is the scene for you.

Further sittingwise you have some general sitting in what I think it meant to be a foreign country(?).

And the delightful lift-and-turn he’s got going on here.

(and I’ve only just realised that ErXi has her hand up as though if she can’t see the teacher, then the teacher can’t see her. I adore this woman, she’s just so cute)

Hospitals.

Every character of Bai Yu’s I’ve encountered so far has a different way of sititng in hospitals.

Zhao Yunlan looks like he’s barely seconds away from either sliding to the floor or giving himself back problems, Xie Nanxiang is partial to a lean or a cross legged sit. Cao Guang? I would describe it as he sits like a bloke - legs spread, elbows resting on his knees. This might honestly be the straightest Bai Yu character I’ve ever encountered.

Of course he also has an in-game character in this. The wig is less cringe worthy than in the film, but there is something about his eyes in this that freaks me the fuck out so you won’t be getting on the floor pictures or looking in the direction of the camera pictures because looking at it too much seems to trigger a mild fight, flight, or freeze response in me. And I’m in no mood to deal with such ridiculousness.

So, in game character. He does spend time on the floor, only a little though. Most of his time is actually spent walking. But then they get in a boat and Bai Yu gets to indulge in his favoured elbow hook seated position generally reserved for benches and breakfast bar surface things when he’s on a stool.

Ok, last but not least, the moped!

This is a moped that birthed a headcanon for me.

It would seem that regardless of character, if something is a form of transport with wheels, then Bai Yu will find some way to sit or lean on it.

And y’know what? He is fully capable of looking damned good while doing so.

So that’s it? I think the conclusion I can draw from this one is that Bai Yu’s sitting, leaning, and lounging habits are things he can either turn up or tone down depending on the character. It’s just that more often than not the characters he plays allow him to turn it up. But Gao Guang was one of the more subdued ones, more straight blokey vibes, than Bi Disaster ones.

Both film and drama are available on Netflix (at least here in the UK they are).

They’re also on YouTube - film - drama - with subtiles and pretty good quality.

And both are on DramaCool - film - drama

The drama is on Viki too.

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six

#Bai Yu #Bai Yu Sitting Project #Cao Guang #Love O2O #featuring the straightest Bai Yu character I've ever encountered #and yes #I'm including the military bloke who got blown up #and the Fa Hai dude #and the 8 seconds of screen time deskmate #that I am clearly /not/ still salty about #but honestly what even /was/ that film?#everything about it was just.../ugh/!#...ok...breathe...we're not going down that road again #if I could scrub that film's existence from my mind I would #just look at the pretty Bai Yu and breathe

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collisiondiscourse · 3 years

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i have decided i am now going to blow up your inbox bc i csn i’m sorry codi focnnf

b u t!! anyway i’m going to rambling abt my new dad for all au [whixh was the au i sent you that ask abt]

alrighty so all might is now midoriya’s dad. that’s a thing. i like to think that inko and toshinori were high school sweethearts who broke up after graduation but met again when all might was called to recuse some hostages and inko was one of them!! anywho all might recuses her, they go on a coffee date, realize they’re still in love and start again

they get married and have izuku, who keeps inko’s maiden name [midoriya is now inko’s maiden name bc i do what i want]. he’s the cutest baby who has inko’s green hair, but has one blue and one green eye! [these are /important/] inko and all might talk abt maybe giving izuku all for one when he’s older, but they decide against it bc they don’t know if he’ll have a quirk or not

spoiler!! bitch baby has a quirk!! he gets a quirk that’s so much different than inko’s quirk and !!! ahhh!!! the basic explanation is that all might’s all of one genes mixed and then “corrupt” inko’s like 3 generation quirk-having genes or smth and izu has a very, very complex quirk now. it’s called astron, and astron allows him to fucking astral project into the center of the university and shit chxnc

astron works two different ways: using his blue eye he can project other people into his own personal astral plane and do whatever he wants. while the person’s physical body is still where it was, their mind is in the astral plane. if he uses his green eye, he can project himself to his astral plane and fuck around without consequences!!

[there’s an untold third ability of astron using both of his eyes, but izuku tried doing that when he first got his quirk and immediately fell into a coma for like a month? it was bad and his mind couldn’t handle the stress and dipped lol]

ANYWAY, izuku grows up with a bomb ass quirk and still has his kacchan with him thru his childhood so things are a lot different than canon? the wonder duo are little shitheads together and i love them, they wreck havoc and i love them

i have more ideas for this story but this is all i have for now, codi this is so long i’m sorry i’m blowing up ur inbox 🥺😭

me opening my askbox and seeing the length of this au: holy shit

me reading the actual whole au: HOLY SHIT

AJ I LOVE THIS HIGHKEY!!! I LOVE THE IDEA OF OP DEKU W A FUCKED UP QUIRK JUST TERRIFYING EVERYONE HE COMES ACROSS!!!! heterochromia is SO so good as a character design element and i LOVE THE WAY THIS IS IMPLEMENTED YELLS. I WANNA DRAW THIS SO BAD!!! THIS LOOKS SO COOL

(serious writing/plot below - blood and vomit mention)

oh god and now im imagining deku like. being this extremely feral and annoying lil shit whos extremely powerful and now bakugous got someone on his level so hes a lot more humble as hes growing up but also him and deku are the?? BESTEST OF FRIENDS. and i imagine when bakugou is being a little shit deku just. astral projects him out of his body for a while and apologizes to whoever kacchan yelled at LMFAO---bakugou comes back to his body and is all like “....fucks sake stop doing that”

AND THEN omfgkjfds imagine morally grey deku who does whatever he can to win?? he knew he wouldnt get into UAs hero course fair and square (all might offered him a recommendation but he declined because he wanted to get there on his own with kacchan) because robots didnt have souls he could astral project so he practices his quirks limits like YEARS prior and he tells bakugou about it but never rlly shows him but on the day of the entrance exam?

he shows up. everything goes as normal and he finishes the written exams and then moves on to the practical exam (still seperated from kacchan like in canon) and like. Every one goes dashing forward and deku doesnt really try to beat anyone. He waits until theyre all in the center engaging with robots when he walks to the center of the room.

and he sees the zero pointer in the distance.

“THE ZERO-POINTER’S HERE!” He yells and points at the gigantic mech heading their way. All at once everyone’s heads whip up to catch sight of the robot, enraptured by its sheer size and power.

As they all look to one direction, Deku makes eye contact with them and smiles.

All at once, every single participant in the area goes limp. Astron throws their souls into the astral plane with little fanfare and everyone watches in awe and annoyance as their bodies uselessly crumple to the ground from the outside. The green-haired boy is suddenly given free reigns of the arena and they seethe as one by one he deactivates or disables robots that were once under their purview.

(What some of the smarter ones notice however, is the way he seems to be leaving some stray 3 pointers untouched... almost as if he was doing the calculations in his head as he goes... on how to ensure the number one spot while others can still score points...?)

One by one however, they start struggling and reaching to reconnect with their bodies. Their gleaming bright souls bob up and down with frenzied energy and Deku feels it. He feels it like itches on his skin and goosebumps that turn into hills that dance up and down his back. He feels it like he feels his limit reaching.

Its still around 10 minutes though before he actually loses control and everyone comes back to their bodies. His quirk times out and almost like its angry, the astral plane takes his body in exchange for the dozens he kept in there. He gets sucked through and passes out while everyone else runs and destroys the remaining bots. It doesn’t matter though, because he knows he’s racked up enough points to stay on top. He lets himself rest and observes the blue-haired tall guy with engines who contemplates carrying Deku’s body to safety.

Until, he sees her.

Just under some rubble and very close to getting crushed by the Zero-Pointer’s foot, Deku spots a brown-haired young girl that he recalls has some kind of floating quirk. He sees as everyone runs past her, prioritizing their own safety instead of hers.

He makes a decision.

Quickly--recklessly, a familiar gruff voice says in his ear--he forces himself back into his body and looks around. He runs to the girl and attempts to dig her out from the rubble before she gets crushed. The robot comes ever closer.

Using the little strength and flexibility he’s learnt from years of sparring with Kacchan, Deku abandons her in favor of climbing up the broken concrete and metal to meet the robot’s visor. He knows he won’t save her by digging her out of there, but by god is he gonna let her get injured without a fight. These robots weren’t designed to kill, but they were designed to destroy.

Focus. Focus and listen to what’s around you, Izu-kun.

The world around him reduces to tunnel-vision and suddenly Deku is face to face with the Zero-Pointer. It stops, as if calculating how to discard of Deku without hurting him severely with its own strength.

Everything has life in it. You only need to focus and look for it.

Izuku Midoriya looks at the robot.

In a whirlwind of blue and green, he reaches inside of himself and searches for life. Cold steel and hard-wired code meet his gaze and he plunges even deeper.

Focus.

Then all at once, everything in his visions snaps into sudden clarity, like he’s never seen before. He feels everything. Sees Everything. Smells, tastes, hears--and he hears how the metal beneath him bends and groans. He feels how it winces and shudders. He sees it as it opens its maw and its visor bends in a facsimile of eyes, pleading him as if asking how?

The robot beneath him comes to life and stumbles back.

Quickly, he scrambles to the nearest ledge which happens to be a broken support beam. Distantly, he thinks he feels his arm being sliced open on the edge of it and the warmth of blood streaming down his side as he nearly falls.

“HEY! YOU WITH THE ENGINES!” He hoarsely screams to the still remaining, slack-jawed contestants. “I CAN’T KEEP THE ZERO POINTER DOWN FOR LONG! GO HELP THE GIRL AND TAKE HER TO SAFETY NOW!”

With a sudden burst of energy, the fellow participants start taking others out from the rubble while the blue-haired boy helps the brunette he was protecting earlier. As he watches them clear the rubble to drag her out, he feels a pang.

Who am I? a lost voice calls out. It’s raspy and almost-robotic sounding and only he can hear it. Where am I? What am I?

And Deku’s vision flickers.

In and out, he sees flashes through eyes that aren’t his. He hears voices that are simultaneously faraway and way too close for comfort. The world tugs at the sides of his perspective and a strain is pulling at the back of his head tearing his brain to shreds. He doesn’t know what he’s focusing or straining on, except that its working and keeping the zero-pointer down.

He grits his teeth. “Hurry the hell up! i can’t do this any longer--”

Bursts of pain appear behind his mismatched eyes and he wants to scream so bad and if he were looking any clearer he’d see the way that the zero-pointer thrashes on the ground in time with the pounding on his skull. Bile crawls up the back of his throat and Deku screams.

“SHE’S CLEAR! YOU CAN LET GO NOW, MIDORIYA-SAN.”

Izuku lets go and his vision goes black.

#ASKDZVJFXKS OK THIS TOOK.#A LOT LONGER THAN INTENDED #ok so gthis has plot now and now im thinking of. writing this actually #i love this au so much thank u aj i hOPE YOU DONT MIND THAT I WROTE FOR IT??? im sO SORRY??#anyway have more of my writing its unedited and garbage\#asks #yeets your boy #collisioncomrades #bnha #boku no hero academia #mha #my hero academia #deku #izuku midoriya #midoriya izuku #long post #cw long post #long post cw

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bavrenilia · 4 years

Text

yandere headcannons | om!satan

tw: manipulation, dubcon, finger fucking, degradation, exhibitionism if you can read until the end, kitty and kitten as petnames.

Satan

ー It started as a friendly encounters when you started to live with them, he wasn’t the most comfortable person around other people but something in the way you smiled at him so sweetly made him want to let his guard down even if it was just a slight slip.

ー You being sweet was nothing new to the ones around you; always being patient withe everyone, listening to them carefully, eyes never leaving their orbs as your attention was fixated on the person right in front of you. Satan found it sweet, sickeningly sweet if he had to say the truth.

ー But when he had a lot of time to stand back and watch you, examine you with his sparkling but also dark eyes something snapped in him; a voice becaoming way too loud in his head telling him that you were looking like a cute little prey whenever you looked around with those pretty eyes of yours.

ー You were easy to talk to, easy to keep close because you were a human standing right in the middle of devils. A cute dumb prey, his mouth would always dry to the thought of this nicknames. Satan was the hunter, waiting for the right time to strike and get a hold of his pretty little and innocent prey.

ー With you, of course, he didn’t have to wait that long. He was smart, much smarter than you could’ve ever think of. He knew how to push the right buttons, what to say to you, how to make you shy, when to have you all to himself.

ー You liked to talk to him too, he was always nice to you. Eating lunch with you, listening to your ramblings very carefully, not laughing at you when you embarrass yourself, always trying to take care of you in his own way- which meant a strong arm holding you by your shoulders or your waist sometimes.

ー He knew what to say to you, he always knew how to talk yo into anything. Getting Lucifer mad? You were scared of the eldest brother’s reaction but Satan would protect you, he would never let you get hurt in any way. Reading book together late into the night? You were sleepy but he knew how to keep you awake.

ー You knew that he was kinda getting jealous of you hanging out with others but you just shrugged it off as you thought it wasn’t a big deal- he was a fucking grown-ass demon for fucks sake. Of course he wouldn’t get jealous of a human like you. This idea didn’t make you sad at all, on the contrary it made you feel relieved.

“Ah, you’re late tonight”, Satan gave you a soft smile when you entered his room with you eyes half closed, his silly girl.. what if you bump into something and hurt yourself? He stood up and walked to you, his free hand resting on the small of your back as he guided you to his bed.

“ ’m sleepy”, you mumbled as you made yourself comfortable in his bed- a familiar scent filling your lungs and a warmth letting you loosen up. Look at you, with your lashes almost touching your pink cheeks and your soft lips parted slightly- oh, you were so at his mercy. He could do anything to you, he coukd have his way with you and you’d lie in his bed all worn out looking at him with glossy eyes.

He would love to do that, but not when you’re out of his reach and tight grip. He had you, if course, but it was just a friendship that grew bigger and sweeter as the time passed by. Since you lived with them, becoming comfortable with each other was nothing but expectable- the second reason was the way you two had almost identical tastes in almost everything. The more he learnt about you, the more he felt like you were completing him.

There was a soft smile on his face as he watched you trying to keep your eyes open as you breathed deeply, your eyelids were literally fighting their greatest battle against your will. His eyes started to wander, taking in your delicious sight. You had an oversized shirt coming down to cover your soft thighs, his breath getting heavier and heavier while he kept examining your delicate body. You were so, so weak- so dumb, how could you let your guard down right in front of the very predator who had every type of dream and fantasy about you.

To his luck, he made you comfortable enough to sit on his lap while you two read- he didn’t know how you didn’t reject him, how you didn’t say that you’d be fine on the bed sitting right next to him. It was probably because you were too tired and cold since the temperature difference in Devildom always caught you off guard.

His smile dropped in an instant when he realized the shirt, realized its owner. “This lowlife of a demon”, he mumbled under his breath before putting the book on the bed, you perked your head up to see if he called out to you. “Did you say something?”, you asked, voice raspy and somehow low since you were swinging between falling asleep and staying awake. You promised him, after all. You always kept your promises.

Getting no answer from Satan made you furrow your eyebrows slightly, every reaction of you giving his heart a tight squeeze.

“Why are you wearing Mammon’s shirt?”

Your reply followed his question quickly, almost as if you started to realize the dangerous aura that filled the room.

“I didn’t even notice when I picked it up from the laundry, I messed it up and accidentally took a shirt of Leviathan too. I chose this shirt without looking at it, I’ll give it back to him.”

No response.

You watched him as his eyes darkened a little but you just ignored, maybe that was the worst decision you’ve ever made. Ignoring the very obvious signs in front of you, playing the dumb most of the time.. maybe, it really was the worst idea.

But whenever you caught Satan’s sudden change of aura, it was gone in a blink. His eyes were back to normal, shinning brightly while looking at you- his lips curled into a soft smile as he took the book and lay down right next to you.

“Will you read for me tonight, sweetheart?”, his voice was like a purr in your ear, hot breath caressing the shell of it as you gulped thickly. You always read to him and he always read to you but.. what was off? What was making you feel uneasy, whose voice was it telling you to run? You ignored everything, again, like you always did because how could you not? Sagan would never hurt you, he was there ti protect his little human friend after all- he cared about you, and it was true. He cared about you so, so much that it drove him crazy sometimes.

“Of course”, a wave of sleep hit you again as you took the book he was handing to you, fingers brushing softly and making your heart skip a beat. He was looking good, way too good while he was in bed with you like this. His hair was soft and messy, in it’s most natural shape you’ve always like to see. He was wearing comfortable clothes instead of the RAD uniform and his daily choice of fit.

You turned to your side since the moonlight coming from the window was hitting your face instead of hitting the book. Satan followed you movements and did the same as you, his body pressed against yours. You should be used to it by now because you always held you close to himself in your reading sessions; at first it was your hands or arms brushing slightly, then Satan held your hand and started to draw invisible circles- sensation was relaxing in every possible way, your hands fitting in with his way too perfectly. And when it became a habit and you started to hold his hand as soon as you two buried your heads into your books, Satan’s hand started to rest on your thigh, a little higher, and a little higher again; his hands roamed around your body like it was such a normal thing to do. It felt normal, it felt soothing, it felt like his hand belonged to your body. And all of these things turned into something much bigger, to your suprise. You, sitting on his lap- sometimes him making you move slightly to get in a more comfortable position and you could swear that every time he held the side of your thighs softly and moved you, you could feel him; his leg pressing against between your legs.. such a dirty little human you were.. making up scenarios in your head to get what you want.

Satan threw his arm over your waist as he rested his chin on your shoulder, you were feeling all warm again- actually way too warm you could just sleep but no, you promised him. A promise. You started to read the book and it actually made you sleepier, until Satan’s hand found its way to between your legs. Your mind was torn in between- did your body froze or did you actually try to free yourself from his grip.

“Satan?”, you breathed out his name and it sounded music to his ears, you weren’t even aware of how you sounded. Just like a cute little kitty, purring and mewling as his palm pressed right into the part you actually wanted to get some friction.

Your mind went blank as you realized your train of thoughts?

You wanted him to touch you?

Realization made your cheeks burn with shame and embarrassment as you squirm under his tight grip and delicate fingers.

“Ssh, keep reading kitten”, his voice was calm, completely fine as he acted like nothing was happening. You wanted to get up, but you also wanted to trap his hand between your thighs. How could you think like that? He’s always protected you and you were just thinking about this lewd stuff? Satan would be so disappointed in you if he ever heard that.

“I..I can’t”, you said breathlessly. “Stop-ah, stop touching me.”

“And why would I do that?”

Nothing came out of your mouth as he kept moving his fingers painfully slow, feeling your warmth and wetness even though you had your panties.

“Don’t make me repeat myself, and don’t make the same mistake again. If you don’t want me to tear that fucking shirt into two- keep reading.”

Satan almost growled and your face got even hotter, even redder as you tried to hold up the book with your shaky hands. Why couldn’t you say no? You knew that he’d immediately stop if you told him in a serious and demanding manner- but why your voice sounded so desperate even when you asked him to stop?

You started to read the book again, mind hazy as all you wanted to do was rock against his palm. Words were nothing but blur at this point when he pulled your panties to the side and a broken sob escaped from your lips.

“What did I tell you?”

“I can’t, I can’t, I just-”

“You can’t what? Can’t you focus on the book in your hand? Your dumb little brain is so full of dirty thoughts, hm?”

You wanted to say no, you didn’t want to disappoint him but instead a soft moan escaped your lips.

“Read, kitten. This is your last warning”, he was enjoying the view way too much, holding himself barely back to grind on your bare thighs as he did all the magic with his fingers.

Your head thrown back and resting on his shoulder, you shuddered- the petname he called you seemed to be appealing to your taste. Instead of turning your attention to the book, you dropped it off on the mattress and wrapped your fingers around Satan’s wrist; just to make him move his hand a bit faster, a bit deeper and then you’d read to him. You’d read to him till morning.

But Satan wasn’t really the most patient one when it comes to slutty bitches like that. He quickly hovered over you, his two fingers were now knuckles deep inside you as he grabbed the hem of the shirt with his free hand- his teeth holding the other side.

“Silly kitty, you should’ve listened to me in the first place”, he growled as the shirt you took as a mistake tore up in two, your mind’s too foggy to actually get a hold of the happenings around you.

His hand moved faster, faster and faster- rubbing and touching all the right places and it didn’t take you long to came around his fingers. Satan got up, licking his fingers clean before grabbing his phone to call Mammon. Everything settled in when you came down from your high, panic rising in your chest as you heard Mammon’s voice from the speaker.

“What do ya want this late, Satan?”

Satan’s eyes never leaving yours, a smirk lighting up his face in the dim lighted room; he answered.

“There’s a dumb little thief who wants to give you something that belongs to you.”

It was humiliating, your eyes filled with tears as you lay there unable to move. You fucked up, you knew you fucked up but whenever your eyes met with his suspicious green orbs your mind stopped working. Your breath caught in your throat as you heard Mammon’s footsteps approaching, you wanted to cover yourself before the second oldest barges in. But it was too late when your glossy eyes met with Mammon’s widened ones; looking at your slightly shaking body, your soaked panties that were pushed aside, his shirt that torn in two and resting on your limp body and your red face. He stood there, in pure shock before leaving as quickly as he came. Satan’s amused laughs filled your ears as he approached you. “You should’ve known better, kitten.”

ー Satan doesn’t like to share, not even a bit but he takes a great pride in the fact letting his brothers know that he’s the only one- and would be, who turns you into a mess.

ー You wouldn’t even realize that you’re being manipulated, slowly being consumed by his every little action. Even if he uses you /he actually told you that he’s trying to make you feel really good, and taking care of you/ you simply can’t turn your back in him.

ー You depend on him, clumsy human. How could you talk back to him? How could you say no? If he wanted to, he could eat you alive in a second- but you’re lucky, you’re too lucky that he wants to keep you by his side forever.

ー Since he has a way with his sugar coated words, he also knows how to shatter you in pieces. Always picking the right word to make you feel small, weak, uneasy in front of him. But that’s okay because he’ll take good care of you, he’ll make sure that you become so strong- you’ll be able to protect yourself one day.

ー Gets jealous not so easily, but gets angsty way too quickly. He likes to let others know that you belong to him, that you’re his stupid little kitten, his weak human. But he gets angry when you spend more than a two or three minutes with someone else.

ー Constantly ask you if you plan to leave him behind, if you go back to your world and never remember him. His voice comes out so, so sad. Your heart starts to bear faster every time he talks about this stuff. You place your hand on his cheeks, promise him that you’ll be by his side forever.

#🐑.yanderehcs #🐑.tw.manipulation #🐑.tw.exhibitionism #🐑.yanderesatan #obey me satan #obey me swd #obey me imagines #yandere satan #obey me satan x mc #obey me satan x reader #satan x mc #satan x reader

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sarcastically-defensive17 · 4 years

Note

hiii what about a penelope garcia x fem!reader where she has a crush on reader has to come to terms with not being entirely straight? or even including the team supporting her too? :) x

Revelation - P. Garcia

Hi darling! Sorry this took so long! Had some changes in my personal life and took a hiatus!

Hope you enjoy!

Original story by sarcastically-defensive17

For her entire life, Penelope had been discovering who she was. The death of her parents sent her spiraling, but that spiral took a course that helped her piece together the puzzle that was her being.

For some time.

Y/F/N was like a volcanic eruption. A beautiful disaster that, no matter what her intentions were, threw the life of Penelope Garcia through the ringer in the best way she could imagine.

She found herself drawn to the woman more than she had been to any other. Even Derek.

She worked in close quarters with the woman, allowing her to be the first being to share her space for longer than a single case. Y/N was a technical analyst on near equal skill level of Penelope, with a specialization in hacking and decoding. Her skills were utilized efficiently by the BAU, and she became fast friends with the Blonde Bombshell who had occupied a position for years before her.

Y/N was a stark difference to Penelope. All neutral colours, but with vibrant coloured hair. Piercings where Penelope had makeup. A large shaggy dog for a pet, where Penelope had a cat.

They were opposites, yet they got along like they had known each other for many years. And Penelope found herself longing to be with Y/N. More than she normally would.

Y/N always knew when a case was getting too much, and she would always lighten the mood or attempt to distract her.

“Hey Penny?” She would ask, eyes fixed on the computer in front of her but mind on the other woman. Penelope made a noise of acknowledgement, fingers working fast on the keyboard. “What do you call a man with a rubber toe?” The Blondes attention had shifted now. They were working on a case where children had been kidnapped and their parents murdered in their homes. Cases like that always got to Penelope more, and Y/N knew it. “Roberto.”

There was a beat of silence, Penelope looking at Y/N with a confused but humored expression before the other woman snorted loudly.

Penelope grew to love the sound of Y/N’s laugh more than normal. She was a people pleaser, she loved to make her friends happy and bring light into the world, but day after day, she wanted to make Y/N laugh and smile more than others. She would head straight to their office in the morning and greet her with a cup of strong, soy coffee with exactly three and a half sugars. She had Y/N’s order down pat, and fought to hide the butterflies when the other woman greeted her with a hug of thanks and a kiss on the cheek.

Her sexuality was never something that she had questioned. She had always just assumed she was straight, partially because she had never experienced attraction this deeply towards a woman. Or anybody for that fact. She spoke to Y/N any chance she could, but reminded herself that it was always good to be friendly with coworkers. She took the woman out to lunch, dinner, drinks, pet play dates. She longed to be in her presence.

It was as if her body were trying its hardest to convince her mind of what they already knew.

Penelope was falling for Y/N, and she was falling fast.

“Babygirl? Earth to Penelope? Your food’s getting cold,” the fingers of Derek Morgan clicked in her face, snapping her from her thoughts and forcing her eyes to zero in on the scene in front of her. It was a Saturday. No case. And she was in her favourite diner with Derek, Spencer and Emily. Her half eaten Waffles sat in front of her, looking up in disdain as they sunk in the puddle of syrup. “You look like you just went on a round the world trip in 10 minutes.”

If one thing could bring her joy, it would always be Derek Morgan’s smile. He was her best friend, after all.

“Pumpkin, I love you, but don’t snap your fingers at a lady,” she quipped pushing his hands down from their place in the air. “Rest easy, sugar bears, I’m back and ready to finish brunch.”

“What’s on your mind, Penny?” Emily asked. “You were spaced for so long.”

Penelope simply smiled, a warm gesture. She adored her friends, but as far as she knew none of them had ever experienced this. They were all sure of themselves, especially in their sexuality, so she knew. “I’m fine Em, just... have a lot on my mind at the moment.”

Spencer’s brow furrowed. Penelope had always been open with them, for every issue she had. He exchanged a concerned look with Emily, who sat across from him in the booth.

Derek frowned, “You don’t sound fine.” He reached across the table, clasping her hand. Over time he had learnt much about Penelope, including the fact that when things bothered her, she would seek out somebody to help her. If she didn’t, then it was extremely out of character. “You can talk to us, baby. You know we’re here for you.”

Penelope turned her head, catching the smiles of Emily and Spencer. She knew she could trust them. She knew they would be there for her and accept her despite anything. They excused her criminal past, after all.

She knew she could open up, but when she opened her mouth the words couldn’t come out.

She sighed, smiling awkwardly at the three. “I- um. I have feelings for somebody. And I... don’t know what to do about it, or how I feel about having feelings for them.”

Derek made an interested sound, squeezing her hand that was still clasped in his, “Ooh, who’s the lucky guy?”

Her eyes shifted downwards, a blush rising to her face from embarrassment: she had no choice but to open up completely now. She put herself in this position, she thought, time to confide.

She cleared her throat, “Actually, it’s a woman.”

There was barely a second of silence. A quick look of confusion from Spencer as he let her words sink in, and then his former expression laid back on his face. “Okay, so who’s the lucky lady?” He asked.

Penelope needed a moment to allow for their reaction to completely take hold. They didn’t make a spectacle of it, nor did they seem offended or angry. She had expected questioning, despite her friends being the most accepting people she knew. She had been so terrified and now... they were normal.

She was stunned, to say the least. “You guys, you’re... okay with this?”

It was only then that they looked offended, and even so, it was a feigning of the expression.

They all answered her with questions, directing sentences of “why would we be offended?” and “Why would we have a problem?”

It brought a smile to her face.

“But seriously, Penny,” Emily bumped her shoulder, drawing her attention. “Who is the woman who has captured your attention away from us?”

Now she could be open with her friends. “It’s Y/N.” She murmured quietly, a shy smile on her pink stained lips and a large grin stretching across Dereks face.

“Little office romance in the batcave, is there?”

A cherry was tossed at his forehead soon after.

The conversation left Penelope giddy. Even on her way home, her heart swelled with love and her stomach was filled with anticipation for what she planned to do when she arrived home.

The minute she was in her door, her kitten heels were kicked off and she was dialing a very familiar number.

After one ring, Y/N’s sweet voice travelled through the receiver.

“Hey, Penny. How are you?”

The smile on Penelope’s face was unmatched. “I’m amazing.” They chatted for a small while, Penelope gathering her courage entirely before the words fell from her lips. “Would you like to get dinner tonight, if you’re free?”

Y/N sounded shocked at the sudden outburst that interrupted their discussion about the best reincarnation of Dr Who. “Do you mean as a date?”

“Uh, yeah, if you’re okay with that,” Penelope stammered in reply, her confidence quickly fading.

“I would love to!” Came the quick reply, sending her heart skyrocketing again. “Around 7 tonight?”

A breathe of relief left her lungs as she let the words settle in her mind. “Sounds perfect, Y/N.”

Penelope Garcia had a revelation. One that she hadn’t had opportunity to discover before in her life, and she never wanted to look back. She was far too enamored by Y/F/N.

Tag list: @starshonerose @theanswertoeverythingisl0v3 @mantlereid @another-lonely-heart

If you would like to be added to the tag list send me a message!!

#penelope garcia #penelope garcia x reader #criminal minds #spencer reid #derek morgan #emily prentiss #penelope is a cutie #my fav show #penelope garcia x female reader

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wanderingchocolateeclair · 3 years

Text

Here she is!!! I finally got round to drawing her again and I’m actually relatively happy with how she turned out. She is one of my favourite ocs and I love her to bits - I made her almost a year ago when I was thinking about some random EctoLoader headcanons and suddenly had the urge to give them a child...and so then she was designed :D I wasn’t sure if I wanted to post my initial designs as well because I really don’t like the look of my old art but you know why not:

Please keep in mind that these are quite old and um...not that brilliant but they were my first quick sketches of her and I ended up writing a whole entire backstory for her so yeah! (Now that I look back at it I realise I didn’t make her hair poofy enough in the new drawing...also the page ripped and I was really sad about that-) anyway here’s some info about her (under the cut because it ended up a little longer than I expected):

AH I forgot to say!! There are mentions of death and severe injury and other stuff like that in the backstory so please read with caution!

Name -> Yuna Makimi

Age -> 17

Quirk -> “Adapt” - her quirk allows her to adapt certain parts of her body to suit whatever situation she is in. A main example of this would be when she creates little pads on the ends of her fingers which pick up vibrations, enabling her to “see” her surroundings a little better. However she cannot use her quirk to restore parts of her body that are lost/severely damaged (like her legs + eyes).

Occupation -> Student at UA

Current status -> Alive

Family -> Mother (deceased), Father (deceased), Powerloader (adopted dad), Ectoplasm (adopted dad)

Likes -> Dumplings, sitting in flower fields, doing literally anything with her friends + family

More info + backstory:

So, like I mentioned, I came up with her when I was thinking about EctoLoader headcanons and one of these hcs is that after Ecto loses his legs they both go round and pay visits to hospitals and other places to visit the children/patients there - and so yeah.

Yuna was part of quite the loving family, her parents were quite strict but loved her to pieces.

They weren’t the richest of people, and didn’t get along with the rest of their family for whatever reasons, but they were fine together - just the three of them.

That is until the accident that completely changed her life.

At the age of 8 she was caught up in a nasty villain attack as they were driving through the city and their car was completely destroyed. Her parents died at the scene and she was immediately whisked to hospital with very severe injuries.

She lost both her legs and almost all sight in her eyes, her parents were dead and she had nowhere to go, and at such a young age she felt so lost.

2 years passed and still nobody wanted to take her in, they said it would be “too much responsibility” to look after someone like her. And so at that point she had given up on all hope if someday being in a loving family again. Only 10 years old and her life had completely crumbled to pieces.

That is until one day PL swings by on one of his visits and meets this small child who looks as if she never smiles. He speaks to her and she slowly became less shy of this small man that sat in front of her. He decided to visit more often (he was made aware of her situation by one of the nurses that looked after her) and told Ecto all about this sweet little girl who he’d met who was in need of a better life. And over time they contemplated taking her in as their own - they weren’t sure yet but they had thought about it.

One day PL came with a surprise. He had put together a pair of prosthetic legs for her that she had mentioned to him before that she wished she had and that wasn’t all, they mentioned that this time Ecto came along too. She was absolutely overjoyed. She had heard about him and looked up to him a lot, he inspired her to keep going, even though she had lost her legs.

After discussing it with each other, they asked her whether she would be happy to come and live with them, and join a loving family once again. She was taken aback by the offer, as no one had even considered looking after for 2 whole years, but she realised that she was finally offered a normal life again and she was oh so happy with that...and so they adopted her and it was the best decision they ever made.

They helped her get used to her new home and she slowly got more and more comfortable with her new life. Ecto helped her with her therapy, guiding her when she felt lost and confused about what she’s doing. PL helped by tweaking little things about her prosthetics that could help her, and created little items to support her in her walking and her sight. They helped her discover new ways of using her quirk to allow her to be more aware of her surroundings and to help her “see” (she can’t use it to see fully, it just helps her to pinpoint the movements and positions of the objects/people around her a little better).

Soon enough, she was happier than ever, and when she was old enough she brought up her decision of wanting to go to UA. They weren’t sure whether or not she should, for her own safety, but she insisted that even with her disabilities she wanted to try her best at becoming a hero just like them in her own way...even if others believed it was barely possible. And so they allowed it. They taught there anyway so if anything were to happen they would always be close by.

She made a bunch of amazing friends at UA and learnt to handle her quirk in many different ways - expanding it to help her in various different situations. Her classmates would always be there to help her when she needed it but all believed that she was one of the strongest out of all of them - this really made her emotional because it wasn’t something that she ever expected to hear - and hearing this really made Ecto and PL happy, because they had watched as this tiny helpless girl had grown up to become strong, happy and incredibly loved.

And that’s my “little” backstory for her! Sorry its a bit sad and all that but it wouldn’t be one of my backstories if it wasn’t some form of tragic....:/ Anyway have some random headcanons for her->

She cannot ride in a car unless she is holding someone’s hand, this is pretty self-explanatory.

She loves jokes and stupid puns, they make her so incredibly happy it’s unbelievable.

She also loves flowers - they smell nice.

She isn’t entirely blind - she can just about make out shapes and moving objects but without the aid of her quirk she finds it hard to tell the difference between what might be a person and what might just be a large object.

She loves to sing and dance, and she has a beautiful voice, however she gets embarrassed if she gets caught.

She is always happy to spend any sort of time with her dads because with their jobs as heroes, free time can sometimes be very hard to come by.

Sorry how absolutely all over the place this is, I have plenty more headcanons and info about her, but I think I’ve rambled on for quite long enough now! (Plus I kinda just want to post it now because the more I look at the drawing the less I like it-)

Anyway, I hope you like her! She is one of my favourite characters that I’ve made and she makes me very happy. Hopefully, I’ll draw her some more :)

~Eclair

#bnha #eclair’s art #eclair rambles a bit :)#bnha oc #mha oc #my ocs #my characters #ectoloader #ectoplasm #power loader #higari maijima #Yuna #Yuna Makimi #I love her so much #I finally got round to drawing her :)#i managed to muster enough confidence and motivation to actually write out her backstory #so yay!#:) ❤️

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philliamwrites · 3 years

Text

Cor Cordium

Fandom: Kingdom Hearts (3)

Pairings: Riku/Sora, Roxas/Sora (one-sided), Axel/Roxas (hinted), Vanitas/Ventus (Hinted), Aqua/Terra (mentioned)

Tags: #character study, #relationship study, #post canon, #post kh3, #spoilers, #mourning, #multiple pov, #little dialogue

Words: 6.9k (nice)

Summary: O heart of hearts, the chalice of love’s fire, Hid round with flowers and all the bounty of bloom; […] It is not the end of his story, only the beginning, but everyone is too occupied with mourning to understand.

Cor Cordium

Tell me, Atlus. What is heavier? The world or its people’s hearts?

Sora remembers the phantom feeling of sand under his palms, warm little crystals pressing into his skin. He can’t tell if this is really a memory or just a wish. Lately, it’s been difficult to tell them apart, their lines blurring together. Or maybe since he arrived Here, it’s never been clear from the start, and he’s just clinging to shadows dancing in the back of his mind. He is floating. Or at least he thinks he is. A strange sensation tingles through his body, it feels like thousand ants are crawling on his skin, and yet he knows that his body isn’t really here. Wherever Here is. Sora is passably conscious, not asleep but not quite awake either.

Darkness surrounds him. He can’t see it— it’s more of a feeling, a gentle brush of air against his mind, but it doesn’t scare him. This darkness isn’t the end, it isn’t the beginning either. It is nothing, this blank space between existing and disappearing, and somehow Sora managed to get caught in there. How is he supposed to explain that to Kairi and Riku? And just like that, the warm feeling dissipates, and Sora thinks of his life and his friends, and how both are so closely linked together. One cannot exist without the other. But with each passing moment, Sora feels bits and pieces of him crumbling into dust, scattering like sand swirled by a breeze on a warm summer day.

Sora is alone. He is cold. He is afraid. He is dimly aware of pain, but mostly of a tremendous fatigue, as if he has been covered in layer upon layer of impossibly heavy blankets. It takes a moment for him to realise the wet drops on his face are his own tears, and he curls into a small ball, clinging to himself. He would give anything to see his friends again.

Minutes, hours pass. Maybe only seconds. Time is a foreign concept, a construct not applicable to Sora. Oblivion is grey, it eats at Sora’s mind, at his heart, and he wants to fight it because they can take anything from him but his heart; his heart, a place for so many lives; a prison? A fortress filled with light of hopes and promises he’ll never be able to keep. Maybe now he is paying for the sins he doesn’t remember, for the dreams he’s failed to fulfil, hunting him like hungry beasts with sharp claws.

He’s always known that his most powerful trait was his heart, and so in the end it was only natural that it would be his demise as well. O heart of hearts, beloved of all beloveds is a line from somewhere Sora can’t remember, but he feels it quite fits. He is the core of a small universe in which everyone stretches their hands out to touch him, to take something from him— and Sora wants to give, to give so much that in the end nothing will be left of him. Somehow he thinks that is quite alright, for he is the heart of hearts.

☆

When Sora disappears, Roxas bolts awake from a restless sleep, tears blurring his vision and burning like acid on his cheeks. He isn’t just crying; Roxas is wheezing, sobbing as his heart breaks, and he realises Sora is gone. He can’t breathe. It feels like something vital is missing—a limb or a sense, and he wonders if this is how Ventus is feeling all the time since Vanitas’ disappearance. He doesn’t hear Axel’s worried voice calling his name over and over again; he doesn’t feel his long, heavy arms around his waist. Roxas only feels this boiling, parching anger at Riku, because out of all people, he must have known what was coming. And he let Sora go.

Roxas jumps out of bed, long legs tangled in the sheets, and lands face first on the carpet. His cheek burns from the friction, but the pain is nothing compared to what is raging inside his chest. Ever since he’s become his own person, everything has become a little too much. He remembers his first week back in Twilight Town. When he saw Hayner, Pence and Olette, Roxas was so overwhelmed, he thought for a moment he would die because beside all the happiness swelling inside his chest, there was also some sense of immense grief. He mourned for the hours spent without them; he mourned for the person he could have been if he’d been a normal boy, his own person from the very beginning, and he mourned for all the stories and adventures he’s missed because of that.

And yet, he’s never felt anything like this—not when Xion crumbled into little shards of light in his arms, not when he learnt he’d have to disappear because he didn’t exist in the first place. Roxas has had a front row view to many dire times in his life when happiness was a foreign word he couldn’t explain. But this is something else entirely, something so overwhelming that Roxas is afraid; he’s one raw nerve, burning and sensible to any kind of contact. He’s unsure what exactly he tells Axel, but it’s effective because he helps dressing Roxas, and they’re immediately off to Destiny Islands where they are greeted by the sun blasting down on them. Roxas shields his eyes, scanning the beach for a flash of silver hair. He knows this place like the back of his hand even though he’s only been here once after their victory over the Seekers of Darkness. But every place Sora has visited is engraved in the back of Roxas’ closed eyes, familiar and a second home to his heart.

“Maybe no one’s home,” Axel says somewhere behind him. He’s looking out at the sea, watches as the waves curl against the white sand. The sun reflecting on the clear water draws bright shapes on his face, catching in his radiant, green eyes.

“No. He’s here,” Roxas says with a solid certainty, for Destiny Island was always and will always be the place connecting everything. It’s the knot where all strings come together, where each destiny is carved in some way.

They follow faint footsteps left on the beach, when Roxas notices movement in the corner of his eye. Near the seaside shack, he can see two figures close to each other, but the voices drown in the sound of ocean waves. Roxas speeds up, and when Riku turns, eyes wide and red-rimmed, Roxas doesn’t think twice. His fist connects with Riku’s jaw and hot pain explodes in Roxas’ hand. It’s enough to send Riku to the ground. Roxas follows him.

“You knew!” he screams, swinging at Riku for a second time. “You fucking knew, and you let him go anyway?!”

Distantly, he hears Axel calling his name, but Roxas ignores him. He’s very adamant on punching his fist through Riku’s face who puts insult to injury and doesn’t fight back. It only confirms Roxas’ suspicion: Riku knew he’d come for him. It does nothing to diminish Roxas’ anger.

“Give me one damn reason why I shouldn’t drop you in the darkest pit I can find,” he hisses, grabbing Riku’s collar. Blood runs from his nose over his mouth and chin, but Riku only blinks. The tip of his tongue darts out to clean it from his lips. When he doesn’t answer, Roxas begins to shake him. “Why didn’t you tell us? Why didn’t you tell me?” Someone grabs Roxas’ shoulder, pulling him back, but with more vigour than before, Roxas pulls himself free, and lands another good hit in Riku’s face. “Why didn’t you stop him?” Too many thoughts race in his mind, and he can’t grasp any of them; they slip like sand through his fingers. Finally Axel, that traitor, pulls Roxas off, and Roxas fights with flailing arms and legs. His elbow finds its way in Axel’s side, winning Roxas an opening. He bolts for Riku, stumbling and shaking uncontrollably.

“How could you?!” Roxas’ voice breaks. He’s grabbing again for Riku’s collar, but his hands betray him as well and search for purchase on his jacket, begging to have a grip on something solid, something that won’t disappear like Sora. “Riku, how could you? Don’t just stare at me, say something. Say something, Riku!”

He’s still met with silence that is so loud it drives him insane, and Roxas doesn’t know what else to do; what else will make Riku talk and explain.

Someone tugs on the hem of his west, and Roxas feels Oathkeeper and Oblivion seconds away from finding their way into his hands, ready to cut through anyone trying to stop him from unleashing another wave of fury. But when he sees it’s Kairi holding onto him, that rage dissipates, and makes way for a different feeling he is far more scared of: grief. Seeing Kairi standing in front of him only confirms this reality Roxas refuses to accept. He wants to beg her to let him go, to stop looking at him with those big, teary eyes so similar to Sora’s. Instead he collapses in front of her, and wails a small, painful sound so inhuman it tears through his own ears. Roxas cries.

She can’t take away that anger from him because without it he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to feel, and feeling itself becomes too much. He knows there is an emptiness waiting for him after all of this, and he’s too afraid to face it.

Riku’s hand curls around his arm, and then he is kneeling beside Roxas, leaning his forehead against Roxas’ shoulder. Roxas feels more than he hears the sob rolling through his body, and he wants to push Riku away, but he can’t bring himself to do it. He’s cried himself tired already. Hours pass as they stay like this, holding hands and weeping with rasping sobs, as if trying to force air into lungs crushed by grief, until Roxas passes out at some point.

The next time he wakes up it’s with less tears, but grief is still a cold hook sitting deep under his skin. His face hurts, but no matter how much he splashes cool water on it, the swelling around his eyes doesn’t go away. He finds Axel outside sitting on the big trunk facing the setting sun. Kairi is beside him with eyes fixed on the red horizon, unblinking. Roxas has noticed it before. Since their arrival, Kairi hasn’t said anything.

“Roxas.” Riku is standing behind him, and Roxas catches the fruit thrown at him with little elegance. Riku’s face looks awful. A dark, ugly bruise colours his right eye purple, rivalled by another one forming on his left, swollen cheek. He’s too smart to ask if Roxas is okay, so instead he settles on a wordless observation. Roxas ignores him. He feels too vulnerable and exposed in front of those keen, cyan eyes. The fruit explodes with a sweet taste in his mouth, reminding Roxas of how much he loves this place. He’s adopted it from Sora; that and many other little traits he still has to sort out who they belong to. Knowing this place will never be the same without Sora opens up a new, fresh wound Roxas knows no Cura or potion is able to heal.

“What’s the plan?” he asks, wiping his fingers on his pants. When Riku doesn’t answer immediately, Roxas’ fist burns with the need to punch him again. “You do have a plan, don’t you?” he presses further, feeling his irritation grow.

Eventually, Riku drags a hand over his face, and sighs. “We’ll talk to Mickey. And Master Yen Sid,” he says, avoiding Roxas’ eyes. “Hopefully one of them knows something.”

“That’s it?” Roxas barely manages to contain his anger from sipping into his voice. “You just hope they know something?”

“They’ve always helped us, so yes.” Blatant challenge flashes in Riku’s eyes when he finally meets Roxas’. “We will go and see them.”

A muscle twitches in Roxas’ jaw. “I don’t remember them doing anything to help me, so maybe revaluate who you’re going to ask for help.”

Riku gives him a sharp glare. “Careful.”

But Roxas has had his fair share of depending on old guys who used him for whatever ulterior motive they had, and frankly he can do without it. “Sora needs us now. You can sit around if you want, but I’m going to look for him.”

He’s almost down the gangplank when Riku calls after him. “And where do you think you’re going? You think visiting world after world will bring you closer to find him?”

Roxas exhales audibly, and wills himself not to turn around, but he’s always been bad at containing all the rage that’s accumulated over the past years. It is this anger that has always set him apart from Sora; that hate towards people who hurt him always drew the clear line between them. This simple black and white was easy to grasp and understand, and even easier to identify with until Sora plunged Roxas’ world into vibrant colours and complex structures, and brought with him so many people Roxas didn’t know and yet meant so much to him. He hates how this even applies to Riku, despite this envy, a churning black storm hidden in his chest. Riku and Sora are inseparable, and Roxas loathes it.

The only comfort lies in how he loves Sora, for Roxas has loved Sora in a way only Ventus and Xion might understand; in a way that is so unfair to Axel who’s trying his best to become everything for Roxas. But Roxas doesn’t want this. He wants Sora. He wants the world, the heart knowing every part of him. His home. Roxas remembers when he returned to Sora. Trying to do the right even though he knew it would mean his end, but once he found peace within Sora, Roxas understood the meaning of home, and the meaning of people’s destinies intertwining.

“If aimlessly searching for Sora will eventually lead to find him, then yes.” Roxas says, voice lacking any heat he’d hoped would burn Riku. Instead a strange resignation shackles every breath in his lungs, and he knows he will only be free when he finds Sora. “I will visit world after world, until the end if I have to.”

Riku drags his eyes from Kairi and Axel back to Roxas, and considers him for a moment in which Roxas tries to see himself through Riku’s perspective— the boy with Sora’s eyes; the Nobody who long ago took something important from Sora, the little piece necessary to complete something far bigger than all of them. A small sighs escapes his lips, and somewhere in there Roxas hears the unspoken You’re just as reckless as Sora. When he closes the distance between them, all muscles in Roxas tense with intuitive caution he can’t get rid of, no matter how often he’s seen Riku by now.

“I want to get him back more than anything else,” Riku says, and in that small moment Roxas sees his vulnerability for the first time. Something tightens in Roxas’ chest, and he takes a step away from Riku. “It’s been only a couple of hours since Kairi returned. And still, I already see him in everything, and I try to be kind to everything because maybe …” His voice tears on the last word, a ragged note of grief like ripped paper. Riku turns his head away from Roxas, but he doesn’t miss how Riku’s lips close into a tight line. “Stumbling through world after world might end up losing him even more,” he finishes. His calm mask is back, and Roxas just can’t understand how Riku is capable of that.

“That didn’t stop Sora from looking for you and Kairi,” Roxas throws back, chin raised stubbornly.

“No, it didn’t.” Riku looks back at Kairi, and that’s when Roxas understands that he’s searching for the right words to tell her that he will leave the Island.

“Then forget your pride for a second,” Roxas says. “And let us help.”

Riku looks like he wants to say something, but then he just gives Roxas a little, tight-lipped smile, and turns to join Kairi up on the trunk. Roxas stares holes into his back. He’ll never understand what Sora sees in him.

He retreats to the shore until cool water sloshes against his feet. A biting cold settles over Roxas, but he knows that doesn’t come from the ocean. Sora has always said how it is a part of the human experience to feel pain, that it is part of a heart, and how it strengthens you, how it connects you, but Roxas dully registers he’d rather have it ripped out of him if it means he’s spared the missing and longing. When he lowers his gaze unto the water, his reflection stares back at him, showing a pale face and golden hair sticking to all sides. His radiant eyes are a beacon, the colour of the sky. A sharp throb drives like a spear through Roxas’ ribs. Everything hurts, he thinks and waits a moment, but his only companion is silence. Sora was a mirror to Roxas, like Ventus to Vanitas. When Roxas said, everything hurts, Sora whispered, but everything can heal. He’s learnt from Sora that hate is a lazy thing, heavy, a burden; but not as heavy or difficult as love so many carry around but are unwilling to practice. Roxas will try better. It’s the least he can do to pay for everything Sora did for him.

Under the water’s surface he spies a Thalassa Shell. Roxas picks it up, and hopes Xion is doing okay. They will all go and look for Sora, and they will find him. They’ve all deserved their happy end. Standing in the dawn, Roxas vows it on the shell, closing his hand tight around it until the edges cut into his skin.

☆ ☆

When Sora disappears, Ventus fears Vanitas is also gone forever. There’s a strange tug in his chest, like his heart knows there is a place he’s supposed to be, and wonders why Ventus doesn’t follow this call. It’s different from when he longed for Aqua and Terra. During his search for them he was constantly followed by this certainty that they’ll be reunited. This is different. This is Ventus closing his eyes to a darkness he knows his keyblade won’t be able to slice through. He’s afraid to fall asleep, the only place where he’s had at least a small connection to Vanitas. If that is gone as well, Ventus would rather not wake up at all. It hurts even more since their return to the Land of Departure because Ventus expected only good things to happen from that point on, admittedly now a naive hope quickly quenched by Sora’s fate.

Ventus is sitting on his bed, a heavy blanket around his shoulders. Thousand stars twinkle above him like tears, and he wonders if the other worlds feel that Sora is gone as well. He wonders if somewhere Kingdom Hearts is crying, having lost such a pure, eminent light. Out of his window he can see the training grounds. In a couple of months, they could be occupied my apprentice keyblade wielders again. Aqua has shown her determination to become the steward and rekindle the original purpose of the castle, and both Terra and Ventus are as eager to help her; Terra even more so. He’s adamant to repent, ignoring Aqua’s and Ventus’ claim that his return is enough. But Terra had shaken his head at that. “It is a debt I will never be able to repay,” he’d said, standing in front of Master Eraqus’ grave. “But I will try. Until my last breath, I will try to set this right.”

It was difficult to explain how none of this had been Terra’s fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. They were victims of a game no one held control over— pieces on a lethal board with cruel rules no one really knew. It’s a wonder they made it out alive, together and unscathed, and still, they paid a price for that happy end, some more than others. Ventus hasn’t heard from Riku and Kairi in a while, but his comfort lies in how Aqua and Terra keep looking at each other. Strangely, now more than ever before Ventus notices how close they are. It is probably true what they say about being separated. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, and if Terra and Aqua think he’s too chaste to figure out the meaning behind the dark spots on Aqua’s neck or below Terra’s ears, they underestimate him severely.

Once he’s asked Aqua about them, but she only gave him a little, sheepish smile before pushing a loose strand behind his ear. “You’ll learn soon enough,” she’d said. Terra had avoided his eyes, his hands busy with pulling on his keychain, a habit whenever he’s embarrassed. Ventus had just looked at Aqua with a careful, blank expression, and let her believe that he doesn’t touch himself under his blanket to quiet whispers of boy’s names. Ever since he woke up, and spent time with everyone else, he’s noticed how certain things jump right to his attention like a beacon. Terra’s muscles moving during practice. Hayner’s incredibly beautiful eyes, filled with wonder and excitement. Riku’s smooth, flawless skin. Then again, he’s spend so much time inside Sora’s heart who grew up beside Riku, and for Ventus to develop his attraction to boys was only natural. Ventus doesn’t want to remember when he saw Riku for the first time. Dozens of images from Sora’s fantasies flashed before his eyes, and he kept his distance to Riku, unsure how to handle the emotions. It isn’t something bad, that he knows. His friends would never judge him for liking boys. They all love each other too much for such a trivial think to matter, and why should it? It is love nonetheless, and every single one of them is just as much starving for it as they are ready to give.

And still, Ventus is so insecure, because he always ends up thinking about Vanitas. Vanitas is his mirror, reflecting unspoken pieces of Ventus he himself is afraid to face. If Ventus starts thinking too hard about it, he’ll probably stumble upon answers he wouldn’t even know what to do with. And so he tries to turn away whenever he spies glances of blue turning into intimidating gold, and buries the questions deep into his heart where he hopes they’ll suffocate from the silence.

A soft knock stops Ventus’ thoughts. His body tenses, and he waits for more to come. Instead, Terra’s voice carries through the door. “Ven? Ven, you awake?”

He could lie and pretend he isn’t but after days of locking himself in his room, Ventus started missing his friends. His only fear is that if Terra sees his sketches of Vanitas’ key chain and the logo of the Unversed scribbled on paper, he will take them away and burn them between his fingers like Aqua did. Behind the door, Ventus hears shuffling, and the fear that Terra leaves bolts like a hot spell through him. He sits up, and tells Terra to come in. The door opens with a soft click. Light from the outside hall streams into the room, casting away shadows, and once Ventus sees Terra’s broad shoulders filling the door frame, breathing becomes easier.

“Hey, champ.” Terra gives him a little smile. “Thought you might be hungry.”

Ventus isn’t, but nods anyway, just to see the little hope in Terra’s eyes— the very first sight of progress he and Aqua managed since Ventus’ withdrawal. He makes room on his bed, and turns on the star shaped lamp sitting beside his bed on a narrow table as Terra crosses the room. A plate with fruits, cheese and meat lands between them while Terra takes a seat on the edge, watching Ventus eagerly. Just to make Terra happy, Ventus picks one grape and puts it in his mouth.

“How are you?” Terra asks, much more straightforward than Aqua with her careful, quiet words. Ventus thinks about how he doesn’t want to get up forever. How this feeling weighs on him like an anchor pulling him deeper and deeper into darkness. He thinks about lying, but Ventus never wants to be separated from his family ever again— physically and emotionally, so he settles with a neutral, “I don’t know.”

Terra nods. He leans back on his arms, the skin pulling tight where his muscle tense. Ventus looks away, and stares at the faintly glowing star stickers on his shelf Aqua gave him on his birthday. He wonders if Vanitas ever got a present from Xehanort, and has to bite his lip to conceal a laugh because that is just too ridiculous.

“—us? Hey, Ven?” Fingers pop in front of Ventus’ eyes, making him flinch. “Just where are you with your head?”

A strange smile pulls Terra’s face into an expression Ventus is unfamiliar with. Another pang of guilt settles in his chest, and he misses those times when he understood Terra and Aqua without a word.

“I’m thinking about where Sora is,” Ventus lies. Terra frowns. He must know Ventus isn’t telling the truth but decides to go with it anyway.

“Don’t worry,” he says, stealing a piece of cheese from Ventus’ plate. “We’ll find him. Since Aqua can’t reach Riku or Kairi, they might have left already.”

Ventus hums, but somehow he doesn’t think that’s the case. What Sora, Riku and Kairi have; how they are is much more complicated. Ventus even doubts the word love can grasp what they feel for each other. At times, he’s jealous of that connection, and the next moment he is afraid of it. He’s felt it in Sora’s sacrifice back then for Kairi, and in Aqua’s never ending believe in Terra, and what is love if not an immense power capable of pushing people to their limits and beyond, a weapon justifying any sort of destruction. Tightening his blanket around his shoulders, Ventus dugs his head and shuffles closer to Terra.

“You know, I always keep thinking that maybe … we could have done something,” he confesses. “That if Sora trusted us a little more, he’d asked for our help.”

“Do you really think Sora didn’t trust us?” Terra asks, leaning back until he’s lying next to Ventus, arms crossed behind his head.

“Well, what other explanation is there?” Ventus hates that he sounds like a sulking boy, offended because a friend didn’t ask him to join the playing. But he’d always thought the connection between him and Sora was something special, something untouchable and set into stone. He’s protected Sora just as much as Sora has protected him all those years, and Ventus hasn’t thought of stopping once.

“You don’t really believe that.” The sound of Terra’s little laugh snaps Ventus’ head up. “I know you don’t.”

“Huh?”

“We’re not that different from him, Aqua, you and I. We all love too much, but isn’t that better than to have none of it?”

“So better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all?” Ventus remembers this line from a book in the library he’s read long ago, and back then he didn’t quite understand its meaning. Now, he wonders if love truly is Sora’s greatest fault, but that is hard to understand as well.

Terra sits up, and ruffles Ventus’ hair, just like the old times when everything was simple and clean. It tightens Ventus’ chest, but this time it’s not a bad feeling at all. “You’ve been in there all this time,” he says, pointing at Ventus’ heart. “So you know the answer to that. Now eat up. And think about joining us sometime. Aqua really misses you.”

Ventus nods, and takes another fruit. Terra’s smile widens. When he heads for the door, Ventus summons all his courage. It’s time to stop running.

“Terra,” he calls. Terra stops, and turns around. “You really think we’ll see Sora again one day, right?”

Terra doesn’t hesitate. “Of course. Our destinies are intertwined. And besides, you never stopped believing in bringing me back home. Now it’s my time to light someone’s way.”

“And do you think … I’ll see Vanitas again as well some day?”

That brings Terra’s smile to a full stop. He isn’t happy. Ventus sees it in the way Terra presses his lips into a thin line, and squares his shoulders. He avoids Ventus’ eyes for a split second, a tiny fracture of time in which Ventus stops breathing and waits for the final judgement. Eventually, Terra quickly turns around, checking if someone’s behind him, and Ventus wonders if he’s looking for Aqua.

Quietly, Terra finally says, “If that is what you wish for, then I will do anything I can to help you fulfil it.”

The hot sting behind Ventus’ eyes is a clear indicator for tears waiting to escape, so Ventus quickly hides his face in his blanket, shuddering with a silent sob. Only when he hears the door closing, Ventus dares to look up again. His room is dark, and the glowing stars stick out more after bathing in light, capturing Ventus’ attention. He wonders if Vanitas might like them as well.

Ventus curls into himself and closes his eyes. Into the darkness, he whispers “Vanitas” three times.

But nobody comes.

The missing is the worst. All Ventus wants is to crawl inside Vanitas’ skin and stay there. He wants every piece of him to crush into every piece of Vanitas, and become whole again; to become one. He doesn’t want to keep wondering how everyone just can go on as if Vanitas never existed, not when he to Ventus is the world. His heart is still split, an open door ready for darkness to invest, and yet he knows there will only be one certain shadow his heart will allow entrance.

Ventus blinks through the wall of tears, looking at the stars. He has to focus on Sora first. If he can’t bring him back, then certainly he’ll fail to guide Vanitas home as well. A shooting star splits the heaven in two, burning on its way down. Ventus closes his eyes. In this endless night, he has only one wish: Ventus wishes a shining light will guide Sora through a starless sky, and hopes his journey home will be soft and peaceful.

☆ ☆ ☆

When Sora disappears, Riku doesn’t cry because he knows once he starts, he won’t be able to stop.

His only comfort is Kairi, though she doesn’t talk, and only spends hours upon hours writing letters to Sora, all starting with my dearly beloved. Those lines remind Riku of a bittersweet melody he’s heard in a dream once, each wistful tune pulling at his heartstrings. Back then, it had also felt a lot like a farewell to a story he wasn’t yet part of, and now his chest throbs with a low, persistent rhythm of that song.

But it’s difficult to believe this is the end. Riku is in a strange, blank space between hope and desperation, where it’s hard to look for the light, but also impossible to drown in darkness. Finding home in both, Riku is an unusual dweller cheating through life. He knows it’s more than most people get, and he’s aware of how lucky he is. Maybe that is why the universe decided he’s run out of it now, and Riku thinks how unfair that is. That they live in a universe that doesn’t want them to be together any more. It’s either him gone or Kairi, and now Sora. And so when Roxas and Lea prepared to return to Twilight Town, and Roxas had asked him, “Do you even believe that we’ll find him?” it wasn’t difficult for Riku to be honest. “I believe in a universe that doesn’t care,” he’d said. “And people who do.”

After that, Riku started avoiding Roxas, Ventus and Xion even though it is not what they deserve after everything they’ve been through. But he can’t see them, and not think of Sora with how many of his habits they’ve inherited. Roxas carries all the anger Sora has swallowed throughout the years. Just thinking back to how Roxas had punched him, his thumb tugged into his fist like Sora always did no matter how often Riku tried to correct him, hurts like a sudden light striking his eyes in the dead of the night. Ventus is the source of Sora’s broad grins and gentle smiles, laughing at everything— a blazing sun casting away any shadows. They both know the power hiding in being soft and kind, to love and forgive. Xion is part Sora, part Kairi with her love for everything that is bright. She uses everything she can find as bookmarks: cups, little stones, little replicas of everyone’s key chains. Just like Sora she wants to be close to anyone, her happiness lies in those of others and nourishes her. They all love fruits, they all hate carrots, they all can fall asleep in the most uncomfortable places like a cat that finds home everywhere. Riku would rather gouge his eyes out than see another pair of those exact radiant, blue eyes, and so he sticks around Destiny Island, and takes care of Kairi, while she takes care of him.

They live in a strange dynamic, part symbiotic and part parasitic. Riku tells Kairi stories about Sora both remember fondly, and she pays him with a rare smile that dissipates dark clouds in his heart. But Kairi can never truly tell him what exactly happened when Sora brought her back, and Riku is sure she can read the irritation on his face like an open book. Just seeing her is a reminder that someone is missing, the third party in their strange constellation of two, and yet more than ever before, they stick to each other like two pieces of the same soul dwelling in different bodies.

Riku misses Sora. He misses Sora so much, it physically hurts him. He misses his easy smiles, the jokes. The reassurance that no matter what mistakes Riku has done, it’s fine. He is a good person, deserved of being a Keyblade Master. He misses how Sora was capable of turning every pain and sadness into something bright. Sora was given the rare gift to make gold out of every pain. A purer blessing doesn’t exist. But it’s not only the words Riku misses. He misses Sora’s soft skin, his parched lips mapping Riku’s body. He misses how in Sora’s arms he felt safe and at home, that there was no past, and no future. Just the present with them both as the sole habitants, a population of two and no one else was allowed between them.

Riku remembers their first kiss. It was in the Secret Place and they were 15. It was nothing but a chaste, quick peck, lips briefly brushing against each other, and yet Sora had giggled so helplessly, cheeks red and happy like it was the most powerful experience he’s ever felt. He didn’t hide his smile, he’d always been so willing to share it with everyone. Riku remembers the jealousy he’d felt, how he thought Sora’s willingness to open up to everyone was so unfair. He made it look so easy, so effortless, like he didn’t need to think at all who might deserve his smiles. His heart was an open door, never closed, never locked. They’d kept their relationship a secret, or rather they tried. Kairi knew. She must have felt something going on between them. Riku never dared to underestimate a Princess of Light again, but it was like a noose being lifted from his neck whenever she gave him this soft, knowing smile.

Now he tries to think back to the last time they were alone together without any responsibilities weighing on their shoulders. After defeating Ansem and returning to the Island, Mickey’s letter didn’t leave much time to catch up after the year of their separation, and after that, during their Mark of Mastery exam, Riku was everywhere but beside Sora. Now, Riku tries to ignore the little voice telling him that he’ll never see Sora again because he doesn’t believe it. He can’t believe it. Hope has been his constant companion for the last two years, and he’s grown too fond of it. Leaving it behind means to let go of the only rope of salvation Riku is clinging onto, and no matter how much darkness he’s learnt to embrace, he just knows that he will drown in those dark waves crushing upon him with what he can only describe as loneliness.

But if life is lonely for him, it is far lonelier for Sora. When he tries to imagine in what place he must be now, Riku is quite simply angry. Martyr lies on everyone’s lips, and yet no one dares to speaks it out loud because that would be to acknowledge everyone’s fault. He knows this anger won’t bring him anywhere, but it is just hard to accept a fate that robbed the universe of someone vital to so many people.

Sora loved like few ever could love, with all and everything; unrepentant and with a passion that burned holes in anyone’s doubt. The sea and the sky will never stop holding his ghost: in each wave Riku can hear the wisp of Sora’s laughter, in each cloud he can see the remnants of Sora’s eyes. So whenever he waits until Kairi falls asleep, trying not to dwell too long on the tears hanging on her wet lashes like dew in the morning hours, Riku then returns to his room where he mourns with the moon and the stars, and it is a bittersweet feeling to share this grief with the world.

Five days pass, then six. On the seventh day, when he enters Kairi’s room and doesn’t find her sitting on her bed with a stack of papers resting on her thighs like usual, dread sinks in his stomach and he closes his eyes. If he loses her as well, Riku himself will burn down the Islands and start another war. On her table, Riku finds more scribbles of Sora, Donald and Goofy, all three huddled inside the gummi ship. His fingers shake when he takes the pen and draws Sora’s crown necklace in a corner, just focusing on breathing with each stroke on the paper. When his thoughts start to run in painful circles, Riku pushes the tip hard enough to rip the paper. Trying so hard to stay calm, not to cry, he doesn’t notice door opening behind him, until—

“Riku.”

He freezes. Behind him, Kairi looks at him with worry and something else in her eyes, but Riku doesn’t read further into it, too occupied with reaching her, holding her, holding her.

Kairi takes one breath, then a second. Her small hands on his back feel so warm, so secure, and Riku allows himself to be weak for a moment in her arms.

“It’s time for us, isn’t it?” Riku starts, and just the approving hum from her draws a shudder from him. “We can’t let him wait any longer.”

“Don’t worry, Riku,” Kairi says, and just like that, the world is tiled back to its original position. “He knows we’re already on our way.”

Riku leans back, his arms still around Kairi, and he is astonished that someone looking so fragile is so much stronger than him. Kairi considers him for a long moment. She takes Riku’s hand and squeezes tightly, leaning her head into his shoulder. Riku understands, and presses his lips to her forehead. “We’ll find him.”

It’s not a promise. It’s an oath.

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Sora opens his eyes. His face is wet, everything is wet and cold, and he faintly remembers the phantom feeling of something warm against his palm. He doesn’t remember what it was. When he tries to get up, his body is there, not broken, not hurt but somehow he hurts inside, and he can’t explain what it is. All around him, the artificial lights of a city illuminate the streets, but wherever he looks, shadows wait in the deepest corners to plunge on him. Something on his left palm burns, and when he looks down, numbers blink up to him in an angry red, running down.

Instinctively, Sora closes his hand into a fist, so tight that his nails bite into his skin. His mind is foggy, but there’s a feeling that he needs to be somewhere; that he has to return somewhere he can’t name. The closest thing it reminds him of is home, and he will do anything to return. Sora has to go back, to follow this tugging inside his chest aiming for a place he doesn’t remember, for he is the heart of hearts.

Most importantly love Like it’s the only thing you know how At the end of the day all this Means nothing […] Nothing even matters Except love and human connection Who you loved And how deeply you loved them How you touched the people around you And how much you gave them

— rupi kaur

#philliamwrites #ao3 #fanfiction #kingdom hearts #kh #kingdom hearts 3 #kh3 #soriku #soroku #vanven #sora #riku #roxas #axel #vanitas

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celestialvoid-fanfiction · 4 years

Text

Rewriting Destiny

A stranger comes to Camelot and Merlin finds himself curiously drawn to the young man, however Arthur is not as welcoming.

For @spirk-erkel01

(You can read it on AO3, here)

Merlin shivered as the chill of the cool autumn air as a breeze rolled through the dense trees, pulling his jacket tight and adjusting his scarf to better cover his neck.

He dragged his feet through the dew-dampened grass as he wandered down the muddy tracks that were worn into the forest floor.

He shrugged the strap of his satchel further up onto his shoulder and dug into the bag, looking for the list of herbs Gaius had sent him to gather.

He made his way through the undergrowth, tracking his way along the familiar paths and collecting the medicinal herbs and plants on the list—chamomile, ginseng root, sage, milk thistle, dandelions and Echinacea.

He moved about the undergrowth, gathering the plants.

There was a rustle among the trees.

Merlin straightened, bolting upright. His bright eyes scanned the shadows of the trees.

“Who’s there?” he called out, but the only reply he got was the rustling of branches and the twitter of birds. “Gwaine, if that’s you, this isn’t funny. I thought you learnt your lesson after the last time you tried to pull a trick on me.”

He felt a swell of power grow within him, ready to protect himself.

A figure stepped into the clearing.

The young man had tanned skin and long blonde hair that was pulled back and tied up with a piece of cloth. His chin was shadowed by the scruff of a beard and his dark brown eyes looked about the clearing before falling on Merlin, his hand tightening on the strap of his bag as he shrugged it further up onto his shoulder.

“I don’t know who Gwaine is,” the man said. “But I swear I’m not playing a trick on you.”

“What are you doing here?” Merlin asked. “Not many people come to this part of the woods.”

“I think I got turned around,” the man said, looking around. “I was heading to Camelot but I think I took a wrong turn somewhere.”

Merlin let out a quiet chuckle. “Let me just finish collecting a few things and then I’ll show you the way.”

“Thanks.”

“You really ought to be careful, there are bandits in these parts of the woods,” Merlin told him.

“I appreciate the warning,” the man replied. “I’ll be more careful in the future.”

“I’m Merlin, by the way,” he introduced himself, dusting off the dirt that clung to his hand before holding it out to the man.

“Eymund,” he replied, shaking Merlin’s hand.

“Nice to meet you,” Merlin said.

He finished collecting the medicinal herbs, stowing them away in his satchel before leading the way back through the undergrowth and towards Camelot.

Heads turned to watch as the young man made his way up through the markets, passing the small fruit stalls, stands with bundles of cloth and tailored clothes, and merchants. A few gazes turned his way, a buzz of chatter following after him as he wove his way through the crowded streets.

“So, what are you doing in Camelot?” Merlin asked, stopping to drop off a bottle of medicine to one of the shop keepers before continuing on through the crowded marketplace.

“Just passing through,” Eymund answered.

“How long are you staying?”

“A few days,” Eymund replied. “I’ve been travelling so long, it might be nice to sleep on an actual bed.”

Merlin chuckled.

“Besides,” Eymund said, his voice quieting slightly, “there’s a few things I need to get in order.”

Merlin nodded thoughtfully.

He opened his mouth to say something when a familiar voice rang out across the market place, interrupting him.

“Merlin!”

He turned, looking to where a man dressed in a faded grey shirt and an old brown leather jacket wove his way through the crowd. His long brown hair was a tousled mess and his jaw was shadowed by an unshaved beard. He pushed his hair back from his face, flashing a bright smile as he looked at Merlin.

“There you are,” he said, a hint of relief in his voice. “We’ve been looking all over for you.”

Merlin was about to ask what he meant by ‘we’ when he looked over Gwaine’s shoulder to see Percival and Elyan making their way through the crowded street.

“I had to run errands for Gaius,” Merlin explained, looking back at Gwaine, but the knight’s eyes were focused on Eymund, his brow furrowed slightly with confusion—as if he were trying to remember something.

“Arthur’s looking for you,” Elyan told Merlin.

Merlin nodded. He turned to Eymund, offering him a friendly smile. “I’m sorry.”

Eymund returned the smile. “It’s alright. I’ll see you around.”

“See you,” Merlin farewelled.

Merlin crossed the town square, stopping before where Eymund sat at the foot of a flight of stairs.

In the few days Eymund had been in town, he and Merlin had spent a lot of time together—talking, mostly.

It was just nice to spend time with someone who wasn’t giving him orders or talking about his destiny; it was nice to be normal for a bit.

Merlin sat down next to Eymund, talking quietly as they watched people go about their day.

“I made something for you,” Eymund said after a little while, reaching over to where the whittled animals he had made sat on the stone step beside him.

He picked up one of them, handing it to Merlin.

It was a stag carved from a piece of pine. It was detailed and delicate, from the curve of its ears and the shape of its nose to the fragile outstretched antlers and upturned tail. There were small notches sliced into the wood to give the creature eyes and scratches along the body that added to the swirls of grain in order to give the illusion of fur.

“It’s beautiful” Merlin said, mesmerised.

“A deer symbolises intuition, vigilance, and caution, but they also symbolise mystery, power, protectiveness and grace,” Eymund said. His dark eyes flicked up to meet Merlin’s. “Much like you.”

“Intuition, vigilance and caution, maybe,” Merlin replied, “but grace? I know a few people who would disagree with that.”

“Then again, I’ve seen more than a few deer stumble over their own feet,” Eymund said with a low chuckle.

“Then, I guess, it’s accurate,” Merlin laughed, a bright smile lighting up his face.

He looked down at the whittled deer in his hands, his smile softening as he looked at it fondly.

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

“Merlin!” Arthur’s voice rang out across the square, frustration and impatience adding an edge to his voice.

Merlin let out a sigh and rose to his feet. “I’ve got to go. I’ll see you later.”

“See you later,” Eymund farewelled, offering Merlin a friendly smile as he watched the young man walk away.

That afternoon, after training, Arthur stood by the window, his face set in a scowl as he looked down over the town square. His bright eyes were focused on the young man who sat on the far side of the square, leaning back against one of the pillars as he whittled away at a piece of wood.

"I don't think you should be spending so much time with him," Arthur said.

“Who?” Merlin asked, setting down the armour chest piece he had been polishing.

“That Eymund guy,” Arthur replied, a hint of bitterness in his tone.

"Why not?" Merlin asked.

"You don't even know the guy," Arthur argued.

"And how am I meant to get to know him if I don't spend time with him?”

Arthur didn’t reply.

“He's a nice guy,” Merlin said. “Besides, since when do you concern yourself with who I spend time with?"

"I don't want you to get hurt, is all," Arthur admitted.

"Just because you don't like people—"

"I like people," Arthur objected.

"Oh, yeah?" Merlin said. "Name one person you like."

You, Arthur thought.

The word caught in his throat; he wanted nothing more than to say it, but he couldn’t. So, instead, he said nothing.

Merlin raised his brow questioningly.

Arthur bit his tongue, drawing in a measured breath as he tried to ignore the way his heart ached.

"Yeah,” Merin said smugly. “That's what I thought."

Dawn broke over the castle, the dim light growing brighter as the sun crested the horizon.

Gwaine and Percival walked ahead through the streets, tearing apart and devouring the sweet roll they’d stolen from the palace kitchens.

“One day you two are going to get caught,” Elyan lectured them.

Percival let out a low chuckle, but Gwaine didn’t reply; he was lost in thought.

“Okay, seriously, what’s wrong with you?” Elyan asked turning to face Gwaine. “You haven’t been yourself for days. You’ve been disturbingly quiet—and I never thought I’d say it but I miss you talking. You didn’t even make one remark when Leon fell over in training yesterday.”

Gwaine didn’t rely. He didn’t even acknowledge that he’d heard what Elyan had said.

“Are you sick?” Elyan asked. “Do we need to take you to see Gaius?”

Gwaine’s feet slowed to a stop, his body stiffening. His eyes widened with fear as realisation crashed over him like a wave, knocking the air from his lungs.

Elyan and Percival stopped, turning to look at him.

“What’s wrong?” Elyan asked, his voice hitching with worry as he looked at the expression on Gwaine’s face.

“Oh no,” Gwaine uttered.

Without another word, he turned, digging his feet into the cobblestones as he took off running. He sprinted into the castle, ignoring Percival and Elyan as they shouted after him.

He ran up the stairs and sprinted down the hallways.

He threw open the doors to Arthur’s chambers, stumbling into the room. His wide eyes scanned the room.

He wasn’t there.

“What is going on?” Arthur asked, standing up from behind his desk.

“Where’s Merlin?” Gwaine asked, panicked.

“With Gaius, I assume,” Arthur answered. “Why?”

Gwaine didn’t answer. He turned and took off running again. Arthur grabbed his jacket, pulling it on as he stepped out into the hallway.

Elyan and Percival were in the hallway, exchanging confused looks as Gwaine sprinted back down the hallway.

Arthur opened his mouth to ask them what was going on but they both looked at him with confusion and shrugged.

Arthur chased after Gwaine, Elyan and Percival following after him.

Gwaine burst into the physician’s quarters.

Gaius jumped, letting out a startled cry and knocking over a tankard of water.

“Is Merlin here?” Gwaine asked, his shoulders rising and falling as he heaved in heavy breaths.

“No,” Gaius answered. “He left with Eymund about an hour ago.”

“Damnit,” Gwaine cursed.

Arthur, Percival and Elyan stumbled through the doorway.

“What is going on?” Gaius asked, looking at the four of them with a look of shock and confusion.

“I don’t know,” Arthur replied.

“I knew I recognised his face,” Gwaine rambled, lost in his thoughts. Frustration added an edge to his voice, but his anger was directed at himself. “How did I not realise it sooner?”

“Gwaine,” Percival said firmly, pulling the man’s attention back to reality.

“What are you talking about?” Arthur asked.

“Merlin’s in trouble.”

The dry husks of leaves crackled beneath the soles of their shoes, the rich smell of sweet petrichor filling their lungs as they walked along the muddy trail, away from the grassy knolls and castle gates and further into the woods.

The tall trees towered over them, thin beams of wavering light shining through the canopy and dancing across the forest floor. The leaves were beginning to change, a few trees were turning golden or auburn as the autumn chill hung in the air.

Crystal-like droplets of dew gathered on the wavering blades of grass and delicate flowers grew along the edge of the path, filling the undergrowth with bursts of colour: white, purple, orange, yellow, and blue.

Merlin ducked under the low hanging branches, brushing aside the spindly limbs that reached out for him.

“Where are we going?” he asked, looking around at the dark shadows that lingered among the undergrowth.

“To make change,” Eymund replied.

“That doesn’t really answer my question.”

Merlin followed him regardless.

They came to a small clearing.

Eymund slowed to a stop, his back turned to Merlin.

Merlin turned about in circles, looking at the trees that surrounded him. “What are we doing here?”

“Do you believe in destiny?” Eymund asked.

“I guess,” Merlin replied half-heartedly. “Why?”

“Do you believe destiny can be changed?”

“What are you talking about?” Merlin asked.

“Arthur is destined to be the Once and Future King,” Eymund said. “But if he were to die, Camelot will fall without its king and magic will rule again. The only thing stoping that from happening, the only thing protecting Arthur, is you—”

He turned to face Merlin, the collar of his shirt falling open enough to reveal the black lines of a spiralling triskellion that was tattooed onto his chest.

Merlin blinked in surprise.

He was a druid.

Eymund’s eyes darkening with rage. “—Emrys.”

The name sent a chill down Merlin’s spine, his eyes widening as ice flooded his veins.

In one swift movement, Eymund drew a dagger from where it was sheathed in the small of his back and lunged at Merlin.

Merlin dove to the side.

Eymund swung again.

Merlin ducked under his arm, turning into his body and slamming his elbow into Eymund’s chest.

The man let out a choked breath, staggering back slightly as Merlin stepped out of his reach.

Maybe all those years of training and sparring with Arthur had actually paid off.

Eymund regained his footing, his shoulders rising and falling with ragged breaths. He was livid, snarling s he glared at Merlin.

“Without you to protect him, Arthur will die and magic will return,” Eymund said. “I thought you would understand. Sacrifices must be made.”

He lunged at Merlin again.

Merlin dove aside and rolled across the forest floor as he narrowly avoided another blow, muttering under his breath, “Easy for you to say if you’re not the one being sacrificed.”

Merlin rose to his feet, his eyes focused on Eymund. He felt a swell of power grow within him, his eyes glowing gold as his magic soared through his veins.

Eymund charged at him.

“Merlin!”

He felt something crash into him, knocking him aside.

There was the sickening sound of a blade tearing through flesh and a strangled gasp of pain.

Merlin hit the ground with a painful thud. He felt a stab of fear pierce his heart as he turned around, the glow from his eyes fading as he watched the other man collapse back against the trunk of a nearby tree. The front of his shirt was stained red, streams of blood gushing from the wound.

His heart sank into his stomach, his stomach twisting and a wave of bile rising into his throat. He swallowed hard.

“Arthur,” he gasped breathlessly.

Eymund stumbled back, the dagger still in his hands, the blade now slick with blood.

Arthur weakly reached for where he had dropped his sword.

A wicked smile turned up the corner of the man’s lips as he looked down at Arthur. “Or I could just cut out the middle man and eliminate you myself.”

“No!” Merlin shouted.

His eyes lit up with a golden glow as he held out his hand, sending Eymund flying.

Eymund struck a tree, letting out a cry of pain. The dagger fell from his hand and his hit the ground with a heavy thud.

Merlin watched him for a second before pushing himself to his feet and running over to Arthur’s side.

“What were you doing out here?”

“Saving you,” Arthur said.

“I suppose you’ll want to say ‘I told you so’,” Merlin muttered.

“I don’t have to,” Arthur replied.

“How did you find me?” Merlin asked.

“Gwaine knew him,” Arthur told him, his words broken as he gasped in pain. “They crossed paths back when Gwaine first came to Camelot. He knew he was a druid and he thought you were in trouble. I came looking for you.”

Arthur tensed, drawing in another sharp breath.

“Hold still,” Merlin said as he carefully rolled up the hem of Arthur’s blood-soaked shirt, looking at the gash that was torn across his stomach.

He felt his stomach twist nauseatingly, swallowing hard against the lump in his throat.

Smears of blood covered his tan skin, the bitter metallic smell burning at Merlin’s nose and making his stomach churn.

He swallowed hard, his hands shaking slightly as he ran the tips of his fingers across Arthur’s skin.

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” Arthur lied.

Merlin didn’t respond. He held his hand over the wound, his eyes lighting up with a golden glow as his power soared through him.

He watched as the flesh stitched itself together, the wound healing itself.

He slowly sat back, his eyes fading back to their natural hue.

“You have magic?” Arthur asked, stunned.

“I was born with it,” Merlin admitted, his voice quiet and his eyes focused on the ground, unable to look Arthur in the eye.

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

Merlin looked up, levelling him with a look.

“Oh, right,” Arthur said quietly.

Merlin dropped his gaze again.

“You need rest,” He said as he sat down, leaning back against the trunk of a nearby tree.

A heavy silence settled between the two of them.

“What are you thinking?” Arthur asked after a while, studying Merlin’s thoughtful expression.

“If I go back to Camelot, I’ll be executed,” Merlin said quietly. “But I have nowhere else to go. If I run, you’ll only find me; I’ll only be delaying the inevitable.”

“Come back to Camelot,” Arthur pleaded.

“I can’t,” Merlin replied.

“I won’t tell anyone,” Arthur said.

“You have a duty as the future king to uphold the law.”

“I will not let them kill you!” Arthur shouted.

Merlin looked at him, shocked.

“Why not?” he asked, struggling to find his voice. “I’m just a servant boy.”

Arthur shook his head, glistening tears welling in his eyes. “No, you’re not. You’re more than that. You’re so much more than that.”

Arthur let out a sigh.

“Merlin, you’re my friend,” he said quietly, dropping his gaze to the blanket of leaves that covered the forest floor. “But I’d be lying if I didn’t say that there are times I wish you were so much more than that.”

Merlin didn’t say anything.

“The way I feel about you…” Arthur continued, struggling to string his thoughts together with words. “…I’ve never felt that way about anyone before.”

Arthur lifted his gaze, his cobalt blue eyes full of emotion as he looked at Merlin.

“It’s always been you,” Arthur said. “It’s only ever been you.”

Merlin was stunned. All he could manage to say was, “I never knew you felt that way.”

“I never knew how to say it,” Arthur admitted.

Merlin opened his mouth to say something, but his words fell short of his lips when Arthur winced, drawing in a sharp breath between his gritted teeth.

Something was wrong; the wound had healed but Arthur was still in pain.

Merlin pulled himself over to Arthur’s side. He lifted up the blood stained shirt.

The skin around the wound was marred by black lines that radiated outwards like shattered glass.

“We have to get you back to Camelot,” Merlin said.

There was a rustle among the trees.

Merlin grabbed Arthur’s sword, leaping to his feet and bracing himself. His eyes darted about the shadows, listening as the snapping of branches and rustling leaves drew closer.

He swallowed hard, tightening his grip on the sword until the skin stretched over his knuckles turned white.

A figure burst through the foliage, riding atop a white stead.

They pulled hard on the reins, pulling the horse up short and breathing out a sigh of relief.

“You do not know how relieved I am to see you two,” Lancelot said.

“Arthur’s hurt,” Merlin said, not wasting any time. “I need you to get him to Gaius.”

Lancelot dismounted his stead, rushing over to Arthur’s side.

Beads of sweat dampened Arthur’s brow, strands of blonde hair clinging to his flushed skin.

“He’s been poisoned,” Merlin explained. “I’d treat it myself but I don’t have what I need.”

“I’ll take him to Gaius. Help me get him on the horse,” Lancelot said.

“I won’t leave you out here on your own,” Arthur objected.

“Arthur, we don’t have time to argue about this,” Merlin said, lifting Arthur’s arm over his shoulders and hoisting the prince to his feet. “You need help, otherwise you’ll die.”

Lancelot helped him lift Arthur onto the horse, watching as he swayed weakly and struggled to stay upright in the saddle. Lancelot climbed up behind him, holding one hand around Arthur’s waist to steady him.

“Take him straight to Gaius.”

“I’m not leaving you,” Arthur said, his sharp glare softening as he looked at Merlin pleadingly.

“When you two are done bickering,” Lancelot interrupted. He lifted his fingers to his lips and let out a sharp whistle.

A few moments later, there was a rush of noise—the crack of branches and the sound of hooves pounding the damp earth. The rest of the knights rode into the small clearing.

Leon slowed his horse beside Merlin, holding his hand out to the young man. “Need a ride?”

Merlin smiled up at him. He took his hand, letting Leon pull him up onto his horse.

The horses’ hooves thundered against the earth as they rode back to Camelot.

The light had begun to fade, the dusk sky lit with vibrant colours. The streets were quiet, the only noise coming from the few people who were securing their animals or the raucous laughter that filtered out of the tavern.

Arthur’s condition had stabilised. He was still weak from blood loss and he needed rest.

Merlin held Arthur’s arm over his shoulder, steadying the young prince on his feet as he helped him walk slowly up the stairs that lead to Merlin’s chambers.

He walked him over to the bed, pulling back the sheets and lowering Arthur onto the bed.

The bed wasn’t as large or as soft as Arthur’s bed, but he was in no condition to walk back to his room.

Merlin pulled the blankets up over the young man’s shoulders, watching as he settled among the soft sheets.

Arthur’s heavy eyelids fell shut as he let out a deep sigh.

Merlin couldn’t help but smile as he watched Arthur for a moment. But the smile was short-lived, falling from his face as he rose to his feet and turned to leave.

He felt something grab his hand, turning to see Arthur’s hand weakly holding onto his wrist.

“Stay,” Arthur rasped.

“Is that an order?” Merlin asked, his voice softened by his teasing tone.

Arthur opened his eyes slightly, the bright blue depths of his eyes weary and unfocused as he looked at Merlin.

“Merlin, stay with me,” he pleaded.

A small smile turned up the corners of Merlin’s lips. He stepped back over to the bed and sat down on the floor, leaning against the mattress. He reached up, taking Arthur’s hand in his own and whispering, “Always.”

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pathetic-has-been-rockstar · 3 years

Text

The bonfire surprise

Pairing: Crowley x reader

Written for: @spnchristmasbingo

Square/s filled: Chestnuts; Sitting by the fire

Warnings: none

Summary: still set to enjoy every bit of winter and holiday traditions, you decide to bring Jack to pick up chestnuts. Crowley joins you on the most innocuous hunt of the year, bringing Juliet along to spice things up. Roasting chestnuts on Hellfire never looked so good.

Words: 3091

Beta: @raspberrymama (I’ll never say this enough: check out her works!)

this piece can be found on AO3, here! If you’re interested in the whole series, you just have to click here!

“So... are you coming or not?”

Crowley tilts his head a bit, then nods, looking at you. “You know... yes. Since we've been consistently saving this world, it would be nice to take a walk in it.”

You were surprised when he decided to stick around for Christmas, or at least until the brothers don't actively start to try and kill him. He declared he enjoys the mayhem he can create frustrating Christmas' plans, but you suspect that he's probably just bored by his temporary lack of employment. You give him a small nod.

“Precisely what I was thinking.”

“Great. Now... aren't you forgetting something?”

You run a quick mind inventory, but nothing seems to be missing. “... like what?”

“Like the kid?” Crowley suggests, falsely helpful.

“... oh, no. Jack's in the car from like ten minutes. He can't wait to go.”

Crowley sighs dramatically. “Oh, to be young and eager again. Is it far?”

“About twenty minutes from here... why don't you come with us? You can try and crush Jack's optimism while we go.”

“I can do it on site. I've got someone to pick up, if it's all the same to you.”

“Oh... sure. Of course.” You are slightly curious and, even if you would never admit it, slightly disappointed. You were hoping for some time with Crowley, but he seems to have framed the occasion like a good chance to do... well, anything else.

“Fantastic. I'll see you there.”

“Hey, Y/N?”

“Yes, Jack?”, you answer after a second, emerging from your thoughts.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes. Why?”

“You are just very quiet.”

“I'm just... a bit tired, you know.” Of course you were quiet. You're dying to see who was so important that had to be picked up and brought to what feels like a family thing.

“Sure. So... how's it gonna be?”

Surprised, you throw a side glance at Jack. The kid is smart. “As it's always been, I guess. Why?”

“I've never picked up chestnuts.”

Of course. Of course it was about the chestnuts. You stammer a moment, trying to collect yourself. “Oh, it's fun, actually. You just have to watch out for the shells, actually. They're spikey, y'know. You put on your gloves, then we pick them up from the ground,and check if there are holes in them. If they're whole we can put them in the baskets.”

“What if there's a hole?”

“Well, that means there's a worm inside. It's not a problem if you accidentally eat it, since it's basically lived inside the thing its whole life and it tastes like that, but... let's just try and avoid it, ok?”

“Sure. No point in killing it just because it's in the wrong place at the right moment.”

You smile, surprised by the tenderness of his heart. The whole argument about his nature before he was born it feels incredibly stupid, now. The kid doesn't even want to kill a worm.

“Precisely. Besides, it might mean that the thing is rotting, and we don't want to deal with the consequences of eating spoilt food. Why don't you put on some music?”

Jack literally beams at the idea. “Can I connect my phone?”

“Sure thing, kid. We have about half an hour to go, connect the Bluetooth and jam away.”

The rest of the ride consists mainly in Jack humming Christmas songs and weird covers of them, while you keep your eyes on the road and occasionally sing along with him.

Once you get there, you immediately spot Crowley. Seeing that he's alone, you tilt your head.

“Weren't you supposed to pick up someone?”

“I did.”

He whistles, and a second later two hellhounds appear next to him, wagging their tails. He smiles at you, clearly satisfied by your surprised expression.

“I'm confident you remember Juliet and Banquo.”

“I do. How... how can I see them?”

“Because I let you.”

“... oh. Thanks, I guess.”

Crowley hints at them with a swift nod. “Go ahead, touch them. I know you'd like to.”

Trying to play it cool, you kneel down and pat the head of Juliet. A second later, Banquo is rubbing his head against your arm, almost throwing you off balance. Crowley immediately notices.

“Banquo. Settle down, boy.”

The hound whimpers and draws back, immediately obeying Crowley, who gives you a satisfied look.

“I trained them myself.”

“I figured that much.” you fire back. Like anyone else could train those hounds to act like that.

You're distracted by Jack calling you. You turn and you see the bundle of scarf, hat and oversized sport coat wandering among the trees and picking up the burrs, only to let them fall again as soon as they sting him. Crowley raises an eyebrow, amused.

“Looks like the most powerful being in existence needs help with picking up some fruit from the ground.”

“... he's three years old.”

“They grow so fast, don't they?”

You turn your back to Crowley and walk to Jack. Juliet and Banquo run around, sniffing the leaves and acting mostly like normal dogs. You notice that, and turn to Crowley, who's been casually waddling around, following you and Jack.

“Why are they like these?”

“What do you mean?”

“They act like normal dogs.”

“They like topside.”

“Don't they have souls to collect, today?”

“They always do.” Crowley replies with a casual scroll of his shoulders.

“Then why are they here?”

“There are other hounds, you know. These two were just the most affectionate to me. In short, useless to dear mother, and very useful for my personal security.”

Of course, you don't know why they're there. You're not a hunter, after all, not in the truest meaning of the word. You've been dragged in there when you ran into Bobby, years earlier, trying to nick a book from your shop. You gave him the book in exchange for some explanations, and it turned out your years of eccentric reading made you pretty useful.

Bobby then started to call you for lore-related things, and it was only a matter of time before the hunters started to use your shop as a sort of base. You started to store magical items, too, and even faced a few monsters on your own. Not exactly your cup of tea, but fun. Crowley knows about this all, obviously. Everyone knows about it. His dogs are there because you are there. The idea of a human dear both to the king of Hell and the future God might inspire some unpleasant thoughts in rogue demons and monsters, so he doesn't want to take any unnecessary risk.

You only see the hounds sprinting away, running after a very lucky squirrel. The little rodent manages to climb up the bark of the chestnut tree just in time, escaping the fangs of the hellish beasts for a split hair. Crowley giggles happily next to you, apparently delighted.

“The dislike for squirrels must run in the family.”

“Yeah... Jack, honey, wait, no.”

Jack has started to climb on the tree, trying to reach the lowest branches, that are still a good seven feet above the ground. He really is a three years old sometimes, but you keep forgetting that. When he falls back on you, you are painfully reminded that he is a three years old in a fully adult body.

Before Jack can do it, Crowley helps you up, smirking.

“Everything fine, love?”

“Yeah, peachy.”

He chuckles and takes a dried leaf off your hair, then gives you an amused smile.

“Looks like you're enjoying yourselves, at least.”

Jack enthusiastically answers for you, then dashes away to inspect a new patch of dried leaves and fallen burrs. When climbing up the trees is finally off the table, you three keep walking in the woods and picking up chestnuts here and there until the baskets are full. You look at your clock, starting to feel the cold seeping through your clothes.

“We still have a couple of hours of good light left. Let's go back to the car, we'll make a fire there.”

“... a fire? What for?”

“Well, we... you know what? It's a surprise. Come on, let's go back.”

Jack smiles in excitement, then slows down, looking at you and Crowley. You walk closer than you did earlier, and you don't even seem to notice how the back of your hands touch while you walk. He's seen Dean and Castiel subconsciously trying to get closer just like that. He might be young, but he's learnt quite a lot about love and longing, and he's quite sure that he has a fine example of both lying right in front of him. He also has an idea about how to make that happen, even if he will have to wait until you return to the bunker.

When the three of you make it back to the clearing where you parked the car, you start looking around for some logs and branches to set the fire. You have some water and a couple of old newspapers in the car, so safety and the ignition are accounted for. You're still scouring the clearing through the growing darkness when Crowley clears his throat. You turn to him, expecting him to mock you for not having figured it before.

“... what?”

“I assume you're looking for something to start the fire.”

“Well, duh.”

He scoffs, not taking seriously your remark, and raises his hand, “Perhaps I could be of assistance. You know... hellfire and all that.”

“Oh, I... I didn't think of it.”

“I figured that much”, he echoes the words you spat at him earlier in a much gentler tone. You almost feel bad for treating him harshly, but you just can't help it. There's something about him and the way he treats you that makes you feel... uneasy, for some reason.

Crowley knows you well, by now, but he still hasn't found a way to unravel you completely. He was content when you sought him out in your sleep. You slipped through the sheets and held him, just like you did a few years ago, and you seemed pretty happy about it. You wanted to be close to him... and yet you seem very bothered by his presence, at times. Of course, this only makes him all the more curious to find out the key to decipher your weirdness. He doesn't like pending business, and you certainly are acting like one.

With a snap of his fingers, a bright fire starts burning a few yards away from the car, complete with a few logs to sit around it, and you look at it, fascinated like a child. Juliet and Banquo immediately recognize the nature of the flames, and go to quietly lie down next to them.

You start laughing and walk to the car, taking the castiron skillet and a couple of knives.

“What, no knife for me?”

You jump, surprised. He's definitely closer than where you left him, and you didn't hear him approach.

“Stop moving so quietly! I'll tie a bell around your neck.”

“Oooh, my own collar? Kinky. I might like that.”

You thank the darkness and the dancing lights cast by the open flames for hiding the redness creeping up your cheeks. You grab a third knife, flip it and offer the handle to Crowley.

“You know how to do it, right?”

“Love, I am a demon, not a moron.”

“Eh. Sometimes you can be both.”

He rolls his eyes, only mildly annoyed. “Care to make an example or do I have to take your insults at face value?”

You would like to answer, but your throat closes. The thought of that day in the Apocalypse world is etched in your mind, and you don't like to think about it. Luckily, you catch Jack getting close to the hounds with the clear intention of petting them, so you're spared from answering. You dash to him, worried.

“Jack, don't!”

Jack immediately takes a step back and looks at you, confused. “But they look so cute!”

“Yeah, but those are not fluffy animals. Those are killing machines, and...”

“And they're trained to behave around people who mean no harm to me. Go ahead, boy. They like scratches on their heads.” Crowley encourages Jack.

You survey carefully the scene, ready to spring into action, but Crowley was telling the truth. A minute later, Jack is sitting on the ground, scratching Juliet's head with a hand, and patting Banquo with the other, looking happier than ever.

“You think Dean will let us keep on in the bunker?”

You think about it for a second. There's not a strong enough word in any human language to express the way Dean would refuse the idea of a hellhound loose in the bunker. Hearing Crowley chuckle next to you, you're sure that he's thinking the exact same thing.

“I... I don't think so, Jack.” Jack nods, trusting your judgement, and looks at you.

“Right. So... what do I do with the knife?”

You sit down on the log next to his one and teach him how to lightly carve the smooth shell of the fruit with a X, so that it doesn't swell and bash while it cooks. When you prepare enough for the three of you, you pour them in the pan and set it on the fire, shaking it from time to time to ensure an even cooking.

Jack notices that your movements are steady, and studies you for a moment. “So... is it a Christmas tradition?”

“It’s more of a winter thing, not just Christmas,” you answer, “I used to go picking chestnuts with my grandfather, from November through December. Then we would cook them on this big open fire in the backyard of his country house. Not a fancy one, though. He was a farmer, so it was one of those old houses full of tools and handmade stuff. I really liked that place.”

“I bet it was amazing.”

You think about it for a moment. “You know what? It really was. And they kept loads of animals, too. He and my grandma would do everything at home, from scratch.”

You start telling Jack things you've never told anyone since you moved and started your new life. Meanwhile, you keep your eyes on the chestnuts, taking them out of fire when they're done.

You pick some pages from the old newspapers and roll three cones, then pour the hot roasted fruit in them. You offer one to Jack, and one to Crowley, who looks surprised.

“... for me?”

“Yes. I know you don't eat, but...”

He takes the cone from your hands, smiling.

“I still like the taste. Thanks, love. Very thoughtful of you.”

“Shut up”, you mutter, but you're smiling.

Jack encourages you to tell more stories about your family, and you hear the crunching noises coming from him slowing down progressively. When you look at him again, on the other side of the flames, you see him dozing off, still nestled between Juliet and Banquo.

You smile and throw your paper cone filled with discarded skins in the fire, watching it crackle, then reach out, trying to warm your hands. The air is cold, and it's totally dark around you, despite being only four p.m. You think about what you just told Jack, and a sting of nostalgia catches you by surprise.

You quickly blink a couple of times, hoping to chase those unexpected tears away, but you feel a hand on your shoulder.

“Are you alright, kitten?”

You almost forgot about Crowley. Surprisingly, he didn’t say anything while you were telling your stories to Jack, but you don’t suspect he listened to every word you said. “I... yes. Just... I haven't thought about those things for a very long time. I... I'm just being stupid.”

“Oh, love. Don't. Actually, you made me remember a few things about my winters as a human.”

“... really?” You think you couldn't be more surprised, but you're wrong. Your amazement hits its peak when Crowley starts telling you about old Scottish traditions, and his experiences with them.

After a few minutes of chatting, you shiver, and inch closer to him. He doesn't move away, instead he wraps an arm around your shoulders.

“I suspect you like me just as a heather, love” he purrs right beside your ear.

“Who says I like you?”

You both laugh and stay quiet, enjoying the cold air, the warmth of the fire and the smell of smoke and roasted chestnuts filling the air for a while. You close your eyes for a moment, laying your head back on his shoulder. His cologne and the hint of sulphur hidden behind it always made you feel safe, and now that things are so different from what they were, you aren't even plagued by the question anymore. The ever-present question of what was going to come next, what was going to happen... how you’d lose him.

You sigh and open your eyes, looking at Jack, then move away from Crowley.

“You know... we should go back. It's dark, and I'm sure they're wondering where we are.”

“... I'll bring back the puppies and see you there, if it's fine with you.”

“It... it is. More than fine, actually.”

He brushes your hand, and you feel his warmth through your glove, then look at him while he speaks.

“Thanks for sharing those memories, love. I know they were for the kid, but... it was nice to hear them.”

“Actually… I'm glad you were here.”

For a moment, both of you stay still. You feel your heart beating faster when you look at him. The way the fire underlines his features, the sheer intensity of his gaze force you to shiver, despite being comfortable and warm. Crowley looks at you and can’t hold back a smile. It might be the moment he was waiting for.

Instead, suddenly panicking, you stand up quickly, feeling your usual shield going up again. You can't be too vulnerable around him, after all. And Jack… you must bring him back. You didn’t come all that way just to get all lovey-dovey with the former king of Hell. “Well, I'll see you back at the bunker.”

“Right. See you there.” Crowley mutters through his teeth and notices the sudden shift in your behaviour. He wonders if his efforts still make sense. Then, he watches you waking up Jack and talking softly to him, petting the hounds and making sure everything is fine, and he knows he just has to be a bit more patient.

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Thank you for reading!

I truly hope you enjoyed this little story. Every kind of feedback is very much appreciated, just as much as likes and reblogs!

Please, do not repost or copy my works or part/s of it, not even if you give credits.

#spn #spnchristmasbingo #spnfic #chestnuts #sitting by the fire #christmas fluff #crowley x reader #crowley x fem reader #jack is a baby #hellhounds #ooc #canon divergent #writers on tumblr

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