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dongofthewolf · 3 years

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Dancing in the Deepest Oceans- Chapter 3

Abby Anderson x Fem!Reader

Your first date with Abby doesn’t go quite as planned.

Warnings: mentions of blood and injury, swearing, angst, hurt/comfort, uhhh yea I did that

Here’s chapter three! It definitely took way longer than I expected to do since I really wanted to get a lot of those requests done, so I’m v sorry about that.

Also I kinda cheated and included someone’s request for a bath scene with Abby in this so shhhhh it’s fine I’m just lazy productive like that okay LOL. I hope you all enjoy (esp if you requested the scene) ! :)

Read the previous chapter here

You couldn’t believe this was actually happening. You felt like the protagonist in one of those cheesy rom-coms from back in the day; the ones where the girl suddenly stumbles into the arms of her true love and everyone sings a happy song, except this isn’t a movie and also it’s kind of the apocalypse or whatever. You didn’t care though, this was the closest thing to rom-com perfection you were getting and you couldn’t complain, because it was with her.

Though you had only known Abby for a few short days, something inside you couldn’t help but feel like you had known her your entire life. The intimacy of those few stolen glances, the slight brushes of your shoulders, the way your hand fit perfectly in hers; it all felt so natural. You just hoped she felt the same way.

She should be here.

You glanced down at your watch again, it was 8:15. Maybe you had heard her wrong? No, she definitely said eight o clock. Your mind swarmed with possible excuses as to why she wasn’t here; perhaps she thought you were meeting at seven and now she was the one who thought you were standing her up, or maybe she thought you guys were meeting at your room and this was the fault of some kind of miscommunication, or maybe she simply forgot. You racked your brain for any possibilities as to why she wasn’t here, trying your best to neglect the most obvious reason out of denial or maybe fear.

The hallway was dark and quiet, the tile floor cold against your skin as you sat with your knees tucked tightly against your chest. Your back ached from leaning against the steel door, and you had become increasingly more embarrassed every time someone passed by. Their lingering gazes made you want to disappear into the earth beneath you.

For at least an hour, you sat outside her door contemplating whether or not you should wait for her. Was this whole thing a mistake? Your heart began to sink at the frightening possibility that she had been toying with your feelings this whole time, that you were just a naive girl with a childish crush on this person you barely even knew. God, how could you have been so stupid? This is exactly why you never formed attachments; they always ended in heartbreak, disappointment, or both. As more time passed, the fear and sadness that occupied your thoughts slowly began to fade into frustration.

This was dumb. Why were you waiting around for her like some lost kitten? You scoffed at how pathetic you felt. Anger began to rise in your chest as you thought of all the things you’d say to her when you saw her—how you’d scold her for standing you up, dreaming up this gigantic speech about how if she wasn’t interested she should’ve just told you. Or maybe instead of yelling you would just never speak to her again. Give her the silent treatment for the rest of your life. That is what she wanted anyways, right?

As you sat there arguing silently with yourself you heard a pair of heavy footsteps headed towards you. You craned your neck to try and see who or what was approaching you, but the hallway was too dark to get a clear view. Panic quickly replaced the anger that had been occupying your heart just seconds ago as you stood up from your uncomfortable position. You could hear the adrenaline pumping in your ears as you squint your eyes at the dark figure headed towards you. A sudden rush of relief fell over you when a familiar face appeared out of the shadows.

“Y/N.” Manny emerged from the darkness. His hair was slicked back into a bun and he wore a nervous expression on his face. The sole of his boots were caked with a thick layer of mud that left a trail of footprints in the hallways, and you pitied the poor soul who would have to clean it up.

“Where’s Abby?” There was a sharpness to your words. You knew you should've been a bit more conversational (Manny had done nothing to you after all), but after sitting on the floor for an hour, you didn’t feel like wasting time on bullshit small talk. If Abby was going to send Manny to get rid of you instead of doing it herself, then the last thing you cared about right now was seeming polite.

“Right, about that…” You raised your eyebrow, Manny’s expression was difficult to interpret and you could tell he was here to break some kind of news to you, but for some reason it felt like whatever bomb he was about to drop was far worse than what you had expected.

“Manny, what’s going on?” You took a small step towards him, searching his face for an answer.

“Isaac sent Abby and I on a supply run this morning. Nothing too difficult, just transporting a few things to another base but…” Manny looked down at his feet as he contemplated his next words “but we ran into a group of scars on our way back and we got separated.”

You suddenly felt a tinge of guilt for thinking all those things about Abby. “W-what do you mean you got separated? Where’s Abby now?”

Manny’s eyes were fixed to the floor as he delivered the news, his thumbs twiddling together nervously. “I uh… well, I don’t know.” Manny noticed your face twist with anger at his answer and tried to diffuse some of it “But Isaac’s already sent out a group to find her. It’s going to be okay Y/N, Abby is one of Isaac’s top soldiers and you know he’ll do whatever he can to find her.”

You were speechless, but more than anything you were frustrated. Frustrated at yourself for thinking such horrible things about Abby—for having such little faith in her. You wanted to scream at your past self for being so ignorant. Tears began to well in your eyes and Manny’s words did little to comfort you.

“I should be out there.” You marched down the hallway determined to find Abby but Manny was quicker.

His hand grabbed your wrist and pulled you back “You can’t go out there Y/N, you’ll die. Abby’s smart, okay? She’ll find her way back.”

You tried to resist his grip on your wrist even though you knew he was right. You weren’t a soldier nor did you have the proper training to leave the outpost alone. And while a large part of you knew it was stupid to try and leave, a much bigger part of you didn’t care. You had to find Abby; you were willing to do anything, even if that meant putting yourself in harm's way.

“I don’t care, I have to go out there.” You managed to yank yourself free from his grip and booked it towards the door but Manny was quick and caught you. Wrapping his arms around your stomach and hoisting you over his shoulder Manny carried you into his and Abby’s room while you fought and cried like a little kid.

“Fucking let go of me Manny!” Tears stained your cheeks as you sobbed into Manny’s shirt.

When Manny finally set you down on his bed you were exhausted from crying; the only thing left in your heart now was an overwhelming feeling of helplessness. You weren’t even allowed to leave the outpost to look for Abby, and the only thing you could do was sit in this wretched room praying she didn’t get mauled by a clicker or hung by a Seraphite.

Manny didn’t feel any better about this than you did, in fact it was his job as Abby’s partner to watch out for her and he failed. Now his best friend was missing and it’s all his fault. The guilt weighed heavily on Manny as he tried to comfort you while you wept silently into his pillow. Even though he couldn’t have possibly predicted the surprise attack, he still felt like this entire thing was his doing. He tried to plead with Isaac to let him go back out and search for Abby but he refused, so Manny figured keeping you safe was the least he could do.

Hours later you got up from Manny’s bed to use the bathroom, and he was nowhere to be found. You figured he probably went to bother Isaac about Abby or something, he was persistent like that.

You splashed some cold water on your face before tipping your head under the faucet to help ease the dryness in your throat. When you brought your head back up you almost didn’t recognize the person staring back at you in the mirror. Your eyes were red and puffy and there were dark circles under your eyes like you haven’t slept in days. You looked like a mess. Your hair was wild and unruly but at least with that outfit you had spent way too long picking out, you still looked pretty cute.

At least you were a hot mess.

The longer you stared at yourself in the mirror, the more unrecognizable your face became. And then for reasons you couldn’t explain, you started laughing. A hysterical laugh that echoed off the walls in the bathroom like a sick symphony fell unwillingly from your mouth, and you couldn’t stop. There was something so incredibly sardonic about the events of these past few hours, that your body just decided to break out into a breathless cackle. It was a twisted reaction to a terrifying situation but for some reason it wouldn’t go away. Your stomach began to ache and your throat was dry and sore again. It felt like this sickening nightmare would never end.

You felt tears begin to well up again when you heard something that immediately shook you from your shocked state: the rattling of the doorknob.

Your heart swelled with hope as you ran towards the door, not concerned about waking up the people in the rooms next door with your loud footsteps. The door creaked open, flooding the dark room with a pale yellow light that blinded you, and from that light emerged a figure you knew all too well— one that you had become intimately familiar with.

Abby limped through the door, at first not even realizing you were standing right there. You were looming in the darkness like some kind of monster, and you tried to speak but nothing came out. The only thing that snapped you out of it was the sound of Abby’s voice, hoarse and hushed like she was speaking into the darkness rather than you. God, you almost forgot how much you loved the sound of her voice.

“Y/N?” Abby wasn’t sure if she was imagining this. She thought maybe the expired pain meds had some hallucinatory side effects and you were just what she wanted to see the most. Abby’s doubts faded into nothing when you took a small step into the light. In that moment she knew that this was real—that you were real.

When your eyes finally adjusted to the harsh lights you saw her face and gasped. To say Abby was in rough shape would be putting it lightly. There were cuts and bruises all over her face and body, and her clothes were absolutely filthy, but you couldn’t be bothered with that right now. You ran into her arms to embrace her tightly and Abby winced at the contact. Quickly you pulled back out of fear you hurt her, but Abby’s arms wrapped around your shoulders, pulling you back in.

Abby let out a loud exhale and for a small moment the jabbing pains all over her body ceased to exist. The only thing occupying her mind was the warmth of your body—how she could feel your heart beating with how tightly she was holding you, and she could finally exhale.

When you pulled away, a flood of emotions suddenly began to flow through you, filling you to the brim until the only words you could manage to mutter out through choked sobs were “I thought you were-“

“I know. I’m sorry.” There was a somber expression on Abby’s face as she wiped the tears from your cheek with the pads of her thumbs.

You sniffed, looking up at her, you cleared your throat before speaking “Jesus Abby, your face.“ you softly grabbed Abby’s chin, examining her injuries in the light. There were crimson slices all over her face, and she was beaten black and blue. A particularly deep cut on her forehead had been stitched carefully and there was a cotton bandage wrapped around her left forearm. The state of your distress now seemed like peanuts compared to Abby’s state.

Without thinking you hugged Abby again tightly, revelling in the comfort of her embrace. Abby’s eyes were closed when you wrapped your arms around her, her eyebrows were furrowed and you weren’t sure if she was about to cry or scream. Though you didn’t know much about Abby, you did know she was a soldier—a warrior who wasn’t disturbed easily. You had no idea what she had just been through, but whatever happened had shaken her up pretty good.

“Here.” Bringing your arms up to the strap of her backpack, you helped her ease it off her shoulder. She let out a breath of relief as you lifted the weight from her back and placed it near the door.

Looking at Abby now you finally realized how dirty she was. There was mud and grime all over her clothes and her braid was loose and unruly.

“Hey, uh I’ll run a bath for you, just wait here.” Considering her state you figured a bath would be more relaxing than a shower. Besides, you needed to feel useful right now, and if that meant taking care of Abby for a bit? You didn’t mind at all.

Hesitantly, you made your way to the bathroom and laid out a small towel on the tile floor. Turning on the faucet, you placed the plug in the tub and made your way to Abby, guiding her to the edge of the tub. “Let me know if the water is too hot, okay?”

Abby nodded as she ran her hand under the running water, letting the warmth fall between her fingers. When the tub was full, you turned off the faucet and stood up, using Abby’s shoulders to help steady you as you started for the door but something stopped you.

“Wait-“ You stopped, Abby’s hand was over the one you placed on your shoulder, securing it there so you wouldn’t leave. She looked at you with pleading eyes as she spoke “Can… can you stay?” Abby didn’t say anything more but you could tell by the look in her eyes she needed you here.

“Sure. I’ll turn around and you can get undressed.” You turned to face the door, looking down at the tile floor as you traced the crevices with your finger. The only sound that could be heard was the droplets of water that fell from the faucet echoing against the walls and the soft rustling of Abby removing her clothes. Eventually you heard Abby lower herself into the tub, she let out a loud sigh as the tension in her muscles dissipated from the warm water.

“You can turn around now.” Abby’s voice was quiet when she finally spoke.

Slowly you turned around to see Abby sitting in the tub, her legs tucked against her chest as she hugged herself tightly. Her eyes were fixed on the floor of the tub while she rested her chin on her knee. It broke your heart when you saw her injuries in the light. There were deep purple bruises along her shoulder blades and scabbed over cuts along her arms and legs. You also saw scars, a lot of them. Some were old and faded, while others were new, probably sustained within the last couple of weeks.

The steam from the water floated up, fogging the mirrors and warming the room. You made your way to the edge of the tub with a small washcloth, dipping it into the water just slightly. “Here.”

Bringing your finger to Abby’s chin you lifted her eyes to face yours. Her features softened when you met her gaze and lightly you brought the washcloth to her face. Careful to avoid the stitches on her forehead, you rid the dirt from her face, dipping the cloth into the water every once in a while before bringing it back to her face.

Her freckles were more prominent in the light and her eyes stuck attentively studying your movements. When all the grime was gone, you couldn’t help but notice a whisper of a blush on Abby’s cheeks.

“One hell of a first date, huh?” Abby spoke seriously but you could see a hint of a smirk on the edge of her mouth. A bit of her normal self was beginning to return.

Sitting up more straight now you gave her a small smile. “This is definitely the most interesting one I’ve ever been on.”

You reached for her braid, undoing the elastic and separating the strands from each other while Abby spoke. “Oh so you’ve never bathed someone during a first date?”

“I can confidently say that this is my first.” Grabbing the small bar of soap from the dish in the corner, you dipped it into the water and lathered it between your fingers.

The soap filled the air with the scent of pine and rain and you sighed at the smell. It filled your senses and reminded you of the first time you saw her. Not the time in the cafeteria but on that rainy day when you bumped into her for the first time. You inhaled deeply; it smelled like her.

Gently you began massaging the bubbles into Abby’s hair. Weaving the blonde locks through your fingers, and purposely taking longer than necessary. Watching closely as Abby’s muscles relaxed and her eyes fluttered closed from your touch.

“Lean back.” Shielding her face from the water you grabbed a cup and poured the water over her head, letting the bubbles wash away from her scalp and into the water. “Is this okay?”

Abby hummed in response and you took that as a yes. You repeated the process while you washed the soap from her hair, doing it a couple more times than needed because you knew it calmed her.

The bathroom was quiet again, the only sound coming from the steady flow of water from the cup onto her head, and into the water. It was peaceful, and the both of you were content in this familiar silence. Appreciating each other’s company without the need to fill the air.

When you were done you sat up and laid out a towel for Abby, drying your hands on your shirt. “I’ll grab you some clean clothes, just give me a sec.”

You left Abby to dry off while you searched for some clean clothes. Grabbing what you assumed was a clean shirt and a pair of sweatpants, you made your way back to the bathroom. Standing outside the door, you knocked lightly. “Can I come in?”

Before you could wait for an answer, Abby opened the door a bit, hiding herself behind it. You handed Abby the clothes and she gave you an appreciative smile, it was small but genuine. “Thanks.”

You sat beside the bathroom door waiting for Abby and trying not to think about the fact that she could’ve died out there. She was here and that’s all that mattered for now.

Your mind wandered as you picked at your sleeve, you noticed there were a few wet spots on your shirt from the edge of the tub. The cool air made you shiver and you regretted not bringing a sweater, even if this was supposed to be a night in.

When Abby finally emerged from the bathroom you quickly stood up, unsure of what to do next. Her hair was still damp and spread across her shoulders; this was the first time you had ever seen her without that signature braid and you were in awe of how beautiful she looked. It was such a strange thought but it was the only thing occupying your mind. There was something so rare about seeing her like this that you couldn’t stop the flutter in your heart when it happened.

Grabbing her hand, you led her to the bed on the opposite side of Manny’s and pulled the covers back so she could slip in. When she settled under the sheets you neatly tucked her in before standing up again.

You didn’t know what to do now. Would it be rude to stay? Abby clearly needed the rest, but something in you desperately wanted to stay. You decided to let her sleep and started towards the door when you heard a small voice from beneath the covers. “Stay. Please.”

Abby’s voice was quiet and you could hear the exhaustion behind it. You looked at her with a smile and sat down on the bed next to her, pushing a strand of hair from her forehead before smoothing it down softly. She looked at you apologetically as you caressed her head, and you gave her a look of reassurance even if you were scared out of your mind. Her eyes fluttered closed and her features softened from your touch. You stayed like this for a while, continuing even after her breathing had slowed and you knew she was asleep.

You stayed up watching her sleep; studying the way her mouth was slightly agape as she let out small breaths. She looked so peaceful.

A small teardrop escaped from your eye, and you quickly wiped it away. You knew this wasn’t going to be the last time she’d be like this; battered and bruised and fighting a war that seemed to never end. It hurt your heart to know that she was on this path of self-destruction, but what hurt most was knowing she’d likely never stop.

You tried not to think about that right now. Eventually letting your attention fall onto the wet shirt that was still stuck to different parts of your body. Removing the item you walked over to the drawer where you had found the clothes for Abby and slipped on one of her t-shirts. It was devastatingly oversized on you but it was warm and smelled like her.

You settled onto the space next to Abby’s bed, ignoring the ache in your back as you lay flat on the floor beneath you. Though the pain was worth enduring with the knowledge that Abby was here, and that’s all that mattered to you right now.

While you lay on the floor you began thinking about how different things were just hours ago. It wasn’t long ago that you were practically dancing like an idiot in your mirror because you were going on a date with Abby. It’s strange how many emotions you had gone through in one day, you were almost positive you had broken some kind of record. You chuckled at yourself; surely no one was going to spontaneously break out into a song like in the movies, but you didn’t mind. This was enough— being here with Abby was enough.

Eventually, exhaustion overtook your body and you quickly felt your eyes becoming heavier. The floor was beginning to feel a lot more comfier than when you had sat down and before you knew it, you had fallen into a deep slumber.

#abby anderson x reader #abby anderson imagine #the last of us imagine #tlou #tlou2 #abby anderson #the last of us #the last of us 2 #fxf #fluff #angst #definitely did not use a The Cure song for my chapter title

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blackcatrph · 3 years

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** evermore sentence starters.

willow.

“ i'm like the water when your ship rolled in that night. ”

“ you cut through like a knife. ”

“ i never would have known from the look on your face. ”

“ the more that you say, the less I know. ”

“ i'm begging for you to take my hand. ”

“ life was a willow and it bent right to your wind. ”

“ i could feel you sneakin' in. ”

“ you are a mythical thing. ”

“ i come back stronger than a '90s trend. ”

“ wait for the signal and I'll meet you after dark. ”

“ show me the places where the others gave you scars. ”

“ anywhere else is hollow. ”

champagne problems.

“ you booked the night train for a reason. ”

“ bustling crowds or silent sleepers, not sure which is worse. ”

“ i dropped your hand while dancing. ”

“ your mom's ring is in your pocket, my picture is in your wallet. ”

“ your heart was glass and I dropped it. ”

“ you told your family for a reason. ”

“ you couldn't keep it in. ”

“ no one's celebrating. ”

“ your hometown skeptics called it champagne problems. ”

“ love slipped beyond your reaches. ”

" this dorm was once a madhouse. "

“ don't think we'll say that word again. ”

“ sometimes you just don't know the answer. ”

" she would've made such a lovely bride. ”

“ what a shame she's fucked in the head. ”

“ she'll patch up your tapestry that I shred. ”

gold rush.

“ eyes like sinking ships on waters, so inviting I almost jump in. ”

“ i don't like that anyone would die to feel your touch. ”

“ everybody wants you. ”

“ everybody wonders what it would be like to love you. ”

“ i don't like that falling feels like flying 'til the bones crush. ”

“ what must it be like to grow up that beautiful ? ”

“ i see me padding across your wooden floors. ”

“ it fades into the gray of my day-old tea. ”

“ it could never be. ”

“ my mind turns your life into folklore. ”

“ i can't dare to dream about you anymore. ”

“ the coastal town we never found will never see a love as pure. ”

'tis the damn season.

“ If I wanted to know who you were hanging with while I was gone, I would have asked you. ”

“ it's the kind of cold, fogs up windshield glass. but I felt it when I passed you. ”

“ there's an ache in you. ”

“ but if it's all the same to you, it's the same to me. ”

“ you could call me "babe" for the weekend. ”

“ the road not taken looks real good now. ”

“ the holidays linger like bad perfume. ”

“ you can run, but only so far. ”

“ i escaped it too. ”

“ remember how you watched me leave ? ”

“ now I'm missing your smile. ”

“ hear me out, we could just ride around. ”

“ i won't ask you to wait if you don't ask me to stay. ”

“ i wonder about the only soul who can tell which smiles I'm faking. ”

“ the heart I know I'm breakin' is my own. ”

“ we could call it even, even though I'm leavin'. ”

tolerate it.

“ i notice everything you do or don't do. ”

“ you're so much older and wiser. ”

“ if it's all in my head tell me now. ”

“ tell me I've got it wrong somehow. ”

“ i know my love should be celebrated, but you tolerate it. ”

“ i greet you with a battle hero's welcome. ”

“ i take your indiscretions all in good fun. ”

“ while you were out building other worlds, where was I? ”

“ where's that man who'd throw blankets over my barbed wire? ”

“ i made you my temple, my mural, my sky. ”

“ i'm begging for footnotes in the story of your life. ”

“ always taking up too much space or time. ”

“ you assume I'm fine. ”

“ what would you do if I break free and leave us in ruins. ”

“ took this dagger in me and removed it. ”

no body, no crime.

“ he did it. ”

" it smells like infidelity. ”

“ that ain't my merlot on his mouth. ”

“ i think I'm gonna call him out. ”

" i think he did it, but I just can't prove it. "

“ no body, no crime. ”

“ i ain't lettin' up until the day I die. ”

“ his mistress moved in. ”

“ there ain't no doubt. ”

“ somebody's gotta catch him out. ”

“ i've cleaned enough houses to know how to cover up a scene. ”

“ they think she did it, but they just can't prove it. ”

“ i wasn't lettin' up until the day he died. ”

happiness.

“ i see this for what it is. ”

“ all the years I've given Is just shit we're dividin' up. ”

“ i can't face reinvention. ”

“ i haven't met the new me yet. ”

“ there'll be happiness after you. ”

“ there was happiness because of you. ”

“ there is happiness past the blood and bruises. ”

“ haunted by the look in my eyes. ”

“ leave it all behind. ”

“ tell me, when did your winning smile begin to look like a smirk? ”

“ when did all our lessons start to look like weapons? ”

“ i hope she'll be your beautiful fool. ”

“ no, I didn't mean that. ”

“ i can't see facts through all of my fury. ”

“ there'll be happiness after me. ”

“ in our history, across our great divide, there is a glorious sunrise dappled with the flickers of light. ”

“ i can't make it go away by making you a villain. ”

“ no one teaches you what to do when a good man hurts you. ”

“ now my eyes leak acid rain on the pillow where you used to lay your head. ”

“ after giving you the best I had, tell me what to give after that? ”

dorothea.

“ do you ever stop and think about me?”

“ you got shiny friends since you left town. ”

“ i got nothing but well-wishes for you. ”

“ this place is the same as it ever was. ”

“ it's never too late to come back to my side. ”

“ the stars in your eyes shined brighter in Tupelo. ”

“ and if you're ever tired of bеing known for who you know, you'll always know me. ”

“ you'rе a queen sellin' dreams. ”

“ they all want to be you. ”

“ are you still the same soul I met under the bleachers? ”

“ i guess I'll never know. ”

coney island.

“ break my soul in two looking for you. ”

“ if I can't relate to you anymore then who am I related to? ”

“ did I close my fist around something delicate? ”

“ did I shatter you? ”

“ sorry for not making you my centerfold. ”

“ lost again with no surprises. ”

“ it gets colder and colder when the sun goes down. ”

“ what's a lifetime of achievement If I pushed you to the edge? ”

“ you were too polite to leave me. ”

“ will you forgive my soul when you're too wise to trust me and too old to care? ”

“ sorry for not winning you an arcade ring. ”

“ were you waiting at our old spot? ”

“ did I leave you hanging every single day? ”

“ did I paint your bluest skies the darkest grey? ”

“ the sight that flashed before me was your face. ”

ivy.

“ i'd meet you where the spirit meets the bones. ”

“ your touch brought forth an incandescent glow. tarnished, but so grand. ”

“ i just sit here and wait, grieving for the living. ”

“ my pain fits in the palm of your freezing hand. ”

“ i can't stop you putting roots in my dreamland. ”

“ my house of stone, your ivy grows. and now I'm covered in you. ”

“ i wish to know the fatal flaw that makes you long to be magnificently cursed. ”

“ your opal eyes are all I wish to see. ”

“ clover blooms in the fields. ”

“ what would he do if he found us out? ”

“ he's gonna burn this house to the ground. ”

“ i'd live and die for moments that we stole on begged and borrowed time. ”

“ so tell me to run, or dare me to sit and watch what we'll become. ”

“ it's a goddamn blaze in the dark. ”

“ it's the goddamn fight of my life. ”

cowboy like me.

" dancin' is a dangerous game. "

“ now I know I'm never gonna love again. ”

“ i've got some tricks up my sleeve. ”

“ takes one to know one. ”

“ you're a cowboy like me. ”

“ i never wanted love, just a fancy car. ”

“ i could be the way forward. ”

“ the skeletons in both our closets plotted hard to fuck this up. ”

“ the old men that I've swindled really did believe I was the one. ”

“ now you hang from my lips like the Gardens of Babylon. ”

“ forever is the sweetest con. ”

long story short.

“ i tried to pick my battles 'til the battle picked me. ”

“ the knife cuts both ways. ”

“ if the shoe fits, walk in it 'til your high heels break. ”

“ i fell from the pedestal, right down the rabbit hole. ”

“ long story short, it was a bad time. ”

“ i always felt I must look better in the rear view. ”

“ missing me at the golden gates they once held the keys to. ”

“ but if someone comes at us this time, I'm ready. ”

“ i wanna tell you not to get lost in these petty things. ”

“ your nemeses will defeat themselves before you get the chance to swing. ”

“ rare as the glimmer of a comet in the sky. ”

“ long story short, I survived. ”

marjorie.

“ never be so kind that you forget to be clever. ”

“ never be so clever that you forget to be kind. ”

“ what died didn't stay dead. ”

“ you're alive, so alive. ”

“ never be so politе that you forget your power. ”

“ nevеr wield such power that you forget to be polite. ”

“ if I didn't know better I'd think you were listening to me now. ”

“ you loved the amber skies so much. ”

“ and if I didn't know better I'd think you were singing to me now. ”

closure.

“ it's been a long time. ”

“ seeing the shape of your name still spells out pain. ”

“ it wasn't right, the way it all went down. ”

“ i got your letter. ”

“ i know that it's over, I don't need your closure. ”

“ don't treat me like some situation that needs to be handled. ”

“ i'm fine with my spite, my tears, my beers and my candles. ”

“ i know I'm just a wrinkle in your new life. ”

“ it's fake and it's oh so unnecessary. ”

evermore.

“ i replay my footsteps on each stepping stone trying to find the one where I went wrong. ”

“ i was catching my breath. ”

“ i had a feeling so peculiar that this pain would be for evermore. ”

“ I can't remember what I used to fight for. ”

“ you cannot think of all the cost and the things that will be lost. ”

“ can we just get a pause? ”

“ is there a line that I could just go cross? ”

“ when I was shipwrecked I thought of you. ”

“ in the cracks of light I dreamed of you. ”

“ it was real enough to get me through. ”

“ i swear you were there. ”

#sentence meme #sentence memes #rp sentence meme #rp sentence starters #rp meme #ask meme #roleplay meme #lyrical meme #lyric meme #memes by j

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angry-geese · 3 years

Text

Risotto Nero x Reader

Warnings: 18+ NSFW towards the end. Pretty vanilla. Lots of fluff. Fem!reader

Notes: Risotto lives au because I am in denial about Vento Aureo's ending. Reader got pregnant around the ending of VA, she escapes the mafia. This takes place six years after the events of VA

sorry for posting so much of this guy but i have rice man brainrot

Lucky was not something you ever considered yourself to be.

Few ever lived long enough to leave. Even fewer managed to stay out of the life long.

Maybe Don Giovanna took pity on you. Or maybe it was just that: luck.

You were certain of one thing: fleeing Italy was the best thing you'd ever done.

Half of Passione would consider you a traitor. The other half wanted you dead out of spite. Your line of work left a long list of enemies. Those you couldn’t pay off or intimidate, you killed. Tying up loose ends was a gruesome- but necessary- part of the job.

Your family never questioned where you went for all those years. It was an unspoken rule to not mention it. You were considered a dead man the moment you joined. Long ago they stopped expecting their daughter to be alive, waiting for the day Passione would send you back in pieces.

Your daughter was born six months after you arrived home.

Years passed and you slowly realized that hitmen would never come, no strange men ever appeared outside your home, the shadows in the corner of your room were only that: shadows. Your family was safe, or appeared as such.

It felt natural to settle into family life. You took a job working at a local bookstore. Your mother would watch Maria- named after Risotto’s cousin- while you worked. Your father grew old and frail, eventually passing from his age. It was sad but expected, and quickly glossed over by the rest of your life.

She's grown to look quite like him, with her silver hair and skin deepened by the Mediterranean sun. It makes you wonder if she'll grow to be nearly as tall.

Despite the domesticity of it all, there was a fear that never quite left you. A knife you never slept without, locks you couldn't help but triple check at night, hiding spaces you'd check out of paranoia that someone was there.

You never lied to your daughter about who her father was. Not that you told the entire truth, just the parts a five-year-old could understand: he loves her, but he’s not around anymore.

A knock at the door makes you jump.

Not wanting the sauce for dinner to scald, you leave it. If its anyone important, they’ll come in.

Six years is a long time. Maybe not in the grand scheme of things. But in five- families build, kids go from children to teens leave the bubbles their parents stuck them in. All these life changing events take place.

Risotto can’t deny the anxiety that gnaws at him. Your house vaguely resembles the little Italian villa you two owned. Though that one was long destroyed, burned down when you fled. Seeing the lush garden- planted with all the little flowers you like, with step stones painted rather messily as if done by a child- makes something deep in his chest ache.

One of the last things Risotto expects to open the door is a little girl. A girl that looks a lot like you.

Its as if he’s paralyzed. She’s about five- you would have been pregnant around the time you disappeared. He can’t say he wasn’t warned. Its not that you were ever unfaithful, its just that no matter how many times he’s tried to steel himself for this day, he can’t.

“Papa?”

You were careful when describing him to her. He wasn’t much for photos. At the time neither were you. In Passione you had to be invisible, someone who wouldn’t leave a trace. Discretion was necessary, the only other option was death. Maybe having a child made you sentimental. You wanted more to remember him by than some old clothes and a wedding photo.

Having a child, while not technically against any rules within Passione, was a death sentence. It was one more thing they could hold against you, something they could hurt you with. Risotto’s line of work meant limiting that at all costs if you wanted to live to see the end of the year.

But he’s no longer one of the cogs in Passione’s machine. He’s just a man, and he can love you- the two of you- as such.

He gathers her up in his arms, holding her close. She smells like a perfume you used to wear, he notes. The thought of you being so close makes his heart race.

When you hear the door open, but no one enter, your mind goes to the worst. You rush to the door, kitchen knife in hand. But it’s no hitman sent to tie off a loose end. It’s something that hurts much worse.

Neither of you know how to respond. He’s relatively unchanged, though there’s a noticeable limp when he walks, and his shoulder that now aches when it rains. You’ve grown- gotten used to living as a civilian- but you have not turned soft. He notices a few grays, your scars have faded, smile lines dot at the corners of your mouth. Strong, sturdy, beautiful. All the things his nonna used to call him. It was still you.

"Stay for dinner, please." You cling to his shirt like he’ll disappear again.

He nods, unable to refuse.

Somehow you convince him to stay for a drink. Then another. Somehow you convince him to spend the night. Because after all these years he finds it difficult to leave and now he doesn't want the moment to end.

Risotto grabs hungrily at the fleshy parts of your hips. Your arms stay wrapped around his neck, giving him silent permission to continue. He tugs at the waistband of your shorts. You lift your hips enough for him to slide them off. Risotto hums approvingly as he realizes you have nothing on underneath. He cages you in his arms, sliding one under your shirt to palm at your breast, working your nipples into stiff peaks. To hide the blush that creeps up your cheeks, you bury your face in his shirt. He sucks at the pulse point in your neck, making you gasp particularly loudly.

He slides a finger up your slit, his large hand coming down to rest on your thigh. Your core throbs at the thought of what he plans on doing to you. You’re not wet- not just yet- but you feel the slick beginning to collect.

“Stop teasing!” You bury your face further into the crook of his neck.

“I’m just taking my time, amore.”

He brings his other hand down to toy at your clit. To stifle a moan, you nip at his shoulder. Just how he remembered. You jolt as he brushes his thumb across the bundle of nerves, tracing softly along your thigh.

"More, please." You palm at his growing bulge.

"Not yet."

It's hardly enough, but he’d drag this out all night if you’d let him. His other hand traces down your stomach, resting on your thigh. You widen your legs a little further, giving him room to settle between them. He marks your neck- then your stomach- with little nips and bites. After a particularly loud whine, he moves up to nip at your ear, making your entire body shudder.

You're embarrassed, red in the face and needy, pupils blown wide and lips bitten red. His teeth graze across your thigh, fingers digging in hard enough to leave bruises. You card your hands through his hair, a grunt of satisfaction leaving him. He pushes your legs just a bit further apart.

He sucks at your clit, lapping like a housecat. You grind against him, desperate for more friction. You've long stopped caring about the noise you’re making. He licks like a man starved. Aside from your own whimpers and pleading, you hear the huffs of a man who is very content with what he's doing. He's knuckle deep, the lower half of his face shiny with your slick, fingers scissoring inside of you. After a moment he adds a third, rubbing against your g-spot. The stretch stings, but isn't necessarily painful.

He’s had to stretch you out plenty of times. The man is huge- that applies to more than just his stature. As he begins pumping those fingers in you, you dig your nails into his scalp. The coil in your stomach tightens far sooner than you expected. He grunts when your thighs close around his head, back arched off the bed.

The coil in your stomach snaps. He lingers for just a moment after, until the overstimulation becomes too much and you push him away. He makes a show of licking his fingers, pulling them from his mouth with a pop.

He settles in next to you, your hips pulled flush to his. You feel something hard press into your thigh.

He’s got six years of lost time to make up, after all, he’s only just getting started.

#risotto nero x reader #risotto x reader #jjba x reader #risotto nero #vento aureo #jojo part 5 #jjba #not sfw #golden wind #jojo's bizarre adventure #la squadra

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smaidjor · 3 years

Text

i know they're losing (Chapter 1)

hi mothers and fuckers of the jury, this fic is a hot mess but so am I, please appreciate it. Also, obligatory disclaimer this is about the characters not the people, all that important stuff.

Some important notes:

1. You will probably hate Scott just a little at points. He has chronic dumb bitch syndrome and there's a whole lot of bullshit going on in his life that you don't see in this fic because it's not his pov. That being said, he's still a bit of a jerk.

2. This has a lot of lord of the rings lore. A LOT. You may be kinda confused if you're not a lord of the rings fan. It's fine, Jimmy's confused too, and all of it will be explained at some point.

3. The chapter titles are from the Last Goodbye from the Hobbit films. The general title is from I Bet on Losing Dogs by Mitski.

4. General content warnings: there is a little blood, and a little violence, and a lot of mentioned death and morbid jokes. If you don't do well with themes involving death this fic is probably not for you. There is also possibly going to be referenced emotional abuse and generally unhealthy ways to raise children, though that will be talked about much further down the line. I will also put specific cws at the start of each chapter, don't worry!

5. The alternate title for this was '10k words of flower husbands being sad'. You have been warned.

Title: i know they're losing

Chapter Title: under clouds, beneath the stars

Current Total Wordcount: 3740

Content Warning: referenced/past character death, very frank discussion of death.

Snippet:

Scott whirls to face him, robes spinning behind him. “I’m fading, alright? I’m dying, now leave me alone!”

Jimmy feels like he’s been smacked in the face, the words hitting him with all the force of a well-thrown trident. Dying? “You- what- but elves don’t die, right?”

“We do. From poison, from swords, from arrows through the throat-” Jimmy’s hands fly to the scar on his neck, the one that matches Scott’s own- “from grief.”

AO3 Link

Actual fic under the cut

Scott’s hands are cold. That’s the first sign, the chill that’s uncharacteristic of an elf.

Scott’s chest hurts. That’s the second sign, the bone-deep ache he can’t seem to quell.

Scott is weaker than normal, and that’s the third sign, the one that confirms what’s happening beyond a shadow of a doubt. He’s fading, Scott thinks as he leans against a wall, trying to stop his head from spinning. He can’t say he’s surprised, not after all he’s been through; in fact, he’s more astonished it took so long to start.

In another world, it happens like this:

Scott’s hands are cold, and Shubble notices as he shows her around the nether. It’s worrying, a bit, how icy his skin is even in the boiling dimension, but Scott’s empire has always been cold, hasn’t it?

Katherine notices how long it’s been since Scott visited her, one of his few allies, and she worries, a bit. But Scott has always been distant, hasn’t he?

No one notices or worries enough to go check on him, and Scott fades away to nothing, cold and alone in his icy empire.

What actually happens is this:

Katherine has gotten word of the demon that haunts the server, and amongst all her worry, one of her thoughts is ‘has anyone checked on Scott?’. The answer is no, and next time she has a free day, she sets out for Rivendell. It’s not a long trip, not with elytra, anyways, and soon she’s at the doors to his keep.

“I need to see Lord Smajor,” she tells the guards.

“He’s not taking visitors right now.” is the response she gets.

“It’s a vital matter to the safety of both our kingdoms.”

They let her in.

Katherine spends far too long looking around the elegantly decorated downstairs and storage area before she realizes he must be up the spiral staircase in the corner of the room. She’s never been upstairs in Scott’s house before, which makes her a little nervous, but… this is an urgent matter, so she presses on into what turns out to be a very pretty bedroom. Decorated with bookshelves aplenty and gorgeous lanterns, it practically screams Scott.

The man (elf?) himself is harder to spot. At first, Katherine’s worried he isn’t there at all, but eventually she realizes that he’s still in bed despite the fact that it’s a quarter to one, only his pale face sticking out from under the covers.

“Scott?” She asks, cautious. “Lord Smajor?”

He blinks at her tiredly. “Hi, Katherine.”

“I came to talk to you about some empires stuff, but, I mean, if this is a bad time, I can come back later…?”

“No, no, stay.” He waves at the sole chair in the room, which is near-enough to the bed. “I can muster the energy for a meeting, just don’t ask me to get up.”

Katherine takes the seat hesitantly. “I came to talk about the corruption on the server, but- are you okay? Are you sick?”

Scott laughs, a little bitter. “In a way, yes.”

“What do you mean?”

“Take my hand.”

She obeys, confused, and finds that Scott’s hands are like ice despite the warmth of the room.

“Elves don’t get sick like mortals do,” Scott says. “Nor do we die of old age. But we get...heartsickness, you might call it. We call it fading in our tongue- the cold hands are a symptom of that. Our souls are fragile, and the grief of the mortal plane can be overwhelming. If an elf is too struck by it, they fade away and die.”

She gasps a little.

“It usually happens to old elves, world-weary,” Scott continues. “Those who are tired of existence. But any elf who has experienced enough grief is at risk.”

It takes Katherine a moment to process everything, and once she does, she stares at him in horror. “You’re- fading? But doesn’t it usually happen to old elves? Wait, are you old?”

“I’m fifty-five.”

“Is that old?”

That gets a laugh out of him. “Fifty is the elven equivalent of eighteen for humans, the age of maturity.”

“Oh.” She struggles for words for a moment, settling on “How can you be so calm if you’re dying?”

“I’m tired, Katherine. The world tore me away from the people I loved, and..I’m tired of fighting it.”

Try as she might, there’s nothing she can say to that. “Is there a way to reverse fading- to fix it?”

Something pained and raw flashes through his eyes. “Technically, yes. If an elf recovers enough emotionally, it’s reversible. But whatever caused them to fade the first time can- and often does- cause it again.”

Katherine nods seriously, absorbing the information. “We’ll just have to reverse it, then.”

“That’s sweet, Katherine, but I’m dying.”

“No,” she tells him firmly. “You’re not going to die. Now come on, you can show me your empire while I fill you in on what’s happening on the rest of the continent.”

Scott stares at her for a long moment, but eventually he takes her outstretched hand. “Alright.” His hand is frozen cold in hers. “We can try.”

Katherine lets him lead her around Rivendell, pointing out the sights. He’s done an impressive job decorating, like her, and an even more impressive job at uniting the elves and building an empire from the ground up. The people of Rivendell are weary and battle-scarred, for the most part, elves who have seen too much, but the children are bright and happy, and the cyan and gold banners wave proudly in the wind.

As they walk, she also tells Scott about the demon, Xornoth. “The demon’s already visited a lot of people, I think. Gem and Shubble for sure, and Fwhip and Sausage. That’s not even mentioning the corruption that’s been spreading.”

Scott nods. “There’s corruption in Rivendell too. Likely Xornoth’s work. And given that Jimmy still has Vilya- well, I haven’t been able to do much.”

“Vilya?”

“A ring of power. My inheritance from the Noldor.”

“Why does Jimmy have it?”

He doesn’t answer that one.

Katherine leaves feeling unsettled, with more questions than answers. She has new resolve, though, and a new goal: keep Scott from fading. He’s a good friend, though they don’t know each other that well yet, but more than that, he’s a powerful ally. And Katherine can’t afford to lose allies. So while they’re both rulers and busy in their own right, she promises to visit and drag him outside at least once a week.

“I’ll hold you to that,” Scott jokes, but his laugh is weak.

Katherine vows to hold herself to it.

The plan works for three entire weeks before Katherine has a week that’s so busy there’s no way she can find the time for a trip to Rivendell. Worse than that, because Scott is so isolated, he has almost no other friends, and many of Katherine’s allies are busy too. She’s a little short of options, to be honest, which is how she finds herself on Jimmy Solidarity’s doorstep that Sunday afternoon.

“Hello?” Jimmy asks as the door swings open. Katherine can see why Lizzie calls him the sweet swamp boy- his confused head tilt is frankly adorable.

“Hi! I know we don’t talk much, but I could use a favor,” she says.

“What can I do for you?”

“I need you to visit Scott.”

Jimmy looks beyond startled. “What- I mean, he doesn’t even like me! I couldn’t possibly.”

“Please?” She wheedles. “I promised him a visitor every week, but I have meetings all week this time.”

He shakes his head, hesitantly at first and then stronger. “No, Katherine. He’d just throw me right out again. I’m his enemy, for goodness sake!”

“If he hates you so much, why do you have his ring?”

Katherine knows she’s won, watching emotions flit across his face too quickly to catch. Grief is what he settles on, and she feels a little bit bad for the ring comment when his voice comes out wobbly.

“I guess I should return that, huh? Alright, I’ll go.”

“Sorry,” she says.

Jimmy brushes it off, saying there’s no need to worry, but he fiddles with the ring on his finger all the more. It’s on his left ring finger, Katherine notes. She wonders if that truly means what it implies.

“I’ll visit him tomorrow,” Jimmy says.

“I’ll hold you to that!”

Jimmy isn’t sure why he agreed to this at all, to be honest. Scott may have given him this ring in another world, another lifetime, but that doesn’t mean Scott doesn’t hate him in this one. What other explanation is there for how all his gifts have been rejected, how cold the elf is? Jimmy would be surprised that Scott’s never tried to take his ring back if it wasn’t for how thoroughly Scott avoids him nowadays. Getting the ring back would require talking to Jimmy, something Scott has made it very clear that he doesn’t want to do. Jimmy doesn’t have another use for it, and try as he might to forget flower fields and warm hands in his, he can’t bear to throw it away. So it’s remained on his hand all this time, a painful reminder of someone who used to love him.

Jimmy tries to avoid looking at it as much as possible, every glimpse bringing back the memory of Scott gently sliding it onto his hand, a faint blush dusting his cheeks and a smile on his lips. Even the faint shimmers in the blue gem remind him of how the starlight seemed to get caught in Scott’s hair when they were out at night. The ring had been one of their most valuable possessions on 3rd Life, the rare silver band and elegant forging more than proof of that. Now, though, the ring has to be one of the least valuable things Jimmy owns; on 3rd Life, they were humble folk in little hobbit holes, their most expensive possessions being their diamond armor and swords, but here, they’re kings and lords. Scott probably has a thousand treasures more valuable in his elven empire, so Jimmy’s not sure why he’s bothering to trek all the way across the world just to return this one.

Then again, it’s not really about the ring, and never has been. It’s about the way starlight used to shine in Scott’s eyes when he smiled, his rare, soft grin that was reserved just for Jimmy, how he gave Jimmy the most valuable thing either of them owned. It’s closure, in a way, giving it back. He won’t have any debt to Scott once this ring is returned, and they can both move on like Scott so clearly wants to.

Shaking off those thoughts, Jimmy slows to a stop in front of Scott’s house. It’s grand, nothing like his old hobbit hole, but still so clearly Scott in the decoration and color schemes. Jimmy would know who built it even if he hadn’t known Scott lived in these mountains.

“I’m here to visit Scott,” he says to the guard stationed outside.

They raise an eyebrow, presumably at the familiar way he refers to Scott. “On formal business or personal?”

“Personal? Sort of? I mean, I don’t have any diplomatic reason for being here.” Truth be told, he has no reason to be here at all, really, but...the ring.

“Then Lord Smajor cannot see you.”

Jimmy grits his teeth, suddenly furious at this whole ordeal. “Then tell Lord Smajor that I need to return his ring.”

“May I see it?”

He sticks his hand out obligingly, and the guard examines the ring, surprise blooming across their face. “I did not realize my Lord had lent you Vilya! My apologies, Lord Codfather, I see the alliance between our kingdoms is stronger than I had assumed. You may pass.”

Vilya? “Thank you, gentle, uh, gentleperson!”

The guard dips their head slightly as he walks by, a gesture of respect that he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to. He shakes off the strangeness of the interaction, though, pushing open the door to Scott’s house.

The inside is beautiful, exactly the kind of decor Scott loves...and empty. There’s no one in the spacious kitchen, the storage room, or anywhere else for that matter. Jimmy’s seconds from giving up and going home when he realizes that there are stairs up to the balcony above. That’s where he goes, finding himself in Scott’s bedroom.

Which is awkward, to say the least. It’s not like they never slept in the same room when they were married, but now that there’s this awkward, painful distance between them, Jimmy feels like he’s intruding. What’s worse is, Scott’s still in bed, laying on his side with his face tilted away from Jimmy’s awkward entrance.

“Hello, Jimmy.”

Jimmy half-jumps, not expecting that. “How’d you know it was me?”

Scott rolls over to face him, and Jimmy notes that his face is too pale for it to be natural or healthy. “Do you think I could ever forget the sound of your footsteps?” He goes on before Jimmy can answer. “What are you doing here?”

“Katherine asked me to visit, I’m not sure why, but...here I am. Say, why is she visiting every week?”

Scott’s laugh is bitter. “Katherine thinks she can save me.”

“Save you from what?” Jimmy asks, concerned despite himself.

His (ex?)husband doesn’t reply.

“Save you from what?” Jimmy presses, and gets no answer yet again.

Instead, Scott sits up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “You should go.” He stands, and immediately stumbles, Jimmy rushing to steady him on instinct. Scott’s hands are like ice when he grips Jimmy’s arm to regain his balance, taking several deep breaths, and Jimmy’s instantly struck by how wrong that feels. Scott’s hands were always warm, even on the coldest nights in 3rd life. Some elven thing, probably, that Scott didn’t want to talk about or have time to explain to a silly human like Jimmy.

“Scott, what is going on?”

The elf brushes him off again, heading for the stairs, but the regal effect is ruined by how hard he has to grip the railing.

“Scott, seriously! Answer me, are you okay? What’s happening?”

Scott whirls to face him, robes spinning behind him. “I’m fading, alright? I’m dying, now leave me alone!”

Jimmy feels like he’s been smacked in the face, the words hitting him with all the force of a well-thrown trident. Dying? “You- what- but elves don’t die, right?”

“We do. From poison, from swords, from arrows through the throat-” Jimmy’s hands fly to the scar on his neck, the one that matches Scott’s own- “from grief.” Scott turns back to the stairs. “Come on. If you’re not going to leave, I might as well show you around.”

Jimmy follows, reluctantly, trying to think of something to say that isn’t incoherent sputtering with a bit of ‘why do you hate me now’ added in. “You can’t just drop something like that on a man, you know!”

“You did ask, to be fair.”

Why oh why is he so stupid around Scott? “I guess so, but- but still, dude.”

Scott pushes open the side door, holding it for Jimmy. “Here.”

Jimmy nods and slips through the door. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

They start along the path, Scott walking far too quickly for Jimmy’s comfort given how terrible the elf’s balance is currently. He nearly has to jog to keep up, irritatingly, but at least they aren’t snapping at each other for a few precious moments.

Of course, Jimmy has to go and ruin that. “So, uh..are we going to talk about 3rd life?” He has to hear it from Scott’s own lips that he remembers, that it affected him even half as much as it’s affected Jimmy.

“No.”

“Why not? We need to talk about it some time-”

“I said no .”

“It’s literally killing you to not talk about it!”

Scott freezes, face going icy calm in the way Jimmy knows means he’s actually upset. The elf’s hands grip the fabric of his robes tight, his back going rigid. This is a bad idea, Jimmy knows.

He’s in too deep to back out now, though, the pent-up hurt of the past few months all coming out in a rush. “Tell me I’m wrong, Scott! I dare you, tell me I’m wrong! Tell me you never cared about me, tell me you didn’t bother to bury me, tell me it didn’t hurt even a little when I died! Tell me I was just stupid little Jimmy, a toy for an elf who’d live far beyond my lifespan! Tell me whatever, just tell me the truth! ”

Scott breathes out slowly, fury gradually building on his face. “Fine. You want to know what happened after you died? You want to hear about me screaming until my throat went raw? You want to know that I kissed your face and sobbed and begged you to wake up, over and over until I couldn’t speak at all? You want to live with the knowledge that Grian had to physically pull me away from your body? Is that what you want to hear, Jimmy ?”

Jimmy’s name on Scott’s lips punches all the remaining air out of him, sounding so wrong in that angry, bitter tone. Beneath all the rage, Scott sounds wrecked , and the fight leaves Jimmy’s body abruptly. “No,” he says softly. “That’s not what I want to hear, not at all. I’d rather you be happy than love me.”

Silence follows those words, only the faint sound of a waterfall in the distance there to break it.

“I buried you on the hill above our houses,” Scott says finally. “I planted a poppy over your grave.”

“Oh.”

“Grian came over the next day. I didn’t want to see anyone who wasn’t you, but I let him in because I had to. He helped me do the straps on my armor and asked me if he could do anything else to make things easier. I told him to bury me next to you.”

Jimmy swallows hard. “Did he?”

“How would I know?” Scott’s tone softens, just a little. “Grian was honorable enough, though, loyal to his allies. I like to think he did.”

“He was a good guy,” Jimmy agrees. “A little bit bloodthirsty, I guess, but good. I don’t suppose he survived any better than the rest of us, though maybe being bloodthirsty helped.”

“Maybe.”

“Can I- can I ask you why you hate me so much now? I mean, if you mourned me in third life and all.”

Scott turns away again, starting down the path a second time. He’s not looking at Jimmy when he says “I don’t hate you.”

“You don’t?” It’s a shock, honestly, given that this is the first time the two of them have really spoken since the beginning of empires. “But you burned the pufferfish-”

“I didn’t. I kept it.” Scott still won’t look at him. “I never hated you. I don’t think I’m capable of it.”

“Then why do you keep avoiding me?”

“I’ve been kind of busy dying,” Scott says dryly, and Jimmy doesn’t even realize it’s a joke until he looks over at Scott’s wry little grin.

“Scott! That’s not funny!” He scolds, aghast.

“It was a little funny.”

“No!”

Scott must hear the genuine distress in Jimmy’s voice because he drops the act. “Jimmy, I’m an elf. I won’t live far beyond you, but only because I’ll fade without you.”

“So your solution is to isolate yourself and fade now?” Jimmy demands.

“It does sound stupid when you put it like that, doesn’t it? But I lost you once, and I don’t think I could bear it again.”

Jimmy wants to argue, wants to fight him on this, but there’s nothing he can say. Instead, he puts a hand on Scott’s arm to stop him walking any further. Scott turns to look at him, seemingly startled, and Jimmy throws his arms around the elf.

Scott stiffens before slowly relaxing, arms coming up to wrap around Jimmy in return. It’s not as natural a gesture as it used to be, but it’s warm, gentle in a way Jimmy thought he’d never get again. It reminds him of the soft, starry-eyed boy who put flowers in his hair and laughed at him over a cake. Scott will never be that soft again and Jimmy will never be unscarred, but they’re here. They’re alive, that has to count for something.

Scott pulls back, his expression so achingly tender and heartbroken all at once. “I’m sorry, Jimmy.” His voice is raw, a little shaky. “I can’t. Not again.”

“But-”

He’s cut off by Scott shaking his head. “Losing you will destroy me. We dared to love, and now all we can do now is lessen the pain when it all comes crashing down.”

Jimmy’s in too much shock to speak, the ache in his heart returning tenfold as Scott turns back towards the house.

“Goodbye, Jimmy.” He sweeps away, elegant as ever, but stumbles and nearly falls as he reaches the door. Jimmy’s not there to catch him.

Jimmy stumbles home in a daze. It's somewhat of a miracle that no mob manages to kill him, honestly. To be so close to a resolution, to have the person he wanted most right there in his arms, and then to have all that ripped away- he can’t think of anything that could have hurt more. Even his deaths were less painful than this- at least an arrow through the throat is quicker than feeling like your heart is being ripped out through your ribs, Jimmy thinks, a little bitter. He throws Scott’s stupid ring in a pool in the swamp, watching as it sinks to the bottom of the shallow water with hardly a bubble.

Wait.

The ring.

It’s significant, somehow, according to a Rivendell guard, and more than that, it’s an excuse to see Scott again. One last chance to change his mind about the stupid plan that’s literally killing him.

Jimmy dives in without thinking, scrabbling around until his fingers close around the smooth stone and thin band. When he pulls it out, the gem glitters in the starlight even under the layers of dirt, and it looks like something special. It looks like hope.

#scott smajor #jimmy solidarity #flower husbands #uhh #empires smp #i wont tag 3rd life since its only referenced #my writing

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smurphyse · 2 years

Text

The Future

Masterlist

Chapter 16 of Over Your Shoulder

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Jasper Donnelly Keaton (Long Lost Love AU)

Word Count: ~9k

Summary: Jasper comes back to D.C..... four weeks later!

Warnings: spoken of child abuse, torture, murder, talks of infertility, talks of pregnancy

George Washington University Hospital, D.C.- Present Day

“You ever cut somebody's hand off with this thing?” Jasper asked over the buzzing of the cast saw, the oscillating blades drawing perilously near her skin as Doctor Osted finished his work. The last layer of the material finally gave way, releasing her arm from the pressure it had been under for the last two months.

The scent of sweat plumed from the cast as he pulled it off her hand. Dr. Osted set the cast on a table and turned her wrist around in his hand, eyeing the new pink scar on both sides of it that led up into her palm and a quarter of the way down her arm.

“Not yet,” he told her with a small smile, “but I am getting old. The day that happens, I think I’ll retire.”

“I’ll try to hold off breaking my arm again until you’re done.”

Osted sighed and gave her a hard look. Jasper tried not to wilt underneath it, but she knew the conversation he was ramping up to.

“This is the third time you’ve broken it, yes?”

“Yeah,” she nodded, and her cheeks began to warm as they flushed. “Once when I was fifteen, another time eleven years ago.”

“When you broke it this time we had to remove your old pin and put in a new one. I’m sure you’ll remember the scar can itch because of it. If you feel any burning within the arm, you need to come in and get checked for infection. Without your spleen, your body has a harder time fighting such things off.”

“I’ve heard this spiel before, I believe.”

“Covering all my bases,” Osted said, and he released her. Jasper rubbed the scars with her other hand, the deep pink lines ominously dark against her white ones. Osted watched her carefully before speaking again, “You’ve got a lot of metal in your body, Mrs. Keaton.”

“It’s Agent. I’m in the FBI and I’m a widow, Doctor.”

“Right, my apologies. I guess that tells me it’s not your husband breaking your bones left and right.”

Jasper grunted in agreement, her mind flashing back for a moment to the day her father broke her arm for the first time. He had twisted it behind her back during an argument with her mother, threatening Jasper to put her mother in her place, but he had pulled too tightly and the bone snapped under his strong grip.

“Have you thought about retiring?” he asked her. He was sitting on his little rollaway stool, his paunchy stomach hanging over his belt as he watched her. It was making Jasper angry, and her arm pulsed in tandem with the boiling rage that simmered beneath her skin.

“All the time.”

“Your body has been through numerous traumas, Agent Keaton,” he began, his bright blue eyes piercing her. He was doing his job, and she was grateful for it, but she had a job to do as well. “You have a pin in both of your arms, shrapnel in your chest, three pins in your leg and how many scars in between?”

“You’re only thirty five years old, and your body has been through so much. The fact that you’re not on a regiment of painkillers is a miracle in and of itself, but I’ll chalk it up to some…” he waved his hands around for a moment as he thought, “mental fortitude. You’re going to start slowing down, if you haven’t already, and your body is going to stop healing so quickly from these things.”

Jasper thought about how much worse this gunshot wound had hurt during it’s healing. Whereas getting shot in the chest had faded within a few weeks for the most part, her stomach was still aching and pulling if she moved the wrong way.

“You’re still young. You still have the time to do anything you want with your life, but I’m telling you right now: you get injured this badly again, you might not make it.”

“I’ve had worse than a little gunshot wound, Doc,” Jasper smiles cheekily, but she felt the weight of his words on her shoulders. It was something she’d feared for a long time, that she’d die before she got to tie up her loose ends.

“Yes, I noticed that scar on your hip, Agent Keaton. You know, mental trauma is just as violent and long lasting as the physical.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

“Do you want children?” Osted asked sharply, and Jasper’s shoulders tensed.

“I’m not sure,” she whispered, but she did know. She did want children, she wanted a life and to watch them grow up. She wanted to be a force of good for them, to help them lead normal lives unlike the one she’d had.

“I would think about starting now, while you still have time.”

“I-I’m only thirty five, Doc,” she stammered, her breath quickening as the fear of her future slipping away from her once more began to burst to the surface. “I have time.”

“I don’t believe that you do,” he said firmly. He pulled a set of films out of her file and tacked them up on the light board. He pointed to what she assumed was her uterus and lower stomach, “You have substantial scar tissue from your multiple injuries and blunt force trauma that might pose a problem. Pregnancy isn’t like it seems in the movies, Agent Keaton. Your body goes through a large amount of changes as you create a child, your body moves to make room for it, to help it grow. I’m not even sure at this point if you could carry to term unless you did so very carefully.”

The heat spread from her cheeks to her neck and shoulders, and Jasper’s hands began to shake. She tried to keep her face neutral, but stray tears began to well in her eyes. Doctor Osted sighed and folded his hands in his lap.

“I recommend getting pregnant soon if you do decide you want them. If and when you do, you’ll have to take a lot of time for bed rest, little activity and staying calm. Your blood pressure already concerns me, and I’m sure any OB will tell you the same.”

“Thanks, Doc,” Jasper muttered, then stood from her spot on the table and grabbed her jacket.

Jasper left the hospital on autopilot, her brain swimming with worry and fear. She had never thought about a timeline , about when all of these things needed to happen. Jasper had always assumed such things would come naturally, that one day she’d have her partner or be by herself, then her kid, and she would be okay.

She had betrayed her body in so many ways over the years, putting it through constant abuse and pushing pushing pushing, until it felt like it would give out under the strain. Jasper thought… perhaps foolishly, that her body would always be on her side, that she would always be on her side.

Jasper spent too much time surviving, and now she might not get to live like she wanted.

It wasn’t the aspect of children that made her feel this way. There were many ways to become a parent, whether through childbirth or adoption or having dogs for the rest of her life, she knew she had many avenues to live a life she wanted. She just always thought that she’d have the option to have a baby naturally as an adult.

Spencer wants kids, she thought suddenly, and her heart squelched painfully in her chest.

Spencer didn’t want her, and even if he did, he wouldn’t care whether they had children naturally or not. He’d love any life they had together, because they would choose each other. Whenever she had allowed herself to imagine such a life with Spencer, it had been a specific image.

The two of them in a hospital room, a small bundle of blankets in her arms as Spencer sat with one arm around her, the other rubbing light circles into the chest of the little baby. The image had been so clear once, but now it looked fuzzy and off center.

She didn’t need Spencer to be a parent, or to live a normal life, but she did want him. She wanted the hazy sunlit mornings in bed, rainy afternoons spent reading on the couch, hot humid summer days in D.C. spent walking Booger down to Moe’s and sharing a strawberry milkshake in their booth… God, did she want all of that and the future that would follow it.

This uncertainty was killing her, and it was driving her fucking crazy.

Jasper pulled her car up to a coffee shop, then walked the six blocks to the Misfit’s secondary location. Gaelan Gallagher was tied to a chair inside, and he was waiting for her to extract information from him.

Some knuckles on flesh might make her feel better, and getting one step closer to Liam would as well. If she could wrap up this investigation, then one day soon she could retire and focus on the future for once instead of dreaming about it.

Belle Terre, Louisiana- 20 Years Ago

The hospital was busy.

Deena hugged her arms tightly to her chest, doing anything she could to stop her shaking. Gerard watched her from across the waiting room, sipping a cup of coffee and leaning against the nurses station.

His eyes were dark, that mass of black curls sticking about wildly at the top of his head. Deena hated those curls, but only his. Her little girl was beautiful with hers. Whereas Gerard’s hair was ominous, venomous snakes that held nothing but pain and rage toward her, Sugar’s were full of life and promise.

They were waiting to see Sugar after her surgery, when she was finally wheeled to recovery. She had been under for over two hours now, and Deena was growing more anxious with each passing second. They had already spoken to the police, Gerard cooly lying his way through their interrogation as he always did.

We was just wrestling, like we always do. Things just got outta hand, sirs.

Deena bit back a scoff, glaring across the room at her husband. The police believed him, as they always did, ignoring Deena’s bruises and going on their way, never attempting to look further into the situation.

She couldn’t really blame them, as Deena never would have told a soul about Gerard’s violence. His power over their lives was too great. He didn’t meet the blood requirements to be inducted into the tribe, and federal law meant that he wouldn’t be arrested unless the FBI decided to take the time to do so.

Sugar deserved better. Hell, even Deena could see that she deserved better.

She was off the drugs, finally. Deena had managed to detox herself a few months back, and she was gaining her confidence. She had been with Gerard for almost two decades, and enough was finally enough. Sugar just… deserved better.

It was cruel, the way that children existed as existential mirrors of their parents. She was everything Deena and Gerard could have been, and they were all she might be. It was too much pressure to put on such a little girl.

Would she become an addict like Deena? She had the capability. Sugar was young and naive, always looking for an escape from her home and drugs could be the way she did so… just like Deena had.

Or would she become a monster like her father? She had the capability to be that as well. Sometimes Deena could see it, the pure rage and fear that followed Sugar’s every move like a grotesque shadow. It pushed her to do so many risky things, like fighting at school, stealing food from the grocery store when they had no food, and sneaking out each night with that Donnelly boy.

She prayed each night that Sugar would find her way, and that it would be far away from here. Maybe Sam Donnelly would take her away, make her a bride and keep her safe and happy, and Gerard could do nothing about it.

Deena wanted nothing more than to leave Gerard. If they could just find a way to leave without him pulling them back, Deena would take Sugar and run.

Gerard’s hand waved toward her from across the room, beckoning her to him. She walked over to him, his fierce gaze causing her to shiver once more. He reached out as she approached, pulling her in for a hug and kissing the top of her head.

“She’ll be fine, Deena,” he said, and he tugged her sleeve over her wrist to hide the bruise that had blossomed from that night’s events. “Kids break their arms all the time.”

Do they always break them by having them twisted behind their backs? she thought. She nodded, but boiling hatred pulsed through her.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” she told him quietly, and he released her. She made her way through the hallways until she found a bathroom down the hall from the patient rooms.

Deena watched her whiskey-colored eyes in the mirror as she washed her hands. She leaned down and splashed some water across her face, but when she looked back at her reflection, the desperation and exhaustion hadn’t been washed away.

How are we going to survive this?

If she left, he would drag her back, kicking and screaming. Then, he’d probably kill her. If he killed her, he’d kill Sugar too. Then there would have been no point in leaving at all.

“Deena,” a voice came from the door as it opened. Matthias slipped in and locked the door behind him. He checked the stalls before he finally turned toward her.

He was dressed in casual clothing, his long hair pulled back and tucked underneath a beanie, a far cry from his usual look as Police Chief. His eyes immediately latched onto the bruises on her wrist, his gentle hand reaching out and caressing it softly.

“What are you doing here?” she hissed, but she was grateful to see him. Even the mere thought of her childhood friend turned lover brought comfort to her, and Lord knew she needed him tonight.

“We need to go,” he said, and he brushed some of her long hair behind her ear. “This has to be the last straw.”

“I can’t,” she told him, shaking her head. “I already told the police it was a wrestling accident.”

“Change your story. Tell them you were scared, and have Sugar tell them the same thing when she wakes up.”

“No.”

“The FBI opened a file on him, Deena,” he whispered, his dark eyes full of hope and safety. God, she wanted to fall into those eyes and the love they had for her, but she just couldn’t. Not yet. “It’s only a matter of time until they close in on his drug running, and you and Sugar are home free.”

“Matthias, I’m pregnant,” she blurted, expecting him to pull away, but he didn’t. His eyes blazed, that protective spirit that inhabited him only burning brighter.

“All the more reason to leave!” he pleaded, his grip tightening on her arms, but Deena shook her head.

“It’s not yours, it can’t be. You know that.” Matthias had told her earlier in the year that he was sterile, after he completed one of his yearly physicals. The baby couldn’t be his, but he didn’t skip a beat.

“Neither is Sugar,” he chuckled bitterly. “You know I don’t give a shit. Sugar’s just as much mine as this one will be, when we raise it together .”

“Oh, Matthias,” Deena whimpered. She shook her head again as tears began to fall down her cheeks. “He’ll kill us before he lets us go.”

“I’ll kill him first before I let him hurt you or the kids.” He spoke harshly, and Deena believed him. She knew how much he loved Sugar and her, and that he would do anything to take care of them. Her closeness to Matthias had led Gerard to move them away from the reservation. But if he killed Gerard, if he went to jail, how could she survive with two kids? She’d break under the pressure, and she just couldn’t risk doing that to her daughter.

“I have to go,” she said, pulling away from him. He let her go, but his face was full of grief.

“Just think about it, Deena,” he said as she walked toward the door. She nodded, and as the bathroom door shut behind her, Deena heard a choked sob burst from his chest.

Deena rounded the corner back to the waiting rooms, and her heart clenched in her chest as she saw Gerard speaking with a doctor. It was the same doctor that had checked Sugar when they came into the emergency room earlier tonight.

“Is she okay?” she asked frantically as she rushed up to them. Gerard shot her a warning look, but Deena did her best to focus on the young doctor instead.

“Mrs. Devereaux, Shawnee is fine,” he smiled gently at her. “She’s in recovery right now if you’d like to see her.”

“Sugar,” Deena corrected him, and he cocked his head in confusion. “Her name is Shawnee but she prefers Sugar. It’s what we all call her.”

“Sugar it is, then,” he said, then led them back through the maze of hallways to Sugar’s room.

Deena’s stomach twisted painfully as she laid eyes on her daughter in the hospital bed. A girl of almost sixteen, Sugar was small for her age, and she looked smaller still in that bed. She rounded the side, settling on the edge and smoothing back Sugar’s wild curls.

Gerard plopped down in one of the seats and watched them, seemingly uninterested in the entire show. Wires trailed out of the back of one of her hands, various tubes snaking down the side of the bed and into various machines. Her right arm was bound tightly with a blue cast, and she somehow managed to look peaceful even though she must have been in great pain.

The only time Sugar looked peaceful was when she was sleeping. When she was awake, she was hesitant, quiet. The girl held her tongue and spent most of her time watching , observing, and staying in the shadows as best she could. Deena envied her for it sometimes, her ability to somehow see everything and react accordingly, as though she knew the future just by glancing at the past.

After a few hours, Sugar’s eyes opened, wincing against the bright fluorescent lighting of the little room. She looked around for a moment, her eyes settling on Gerard in his chair.

Neither of them said anything as they made eye contact, and eventually Gerard excused himself from the room entirely. Sometimes, Deena could tell that he was frightened of his own child, and some scary part of her delighted in it.

Sugar took whatever Gerard threw her way, and rarely let him have the satisfaction of seeing her cry or get upset. Deena had tried to be the same way, but she was so scared of Gerard that she never really succeeded.

The last time Sugar had ended up in the hospital following one of Gerard’s “training sessions” that happened when Deena was away with Matthias in Charenton, she had stared at Gerard in a similar way.

Her eyes were steady and dark, boring into Gerard’s with an intensity that Deena had never been able to muster. Gerard had shouted at her to stop staring at him like that, his fists shaking at his sides as he tried to control his anger in such a public place, but Sugar just blinked and continued to stare.

His face had turned red, his mouth curling into a threatening snarl, but she didn’t relent. It was a warning, Deena had realized later, a promise on Sugar’s part. I only keep quiet because I want to , it said, I hold power over you by keeping my mouth shut.

Deena wished she felt the same about her own silence, but she was a rabbit in a snare. Gerard was the looming shadow of a hunter, slowly reaching to snap her neck as she squealed in fear and panic. Her silence was compliance. Sugar’s was domination.

“Momma?” she said after a few moments, tearing those dark eyes from the doorway and facing her. Deena brushed her fingers over her forehead, her heart bursting with love as Sugar closed her eyes as her touch.

“What is it, Sugar?” she asked quietly, and those eyes opened again. They were dark, like Gerard’s, so much darker than Deena’s, but unlike his they were endless puddles of warmth and love, directed at her.

“I found something last night.”

Deena’s brows knitted in confusion, and she frowned, “What did you find?”

“The future.”

Deena’s blood ran cold, ice water washing over her in a brutal wave. Sugar reached out with her good hand and brushed her hair back behind her ear, just like Matthias had done only hours ago.

“I had a dream, too,” she whispered, a small smile on her drug-addled face. She pointed at Deena’s stomach, “It’s gonna be a girl. Nana Little Bird told me so.”

“You think so?” she asked, her voice shaking with fear. She glanced up toward the door, making sure Gerard wasn’t anywhere to be seen. This was Sugar seeing, once again, things she wasn’t supposed to.

Sugar nodded sleepily, “We have to go away, momma. We have to protect Aysha.”

“Aysha?” Deena’s breath caught in her chest. How could Sugar have even known? Deena only found out about the pregnancy from the rez doctor a week before, and she hadn't told anyone but Matthias.

“That’s her name,” Sugar swallowed thickly, smiling once more. “It means ‘alive and well.’ Do you know what Matthias means?”

Deena shook her head, but her body was coursing with adrenaline. She thought she had been so discrete, but of course, Sugar had seen , had known the secret she was keeping.

Sugar’s eyes burned brightly, and she watched Deena with such an intensity, it frightened her. She was seeing something that Deena wasn’t, and Deena needed to listen.

“It means ‘gift of God,’” Sugar said, and Deena burst into tears. Sugar’s hand tightened over hers almost painfully, “He’s going to save you, momma.”

“We’re going to save ourselves, Sugar,” Deena told her through her tears. “He’s just going to help.”

“I think he’s going to save you,” she murmured, her eyes fluttering shut as her head lolled to the side. “Will you sing to me?”

“Of course, baby,” Deena whispered, but her heart was thundering through her chest. She palmed her flat stomach, which in a few months time would begin to grow and she would have to make her choice of whether to stay or leave.

She’d inflicted this life on Sugar, and it was too late to protect her from it, but she could protect this child. She could protect Aysha.

“As I went down to the river to pray, studying about that good ole way,” she started, her voice shaking with the fear and anxiety stilting through her veins.

Gerard would never let them go. If he found out about her child, she would spend another eighteen years with this man, and she wouldn’t survive this time.

If Matthias was right, and the FBI was closing in on Gerard, then that meant in a few month’s time she could take Sugar and leave. It was that or leave Sugar for the time being, help the FBI’s case, and bring her to the reservation after Gerard’s arrest.

“And who shall wear the robe and crown..?”

One wrong punch and she could lose the child, though. Deena couldn’t wait, and if she took Sugar and ran, Gerard would track them down and hurt them so badly she’d lose the baby, if not both of her children.

She had a choice to make- the child she already had? Or the baby that needed her more and hope that eventually she could save them both from Gerard’s wrath.

“Good Lord, show me the way.”

Home- Present Day

“C’mon, Gaelan,” Jasper pleaded as his head rocked back for the fifth time that day. “I just need you to tell me where Liam is.”

Gaelan groaned and spit the blood out of his mouth while Billy shook out his fist. The Misfits had spent two weeks tracking him in Boston before picking him up. They had spent two more weeks waiting for him to break, but Gaelan was holding out longer than she’d thought he would.

“You’ve really bucked up in the last year, huh Gaelan?” she asked, reaching out and brushing back some of the hair that had fallen in his eyes. A whole family of Irishmen, and Gaelan was the only one with red hair. She always liked that about him.

“I can’t tell you anything, Brittany,” he breathed heavily, using the only name he knew her by, her undercover one. His bright blue eyes pleaded with her but she knew she couldn’t help him. Jasper needed answers.

“You can tell me everything,” she started, then moved behind him where he was tied to the chair. She rested her hands on his shoulders and began to rub them. “You think I don’t remember the way you used to treat me, baby brother?”

“When Liam would beat me up, you were the one who helped me clean up, kept me stocked in ice and Ace bandages. Let me help you now.”

“I don’t feel so bad about that now, knowing that you weren’t a victim,” he spat, but his voice was full of sorrow.

“Oh, I know you don’t care about that, Gaelan, you’ve never had a hero complex,” she squeezed his shoulders twice, and he winced in pain. “I appreciated everything you did for me. Why do you think you were never arrested for the drugs you used to peddle?”

“T-That was you?” he asked quietly, and his chin began to wobble. “I just thought I didn’t matter enough.”

“If they’d known about the marijuana plants you were growing, they’d have put you in jail and pressed you until you broke,” she spoke softly, running a hand through his hair once more and speaking into his ear. “I’m trying to save you from that, baby brother. I’ve been looking out for you since I met you, same as you did for me.”

“I can’t…” Gaelan begged, trying to turn his head to look at her, that thick Irish accent filling her with regret. Jasper was full and ready to slaughter each of the Gallaghers, all of them except Gaelan. “Liam’s fuckin’ crazy.”

Jasper knew all too well how crazy Liam was. She had watched that man tape a stick of dynamite in Taqib’s mouth so he couldn’t spit it out, lit the fuse and didn’t even blink as his head exploded. Despite all the things Jasper had seen, it was without a doubt, one of the worst.

When she was undercover, Jasper slept with Liam the whole time. He was sweet one minute, his rage and temper taking over the next, and Jasper had lived once more with bruises she swore she’d never have again. All for the sake of a mission.

The mission, she thought bitterly. More and more she was resenting her mission. The damned mission had gotten them in this mess, killed Taqib and sent her to D.C., forcing Jasper to confront parts of herself she hadn’t known existed.

Each hit that Gaelan took felt like a punch to her own gut. She knew that inevitably they’d have to kill him, and the anxiety from the mere thought was turning her stomach into a pool of acid.

She’d never experienced this before, this hesitation. It was deadly in her line of work. Questioning your orders, your intentions, in the line of duty could put a bullet through your head, or worse. Jasper couldn’t afford something like that to happen now, not when her future was so close.

“You think Liam’s crazy?” Jasper snarled, whirling around his seat to face him. Her eyes met his with a blinding rage and panic, because she was not going to let another Gallagher fuck her over. “I’ll happily show you crazy.”

Jasper whipped out one of her knives from the belt in her waistband, pressing it tight enough to Gaelan’s neck that it drew blood. He swallowed thickly as he watched her, his eyes glazing over with fear.

“Crazy is infiltrating the Irish Mafia. Crazy is sleeping with an arms kingpin for a year just to put away all of his customers,” Jasper hissed, and she felt her voice rising a dangerous octave as she began to lose her control. “Crazy is being beaten for three days, watching an innocent man get his head blown off, and still not giving up my cover. Don’t tell me about crazy, Gaelan, because I just might show it to you.”

“Boss,” Billy’s voice came from behind her, and his bloody fist clamped down on her shoulder. With a flick of her wrist, Jasper sheathed her knife, then let Billy lead her into another room.

“You wanna tell me what the hell is going on with you?” he asked angrily, shoving her further away from the room as he let go of her shoulder.

Jasper’s shoulders shook as the anger threatened to take her over completely. She stared Billy down, mentally willing him to move out of her way, but he squared his shoulders and set his jaw, staring back at her.

“Boss, you’ve spent the last week almost losing your shit in that room. Did something happen when you got your cast off? Do I need to kill someone just to keep your head on your shoulders?”

Jasper deflated, all the breath whooshing out of her as she looked away from him. All of a sudden, Jasper felt like she weighed nothing at all, and she might just be carried away with a heavy gust of wind.

“Do you want kids?”

“I-I don’t-” he stuttered, shaking his head in confusion. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Kids, Bill! Do you want to have a family when you’re out of this shit?” she yelled, reaching out and grabbing his blood speckled shirt in her hands. “Do you want to have a normal life?”

“Of course I do, boss,” he whispered, wrapping his own big hands around hers gently. “You know that I do.”

“Will you be able to look at your kids knowing the things we’ve done?”

“Why are you asking me that?” he asked, then his eyes grew wide, “Oh, my god, are you pregnant?”

“No!” she grunted, sighing angrily and pulling away from him. “I don’t think I can do this anymore, Bill. I’m losing my edge.”

“Boss, despite what you think, you never had an edge.”

Jasper turned sharply to glare at him. Part of her was grateful to hear that, the other wondering how dare he say such a thing?

“You’re scary as shit, don’t get me wrong. You have a ferocity and a force of will that I’ve never seen before,” he told her, chuckling to himself, “but you’re not some heartless monster like you think you are. You’re… a caretaker, always have been. You’ve been taking care of us for a decade.”

“I ruined you,” she told him, and he looked at her sadly.

“You saved us. Without you, you know what would have happened to us. We wouldn’t even have the option to have kids if we wanted them.” Billy took a few steps forward and pulled her into a crushing hug. Jasper did her best to return it, but he was much stronger than her. He whispered against her hair, “You wanna retire? I’ll throw you a fucking party. You wanna finish this mission, and then keep going? I’ll be with you to the end.”

“I know what I want, Bill,” she muttered against his chest, and he squeezed her again.

“Then take it,” he told her. Jasper pulled back and looked up at him, and he looked back at her, those blue eyes full of nothing but faith in her.

“Fine,” she said, turning on her heel and stomping back into the room.

"You don't want to tell me anything, Gaelan, that's fine," Jasper grunted as she came in, her gaze turning to steel as she prepared herself for what she was about to do.

"You have no use for me anymore, baby brother," Jasper whispered, tears welling in her eyes as she pulled a gun from her waistband and pressed it against his forehead.

"W-wait!" he stammered, his eyes wide and pleading. It gutted her, but she couldn't worry about him anymore. "I don't know who his contact is, okay? But he's not a buyer like Kader told you!"

"Keep going," she said, her voice stern. She pressed the muzzle harder against his skin and he winced.

"He's a broker. He sets us up with buyers that aren't on the FBI's radar. He makes sure the buys are safe for us."

"I need a name, Gaelan."

"I don't know it, I swear!" he cried, and her heart twisted again in her chest. "He knows everything about everyone in the FBI. He knows all their secrets, but I don't know how."

"That's all I know," Gaelan sobbed, "I swear that's all I know."

"You did good, baby brother," Jasper said gently, pulling the gun away and moving behind him. His shoulders loosened as his guard fell, but Jasper held the gun a few inches away from the back of his head.

"You did good," she said again, then pulled the trigger.

As Gaelan’s brains splattered across one of the plastic sheets they had hanging up, Jasper burst into tears.

Her team moved and began cleaning up, avoiding her grief as she sobbed on the floor, her knees soaking in the blood on the plastic tarping.

"Put him back where you found him," Jasper cried, sucking in a wavering breath. "I want one of the brothers to find him. Make sure they see him when they walk in his front door."

They went about her, cleaning up the blood and stripping their clothing to burn later. Billy helped her undress, peeling off her blood soaked shirt and pants, then redressed her in Spencer's Caltech sweater and a pair of leggings.

He drove her home, not saying anything until he had carried her up the fire escape and returned her to her bed, then carried Booger up and returned him to her.

Billy smoothed back her hair and kissed her forehead, and Jasper sighed happily at his touch.

"You're leaving us soon, aren't you?" he asked quietly. She looked up at him, expecting to see disappointment, but he only looked concerned.

"I have a life to live, Bill. We all do. It's time we moved on," she whispered, and he nodded.

"Wren and Oona are sleeping together."

"Good."

"I asked Baheera out on a date. She laughed at me but she said yes."

Jasper sat up, reaching out and cradling Billy’s head in her hands. He closed his eyes and she felt his body release it's tension.

"Good," she said, and it was her turn to kiss his forehead.

"We'll be okay without you," he said softly, "We'll all probably retire, too. You'll be an aunt sooner than later, with the amount of times I've caught those two in supply closets."

Jasper laughed, "Good. I can't wait."

"I wish…" Bill whispered sadly, tears welling in those ice blue eyes, "Luke could know about me and Bee."

"When we retire you can do what you want, Bill. You can tell him if you want to,” Jasper told him. It was true, if Bill wanted to tell Luke that he was alive, he could. Billy was completely exonerated from his crimes when his five year probationary period was up with the Agency. He had a clean record and a new name, and he could live whatever life he wanted.

“He’ll hate me for it, boss. He went to my funeral, for God’s sake.”

“He’ll get over it.”

Billy didn’t look too sure, but he nodded anyway. If they sat down and told Luke what happened, all of it, he would understand. Billy and her team didn’t really know how Jasper got to the position she had, but they knew she had come up through similar avenues. Jasper had destroyed the Church program before starting the Misfits, but she had used a similar recruiting tactic that Eli had. Unlike him, Jasper had curated a family through trust, not torture and brain washing manipulation. Luke knew enough about government kill squads that he’d understand. He’d be hurt, betrayed, even, but eventually he would come around.

After a while, when he knew she was alright, Billy left quietly out the fire escape, so nobody in her building could identify him. It was how they went into all of each other’s apartments, and by now was second nature. He shut the window softly and tapped twice, then he was gone.

Jasper hadn’t been home in about a month. Since Spencer had left her apartment all those weeks ago, Jasper had been staying in motels or in a few of the Misfit’s safe houses. She hadn’t felt like returning to these walls, where memories of that last night could haunt her.

The sheets still smelled like citrus and cinnamon, and she twisted the comforter in her hands as she inhaled his scent. It comforted her, and she wondered idly if he’d come by and read her note.

Nothing in the bedroom looked touched, and a quick glance at her closet hiding space told her nobody had disturbed it. She padded out to the living room, her eyes latching onto the coffee table. The note was gone.

Jasper rushed back to her bedroom for her work phone. She had stashed it in her nightstand while she went to Louisiana and then hid out around D.C.. She turned it on, and it immediately began buzzing with notifications.

She had a number of calls from Luke, JJ, Prentiss and Garcia. Rossi had called twice, and so had Walker and Lewis, but their names weren’t what she was looking for.

Her breath caught in her chest as she scrolled through the missed calls, and her eyes landed on Spencer’s name.

Spencer Reid- 7 voicemails

Dialing the voicemail, Jasper pressed the speakerphone to listen to the thirty five voicemails she had.

“Jasper, it’s Luke. Call me back, Kicker.”

“Dammit, Jasper. It’s been over a week,” Luke’s voice grunted through the speaker, “Call me back, you asshole.”

“Hey, Jazz, it’s JJ. Just checking in. Reid says you went out of town, but it’s been a couple weeks. Just let me know you’re okay, okay?” Jasper’s heart warmed at the sound of her friend’s voice. The last few months she had gotten close with the BAU, and knowing they wanted to check up on her made her smile.

“Okay, chickie,” Garcia’s voice rang through, “It’s been three weeks. I know you got your cast off because you have an appointment with Dr. Alsted at Quantico in two weeks. If you don’t stop in and let us know you’re alive, I’m going to go all crazy-hacker lady and track your tiny ass down.”

“Kicker, I’m serious. If you don’t call me back, I’m going to hunt you down and kill you, okay? Don’t worry, I’ll bury you next to Jack in Arlington, but it’s going to hurt.” Jasper rolled her eyes, but guilt blossomed through her stomach. She should have been less selfish and checked her messages instead of going MIA.

“Jazz?” Spencer’s voice spoke softly through the phone, and Jasper’s ears perked up. “Hey, you said you were going out of town… I’m not trying to push you, but we need to talk. I’m… I’m so sorry, Jazz. I overreacted. Please, just call me back when you get back into town.”

“Jazz. It’s been two weeks. I know you said you were coming back, but please… call me back. Let me know you didn’t skip town,” he pleaded, his voice strained and choked full of emotion. Jasper felt tears well in her eyes as she listened to his gentle voice. “Just don’t… don’t leave me again without saying goodbye.”

“Hey…” Spencer mumbled through the speaker. He sounded tired and upset, like he hadn’t slept. “We’re all worried about you. I’m worried about you. Sweetheart… shit, I’m sorry. Jazz, just call me back. I need to see you.”

“Okay, I’m done asking. Come back,” he growled into the phone. He sounded angry now, and Jasper shrank away from the phone knowing that she had caused it. “Come back, and come see me, Jazz. I swear to God, I’ll track you down this time and make you listen to me.”

“Jasper Marie Donnelly,” his voice was softer this time, wracked with grief. “Please, just come home.”

“I hope you’re being safe, whatever you’re getting yourself into. Just make sure you can come back to me, okay? I don’t care what you’re doing, I don’t care what laws you’re probably breaking, just so long as you come back.”

“It’s been a month…” Spencer’s voice was small now, and she could almost hear him chewing on his lip as he breathed heavily against the speaker. “Can you just let me know if you’re coming back? Can you send me a fucking smoke signal or a telegram? I don’t give a shit, Jasper, just tell me whether or not you’re coming back, and whether or not I need to keep holding on to this hope that you will. I just… I just want to see you again. I just want to say that I’m sorry. This is the last call I’m making. Come home or don’t, but don’t think for a second that I don’t want you here. I want you, all of you. I want you with me, okay?”

Jasper sobbed as she listened to the sadness in his voice. She hadn’t meant to cause it. It hadn’t even really occurred to her that anyone would care that she was gone so long. She had needed time, so she took it without a second thought.

She hadn’t realized that they loved her as much as she loved them. She knew Luke cared, that Spencer would always have some feelings toward her general well-being, but knowing that all of the BAU had left her concerned messages broke her heart.

She had been wrong assuming that she was alone all this time. She’d had the Misfits, and they loved her, and now she had the BAU, who loved her too. Jasper dropped a message into the group text, her hands shaking.

I’m sorry, guys. I’m alright, I’m safe. I went to visit some friends since I had time off. I didn’t bring my phone. I didn’t expect everyone to miss me this much.

Oh my gooooooodddddddddd!!! You moronic woman, of course we did! -Garcia

Glad you’re safe, kid. -Rossi

For someone so smart, you’re kinda dumb -Walker

See you Monday for Girl’s Night -Prentiss

Oh, yes, we’re getting ‘toasty’ and you’re telling us EVERYTHINGGG -Lewis

Omg! Glad you’re back home, Jazz! See you Monday!!! -JJ

Luke texted her out of the group chat with that angry red emoji: You’re getting the ass kicking of a lifetime, Kicker.

Lookin’ forward to it -Jasper texted back.

There was nothing from Spencer, though. She waited over an hour, replying to the group chat here and there, but nothing came. She called him twice, but he didn't pick up.

Jasper pulled herself out of bed and slipped on a pair of white Vans. She grabbed Booger’s leash and coaxed him out of the covers with a treat, and then they were on their way.

The scar on Jasper’s arm thrummed along with her pulse, steadily rising and beating faster the closer she got to Spencer’s apartment. She wasn’t sure what was going to happen when she got there.

Spencer wanted to apologize for his reaction to Mexico, but she had told him that it didn’t matter. She understood why he’d reacted that way. Spencer thought for so long that he had gotten out of Mexico by himself, and here he found out that Jasper had committed at least one crime to get him out.

She remembered the night that she’d snuck into the American consulate in Mexico, padding her way softly through the halls and past the guards. They never noticed her, and Oona made sure the security cameras hadn’t either.

She watched him sleep for a while before she woke him up, slipping one of her knives from her belt and pressing it against his jugular. His eyes were the size of dollar coins, bright and frightened in the moonlight.

“I have a proposition for you, Jorge.”

Jasper shuddered at the memory. She could see herself in her mind’s eye, dark and cold, scaring the living shit out of a man she’d never see again. She hadn’t thought twice about what she’d done that night, happy to do Luke a favor, until she told Spencer about it a month ago.

Was she… wrong to have put it out of her mind? Until she’d killed Gaelan, Jasper had hardly bothered dwelling on the things she’d done in her line of work. They were just the things she’d done to survive, to finish the mission.

Jasper was slipping, and she could pinpoint exactly whose fault it was.

He made her question herself, her intentions. Jasper had lived her life surviving one moment to the next, and she had been fine with that until she’d met Spencer. When she lost him, she went right back to living her life clawing her way through the blood and gore.

Jasper had let Spencer see her, and he rejected her. Parts of her were angry, full of rage and hurt that couldn’t be explained. Other parts wanted to change, to do better, to be the kind of person that Spencer, Luke and the BAU deserved to have in their lives.

She wanted to make up for what she’d turned the Misfits into, to heal from what she’d done to Jack, to Sam. She wanted redemption, the same redemption she had searched for in her work, in God, but had never quite achieved.

As Jasper walked up the stairwell to Spencer’s apartment, she could hear Mozart’s Requiem in D Minor reverberating through the halls. She knocked on his door, but nobody answered. The music blared through the walls and she knocked louder.

“He’s had that shit going for weeks,” a voice bellowed from down the hall, causing Jasper to jump. It was an angry looking older woman, her face pinched in a scowl.

“I’ll ask him to turn it down,” Jasper hollered back, and the woman grunted at her.

“See that you do,” she said, then slammed the door.

Jasper looked down at where Booger was sitting patiently, and he looked back up at her. She shrugged at him, and he wagged his tail nervously.

Jasper’s hand shook as she reached out and grasped the doorknob. It turned, and she looked to Booger once more for permission before she opened it. He didn’t seem to think it was a bad idea, so she opened the door and stepped inside for the first time in fourteen years.

The place was a mess.

Jasper stood in the middle of what seemed to be the aftermath of a twister. Books were strewn all over the floor, along with Spencer’s discarded clothing and scraps of paper. His tiny handwriting was scrawled all over them, and Jasper could make out her name in some.

Kneeling down, Jasper picked up a few of them, her eyes welling as she read them. They were apology notes, hastily written and angrily discarded, crumpled into balls and tossed carelessly aside. Jasper shook her head as she read through them, unable to believe that she had caused this sort of madness in her skinny genius.

Jasper took a cautious step toward the record player, still in its place in the corner fifteen years since she’d first stepped foot inside. She lifted the needle from the vinyl, and the over-loud sound of violins and piano blessedly stopped.

A book snapped shut behind her, and Jasper turned around just in time to see Spencer sitting up from the couch. He looked dazed, rubbing one of his eyes as he searched the living room for the intruder. Spencer’s eyes brightened as he spotted her.

“Jasper!” Spencer gasped, jumping over the back of the couch and rushing over to her. He scooped her up in a crushing hug, and Jasper was so shocked she just let him pick her up and squeeze her.

“You came back,” he breathed as he let her go, and his eyes were full of tears. Confused, Jasper reached out her hand and cupped his jaw, watching him sadly.

“I told you I would,” she said, rubbing circles into his jaw. He had let his beard grow out, something she hadn’t even known he could do, and his eyes were bruised from a lack of sleep, or maybe too much of it.

What the hell happened to him?

He wore only a pair of pajama pants and his robe, the fabric hanging open and exposing his chest and stomach. He was well muscled now, and Jasper found herself staring at his body with an appreciatively hungry eye until she remembered why he probably had it.

Prison.

He probably never wanted to feel helpless again. Jasper understood that feeling.

“You said you’d be gone a week, it’s been four,” Spencer said, leaning into her palm. His arms were still wrapped around her waist, and Jasper pulled away from him.

“No,” he whispered, his hands reaching back out to her, and she clasped his hands in hers. She let him hold her once more, but she was so confused. What was going on with him? What was making him act like this deranged man?

“I didn’t…” she started, letting his arms wrap around her waist and pull her close. Spencer pressed his forehead against hers, and Jasper felt herself begin to cry. “I didn’t expect anyone to worry about me while I was gone.”

“Jazz,” Spencer groaned,” after all these years, do you really not know the effect you have on people?”

“You’re the one who said you didn’t want to know me,” her voice wavered, shaking as he held her.

Spencer flinched, his eyes clouding with regret, but his arms tightened around her. “I’m sorry, Jasper. I’m so sorry I said that to you. I was upset, and embarrassed.”

“You need a shower, Stick,” Jasper murmured, and finally pulled herself free from his arms. This was too much, she was feeling too much. He let her go, but he looked lost.

“Oh,” he said, looking down at himself. He released one of her hands and scratched at his jaw. He looked around the messy apartment, his cheeks turning red. “I… I need to talk to you.”

“Let’s get you in the shower, okay?” she coaxed him, gently pulling him toward his bedroom where the bathroom was. He looked hesitant to leave the same room as her, his hands clenching hers tighter as he eyed the bathroom wearily.

“You’ll be here when I get out?” he asked, his sweet eyes scared and hopeful at the same time. Jasper reached out and pulled him to her. She stepped onto her tiptoes and kissed his cheek.

“Of course I will, honey,” she said as she pulled away, and Spencer let out a sigh of relief. He nodded, then slowly let her go and entered the bathroom.

He… missed her. He had fallen apart without her. Jasper didn’t know whether to be happy that he must love her enough to miss her so much, or horrified to know that she had that much power over him.

Now she was glad she hadn’t disappeared like she’d thought about. If Jasper had picked up and left, never looking back, who knows what grief she’d have put him and the BAU through?

When she heard the shower start, Jasper took another look around the apartment. There were clothes everywhere, random takeout boxes piled high on his little dining table, books tossed and thrown this way and that, paper littering the floors.

Jasper decided the best place to start was his bedroom. She picked up the clothes from the floor and walked them over to his laundry room and dropped them in the washing machine. She went through the rooms and picked up more, then headed back for the bedroom.

Jasper pulled the sheets off his bed and folded them up to wash later. She pulled open a few drawers before she remembered where he kept his extra sheets, then dug through for an extra fitted one.

She pulled one out, but her eye caught something at the bottom of the drawer. It was a little green velvet box, one that she had seen before. Diana had shown it to her that Christmas that they visited, whispered excitedly how she hoped Jasper would become part of her family.

It was his grandmother’s engagement ring.

Reaching out with a shaky hand, Jasper picked up the box and opened it. The little gold band still sat inside, glittering under the dim lighting. A large emerald sat in the middle, encased by tiny pearls and diamonds. It was just as beautiful as she remembered it being.

Her heart shattered in her chest as she held the little band, her own ring on her left finger shining in the room. Jack, Sam, Spencer, somehow the weight of her love for them came down to these little bands of jewels. It felt like the weight of the world sat on them at that moment.

Tears rolled down her cheeks as she set the box back in its place, closing the drawer and continuing her mission to clean up. Jasper changed the sheets and stooped down to look under the bed, knowing she would find more clothing under there, even though most of it was Spencer’s brightly colored mismatched socks.

She dragged a pair of slacks and a handful of socks out from underneath the bed, draping them over her arm and then on the back of the couch as she reentered the living room. Jasper picked up the takeout and papers and shoved it all in his garbage bag, making a mental note to take it out later. She didn’t want to leave the apartment to put it in the dumpster and have Spencer think she’d left again, not when he was so upset.

Snagging the trousers from the back of the couch, Jasper searched through the pockets to make sure she didn’t accidentally wash his wallet, money, or badge. She felt something round and hard in his pocket, and fished it out.

Jasper stopped in her tracks as she finally saw what it was. It was a black coin with Self, God, Society, Service written around a diamond shape. Within the diamond were the words Freedom and Goodwill, with a big X settled at the center. She knew what this was. She’d seen her parents take these home only to give them up again within weeks.

“Jasper, are you still here?” Spencer called as he walked into the living room, clutching his towel to his waist. “We need to-”

He fell silent as he saw the coin in her hand. Jasper looked up from it and stared at him. His soft features were twisted by guilt, his eyes full of fear and shame as the water from his shower still had yet to dry on his skin.

“I can explain,” he started, taking a few steps toward her. Jasper took a step back and shook her head.

“You’re a drug addict,” she said quietly, her voice shaking as a million memories flooded her senses. Her mother passed out in a pile of her own vomit, covered in bruises and God only knew what else. Her father fast asleep on the armchair with a needle still sticking out of his arm, his head rocking back and forth in a daze as he rode his high.

“Jasper, please,” Spencer started again, but Jasper stopped him with a raised hand.

“No,” she snarled, and he flinched away from her. She scoffed and shook her head. Too many memories ripped through her, too many nights running from her father or cleaning up her mother.

How did this happen to you?

Jasper wanted to be supportive, wanted to be what he needed her to be, but could she? Was she… strong enough to learn more about what all he’d been up to the last fourteen years if drugs, of all things, had been a part of it?

Her breath quickened as she looked at his frightened face, still damp from his shower as citrus and cinnamon floated through the apartment. He silently pleaded with her, and she begged back. When she spoke again, her voice shook.

“You’re a drug addict.”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Notes: Okay, I KNOW what you're thinking! but BEAR WITH ME and you will be rewarded babes <3

How are we feeling? Any theories ?

Also, how do you guys feel finally knowing Jasper's real name??

CM Forever Taglist:

@simplyparker, @spencerreidsmommy @hotchandspencearedilfs @gspenc @kbakery @nomajdetective @givemeth @hoshihiime @halloween-is-my-nationality

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bbygirljuvi · 3 years

Text

Gruvia Week 2021 Day 3 - Discovery

Author’s note: This emotional roller coaster turned out longer than I intended. Hope you enjoy ^^

Summary: It take place several hours after Alodron’s defeat, on the way of Drameel.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Group had stoped over in a small yard inside the forest before continuing their path to Drameel. It was the excuse they gave the army. They were campers which had been attacked by some wild animal on thir campsite. They would head to Drameel right after dressed their wounds. Aldron was just a town’s name they knew. To their surprise, army really bought that.

It was really small yard, just enough to lit a campfire. So everybody was spread around the forest. Less injuried members were gettering up wood and food to prepare dinner while Wendy was running around, healing big injuries with last drop of her magic.

Everybody was tired, injured and confused yet happy. Small victory smiles were visible on every face. Joyful whispers were rising from everywhere. Fairy tail was safe and together again.

Gray leaned on a tree which wasn’t too far away from campsite but private from other sights. He closed his eyes with a big sigh while Juvia went to get health supplies. The nauseous feeling had been crippling inside him since the event with Metro kept getting stronger and he was at his limit at this point. His head was aching, there was a still fresh wound end of the dried blood track, his left shoulder was at least dislocated and without adrenaline rush, he was feeling like fainting.

He opened his eyes with two different footsteps coming to his way. Juvia was carrying dressing matterials while Wendy was carrying a bowl of water. Both of their faces was twisted in worry. Was he looking bad as he felt?

“Gray-san what’s wrong, where did you get hurt ?” Wendy asked in rush. “Just my arm and head, not big deal” he said with a ressuring smile but nobody bought that.

Juvia was sitting in the corner, giving Wendy enough space to do her stuff. It wasn’t easy tho. He looked like a mess. She’d been aware that his condition was getting worse every passing minute as they walk but he wasn’t looking half as bad before she left, had he’s been faking it not to worry her? Her heart twitched with another wave of affection.

Wendy checked his head first and gasped a little. It was worse then she initially thought. “Do you feel dizzy or like vomiting Gray-san?” she asked. He gave a small nod then hissed in pain. That hurted, he thought.

“You’re probably having a concussion, I will heal it right away. You should still rest tho.” she said while using her magic. With that ice mage started to feel alive again. “Shit, I’m feeling awesome Wendy, you are amazing!!”

She mumbled something like thank you with one of her cute blushes on and tend towards his left shoulder, fixed it instantly too. This time Juvia talked “ We are so luck to have you Wendy-san~” she said with a bright smile. The gloom had been radiated from her was long gone. “I’m glad I can help my friends. Juvia-san what about you, Did you get hurt too?”

“No, just some scratches, Juvia is okey.”she said while giving an impish look to Gray. Which led him to blush and turn his head. Wendy didn’t know what was that about but she had a guess. “Is that so, than I’m heading to Erza-san. Don’t hesitate to call me if you need.” And left while ice and water mages were waving goodbye, warning her for not to overuse her magic.

Idiot,idiot,idiot he repeated himself as Wendy’s footsteps faded. She’s my power to live?? What will you do next time, kiss her in the battlefield? You extra little-

His inner scrolling cut short by a wet cloth. Juvia was cleaning his face. “Dressing time” she said, trying so hard not to grin like a cheshire cat. She knew it would scare him if she teased him about it longer than she already did. But remaining calm was hard when all she heard was her beloved’s voice echoing in her head. Juvia was his power to live!!

With that she bit her lower lip in an unsuccessful attempt to stop a smile from forming. Gray rolled his eyes to that but relaxed a bit. Her dramatic reactions were so familiar... Yeah, he had practically confessed but it wasn’t something new. Things wouldn’t changed between them. With that realisation he even smiled when she covered her mouth to muff her slipped out giggles.

“Oh,shut up” he said while rolling his eyes once again. But this time he was chukling too. “Juvia’s mouth is sealed.” She said while switching to his arm, cleaning the area with a bright smile. She had almost finished bandaging his right arm when he stopped her. “Wendy healed me, I should have done dressing to you first.” “Not until Juvia finishes mummifing Gray-sama” she said, pushed him back and continued her job. “Hah, I knew it, you had come out of nowhere to kill me. White mage was just an excuse, wasn’t it?” He said playfully. So he was comfortable enough to joke around again? He usually needed more time for his awkwardness to fade off. Progress, she mentally noted.

“Of course it was.” She put her best yandere impression on: “ She missed her Gray-sama too much while he was away, she come here to make sure he won’t leave her ever again!” Than laughed grisly.

“Okey, that was terrifying. You are terrifying Juvia” he played along. “Oh and you should be terrified, Juvia is dead serious, see?” she said, started wrapping his abdomen faster while touching that soft spot she knew Gray was ticklish more than she had to.

His response was immediate. “Stop, no, Juvia sto-“ his words cut off with a laughter. His eyes began to fill with the effort not to burst out. He was crawling in different shapes to save himself but Juvia was merciless. She cornered him between her body, large tree that he was initially leaning on and ground he was currently laying. And tickled him more aggressively as she finished bandaging his wounds. “I have a reputation damn it, stop.” he said between laughters and hold her wrists together in a, successful this time, attempt to stop her. But instead of trying to tickle him more or accepting her defeat, she hissed in pain.

He got up fast, questioning what was wrong while rolling up her sleeves. When he saw weird, bruis like wounds covering her whole arm, he yelped.

“Juvia!! Why didn’t you say anything?” Juvia was looking pretty surprised too. “Where Juvia had been pinned inside Metro was stinging a bit but she didn’t think it was something important...” Her voice kept getting lower once she saw his angry expression. “Your whole arm and-“ he checked under his long boots “ leg are covered in red bruises and you didn’t think it was important!?” Juvia opened her mouth but Gray was just started. “You never take care of yourself. Can’t I even trust you when you say I’m fine?” He started to unbuttoning her coat aggressively since bruises were going beyond her upper arms. He’s stripping me, she mentally noted and placed it aside for later. It wasn’t the right time, he was really angry.

“And you bandaged me with those arms! Always depriving yourself, UGH” She opened her mouth once again when he paused his silent yelling to search right ointment in first-ait bag. But before she could found an excuse, moment passed. He continued scrolling her while angrily rubbing oinment on her left arm.

“What should I do, do I need to strip you every time after a mission to make sure you are okey-“ he paused once again when his eyes slightly crossed over the scar on her abdomen, the one he couldn’t stand seeing. Oh-uh Juvia thought, knowing this would make him grumpier. And she was right, his grip tightened on her wrist. Continued his speech angrier which was about how reckless she was, how she was not listening her physical needs, how she should get her priorities right...

And at that moment, it hit her... She knew her feelings were not as unrequited as it was before. She had known it before that sweet words from several hours ago, she’s my power to live. She had known it before he had claimed her body by saying it’s his. She had known it before unpleasant encounter with Invel. She even had known it before he had promised an answer to her on starry night.

But at that exact moment, while he was grumbling about how reckless she was and angrily wrapping bandage above her elbow; she realised he may care her more than she dared to assume. And at that exact moment she felt loved, more loved than she felt her entire life.

He stopped when he saw her eyes were shining with tears. His expression softened with guilt. Lightened his grip. “I’m sorry. Did i hurt you?” She shooke her head and hugged him carefully, trying not to ruin his effort by rubbing ointment off.

“Juvia will take care of herself more from now on, she won’t act reckless, promise.” She said with a touched voice. It was obvious she was crying. “Hey, hey what’s wrong?” Gray tried to push her, to saw her face but she tightened her arms and buried her face deeper in his neck. “Nothing, really. Can we stay like this for a while please.” she said. Gray was about to object when he felt her tears in his neck, followed by a smile. That was a genuine smile. Gray had never been good at reading people’s emotions but Juvia was different. He would understand if she faked it.

So he mumbled “What is this for all of a sudden?” but still wrapped his arms around her waist, rested his blushed cheek on her hair. They were out of sight anyway.

They stayed in that position until Mirajane declared it was dinner time.

#gruvia #gruvia week #gruvia week 2021 #day 3: discovery #gruvia fanfiction #bbygirljuvi writing

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haloshornsinkstains · 3 years

Text

Mine [Tomura Shigaraki]

This is a bit different from most of my other writing I think? Read the content warnings. It’s not as fluffy as a lot of my other writing. It was just an idea that wouldn’t go away and I finally got it all written out.

Sorry I haven’t updated much this week, first week back at work has been rough. Always open for requests though, especially headcanons or thirsts/drabbles atm.

CW: Omegaverse (Alpha!Shigaraki, Omega!Reader), female reader, NSFW, dubcon , blood, violence, kidnapping

Distressed omegas were meant to be a cowering, whimpering mess. They were meant to be easy to control, to comply subserviently with an Alpha, or even a Beta, in order to remedy whatever situation had them in such a state. Distressed omegas were most certainly not meant to be snarling, snapping and occasionally sending ripples of electricity and broken earth out at their captors. Which is exactly what you were doing.

It was supposed to be an easy job, scope the place out, report back on your findings. The place was not, according to all the previous intel, supposed to be a hideout for one of the most notorious villain groups in all Japan. But just your luck, that was exactly what it was. You’d expected to die, honestly, when the small blonde had appeared out of nowhere. Maybe dying would have been the better option, rather than being tied up and surrounded by the League. You weren’t even entirely sure why you weren’t dead, she’d mumbled something about your scent and in a blurry series of events you’d found yourself here, growling at their leader as he crouched before you, easily recognisable with the hand obscuring his face.

“Can someone tell me why we have a distressed omega in the middle of our floor?” He rasped, taking his eyes away from you for a moment to scan the group. “We caught her sneaking around!” Toga grinned, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “Right. So why is she here and not, say, dead?” Shigaraki growled, before whipping his head back to you, nose wrinkled. “And will you stop that? You smell terrible.” You merely snarled in response. You knew your distress tinged your natural scent with a sour note that wasn’t pleasant, but it wasn’t as if you could control the feeling given your current predicament. “Um, boss, we do have her tied up. It’s probably not entirely her fault.” “Spinny is right. She smelled so good before~” Toga beamed. You snorted. “She’s bleeding, of course you thought she smelled good.” “Not like that! The blood smelled good, but she smelled right before she started bleeding. Then she smelled better~” Tomura sighed, shifting forwards towards you to try and see what the beta girl meant. You shuffled backwards, baring your teeth at him in a snarl, sparks skittering off your skin towards him. Tomura snarled back, sharp canines glinting from between chapped lips in a clear threat. “Stop it! I could just kill you you know?” He glanced over his shoulder, missing the way your body drooped in poorly hidden hurt at his next words. “You just had to bring a broken omega didn’t you brat?” Broken. You’d heard that before. No one wanted an omega who snarled and snapped back, instead of submitting at the drop of a hat. Omegas were supposed to be subservient. Motherly. They were supposed to have supportive roles. You were none of those, topped with an offensive type quirk, you weren’t what anyone would look for in an omega mate. You were broken, by their standards. “Stop. Calm down.” You reacted immediately to the new Alpha voice, your body relaxing against your own will, every fibre of your being racing to obey the alpha’s command. You turned your head to scowl at the man who’d pulled such a dirty trick, stupid Alpha’s and their stupid ability to make Omega’s obey. A scarred face grinned back at you, Dabi you realised, another strong Alpha - had to be to make you submit like that when you were so riled up. “You could’ve done that too you know creep, threatening her wasn’t going to make her any less distressed.” He huffed. “You’re the worst Alpha I’ve ever met.” Tomura scowled, scratching at his neck. “You must not spend much time with yourself.” Dabi huffed a laugh, leaning against the wall behind you. You could feel his eyes burning into the back of your neck, clearly watching for you to make some move to attack as Tomura shifted closer. His scent was getting stronger, too much so to just account for his proximity. He was trying to calm you, you realised belatedly, a hand twitching near his neck as if he didn’t dare scratch at the damaged glands further. It took a moment for the scent to really hit you, your eyes going wide and panicked as your body reacted, the urge to fling yourself towards him and flee warring between each other and leaving your frozen in place. You shook your head as a needy whine bubbled from your throat unbidden. Tomura fell backwards, brows pinched together in what you thought was a similar kind of distress. In a panic you tried to focus on a different scent, anything to push the scent of dusty rooms and decaying leaves and belonging from your nose. Your head whipped to Dabi behind you, breathing deeply through your nose. He was another Alpha, surely his scent should do something to mask Tomura’s, but the smoke and spice was far too faint to cover whatever the other Alpha had pumped through the room. Noticing your gaze Dabi just offered a lazy shrug, tilting his head slightly with a smug smirk. The burn scars that covered his neck must have messed with his scent glands, which also explained the tang of burnt flesh you got from him. The Betas weren’t doing much either, and everyone smelled faintly of blood, including you. With another needy whine you gave up and focused hard on the floor, trying not to breathe more than strictly necessary. The world around you blurred and faded as you fought every instinct in you screaming to reach out to the Alpha and bare your neck to his teeth. 'Stupid body, stop it. I'm better than this, I've met plenty of strong Alphas before.' 'But none of them smelled like that. Good enough to make you react like this' your traitorous mind whispered back. 'Screw that. I am not my secondary gender. I'm a hero. I don't roll over for anyone, and certainly not an infamous villain. No matter how good he smells…' 'Smells like mate. Your Alpha.' '...mate. No!'. You snarled into the floor, not quite sure when you’d shifted position like this. You vaguely registered the shuffle of feet, Tomura had stood and moved away at some point, and the low rasp of orders. "Spinner, go put her somewhere." "Okay? Uh, where?" "Anywhere but here." A door slammed and you felt yourself being lifted, heated over a shoulder. Spinner you guessed, he smelled weird, even under the blood and soft scent that marks him as part of the pack. His smell was dry, like sand and tanned leather and something reptilliant you couldn't place. He jostled you slightly as he moved down some stairs, making you hiss at him in irritation. He growled back, finally dumping you in a small cellar, your hands still tied.

“What was that all about?” Toga asked, spinning a knife in her hands. “You can’t guess?” Dabi sighed. “Do you know anything?” Toga just shrugged, humming to herself. “I know how to stab people.” “From the omega’s reaction I’d say she smelled a mate.” Compress sighed. “I’m sure you can piece together who from the reaction.” “Oh. Oh. Maybe that’s why she smelled so nice before.” Dabi shrugged. “What did she smell like before? I only got the sour distressed smell, and… well.” Toga winced, the sour smell had been unpleasant sure, but the strange musk after it hadn’t been so bad. It reminded her of how things smelled after she got to play with blood. “She smelled good, like thunderstorms and old things. A bit like the bar when we first got here, except with more lightning.” “That explains it. Creepy hands McGee is going to be a child about it though.” Dabi hummed. “You should have more faith in our leader.” Dabi shot Compress a disbelieving look and shook his head. “This is going to be a pain.”

You weren’t sure how long you’d been trapped in their cellar. Two days maybe, if they were bringing you three meals a day, longer if not and well… three meals a day seemed a little too generous for the group of villains. Yet no one had come to find you, probably assumed you were dead you reasoned, but the abandonment stung somewhere deep in your chest. You’d smelled your mate several times since you’d been captured too, lurking outside the door but never coming any further. Each time the battle with your instincts got harder, the omega inside you begging to call out, to crawl to the door and beg for him to come in. Occasionally small whimpers would slip past your lips, ones that you would scold yourself for, but worse was the answering growl that sometimes came from the other side of the door. Low and possessive and filled with a promise of something both dangerous and so, so tempting. Those times it was even harder to stay back, your body trembling from the effort of staying still. You didn’t want him, not logically, he was dangerous and cruel and evil. Everything opposed to what you worked for in life. But your traitorous body smelled a mate, the first one you’d met since high school, and it wanted him so badly it ached.

Meanwhile Dabi was getting more and more frustrated, nothing was happening with the League while their boss was fixated on their captive, and while he didn’t really care about the League’s goals where they diverged from his own, the inactivity was boring the others and their restlessness was driving him insane. That and the constant growling of the other Alpha made his hackles rise, part of him he thought he’d buried long ago wanting to fight over the omega. It was stupid and he hated it, so it needed to be solved, and he knew just the thing to kick Shigaraki into action.

You snapped awake from a fitful sleep as you heard the door to the cellar opening. A traitorous part of your mind hoping it would be your mate. Instead the faint smell of burning caught you nose and you huffed, turning away from the other Alpha. You heard a growl from behind you but ignored it, pulling the blanket around you protectively. “Go away.” There was a rough laugh. “I don’t think so little Omega. All this pining is getting annoying.” You huffed. “There is no pining. But if you’re here to kill me just get it over with, this cellar smells terrible.” “Tempting but no” he grabbed your shoulders, flipping you onto your back in one swift motion “I’ve got a much better plan.” Your body tensed up, preparing to fight whatever this asshole planned to do to you, despite the power-dampening bands they’d locked onto your wrists. You pulled your legs up, closing them tightly, ready to kick him away. But Dabi was deceptively strong, pinning your legs down with one arm as his other grabbed something from his coat pocket, binding it over your nose and mouth. A gag, you thought at first, ready to scream for help that probably wouldn’t come as soon. But then the smell hit you, your eyes going wide and panicked. It was his smell, dusty and decaying and enough to set all of your nerves on fire. You thrashed on the bed, tossing your head around and trying to get it off, get away from the intoxicating scent, but Dabi had a hand pressed hard against your throat. “Behave.” You froze with a whimper that you hated yourself for. “Good Omega. Now, we just need to wait until your heat kicks in and this’ll all be over.” You struggled weakly again, your heat hadn’t been very far off when you first broke in here anyway, the overwhelming scent of Alpha, of Mate, would only bring it on faster. And with Dabi pressing down on your neck you felt you might pass out before you could get the clothing off you. Everything was hazy and the blood was pounding in your ears as the edges of your vision darkened.

Dabi sighed, climbing off you and sniffing the air. Beneath the sour sting of distress he could smell the sweetness and thick musk that signalled an impending heat. A couple hours and you’d be in full heat he figured, plenty of time to convince the creep to get down here and trap him in here with you. Dabi figured he’d either kill you, fuck you and then kill you or (and it was probably the least likely) actually claim you as a mate and stop this ridiculous moping. Maybe having an omega around the place would be useful, you were supposed to be good at looking after people and all that shit and god knows these idiots need it. Now he just had to convince the creep to actually enter the cellar.

In the end it was easier than he thought. All he had to do was suggest you were in some kind of danger and some long dormant Alpha instincts seemed to kick in, sending Shigaraki darting into the cellar before his brain could catch up with what he was doing. With a satisfied bark of laughter Dabi slammed the door shut again, banking on the boss’ instincts kicking in before he could think of disintegrate the door with his quirk. Sliding the lock shut he turned to address the door, raising his voice so he could be heard inside. “We’re all sick of your nonsense, so either fuck or kill each other. I don’t care.” You were staring wide eyed at Shigaraki from your makeshift blanket nest, a sheen of sweat making your skin almost glow in the dim light. The room stank with the scent of your heat, sickly sweet and tinged with ozone. For his part Shiagraki had pressed himself back against the door, staring at you as if you were about to pounce on him and eat him alive. Though, in his defence, your instincts were screaming at you to do exactly that. In a way it was almost funny, that something so simple could reduce someone so powerful to panic like this, but you knew how dangerous that could be at the same time, how easily he could kill you. You tried to growl at him, but it came out more like a needy whimper, a ripple of pain running through your body. You knew it was only a matter of time before he lost control, maybe it was better to just get it over with… the way your body was screaming at you was getting harder to ignore too. Before you realised what was happening you had started to crawl towards him, his snarl the only thing that snapped you out of the heat daze and made you stop. “Stay back.” You froze, studying him carefully. He was trembling, a thin sheen of sweat covering his face, his hands frozen into claws on the floor, pinkies raised. So it was getting to him faster than you bargained for. Great. “I’m trying!” You hissed. “Try harder!” You narrowed your eyes, a snarl escaping your lips. “Screw you.” He answered with a growl, deep and low in his throat, the sound making you whine and press yourself to the floor on instinct, hips raised in the air. In the few seconds it took you to realise what you were doing something in Tomura snapped, the scent of your heat and the submissive mating position sparking every instinct in his body. In a flash you’re trapped beneath him, feeling the solid press of his length against your ass. He’s trembling, barely restrained as he ruts against your clothing. It’s sweet, in a twisted way, that he’s this far gone but still trying to hold on to a thread of control, to wait for your consent. And with him pressed so close, his intoxicating scent filling your nostrils, you know you can’t hold off much longer. Each time you try to say no it comes out as whine, your heat growing stronger with each passing heartbeat. “Please.” It comes out as a whine, but your hips rocking back against his is more than enough to tell him what you want.

His fingers scrabbled at your pants, careful to keep his pinkie away from the clothes even in this state. You heard the groan as he saw the mess of slick sticking to your underwear, you could feel it starting to run down your legs, the smell almost overwhelming. You heard more fabric rustle before you felt him pressing against you, felt the quiver in his body as he stilled with his head just pressing at your entrance. You whined, low and needy, bucking your hips back against him again, knees pressed together by your hastily tugged down clothes and chest cold against the floor. Behind you he growls, hips bucking forwards with enough force to almost push you over. His body folded over yours, hands pressed against the floor, away from you. A small thing, but it speaks volumes about his unwillingness to hurt you, that the bond of knowing you’re mates has stuck with him too. It’s the last coherent thought you have before your brain is completely overcome with a haze of lust, devoid of any thoughts except how good his cock feels inside you, hard and heavy rubbing along your inner walls. Your hands scrabble against the floor as he bucks up into you, pressing against a spot on your insides with every thrust that makes you see stars, his breath a series of harsh pants in your ears. There’s no dirty talk, no indication how much he’s enjoying this aside from the occasional ‘fuck’ or low moan. You could feel his knot pressing against your entrance, stretching you a little more with each thrust, brushing against your clit and pushing you closer and closer to your release. You knew anyone who passed would be able to hear your wanton moans and whimpers through the door, too lost in pleasure to control your volume. “Please. Please knot me Alpha, mate.” You whined, rocking back against him. “Need you.” There was a low chuckle from above you, dark and twisted. “Lost all your fight little omega? How pitiful.” You whined, clenching down around him. It was all it took for him to thrust hard once more, his knot pushing past your outer ring and locking itself inside you. The sudden pressure tipped you over the edge, spasming around his dick, barely aware as he made a final few shallow thrusts before groaning and tipping over the edge himself, filling you with his warm come. The pain of his teeth latching onto your neck, the sharpened canines piercing through the bond mark, was enough to bring you out of your daze. “Mine.” Locked together you could feel his tongue lapping at the wound, cleaning the blood and soothing the sting of the bite. You tried not to struggle, worried the movement would anger him, even as you could hear the mutterings of ‘mine, my omega’ against your skin. With the worst of your heat sated right now you could almost think clearly again, despite the stretch of his knot inside you firing all kinds of signals inside your body. You’d allowed yourself to be claimed by one of the biggest villains in Japan, in a dingy basement against a cold stone floor. He’d bitten you and marked you as his. There was no way they were going to let you out of there now, no matter how much you begged or used your ‘omega charms’ on them. You were trapped. At least the claim would offer you some protection from the others, or so you hoped.

What on earth had you gotten yourself into?

#my writing #my hero academia #bnha #shigaraki tomura #league of villains #omegaverse #shigaraki x reader #female!reader #f!reader #alpha!shigaraki #dubcon #halo.writes #halo.afterdark

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ifmywishescametrue · 3 years

Note

hnnng, could you please do either “you’re sick and you need to rest” or “you could’ve died” for stevetony? Worrying about an SO is a soft spot for me🥺

thank you for sending me this prompt! hope you like it :) (warning for mentions of torture, btw, but nothing graphic)

In that cave in Afghanistan, Tony keeps seeing flashes of things. Moments from life before all of this come to him in between the shocks of electricity when his head is forced underwater, while he’s sputtering and gasping for breath and can’t understand the words being screamed at him.

He sees Steve more than anything. Sees blue eyes and a bright smile and if he tries hard enough he can almost hear the laugh that comes with it. Sometimes it’s that first day again, with roaming hands and a rush to get off in the bathroom of some party he didn’t want to be at, followed by an easy grin and the promise to do that again sometime. He sees Steve on his couch surrounded by take out containers and the reassurance that absolutely none of it counted as a date. Morning pancakes that supposedly meant nothing, and Steve sneaking under the desk in his office. Pencil scratches on sketch pads that used to wake him up, cold feet pressed against his calves, his favorite muffins from that bakery downtown that used to just appear out of nowhere when he was having a bad day, and the way that Steve would never admit that it was him doing it.

It’s that last night he remembers the most. He can almost hear the words whispered in the dead of night and remembers the ones he held back, because Tony has never known how to be completely honest. He didn’t know how to say that this casual friends with benefits things was starting to feel less like friends and more like love, but when he lays down with his aching chest and bleeding fingers on the poor excuse for a cot at night, he wishes more than anything that he could have found the words before.

So he builds the suit and practices the right thing to say for when he makes it out. If he makes it out. If this ridiculous plan of his doesn’t result in him dying somewhere in the middle of the desert, just another body added to the pile of deaths he’s caused.

He almost doesn’t believe it when he lives. His knees hit the scorching sand, and Rhodey’s arms are right there, and still all he can think about is whether or not Steve mourned at all when they all thought he was dead.

In the plane, after the hospital at the army base and all the IV lines to fix the three months of dehydration and malnutrition, he works up the nerve to ask about it.

“Steve,” he starts, voice hoarse enough that he pauses to clear his throat, unwilling to sound so affected. “Is he - did he -” He stops, settling for asking, “Have you talked to him?”

Rhodey leans forward on his elbows, closing some of the distance that the aisle between them created. He pulls out his phone and taps for a moment before turning the screen to face Tony. Steve’s name is at the top, and Rhodey scrolls through the string of messages with enough speed that Tony can’t actually read any of them, but he gets the point anyway.

“This is just the last couple of weeks,” Rhodey says. “Never stopped asking for updates, especially when we found you. Called so much I told him I was going to put a virus on his phone to redirect him to random strangers if he kept it up. He didn’t listen.”

Tony swallows around the lump in his throat and looks away towards the window.

“We weren’t supposed to be anything,” Tony murmurs, watching the way the sky is fading from orange into blue, clouds obscuring the ocean below them. It’s still a few more hours until California, where he hopes that Steve is still waiting for him. “We said it was nothing.”

Rhodey hums, both noncommittal and suggestive at the same time, and Tony turns his head back to look at him. “What?”

Rhodey shrugs, “I didn’t say anything.”

“But you want to.”

“I don’t spill secrets that aren’t mine to tell.”

Tony’s brow furrows. “What does that even mean?”

“It means he’ll be there when we land, and if you try to pretend that it’s still nothing, I’m putting your ass back on the plane until you find your common sense somewhere.”

Tony bites his lip and shakes his head, staring down at his hands, “I wasn’t going to pretend. I just - I didn’t know if he cared anymore. It’s been a few months, and we weren’t… There was never a promise for commitment. He could’ve found somebody else. Anyone else.”

Rhodey gives him a look, that fondly exasperated one he does so well. “Nice to know you’re still a dumbass.”

It startles a laugh from and makes his abused lungs twinge, but it feels good to laugh again. “Takes more than a few months to knock the dumbass out of me.”

The topic falls away after that, because Tony can’t say what he feels, and Rhodey knows anyway. He switches the conversation over to the start of the baseball season that Tony missed, complaining about the Phillies like Tony’s heard every year since he was fifteen. It’s easy and passes the time until Tony ends up falling asleep for the rest of the flight.

His muscles are stiff and uncomfortable when he wakes with a start a couple of hours later, heart racing and on edge when he doesn’t immediately recognize his surroundings. Rhodey puts a hand on his knee, and Tony jumps initially before calming. It makes Rhodey’s eyes turn sad for a moment, then it’s hidden away again.

“Come on,” Rhodey says softly, gripping Tony by the elbow of his good arm to help him up. “We’re here.”

There’s still a slight limp in his step when he walks off the plane from bruises and scars that are still healing. He sees Pepper first, with her red hair shining in the sun, but his gaze gets stuck on the person next to her.

Steve straightens from where he’s leaning against the black car, and Tony wishes he was in better condition so he could run to him. It would have been romantic, he thinks, like something out of one of those movies he’d never even seen before Steve came into his life. There would have been some grand, sweep-him-off-his-feet moment with declarations and pretty words and violins coming from somewhere.

Instead Steve meets him halfway, with a quivering chin like he might start to cry. There are dark circles under his eyes, and his hair is too long, and his five o’clock shadow is almost an actual beard now.

He’s the best thing Tony’s ever seen.

“Hey,” Tony says, because he can’t remember a single one of those things he planned before.

Steve smiles, and it’s only a little shaky, “Hey yourself.”

Rhodey and Pepper disappear with the shutting of the car door, leaving the two of them standing there in the middle of the empty runway. Steve takes the first step, but Tony takes the second, and then Steve’s chest is beneath his cheek, and his arms are around his shoulders.

Tony holds on to him like a lifeline, fingers clutched in his t-shirt, and he can feel the warmth of him seeping into his skin. Steve’s hands are all over, as if checking to make sure he’s all actually there and in one piece.

Steve steps back a little, a small frown on his face. He reaches his hand up to Tony’s chest, and Tony tenses at the first light press against the reactor case.

“What…” Steve trails off, eyes flickering between Tony’s chest and his face, and Tony undoes two of the buttons on his shirt to show him.

The scars around it are marred and red, with raised edges that serve to make it look even worse than it is. Steve makes a sound like a choked back sob, and Tony grabs his wrist to put his hand on the reactor. It’s a little terrifying to let him touch it, but if there’s anyone he knows would never hurt him, it’s Steve.

“It’s okay,” Tony murmurs. “It keeps me alive.”

“You could’ve died,” Steve whispers, fingers spreading out over the light of the reactor. “I thought you - I didn’t want to think it, but it was hard not to. Rhodey kept saying that you wouldn’t let yourself go out like that. You’d be all or nothing, and it wasn’t big enough. And Pepper, well, she basically said exactly what did happen. That you’d find a way out. I tried to believe it, too, but I just kept thinking that you could be gone, and we’d never - I’d never get the chance to make this real.”

Tony looks up at him, breath catching in his throat. “I thought about you every day, you know. I almost told you how I felt about you on that last night. Came so close to saying it, but I just -”

“I know,” Steve says, and with his other hand he cups Tony’s cheek. “You don’t have to say it. I already know.”

“Yeah?”

Steve nods, leaning in closer, and his lips brush against Tony’s when he says, “Yeah, sweetheart, I know.”

#stevetony #prompts #i literally love you for sending me this #asks #my writing #my fic #stony #superhusbands

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flameo-hotman · 3 years

Note

Who is the scariest of those adoptive parents? And are there any non-humans on the menu? Actually, I'm behind point 7.

You don’t want to know the scariest one (though I did start a fic chapter once tagging it because said character showed up in that chapter, so that tells you exactly who the scariest one is.) Yes, there are a fair number of nonhuman on the list.

And you, along with @straycatwandering and several others have ordered adoption number seven. Sand benders.

It should be noted that at one point there is an explosion and Zuko later gets shot with an arrow, but he is fine both times. Also, there is a hint at Zukka towards the end.

Zuko sighed, as he trekked his way through the sandy prison he had found himself in. Sand as far as the eye could see and then some. He had found the library, but because he hadn’t had anything to give Wan Shi Tong, the spirit had thrown him out.

He’d run out of water that morning, and he still had no idea how much longer he had before he would find his way out of the endless desert.

Zuko didn’t want to die out here.

At least he’d still had leftover bandages from his scar. His scar which had just barely finished healing…

The scar that father gave him…

On the ship, before Zhao had blown it up, Zuko had been able to pretend and lie to himself. He had been able to trick himself into believing that Father had done this because he cared, but trekking through the Earth Kingdom and seeing how normal fathers treated their children, Zuko had been faced with the truth.

And now out here alone in the desert he had nothing but his thoughts to keep him company.

There was no doubt left that being scared and banished was not love.

So Zuko had been angry by the time he had found the library, and when he did he hadn’t carried about finding the Avatar to earn his honor back. Zuko wanted to find a way to hurt his father back.

Yet here he was, thirteen years old, alone, and if he didn’t find water soon… Well, he would be dead.

He’d used the spare bandages to soak up his sweat, hoping that he might be able to turn it into drinking water. Not that he had enjoyed drinking his own sweat water that morning.

Worse yet, he’d stopped sweating. It took a lot for a fire bender to get heatstroke and Zuko’s head had begun to ache. Fire prickled beneath his skin begging him to let it out, but if he did the unrelenting heat of the desert would worsen.

But if he didn’t let that fire out… The fire that built every moment underneath Agni’s light, filling him with power… His chi would burn him from the inside out.

If he didn’t let that fire out, he risked chi sickness.

Either he risked dying from heat stroke or dying from chi sickness.

Zuko let the fire out in an explosion of flame and heat.

Everything went dark, and the next thing he knew was the sound of footsteps clicking against glass. Glass that when he opened his eyes extended around him in a circle by three or four yards.

Okay so maybe not using his bending all week while trekking through the desert had been a bad idea. Zuko would admit that because that could have gone A LOT worse.

The next thing that he registered was that the footsteps belonged to a group of sand benders.

He winced as he struggled to his feet and readied to attack.

Even if the sand benders hadn’t seen him fire bend, there was no denying the evidence. They had found him at the epicenter of evidence. This was the closest to combustion bending that a normal fire bender could manage.

Saving up their chi and letting out all of their fire in one sudden blast of heat. Most fire benders died doing that though. If Zuko had waited a few more days, he likely would have been nothing more than a burned out husk melted halfway into the glass beneath his feet.

“Where are your parents?” The man who appeared to be their leader asked.

Zuko frowned, confusion swelling inside him much the same way his fire did. This was not how someone should act when they found an enemy combatant no matter their age. He glanced around at the other sand benders and when he saw that they were just as confused, he knew that he wasn’t the one who’d lost his mind.

Actually all but their leader stayed outside the circle of glass.

Smart, but he didn’t have enough fire left to do a repeat. Actually, he didn’t have enough left to fight them if they did decide to attack, but he wasn’t about to tell them that.

He did have the physical energy to fight them with his swords though.

The sand bender stepped towards him and Zuko stumbled back, losing his step on the slick surface. The glass gave a dull plonk sound as he landed on his butt.

A second plonk followed as the sand bender followed suit.

Zuko shot up and slipping across the glass made his way over, concern for the man filling him, as he asked, “Are you okay?”

The man laughed, but he accepted Zuko’s help back up, and then motioned for one of the others to approach them, before saying, “Ghashiun, give the boy some water.”

At first, Zuko refused the water, because he wasn’t stupid, it was probably poisoned, but then the strange sand bender drank from it and held it out to Zuko.

So Zuko accepted the water and followed the man onto one of the sand-sailers. Sha-Mo promised him food after all, and Zuko was hungry.

He pretended he couldn’t hear Ghashiun saying to Sha-Mo, “Father, he is a fire bender. We should be-”

“He is a child.”

And that had been the discussion.

A year later and Zuko had assimilated into the tribe, with only Ghashiun not accepting him. Something that Zuko didn’t understand until he overheard Sha-Mo and Ghashiun arguing one night.

“He isn’t your son! I am!”

Zuko had been planning to talk with Sha-Mo about an idea he’d had about how he could use his fire bending to propel one of the sand-surfers, but he didn’t think right now would be the best time.

Sha-Mo spoke now, saying, “And I am not replacing you with Zuko.”

“Then why adopt him?!” Ghashiun demanded.

“The Boy Has No Parents!”

Zuko snuck away from the tent and went back to his own.

He didn’t mind the thought of Sha-Mo being his dad, but if the man was going to adopt him, then he wanted to make Ghashiun like him. He had thought he would be content to just have the teen tolerant him, but what he’d overheard had changed things for him.

He didn’t want the same bitter feelings that had plagued him and Azula to carry over to his relationship with his new brother. It would make missing Azula all the worse because without Ozai in the picture maybe things would have been different.

Without Ozai, Zuko wouldn’t see all of his failures in all of her successes.

They had always gotten along better when Ozai was away from the palace.

Zuko thought back to another conversation he hadn’t been meant to hear and he knew what to do.

The next morning, when Sha-Mo and the other men had gone scavenging, Zuko found Ghashiun and the other teenagers in the tribe.

“I know you are planning on raiding the Beifong caravan that’s coming through the Misty Palms Oasis today,” Zuko stated, as he made his way over to where they sat drawing up their plans in the sand.

Ghashiun sighed and looked over at him like Zuko was a buzzard wasp that had found its way into his tent.

Zuko pressed on, “I also know that they hired the Hami Tribe to transport them and their shipment through the desert and that the Hami have faster sand-surfers. So you have no way of keeping up with the caravan.”

“If you’re not going to say anything helpful, you can stay back at camp, Zuko.”

“I’ve been saving up my bending, and I can use my bending to make our sand-surfer go faster than theirs,” Was Zuko’s answer. And while he hadn’t tested it yet, this raiding party seemed like the best chance to do so.

Ghashiun was silent for a moment, before asking, “What does you saving your bending up have to do with making us go faster?”

“Fire benders get our power from the sun, and when we don’t use it fire builds up inside of us. If we let it out all at once, you get an explosion, but if I controlled that flow, I could use it to propel our surfer.”

“Well, shit, okay, let’s try it.”

They waited between the sanddunes that the shippment would be going through and waited.

Despite the fire bubbling beneath his skin, Zuko still relished the feeling of the sun beating down on the bare skin of his back, knowing that he would need every bit of fire Agni could give him for getting away once they had the goods.

It wasn’t long before the sand-surfers from the Hami tribe appeared, and as they reached the space between the dunes, Ghashiun signaled the rest of their group and the fun started.

Zuko darted in with his swords, and slashed the sails of the front three surfers, before one of the gaurds that the Beifongs had sent to protect the shipment stepped in his way.

The guard paused when he realized Zuko’s age, but that was the guard’s mistake.

He lunged forward, slicing at the man’s sword hand and slamming the butt of one of his swords into the side of the guy’s head. Then he moved onto the next guard.

As the sand began to clear, Zuko realized that Ghashiun had started having the cargo loaded up onto the sand-surfer they had brought with them, so he retreated to the surfer.

But right as his feet hit the surface of their surfer, a sharp pain went through his side.

Zuko looked down and saw the head of an arrow sitting out of him.

“Get the surfer going!” Ghashiun shouted to Lek, and a moment later their surfer began moving.

Then he looked over at Zuko and any joy he might have had at their success died on his face.

“It missed my vitals,” Zuko assured him, before he steadied himself by leaning against their ill-gotten goods, and pulled the arrow the rest of the way through. His soon-to-be brother looked like he was going to be sick when Zuko cauterized the wound.

Ghashiun then asked, “And what if that arrow was poisoned?”

“I’m a fire bender. I can burn off the poison.”

Thankfully his plan to use fire jets to make their surfer go faster worked perfectly, and the surfers that he hadn’t slashed the sails of faded away in the distance.

Once they had sold the goods off to the beetle headed merchants, Ghashiun turned to Zuko and admitted, “You know for a fire bender, you’re not half bad.”

“Thanks,” Zuko answered his brother with a smile.

A few years later Zuko and Ghashiun were hanging out in the oasis when the Avatar came to town, and Ghashiun looked at the sky bison with curiosity.

“No, we are not stealing that kid’s bison,” Was Zuko’s answer, before he went inside of the hut with Lek to get something to drink.

Well, Lek went in to get something to drink… Zuko went inside to get a better look at the cute water tribe guy, that was hanging out with the Avatar.

And based on the way the guy looked at Zuko, the curiosity was mutual.

When he overheard them talking to the professor, Zuko saw his way to finding out water tribe’s name.

“I actually know where the library is.”

“Really!?” Water Tribe asked, looking absolutely delighted.

Zuko nodded, and introduced himself, “I’m Zuko, and if you want I can show you how to get there, but you should know that Wan Shi Tong won’t let you in without knowledge to trade.”

Once Sokka had introduced himself and his friends to Zuko, they went outside.

Ghashiun took one way at the look Sokka was giving Zuko, and then snorted at Zuko, who just shrugged innocently.

Once they had reached the outskirts of town, Zuko uncovered his personal sand-surfer. Unlike normal ones, this one looked more like the surfboard that he had seen people use on Ember Island. Which was better suited for using fire jets to traverse the desert.

“Where is the sail?” Aang asked, glancing between it and the sand-surfer that Ghashiun and Lek had used to get to the oasis.

Zuko’s answer was simple, “Those are for sand benders. I’m a fire bender, so I use my-”

“YOU’RE A FIRE BENDER?!?!” Sokka screeched.

Zuko lifted his goggles, to show off his scar, and answered, “Scarred by the Fire Lord himself. Now do you want to see the library or not?”

Of course well they were in the library, Ghashiun went and stole Appa.

Who would have thought a stolen sky bison was what would get Zuko involved in the war after ignoring it for the past three years. And of course, his dad, Sha-Mo, would think the best way to make up for that would be to give the Avatar a fire bending teacher.

And it wasn’t like anyone they ran into would realize who he’d been before he’d found his home in the desert.

Right?

#flameo-hotman #ask the hotman #zuko adoption menu #atla #avatar the last airbender #zuko #sand benders #zukka #but its at the end #and it is the start of some zukka #and yes in this au the first time Sokka meets Zuko #Zuko isnt wearing a shirt #maridarkmoon-all

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sabraeal · 3 years

Text

Get Up Eight, Chapter 7

[Read on AO3]

Obiyuki AU Bingo 2021 Free Space

The air is sweet outside of Hiratsuka; the ocean’s salt still carries its pale sting on the breeze, but it cannot compete with the last of the spring’s harvest. The paddies are flooded still, slowly draining under the heat of the sun; wet earth weighs down the air’s sweetness, rich and full. This far into the season it is gold and green as far as the eye can see, set over a shimmering stretch of blue; a precious comb laid on silk. But this, this is finer than any gift an emperor could give his concubines. Ryo might buy jade and sapphires, but it could not buy a moment in time, experienced with all the senses of the body.

The threshing would come soon, as the end came for all beautiful things. The fields will be allowed to dry, and in weeks, this ground would lie fallow, a barren marshy plain awaiting its next use. But impermanence is a part of beauty, what made a sight such as this so precious and so dear. Just as petals fell from cherry trees, or snow sifted from the winter sky, this moment only existed in the here and now. In mere days, all of this would be gone.

Even Obi slows ahead of her, hands resting on the tight nip of his hips. Stalks spring thickly up beside the road, paddies dug so close the cobbles have sunk, curving the edges of the walkway like a scroll unfurled. He stands in the middle of it, a samurai out of a wood-block print, surveying his domain--

“Well,” he huffs, turning his chin over his shoulder. “It sure smells like shit.”

Shirayuki tries to stifle it, to keep the noise buried deep in her chest, but it’s impossible-- a laugh hiccups up between her lips, and try as she might, her sleeve doesn’t muffle it a single bit.

“What, ojou-san?” His mouth quirks at a corner, too sly for innocence. “Don’t you think so?”

Now that he mentions it...yes. That sweet earthy smell mixed with standing water gives off a fragrance that only a fly could love. The rice may be sweet on the wind and salt may still roll through with a breeze, but when the skies were quiet and her feet were still, it savored of nothing so strongly as the pies oxen dropped on the road.

Not that she’d ever give her samurai the satisfaction of agreeing.

“Surely it isn’t so bad as all that.” She takes in a large, pointed breath, and prays she won’t cough. “I only smell sweet grass.”

Both narrow brows scurry up his forehead, rumpling his scar. “Is that so, ojou-san?”

With a sharp smile he swaggers over to one of the sparse pines clinging onto the road, dropping down into a squat. “Then you won’t mind if we take our rest here?”

“W-what?” There’s barely any room for the cobbles, and none at all for two travelers trying to stay off them. And the smell...

“Come on.” He pats the muddy ground beside him; it splats beneath his palm. “This water looks healing if I do say so myself. Perfect to rest your poor feet in.”

Shirayuki casts a dubious glance over the road’s edge, knowing full well what she will find. These paddies are not freshly filled, water sparkling blue under the fair sky like in the ukiyo-e; oh no, this is a field left to drain, the water growing murkier with every day, probably rife with leeches and worse. Fine for plants, but for her poor, weeping blisters--

Well, she’d certainly collect quite a few friends putting her feet in there. They would be such a comfort before she succumbed to whatever infection stagnant water gave her. He blisters throb at the thought.

“We should keep going,” she informs him steadily. “Weren’t you just saying there was much road left to be traveled?”

At least, that had been his excuse in Hiratsuka. No time for dallying, ojou-san, he’d told her, slipping a vendor a few mon for the onigiri in her hands. We’ll have to sleep on the road if the light fades before we get to Odawara.

Obi doesn’t exactly frown; such an expression isn’t in his nature-- instead his mouth pulls to the precise width of the line she’s toeing.

“Well,” he hums his dangerous way, the sort that says only her twelve ryo stand between his hand and her cheek. His body unfurls to standing with an exaggerated slowness, a threat in every curl of his limbs. “Since ojou-san doesn’t need a break, I suppose we can walk all the way to Oiso.”

Her ronin stands across from her, kimono threadbare, hakama in hardly better shape, arms folded across his narrow chest. She knows that cock to his hip, that hint of a smirk on his face-- he expects her to fold, he expects her to beg like the delicate ojou-san she’s pretending to be.

Even wrapped tight under her tabi, the warabi loosely tied, her feet ache. Kino’s wife would plead to stop-- no, command him to. Either way, she would merely confirm what he already knew; she was a pampered fine lady, unable to keep up with the grueling pace he set. A burden he would be made to bear all the way to Kyoto.

Shirayuki shifts the sack on her back, Buddha’s hand pressing into her spine. “Fine. Let us keep going.”

Marsh bleeds into hills, the road flattening and slanting both, reeds rising up into pines. The shade is a welcome reprieve, as is the sea breeze that stirs the branches overhead and sends shadows to dance at her feet. Even as nature’s wonder presses in around her, Shirayuki cannot help but think she might be able to enjoy it better if her feet were not about to pop off at the ankle.

Oiso is hardly an hour’s walk from Hiratsuka, but every step is on needles, stabbing wherever her sole touches cobble. Still, still-- she will not relent. Surely they would see the post for the shukuba at any moment, and then she might--

“Ojou-san?” A shadow falls over her; even if she could not see the patched hem of his hakama, the scent of his sweat, clean and earthy, would give him away. His hands hover at her shoulders, steadying without touch. “Are you all right?”

“Ah!” She steps back, covering a wince with a smile. “No, no. I’m just fine. I can keep up! Oiso is only a few miles away, isn’t it?”

“It is.” He shifts back, arms folding into a forbidding bar of steel across her vision. “Do your feet hurt, ojou-san?”

His tone might be playful, a little sing-song like a child at play, but it is a knowing gaze that he wears, fixed to the hem of her kimono. She shuffles her feet, hoping they fall into shadow-- if only she had bought new tabi in Hiratsuka, she would have had a few more hours before the blood stained the new cloth.

His breath hisses through his teeth like a palpable hit. “Ojou-san!”

Ah, so he’s seen it. That will make this conversation a hair more difficult.

“Don’t worry about me!” she yelps, sweeping away from the hands that would grab her, that would hold her in place to behold the extent of her foolishness. “It can wait until we get to Oiso-juku!”

He shakes his head, sitting back on his heels. “We’ll rest.”

Her cheeks puff out with annoyance. “Aren’t I the one who makes those decisions, samurai-dono?”

His mouth pulls thin for a moment, considering her, but the next has it bent in a bright smile. “All right then. Let’s rest. We can have some of those onigiri in your pack.”

Shirayuki longs to protest-- she did not make her way trading on feminine weakness in Yokohama, and she was not about to start here and now because this man would let her-- but her stomach growls long and loud, a beggar on its knees.

“Well,” she murmurs, looking away from that smug grin. “If you insist.”

“You know.” Obi’s fingers pluck nimbly at the twine knotted around the bamboo leaf, slipping it open with a firm tug on one end. Inside, the rice still steams, just cool enough to touch. “If you had said something, we could have stopped at Hiratsuka.”

Shirayuki looks up, her legs stretched out before her, wiggling her toes with a grimace. She spares him a raised brow, managing only a strained, “Could we have?”

His mouth opens, then closes again. Gold eyes shine almost green in the shade of the pine trees, but they drop away before she can determine whether it is merely a trick of the light. “Maybe.”

Her lips press tight as she watches him, long fingers separating one sticky triangle off from the others. “You’re worried. Did something happen...?”

At the hatago, Shirayuki assumes, but caution stills her tongue. The days she has spent with him have been long, but still-- she’s known him for only three. What trouble dogs his steps now may have been bought and paid for long before she knelt across from him in a tea house and offered twelve ryo to take her away from her own.

“Should I rewrap them?”

Her head jolts up; the amber of his eyes waits to trap her, honey-warm with curiosity. He presses the still-warm onigiri into her palm, and she-- she nearly says no. She may be smaller than him, but she’s not a child. A single rice ball would not a meal make.

But then he chucks his chin downward, toward where her feet sit bare save for the bandages.

“Oh,” she breathes, flexing them. Even that small movement sends pain lancing up her legs. “No, not yet.”

He shifts, mouth rumpled into a dubious knot. “It’s soaked through in places.”

“It’s fine.” Sour plum bursts on her tongue, rice sticking to her teeth as she tries to hurry it along. “It will take too much time to tend to now.”

If anything, his frown deepens. “I can work quick, ojou-san. You said last night that I’d done a good job.”

“I...” A frisson ran through her when he’d cupped her heel in his palm, fingers brushing over her blisters with a gentleness she had not expected from a man as rough as him. And when his hand had slid higher, gripping her calf to hold her in place-- “It can wait. Until we stop.”

Until she is sure she won’t need her legs to support her afterward.

He hums, unconvinced, but settles back onto his seat, knees crossed in front of him. If he were born to a greater station, there would be block prints of him like this, desultory and cross-legged, moments away from a war.

“Oiso is close by,” he reminds her, as if she did not tell him the same only minutes ago. “If the pain’s too much, let me know. We can always stop for the night.”

She swallows her bite of onigiri, watching him steadily. “Would you stop on your own?”

He lets out a long, annoyed breath. “No.”

“Then we’ll press on to Odawara.” She offers him a soft smile. “I’ll be fine.”

“It’s not a short walk,” he warns her, impatience creeping into his tone. “If you’re really hurting--”

“I know.” She smiles. “I’ll tell you.”

He leans back on his hands, a laugh rasping out of his throat. “I doubt that. You’d faint before you’d admit you can’t keep up.”

She lets out a huff. She can’t say it’s not true, but all the same, he doesn’t have to say it. “I--”

“Well, well.” A man emerges from the pines, lips stretched to a smile so wide that her own cheeks hurt. “Look at what we have here, boys.”

Shirayuki jumps-- not far, stretched out as she is, but enough to tuck her feet beneath her kimono, hiding the bandages. Obi’s already got his own beneath him, his knuckles bone white where they wrap around his hilt. His gaze fixes on the treeline, steady and gold, the way a tiger might watch from the long grass, and her breath catches. Obi might wear a man’s skin, but in this moment he is more wolf than warrior, a predator in the guise of its prey.

But that man doesn’t see it. He strides into the copse, blades rattling at his side, heedlessly smiling at his death. “No need for that, oni-san.”

Obi’s hilt creaks beneath his grip. “I’m not your brother.”

Her eyes blink wide, searching the strained planes of his face. This man may be a stranger, unwelcome in their company, but to be so unconscionably rude-- well, Shirayuki can hardly countenance it. Not from a man who slid goshujin through his teeth like steel bared from its sheath, a man who wielded manners as a weapon--

A man who knows that his rudeness would mark them more than submission. She’d seen what counted as fighting words when she ran the sake house; not a single bushi worth his blade would let a ronin parry their generous parity.

But still, this one only smiles. Wider now, the sharp edges of his eyeteeth cresting the ridge of his lips.

“Oh, no?” Men shuffle through the trees, the boughs obscuring their gaunt faces, but still, Shirayuki is sure-- they don’t smile like this samurai. No, ronin. He might have the paired blades wrapped at his hips, but there’s no crest on his haori, only a single long tail winding over his shoulders from the hair at his nape, instead of a bushi’s top-knot. “But we shared a drink back at the hatago, didn’t we?”

Shirayuki takes in the worn hem of this ronin’s hakama, the meticulously mended seams of his haori, the fine material his kimono had once been; none of it is familiar, nor is his face. “Obi-dono?”

Something twitches in the depths of Obi’s jaw. A flicker of recognition, perhaps, to pair with the fleet warning that lopes across his eyes.

“Having a rest, I see?” the ronin observes, edging ever closer to the clearing, his men jostling around him. Three of them, plus the headman; more than any man could manage, no matter how skilled Obi might be. “Now, we were just thinking the same thing, weren’t we?”

Tension thickens the air, and there’s no reason for it, none at all. Not unless her yojimbo is restless, eager to prove to her his prowess. It’s an exhibition that she is less than enthused to participate in, especially with these odds.

“Please.” There is no sake house for her to serve, but her old role drops over her like a mask, mouth stretching into that close-lipped smile, hiding in behind her sleeve. “Come in. I mean--” Obi stares at her, chin slowly shaking, a silent plea-- “please, come sit.”

It’s his stare-- pupils pinprick small with shock, white a thin ring all around the gold-- that reminds her that she’s still looking up. Her eyes drop, fixing to the stranger’s hands, where no dirt lingers beneath his nails, each one diligently picked and scrubbed to cleanliness. But no-- it must drop farther still, down to rest demurely on her knees. Already she's done too much, said too much; a hostess speaks to custom with ease, but a retiring ojou-san in the company of her retainer...

She would be silent. A woman ready to fade into the background as the men carried on her business.

Shirayuki shifts, rolling up to rest on her knees, head bowed. Not three days on the road, and already the role she has chosen for herself chafes.

“Well, since onee-san has been so kind.” The man saunters from the shade, crouching down to a kneel. “It would be rude to refuse.”

Obi’s jaw works, a rebuttal brewing on his lips, but she holds out a hand instead, quelling. Her palm brushes over his knee, the muscles hovering beneath her fingertips going tense, his breath caught in his chest--

And she jolts it away, letting it hover safely over him instead. Still, he lowers onto his feet, placing the blade at his side. The right side, she notes with satisfaction, until he rolls back, legs crossing at the ankle before him, hands braced on his knees. A shogun’s stance, she had thought when Kino took it, but Obi in his threadbare kimono, juban long since lost, and faded hakama...

He makes it look like trouble.

Shirayuki swallows a grimace, bowing her head over her hands. “You are too kind, oni-san--” Obi grunts, displeasure stark on his sharp face, but at least leaves his protest to that-- “please, partake in our meal as well. We have only just started.”

Obi swivels toward her, betrayal writ clear in his eyes, but there’s nothing for it. She’s already asked the headman to sit; she can’t possibly ask him to starve. Not unless Obi would like to risk these men finding them on another stretch of road, far from any shukuba, the night much closer, their minds less wary.

The ronin casts a lingering glance at the onigiri still on the leaf, his tongue tracing the barest path over his lips--

“It is you who are too kind, onee-san, by offering,” he says, the picture of well-born courtesy. “We’d be happy to. As long as you don’t mind sharing our food as well?”

Obi blinks. “Your food?”

The headman holds up a hand, and at once his ronin come forward, dropping their sacks in front of them, and--

“Oh,” Shirayuki breathes, staring at the array of bento tumbled across their makeshift camp. Thinking of what they might well find inside them, her stomach shivers, just short of making its anticipation known. “Well, if you insist...”

As each lid springs open on the men’s hakubento, a feast spills forth: rolled egg and minced fish cakes, soy bears and boiled lotus, taro and shiitake. One has whole, simmered shrimp with pickled ginger, and the water in her mouth nearly leaks out at the sight of it.

“So much,” Shirayuki murmurs, palms pressed flat to her thighs. “Where did you get it all?”

“The hatago.” The ronin’s mouth lifts at a corner, gaze darting to where Obi sits beside her, stiff. “I’m surprised your man didn’t have them pack one for you.”

She resists looking at him, just waits until he’s finished his sticky bite of onigiri to say, “We were in a hurry.”

The ronin’s reply is a sly flash of teeth. “Hope you made it where you were going.”

Obi settles back onto his heels. “Not fast enough.”

It’s an answer made to be muttered, but Obi enunciates every syllable clearly, punctuating it with an insolent lift of his gaze, meeting the man’s with a pointed finality. It’s her first instinct to scold him, the way she might with Kino-san when he acted out of turn, but her breath catches in her chest.

She would do that. Her, a girl raised beneath the bar of a sake house, used to putting men in their place before they reached too far out of it. But a young ojou-san, naive to the ways of the world-- she would sit silent, letting the men speak their piece. If a fight broke out, she might scream, covering her fear with her sleeves, and hope for the best. Ah, never has she been so ill-suited for a role before.

It doesn’t matter in the end; the ronin only twitches his mouth to mark it before turning to her, smile firmly seated on his lips.

“I’m the headman of this outfit.” The man pats his chest, drawing her attention back to the fine material worn thin, to the juban that is still meticulously white when it has not yellowed at the collar. “They call me Mihaya.”

No family name, she notes. That’s fine enough for her. “And I’m Shirayuki.”

She casts a pointed glance toward Obi, willing him to show one glimmer of the respect he pays every other creature that’s made their acquaintance, but he makes no move to introduce himself. Instead he only reaches forward, past all the fine foods Mihaya’s men have provided, and picks up the last of their onigiri.

“Are you going to have this, ojou-san?” he asks, so mild. “Or should I?”

She draws in a deep, steadying breath. “Go ahead. I’ll be fine with sharing with the others.”

His lip juts at that, sullen, but it disappears behind a sharp smile. “Well then, more for me.”

Her only solace in his rudeness is that at least Mihaya’s companions return with the same, too busy stuffing their mouths to pay attention to propriety. Even with such fine bento as these, they dig into each box like men who haven’t eaten in days instead of mere hours ago.

“You must be from around here.”

Shirayuki startles, attention whipping back toward where the headman sits smiling, one hand brace on his knee. “Since you’re traveling south, I mean. Unless you’re traveling back home, onee-san?”

“Oh, no. I’m from--” Obi’s warning glance stills her too-honest response-- “not so far away.”

“Thought so.” There’s a conspiratorial sparkle in his eye as he leans toward her. “I don’t see many of your kind on the road, at least not without an entourage.”

“Oh.” Her fingers clench in her kimono, keeping her seated. She should have thought of that; a girl from a family with money to spare would have sent her with a handful of men, carrying her from Edo to Kyoto slung like precious cargo between them. “I thought-- I mean, my grandfather thought traveling with one guard would draw less attention than a dozen.”

“Might keep more eyes off you, sure,” Mihaya agrees, crunching on a slice of taro. “But it’s safer to have more men when the roads get...rough. You get set on by bandits, and one sword won’t do you much good, onee-san.”

“Is that so?” she asks mildly. “I thought-- what is the saying? Having a single, well-made blade is better than a thousand that will break on the first strike.”

Obi coughs.

“True enough, onee-san.” The headman’s smile wears thinner with each word. “And it’s so much harder to find quality nowadays.”

They have only known each other this past hour, but already, Shirayuki finds little quarrel with Mihaya or his manners; at least, not as much as she does with Obi and his, but still--

Still, she mislikes the smug glance he cuts toward Obi, his gaze raking up his worn and well-mended clothes, the lack of his juban, and clearly, clearly-- finding him wanting.

“For some.” There’s a bite to her voice that surprises her, but she likes it. “I am fortunate indeed to have found such an exemplary bushi as Obi. I could hardly wish for better.”

Mihaya’s expression crumples like a paper lantern in the rain. “I’m sure--”

“Where are you from, Mihaya-san?” she interjects; the last thing they need is to have this rest spoiled by this odd hostility between headman and yojimbo. Especially if it might force her to admit she’s only had her exemplary guard for all of two days. “You don’t sound like a man from Edo.”

A dark shadow flits over his face, like a cloud passing over the sun, gone before she’s ever truly seen it. “Here and there.”

The west, his accent says, though it’s too crisp to be from any common man. Just like his clothes, his voice betrays him. Still, there’s no reason to push; plenty of men have left their domains these days. With tension between the shogun and emperor--

Well, Shirayuki wouldn’t want to be a man with a blade in hand. Samurai had once lived and died by the sword before the shogun wrenched the domains beneath him and brought an end to the warring states. But with all the silken pillows being pulled from beneath the tender seats of the daimyo, blades rattle in their sheaths, threatening its return.

“Where are you off to, onee-san?” Mihaya’s smile is brittle as he sits back, eyes casting her a hooded, measuring glance. “Not all the way to Kyoto I hope.”

Obi shifts, restless beside her. Her fingers sweep out subtly between them, thumb and small finger spanning the gap. It stills him, but not his grunt, wary and dissatisfied. Too cautious, her yojimbo. To avoid so obvious a question only means she has something to hide.

And she does, she does, but none of these men need to know it. Let them think her a loose-lipped ojou-san, if they wished. Better than a girl with no family and a dozen ryo in her bag, with only one guard to keep her safe. “I am.”

Mihaya whistles, long and low, impressed. “That’s a long journey for an ojou-san like yourself. What’s so important in Kyoto?”

“Ah...” A cousin, she should say. That’s what she told Obi, after all, and one story was easier to keep track of than a dozen. But still, there’s something in the headman’s eyes that demands more, than makes a cousin seem a pale prize to crawl across a country for.

“A husband,” Obi offers, so easy. “Arranged. You know how these things are. Ryo flows through fingers easy enough, but blood binds. Man’s eager to have her too.”

“A girl as pretty as this one?” Mihaya laughs, giving her a demonstrative glance. “I can believe it.”

“How about you, Mihaya-san?” she asks, if only to keep from more speculation. “Where are you and your men heading?”

“Funny you should ask, onee-san.” His mouth twitches, almost triumphant. “Kyoto. Just like you are.”

#obiyukibingo21 #obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #freespace #Get Up Eight #samurai AU #edo AU #my fic #ans #I think this is the first time since Seven Suitors where I have posted a fic on my birthday #actually did I post the second chap on time?? i no longer remember #this might in fact be the first time #there are moments in this fic I am DYING to get to #but the idea of doing this Mihaya plotline was too exciting #i mean who could say no to an onsen episode...not me #and so now we are getting this mihaya mini-arc #before some of the other plot-centric parts >:3c

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flowercrown-bard · 3 years

Text

Poems for the Poet (1/ 5)

Pairing: Eskel/Jaskier

Summary: Unbeknownst to Jaskier, he inspires Eskel to try his hand at writing poetry. Eskel posts his poems anonymously to notice boards, not thinking that anyone would read them. Until he hears Jaskier's songs unmistakably referencing Eskel's poetry. (Eskel’s pov of The Way to a Poet’s heart)

Word count: ~2k

AO3

Content warnings: self-consciousness, self-doubt

Eskel could have been many things. He could have been handsome. At least he remembered his mother calling him such when he had still been a boy with a wide and toothy grin that he didn’t need to hide. He could have become a mage – his hill-folk blood had practically guaranteed him a place at Ban-Ard.

And maybe, as slim a chance as there had been, he could have become a poet. He remembered his mother singing to him about hens. It had been a silly song, but when he had undergone the Trials of the Grasses, the verses had been the last thing on his lips before the melody had turned into cries as fire raced through his blood.

That day, all dreams disappeared and turned into could-have-been’s that twisted Eskel’s stomach if he ever thought about them.

They didn’t matter anymore. Eskel was a witcher. One exceptionally skilled in magic, but a witcher nonetheless.

Perhaps he had even been handsome for a little while longer, but now there was not a hint of attractiveness left on him. It didn’t bother him. Couldn’t bother him.

At the very least he still had his poetry. No, not his. He had never written a verse in his life. If he had gone to Oxenfurt instead of being dragged to Kaer Morhen, he might have learned about metre and clever word-play. Now, he didn’t dare put a pen to paper. Too certain was the chance that his words would only be yet another disappointment. He’d rather keep the wish to write a might-be instead of a dreaded could-have-been. As long as he didn’t try and fail, he could still imagine that he might be able to become a poet one day. Until then, he would study his poetry collection and listen to the bards he came across in taverns, praying that their songs wouldn’t break off once they laid eyes on him.

It happened more often than Eskel would like to admit. Many times, he found himself lingering outside a tavern, just to get the chance of listening to the songs a little longer before they inevitably faded in discomfort when the bards noticed the witcher staring at them through the windows.

He would have done so today as well, if it weren’t for the long gash in his leg. It didn’t hurt too badly and it was already close to being healed, but he yearned to sit down and close his eyes for a little while, to eat and maybe, if he was lucky, to listen to some songs.

Even from outside the tavern he could hear that the bard singing a soaring ballad was talented.

So he pulled his hood up and pushed the door open. As he shuffled to a table at the corner, he tried to make himself as small and inconspicuous as possible.

He knew he should have kept his eyes cast down. He knew he should have kept to himself.

Yet there was something in the bard’s verses that made Eskel’s insides sing. He didn’t know the words for what he heard. Perhaps it was alliteration or anaphor? Whatever the bard had done to give his words life, it stirred something in Eskel.

He looked up before he could think better of it; before he could remember all the reasons why he shouldn’t do such a thing.

For a blessed heartbeat he was allowed to just look at the bard. There was no denying his beauty. Clearly, many people in this room looked at the bard’s blue eyes or long fingers with adoration.

Eskel noticed those things merely as an afterthought. He was too distracted by the almost wistful expression on the bard’s face, the way he subtly swayed with his music as if he was a part of it and the meaning he put into every word as it fell from his lips.

Eskel’s chest clenched at the sight. Without meaning to, he leaned forward to see better. It must have been that movement that caught the singer’s attention, for his eyes wandered over to Eskel.

And his voice broke. Blue eyes widened and fingers had to strain not to fumble.

Abruptly, Eskel looked away, pulling his hood deeper into his face to hide his eyes and turning his scarred side towards the wall for good measure.

It was already too late. All hope that the bard might not have realised exactly what Eskel was burst when the song came to an overly hurried end.

A handful of patrons muttered disapprovingly and one even gave a shout, demanding his coin back if the bard wasn’t going to play a full set.

Out of all the people, Eskel knew he was the one most disappointed in the abrupt yet not unexpected end of the performance. He would have loved to hear more of this bard’s art, to listen for long enough to figure out just how he crafted his verses.

Yet another could-have-been.

Eskel should probably leave. Maybe if he did, the bard would pick up his song again and Eskel would be able to listen to it while he put distance between himself and the tavern. His leg ached at the thought of having to get up already, but if it meant getting to hear a little more of the bard, it would have been worth it. Eskel was just about to stand up when someone pulled out the chair opposite of him and let themselves fall onto it with little grace, but palpable excitement.

Long fingers drummed onto the table as if the person’s energy couldn’t be contained. Or as if they were waiting impatiently for Eskel to leave.

“Apologies,” Eskel said, doing his best to make his voice sound smoother than it was. “I’ll leave the table to you.”

Unexpectedly, a hand shot out and grabbed Eskel’s wrist, lightly enough to make clear this person wasn’t out for a fight, but insistent enough to make Eskel tense.

“That would be defeating the purpose of me coming here, wouldn’t it?” That voice. It was the bard’s voice. Unwillingly, Eskel’s eyes snapped up and his breath hitched when they met blue. The bard’s easy smile didn’t leave him, even as he took in Eskel’s inhuman eyes and mangled face. “After all, I came here specifically to talk to you.”

“Oh.” Eskel relaxed slightly. This he could do. “Do you have a contract for me?”

The bard let out a pearling laugh that crinkled the skin around his eyes. Eskel’s chest clenched. It was rare a human laughed in his presence. No, that wasn’t quite true. People laughed constantly, though mostly at him. They would snicker blatantly when they saw his face or snort cruelly when he said something that had been meant to sound gentle and diplomatic but evidently came out as a pitiful attempt of an oafish mutant to fit in where there was no place for him.

But never before had someone other than his family laughed in a way that made him think that perhaps he wasn’t the one being laughed at.

“Well, no. Not exactly.” The bard leaned forward with an eagerness that almost made Eskel draw back. No one leaned towards a witcher. Least of all Eskel with his disfigured face and hulking frame. “I was wondering if you were willing to let a humble bard accompany you on a hunt?”

Eskel blinked at him. “I- no. I just come from a hunt.” Absentmindedly, he shifted his leg beneath the table. “And it would be too-“

“Oh, don’t tell me it would be too dangerous.” The bard let go of Eskel’s wrist and waved it through the air dismissively. “Geralt tells me that all the time and I’m not dead yet, am I?”

Eskel’s brows would have drawn together, if he hadn’t trained himself to keep frowns off his face to stop it from becoming even more fearsome.

For a heartbeat he could only stare at the bard, trying desperately to connect the few things Geralt had told him about his bard to the man sitting in front of him now. A lot of the details – annoyingly talkative, a petty menace, dangerously ready to fall in love with anyone he met – weren’t things Eskel could ascertain from such a short time of talking to the man. But what had was most important was the way Geralt had talked about his bard. There had been a fondness to even his most exasperated words. A fondness that Eskel could imagine only too well being directed at someone like this bard. In fact, as the bard’s smile grew wider with every second that Eskel studied him and something warm and fuzzy spread through Eskel’s insides, he found himself feeling some of that fondness already.

He swallowed and tried to clear his throat as inconspicuously as possible. “Are you Jaskier?”

Jaskier’s eyes lit up with delight. “Geralt mentioned me? Didn’t think he would.”

“He had little choice in the matter.” Eskel’s lips would have twitched if he hadn’t feared that would make Jaskier recoil. “Lambert and I kept teasing him about the fact that there was a song about him.”

As soon as the words left him, he froze. His eyes widened and he scrambled for words to fix his mistake. “I don’t mean that as a bad thing, of course. It’s an honour to have you sing about witchers and the way you weave stories is incredible.”

A hint of red crept into Jaskier’s face that must have been a trick of the light. “Thank you,” he said almost sheepishly, but then his face brightened into something radiant and beautiful. “Wait, you are Eskel!”

Jaskier practically bounced in his chair in his eagerness to drag it even closer to the table. “Geralt told me so much about you!”

Eskel felt his throat grow tight. Far too often had Geralt found him in the library, leaning over a book of poetry and songs written by the very same man that sat before him now. How many times had Eskel drunk a little too much White Gull and told Geralt that he admired his bard?

“He did?” He asked hoarsely.

“Of course!” Jaskier let out a carefree laugh. “He always jokes that one day he would hand me over to you because you are the only witcher that wouldn’t go insane if he had to listen to me sing all day.”

Eskel’s lips twitched, though he turned his head just quickly enough to hide his smile. “I can imagine worse things than listening to your songs.”

Jaskier tilted his head to the side and gave Eskel a look of unashamed curiosity. “Why, my dear Eskel, is that a compliment?”

Eskel shook his head and hunched his shoulders. Before he could stop himself, his hand came up to paw at his scars uncomfortably.

“It…It was supposed to be teasing. I don’t- I’m sorry, I’m not good with that.” His eyes darted away and then quickly back to Jaskier. Putting as much sincerity as he could into his voice, he added, “I would enjoy listening to you sing some more. You have a beautiful voice and your song made me feel like I could almost see the images you were conjuring up.”

For a moment Jaskier only gaped at him and Eskel cursed himself. Of course he had messed this up again already. He shouldn’t have tried to fix his own mistakes. By now he should know that nothing good would ever come out of that. A poet such as Jaskier didn’t want a witcher’s clumsy attempts at complimenting his art, not when he undoubtedly was used to scholars’ and nobles’ praises.

But then Jaskier’s expression shifted and his eyes lit up with something almost like awe.

“That was one of the kindest things I’ve heard about my singing in years.” He ducked his head almost shyly. “Most people tend to criticise me. Rather coldly, might I add.”

“Nothing to criticise as far as I could see.” Eskel shrugged sheepishly. “As I said, I would love to hear more of your art.”

Jaskier contemplated him for a moment that made the warm feeling in Eskel’s chest burn brighter. For some reason he didn’t mind the staring when it was Jaskier’s eyes he could feel on him.

“Does that mean you wouldn’t mind if I wrote a song about you?”

Coming from anyone else, Eskel would have thought that those were just empty words. Eskel wasn’t song-worthy.

And yet, when Jaskier eventually invited him to share the room with him to save some coin, the bard was already humming a melody to a new song.

Neither of them slept much that night. The both of them stayed up until almost the early hours of the morning, discussing rhyme schemes and talking about how writing poetry helped putting meaning into bad experiences and immortalising beautiful ones. Softly, they recited their favourite poetry to each other.

Eskel was embarrassed to admit that he had memorised some of Jaskier’s poetry but the confession made Jaskier smile brighter than any human should smile in the presence of a witcher. And when Jaskier lamented that most of his favourite lines of poetry were merely fragments lost to time, Eskel perked up and filled in the gaps for him, promising to show him his collection of ancient poetry at Kaer Morhen one day.

It wasn’t something to be taken seriously; merely a suggestion made in the spur of the moment, but Jaskier looked at him as if he had hung the stars and the moon for him and Eskel found himself hoping that maybe someday he would know Jaskier well enough to be allowed to give him such gifts.

Eskel fully expected Jaskier to be gone in the morning, and his heart skipped a beat when instead Jaskier announced that he would stick around at least until he would get to see Eskel fight.

When Jaskier finally went his own way to meet up with Geralt again two weeks later, he left Eskel with a strange yearning in his chest and verses that had been written for no one but him.

And beneath it all, Jaskier left him with an itch in his fingers that urged him to buy a quill and ink. He didn’t put anything to paper just yet. But the might-be that had haunted him for decades got just a little closer to a could-be. Perhaps Eskel could become what he had always wanted to be after all.

Perhaps next time he saw Jaskier, he would be able to share his own verses with the poet.

#jaskel #eskel/jaskier #jaskier/eskel #witcher fic #witcher #fic #fanfic #Multichapter #my writing #eskel #jaskier #pining #insecure eskel #self doubt #self consciousness #please tell me if you want to get tagged when I update

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actress4him · 3 years

Text

Querencia 2 - Abandoned

(Prompt #4 for Summer of Whump)

Taglist: @darthsutrich

Previous | Next

Warnings: lady whumpee, teenage whumpee, mild blood, fantastic prejudice (for lack of a better term??), parental abandonment, foster system

Some people’s powers manifest when they hit puberty. Others when they face a traumatic event, whether they’re a child or an adult.

Liliana isn’t really sure precisely when hers started, but she’s fourteen when she discovers what she can do. It’s a normal day at school, she’s hanging out with her friend Camila on the playground during recess, unaware that her life is about to change. Then Camila falls off the monkey bars and scrapes her elbow.

As she begins to cry, blood beading up around the torn skin, Liliana rushes to her and takes the injured elbow in her hands. Suddenly there’s some kind of blue aura dancing between the two girls’ skin. Gasping, Liliana lets go and falls back, but it’s too late. Camila is staring at her with impossibly wide eyes, cradling an elbow with only a bit of blood as evidence that it was ever hurt, and Liliana’s own elbow is smarting. She can hardly pay that any mind, though, not with her thoughts swirling around what she just saw.

Because she’s one of them. She’s a Non.

She’d been young when people with strange powers started popping up on the news all of a sudden, so she doesn’t know where the slang term came from. All she knows is that Nons aren’t to be trusted. Her father has said so, many a time over the dinner table. Her mother watches the news stories about Nons with a hand over her heart, frightened.

Camila’s mouth gapes open. “You...you’re…”

“Don’t, please.” She shakes her head frantically, tears stinging her eyes. “No lo sabia, I swear, Mila, por favor no...you can’t tell anyone.”

Her friend’s eyes are wide, uncertain. She looks from her own elbow, to Liliana’s hands, to her face. “Okay. Está bien, no lo haré. No se lo diré a nadie. I promise.”

And she keeps her promise. Camila never breathes a word of Liliana’s newfound powers to anyone, and Liliana makes sure not to touch anyone who’s hurt for a very long time.

Or at least she tries.

One time she touches her brother’s forehead when he’s sick, and he makes a ‘miraculous’ recovery. She, on the other hand ‘catches’ his cold, only she never actually runs a fever or needs to blow her nose. She just feels sick.

Thankfully no one suspects.

Another time she bumps into someone in the grocery store and hisses as her arm begins to throb. At home, she pushes up her sleeve to find out what’s wrong and sees nothing. Just her skin, smooth and brown as always. It feels like there’s a giant purple bruise there, though, the pain much worse when she brushes a finger across it.

Accidents happen. Liliana takes to wearing shirts with sleeves long enough to pull over her hands, no matter what the weather, to try to further avoid contact. She’d wear gloves all the time if that wasn’t sure to raise questions.

And all the while, the foreboding news about the Nons continues.

A Non robbed a bank. A Non killed three people. A Non cut off the electricity to an entire city.

She’s convinced that she’s the only good person with powers in the world. And her power could be so helpful for so many people, too, if only she was free to use it. Sure, it seems to transfer pain and sickness directly to her, but it never lasts. Even the scar that she got from Camila faded after a while, about the same time she stopped noticing it on her friend’s elbow, too. It’s possible that she could save people’s lives, rather than threatening them like all the other Nons seem to do.

Liliana manages to keep her secret for over a year before everything falls apart.

Her whole family is at the neighborhood’s Fourth of July celebration. Her mother is introducing her to Mrs. Bently, an elderly woman with kind blue eyes and wrinkled, gnarled hands. One of those hands is reaching for hers, and Liliana is frozen, wanting to pull away, afraid of what it will look like if she does, knowing somehow without a doubt that she cannot let this lady touch her hand, but unable to figure out how to stop it before it’s happening. The small white hand is clasped around her own. Liliana’s wearing long sleeves, as usual, despite the heat of July, but that doesn’t keep her fingertips from sticking out and touching skin.

She doesn’t dare to look down. She can feel the power going out of her, can hardly bite back a gasp as her fingers stiffen and begin to ache. But there’s still a smile on Mrs. Bently’s face, she hasn’t looked down, either, hasn’t seemed to notice. Maybe she can get away with this one more time, maybe her luck will continue and no one will know…

A strangled sound comes from somewhere to her right, and she remembers. Mamá is watching.

Don’t look don’t look don’t look she might not have seen she might not know if you look she’ll know she’ll see it on your face

Mrs. Bently’s friendly smile fades into a frown. Releasing Liliana’s hand, she brings her own hand up to look at it, flexing her fingers in a way that Liliana knows she can’t do herself right now.

“That’s...that’s so strange. My hand...it…” She laughs, incredulously, and Liliana wants to laugh with her, anything to break through the fear that’s pounding in her eardrums, but all she can do is pull her sleeve farther down to hide her aching fingers, pull until the shirt is threatening to fall off her shoulder. “It’s almost like when you touched my hand, my arthritis just...disappeared.” Another short laugh, and she reaches the same hand up to softly pat Liliana’s cheek. “Either I’m finally starting to lose my mind, or...or maybe you’re an angel sent to help an old woman.”

Another strange noise from the right, and Liliana finally gives in and looks.The expression that she sees is exactly what she feared. Mamá knows.

The rest of the day passes in a blur. All she’s aware of is that she’s bundled quickly into the car, harried excuses are made to friends, and she spends the evening in her room, hiding underneath the covers.

She doesn’t know what her parents are thinking right now. Are they mad? Disappointed? Scared?

“Anyone who says not all Nons are bad is an idiot,” Papá’s voice echoes in her mind. “An idiot who clearly isn’t keeping up with what’s going on in the world. None of them can be trusted. They all need to be rounded up and locked away for good.”

Liliana buries her head further and tries desperately to let sleep take her away from her worries.

The next morning someone knocks on her bedroom door. It isn’t locked, so she sits up quickly, combing her fingers through her mussed up hair - the fingers of her left hand, after she discovers that those on her right aren’t fond of the motion - and tries to rub away the restless night of tears from her face. “Come in.”

It isn’t her mother, father, or even her brother who enters. It’s a stranger, a tall, thin woman with her blonde hair pulled back into a severe bun. Liliana bolts upright, heart thumping wildly.

“¿Quién eres?”

“You need to pack your things.”

Shaking, Liliana attempts to back away, her thighs quickly bumping into the mattress. “What? Why?”

The woman sighs, pursing her lips, though it’s unclear whether she’s actually sympathetic or she’s just aggravated that whatever this is about hasn’t been explained yet. “Your parents have turned you over to the care of the state. I’m here to escort you to your new home.”

Liliana’s mind goes blank other than a high-pitched screeching in her ears. The woman is saying something else, she thinks, but nothing is processing. Finally she finds her voice enough to murmur, “No, no no no no no, that can’t...que no puede ser cierto, that’s...that’s not right, they wouldn’t...they can’t…”

The next thing she knows she’s pushing past the woman, ignoring whatever protests she’s giving. The house is quiet. Too quiet. There’s no music coming from her brother’s room, no pots and pans clanging in the kitchen, no tv incessantly blaring the news. But she searches each corner of the downstairs anyway, still hoping that she’ll find someone in her family who will tell her that this is all a mistake, a nightmare, maybe, that they would never, ever, send her away just because of something that she can’t control, that she would never use for anything but good.

She approaches the front door and it opens suddenly, letting in yet another stranger, a broad-shouldered man who just stands there, blocking the exit. “I’m going to have to ask you to follow the lady back upstairs and do what she says.”

The blonde woman appears behind her, at the foot of the stairs. “Your parents aren’t here. Everyone knows that Nons can be...volatile. It’s generally best if the family isn’t present when they’re taken into custody.”

Tears finally begin pouring down Liliana’s cheeks. “But I’m not, I’m not, I swear...I’ve never...I wouldn’t hurt anyone! My power is healing, anyway, I don’t…” Her babbling trails off, lost in the tornado of her thoughts.

Her family really called the government on her and...and left her.

They never even asked her any questions.

They didn’t try to find out what was going on, didn’t ask what her powers could do, weren’t concerned about the fact that she apparently has arthritis now, at the age of fifteen.

The fact that she’s their daughter, that they raised themselves and that they know, means nothing to them. She doesn’t even get the benefit of the doubt.

The blonde woman plasters a fake smile onto her face. “I know, sweetie. I’m sure you wouldn’t. But I’m afraid there are rules in place that have to be followed in cases like this.”

She doesn’t really have a choice. Between the two of them, they have her trapped, and what’s her alternative, anyway? Stay here and wait for a family that doesn’t want her anymore? Live her life with them always watching her, always distrusting, always waiting for her to snap and turn evil like the Non she is?

Liliana follows the woman back up the stairs and throws a few belongings into a backpack. She’s numb, moving on autopilot, no idea what she should actually be bringing. It feels like she’s packing for a weekend trip, not for the rest of her life.

The tears never stop the whole time.

As she’s escorted out to the black sedan waiting in the driveway, she swears she sees a glimpse of her parents’ car across the street. The driver is staring straight ahead, refusing to look this way, but the woman in the passenger’s seat’s cheeks glisten.

It’s probably just her imagination, though.

Spanish translations (please please let me know if I got something wrong):

“No lo sabia, I swear, Mila, por favor no...” - I didn’t know, I swear, Mila, please don’t...”

“Está bien, no lo haré. No se lo diré a nadie.” - Okay, I won’t. I won’t tell anyone.

“¿Quién eres?” - who are you?

“que no puede ser cierto” - that can’t be true

#summerofwhump #summerofwhump4 #abandoned #querencia #liliana the healer #lady whumpee #lady whump #teenage whumpee #backstory #mild blood tw #parental abandonment tw #foster system #prejudice tw #magical whumpee #magic powers #healing power #painful healing

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